White Rose Black Forest(19)

“What are your boys like?”

“Wonderful, just wonderful. They’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. They’re strong young Aryans too. We’re proud of them. Jürgen is just three, and he can already sing ‘Deutschland über Alles.’”

Franka went silent as Berkel told her about his sons. It gave her pause, but soon he was back preaching about the greatness of the Reich and the genius of Hitler. The minutes dragged out agonizingly. The place where he needed to drop her off came and looked like an oasis.

“I’d appreciate it if you let me out here, Daniel. You’ve been so kind. Lesser men would have held what I did against me forever. I’ve made mistakes, but I’m determined to live the best life I can from here.”

Berkel pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned to her. “It is my job to be suspicious at all times, Franka, and I remain so. It was fantastic to see you, but you are not just an old friend to me. You are a convicted enemy of the state, and while I think that almost every Aryan deserves a second chance, you will need to prove your loyalty to the Reich and to our beloved führer. I hope that we will never meet in an official capacity, but know that I am watching you.”

“As I said, I’m moving back to Munich within days . . .”

“And if that is the case, I wish you good luck, and I’ll say, Heil Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler,” Franka said. Her voice was weak. She put the backpack on. He got out to help her with her skis and handed them to her.

“I enjoyed seeing you, Franka. I hope you find the peace you’re searching for. Be careful who you mix with.”

She nodded, and he got back into the car. She stood still as the car left.

She felt violated, reviled, disgusted. The cabin no longer felt safe, or free from the Nazi regime she despised more than ever. With little daylight left, she had not the time to stand at the side of the road analyzing their conversation, and she was glad of that. She slipped on the skis again and started up the trail toward the cabin.

Surely the fact that she’d told him that she was moving back to Munich would prevent any intrusions by the Gestapo. But what if they were looking for the man? Someone could have seen his parachute.

The journey back up the hill, with the provisions on her back weighing her down, was far more difficult than the way down, and she had to stop halfway for a rest. The light of day was shrinking to nothing, the air darkening by the moment as the cabin finally came into view. Flakes of snow meandered down. The bedroom window was unlit. Franka wondered if the man was asleep. Would he finally begin to trust her now that she’d gone all the way into town on his behalf? How much longer was the Werner Graf charade going to last? How could she trust him when she knew he was lying to her about who he was? She took off her skis as she reached the front door, and shook them off before resting them against the house. The door opened with a creak. The light of the fire colored the living room walls orange and yellow, and she wondered how the man had stocked the fireplace with wood. When she saw him, he was sitting in the rocking chair by the fire, her father’s pistol in his hand, the barrel pointed at her.





Chapter 5

Franka let the rucksack slip from her shoulder and let it fall to the floor. The man stared at her and had the gun pointed at her chest. His eyes twitched in the half-light, his teeth gritted in pain. She cursed herself for not hiding the gun better. It was hard to imagine how he’d gotten out of bed, let alone made it all the way to the table by the front door.

“How did you get out of your room?”

“I’m asking the questions here.”

She saw his finger tense on the trigger.

“I have your painkillers. You must be in terrible discomfort. I have food too, enough for both of us for days.”

“I asked you a question. Why am I here? Why did you bring me back to this cabin?”

His ingratitude was vexing her, and she felt her temper, blunt as it usually was, beginning to rise. He was terrified—a stranger in a hostile land. She was thankful he hadn’t pulled the trigger as soon as she’d walked through the door. “Simple necessity. It was too far to the nearest hospital, and I had no way of getting you there.”

“Have you told anyone else that I’m here?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you asked me not to. You said even the local authorities knowing you were here might compromise your mission.”

He stared on, the gun still pointed at her. He didn’t seem to know what to say next.

“I told you, my name is Franka Gerber. I’m from Freiburg, and this was my parents’ summer cabin. They’re both dead now. My father died just a few months ago in a bombing raid on the city. My mother died eight years ago, of cancer.” She thought to tell him about Fredi but realized that she wouldn’t be able to without breaking down—she was close enough to that already. “I brought you back here because you needed help. You would have died out there. It is an absolute miracle I found you. There is no one else around here for miles.”

“Why are you keeping me here?” His voice quivered as he spoke, perhaps from the pain he was in, perhaps from something else.

She stared at the barrel of the gun. “Because I have no other choice. The roads are closed. I can’t get you down to the main road. It’s just not possible with your broken legs.” She pointed at the bag. “I have plaster of paris, gauze, and everything else I need to set them in casts. I can do this for you if you let me, but I need you to trust me.”