The Ragged Edge of Night(81)

“The Wehrmacht?” Anton finally stammers. “How can this be? It’s the last place I’d look for opposition.”

Emil says, “The resistance is everywhere. Didn’t I tell you once that love couldn’t be erased from the world so easily?”

“Those brave, determined men—”

“Those poor men. The perpetrator must have been arrested already. How not? If the plan had come off, he’d be lauded as a hero. Now I’m afraid he’ll meet a swift and unjust end.”

While the Führer goes on crowing about his immortality.

Anton and Emil lapse into silence, a moment of reflective appreciation for the courageous soul who almost managed to rid the world of Adolf Hitler. May God grant him peace in eternity.

At length, Anton says, “What does this mean for us? How many times, now, have would-be assassins attempted to kill that creature with explosives? And if your telegram is accurate, this plan nearly succeeded. No one can hope to try again. He is already guarded day and night, I hear; no one will ever be allowed in his presence with any sort of package in his hands.”

“You’re right about that.” Emil’s smile comes very close to smugness.

“Even if one of our company wasn’t responsible, it seems we still must give up all hope. His guards will be warier than ever before.”

“We will succeed where the others failed.”

“God help me, but I can’t imagine how.”

Emil leans toward him, across the narrow space of that small, humble room. He whispers what he knows. “We don’t intend to use explosives, Anton. We’ll rely on something far more subtle, when the time is right. Poison—slow-acting enough that it will never be detected by his food tasters, until it’s too late to save him.”

“Poison.”

“I know very little, of course, for safety’s sake. But I do know this: we’ve a man positioned already, capable of delivering our blow. It hardly seems right to call it a ‘blow’ at all. Only a small drop—perhaps two or three—and we’ll claim our victory at last. Slow and steady—slow and unstoppable. That’s how we’ll win, my friend.”





30

By the time the full heat of summer has descended, most of the Egerlanders have moved away. They have found jobs and homes in the cities, in Hamburg and Cologne, in Frankfurt and Düsseldorf. The Hornik family is no exception; Frau Hornik has found a steady job in a munitions factory in Cologne.

“I’ll earn enough to keep the three of us alive,” she says.

“That is something,” Elisabeth answers, twisting her kerchief in anxious fingers. Beyond the railway platform, the train’s whistle cries. The whole family has gathered to bid the Horniks farewell. The sun makes them all squint, but only Elisabeth blinks and dabs at her eyes when she thinks no one can see. “But are you sure you don’t want to stay with us? City life can be so dangerous.”

Frau Hornik takes her hands. “You’ve been so kind, Elisabeth—all of you have. You must know we aren’t ungrateful. But it’s time we made our own lives again. It’s time we got on with it. Besides, you can’t go on sleeping on the floor forever.” She lays a hand on each daughter’s head. “Millie, Elsie, say goodbye to your friends. The train will be here soon.”

The girls begin to weep as they embrace Albert. Each gives him a kiss on the cheek—one the right, the other the left. Al can’t bring himself to look at his brother or at Anton; his face is redder than a ripe apple.

“We’ll write to you,” says one of the twins. Anton thinks it might be Elsie. The other says, “Will you write back?”

“Yes, of course,” Al replies, though he keeps his eyes on the ground and shuffles his feet. “I will, if you like.”

The girls ruffle Paul’s blond hair. They kiss little Maria on her forehead. Frau Hornik kisses the girl twice, and says rather sternly, “Be a little angel for your mother. Don’t drive her to distraction. If you do, she’ll write and tell me, and then I won’t be able to send you any paper dolls from Cologne.”

Frau Hornik takes Anton’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough for all the kindness you’ve given—you dear, good man.”

“It’s no more than anyone would do.”

“It’s a good deal more than most people would do. You saved us, you and Elisabeth—it’s simple as that.”

When it’s time to say farewell to Elisabeth, Frau Hornik folds her in sisterly arms. Elisabeth presses herself against her friend’s shoulder, trying to hide her tears. She remains in the woman’s embrace for a long time, until the train pulls alongside the platform and hisses to a stop. Only then does Elisabeth lift her face and let Frau Hornik go.

The engineer calls the departure. The Horniks hurry onto the train before they can change their minds. The girls call out the window—“Auf Wiedersehen, auf Wiedersehen” and “ahoj.” Anton stands in the hot sun with his wife and children, waving as the train pulls away, coughing in its smoke. The shriek of its whistle, the rumble of its wheels, cover the sounds of weeping, but nothing can hide the quick, darting motion as Elisabeth dashes tears from her eyes.

As they walk slowly home, Elisabeth waits until the children have run ahead before she speaks. There is no sense upsetting the children, causing them to worry over playmates. “I hate to think what may happen to them in a big city.”