White Rose Black Forest(11)

The bedroom went black as she blew out the oil lamp at her bedside. No. He had said those English words. She had heard them. She still could hear them, could still sound them out on her tongue. He wasn’t Hauptman Werner Graf of the Luftwaffe. Why had he been lying in the snow in the mountains of the Black Forest? He couldn’t have been there for more than a few minutes when she’d found him; otherwise she would have come upon a corpse. If he was a spy or a prisoner of war, the penalty for helping him would be death. She could handle that. The National Socialists couldn’t take anything more from her now. Not when she had nothing left for them to take.

Franka turned over in the bed, pulling the thick blankets up to her chin so that only her face was exposed. Beneath the bedcovers was the only warm place in the house apart from the fire. The man only had one blanket, and the hole she’d made in the floor would let in a draft. She got out of bed, taking the key to the man’s bedroom door. She put on a nightgown, and a coat over that, before tiptoeing away. The house was still. She unlocked the door, put a hand on the door handle, and knocked with her other hand as she opened it.

“Hallo?” she whispered. “Are you awake, Herr Graf?”

He was lying in the bed, but she could see that his eyes were open. For a horrible second she thought he might have been dead, but soon he turned his head to her.

“I am awake, Fr?ulein.”

“Are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

She didn’t take his word for it. It was colder in his room than hers, and he didn’t have as many blankets. She’d left the curtains open, and the light of the moon was streaming in. The features of his face were visible in the half-light. She took his hand. She hadn’t planned on touching him, just wanted to see how cold he was. His eyes came to hers.

“You’re freezing,” she said. “Why didn’t you ask me for another blanket?”

“I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“Nonsense. There’s no use suffering when there are more blankets in the closet.” She let go of his hand and opened the closet. She took out a thick blanket and spread it over him. “This will keep you warm.” He was staring at her, and she stepped back. “I’m going into town tomorrow. The roads will be closed, but we need food and I can’t bear the thought of the pain you must be in.” She paused for an answer that didn’t come. “It’s obvious that I can’t bring you in with me, but if you’d like, I can report your presence here to the local Gestapo.” It was her turn to stare at him now.

“That won’t be necessary, Fr?ulein. The local police are not of concern to me. As I mentioned previously, I’m handling some sensitive matters on behalf of the war effort right now. Alerting anyone to my presence here wouldn’t be prudent at this time.”

“So you don’t want me to report that you’re here to anyone? They could tell the Luftwaffe, your superior officer, whom sent you up in that airplane.”

“Really, there’s no need. I’ll leave you as soon as the roads are clear. Until then, I’ll be your grateful guest.”

Franka wondered if he knew how long his legs were going to take to heal or if he was being deliberately ignorant. She was certain of one thing, however: he wasn’t an English-speaking Luftwaffe pilot.

“As you wish.” She turned to leave.

“Fr?ulein, how did you get me here?”

“I dragged you on a sled.”

“You dragged me back here unconscious?” His eyes were wide in the darkness. He held his hands together in front of him as if he were praying. “You are a truly remarkable person. I am forever in your debt.”

“You need to sleep now. Is there anything else you need?”

“A chamber pot, perhaps? Just in case.”

“Of course,” she answered, and went to the kitchen. She found a basin that would do the job and brought it back to him. He accepted it with a smile and thanked her once more. Franka closed the door behind her, turning the key in the lock. She determined not to use the name Werner Graf anymore. Saying it out loud demeaned them both.



Franka awoke with the dawn. The night had brought a deeper sleep than she’d enjoyed for many months. The man’s presence in the house had in some way blunted the memories that found her in the dark. The memories were always worse at night, and sleeping alone had become torture. There was comfort to be drawn from his presence here, and she felt it. She had already done so much for him, and he for her. He was the first thing that came to her mind as she opened her eyes. She wondered if he’d slept, and if he was in pain. She wondered if his bones were still set properly with the splints she’d made, and when, if ever, she’d learn the truth about him. The floor felt like ice, and she searched for her slippers, then slid her feet into them before venturing to the window. Pushing back the curtains revealed the winter sun in a cloudless, cobalt-blue sky. The snow was as it had been the night before. Doubts crept in. Did she really have to make this trip into town today? Could she wait? They had little food left, and she couldn’t leave him lying in misery until the roads opened back up. Who knew when that would be? The roads up here could be closed for weeks at a time, although that was before the brutal efficiency of the Nazis. It was decided, then: she would go into town today. She would go all the way into Freiburg. She would find the supplies she needed in the city, and no one was looking for her—she had no one to hide from.