White Rose Black Forest(51)

“How will he know I’m not Gestapo?”

“The code words. Once he hears them, he’ll know you’re with me. You’ll just need to make contact with him and perhaps give him the option of coming here once I’m better, but we can decide that later. We’ve plenty of time.”

“Two weeks,” Franka said. “I’ll need to get you some crutches. No use in having you confined to that bed. You’ll start to develop sores. The best thing for you is to get up and moving. I need to go into town to get some food tomorrow. I’ll pick some up there.”

“They’ll have crutches in the store with the rationing going on?”

“No, I wouldn’t think so, but I have some connections in the medical center there. I’ll get them for you.”

Morning came with a scythe of cold as always, but this one felt different. Sleep had been a long time coming the previous night. Many questions were still left unanswered. No need to bombard John now. They had other waters to navigate. They needed food first. She picked up the ration coupons John had given her. She knew they were forged, but would the shopkeeper notice? Without them, they would have only hers to rely on. It wouldn’t be enough. They’d starve. She held his coupons up to the light, examining each letter printed on the paper. It seemed convincing enough, although upon close inspection the lettering looked wobbly and unsure in parts. She would try. The only other option would be to buy the food on the black market. The best food was available to those willing to pay for it, but that might attract attention from the police. It was too great a risk to take.

John was awake when she brought him breakfast.

“Good morning, Fr?ulein.”

“I trust you slept well.”

“I did. The best I’ve slept in a long time. How are you feeling about what we discussed?”

“Nervous. Bewildered. I feel I’ve been given a great responsibility.”

“I wouldn’t have told you about this if you weren’t capable of it. I know I made the right decision.”

She sat with him as he ate the breakfast of cheese and dregs of the stew from two nights before. She didn’t tell him that there wasn’t enough food for them both to eat. They spoke about the weather, the journey she was to make that day, and his health. There seemed nothing else to say about who he was, or his mission. The night before, she had promised herself that she wouldn’t press him.

Franka went to the front door and pushed it open before stepping outside. No new snow had fallen in two days, but the previous weeks had brought so much that her car was still buried, the road impassable. Her breath plumed out in front of her. The cold sun shone down, good for nothing more than reflecting off the white of the snow below, and she slipped on her sunglasses.

Daniel Berkel’s shadow hung over Freiburg. Her hometown was too dangerous. Even if she didn’t run into him, there were too many people who could recognize her, too many people happy to help the Gestapo. There was no need to go to the pharmacy in the city like last time. Sankt Peter was just a couple of miles away. It was a small town but had a grocery store and a medical center. It would do for their needs this time. She strapped on her skis and set out. Franka thought about John Lynch, and what Philadelphia must have looked like. She thought about Rudolf Hahn, and what she was going to say to him.

She saw no one until she reached the line outside the grocery store. She joined at the back, resting her skis against the wall. No familiar faces gawked at her. Most of the people she knew from here were away at war or dead already. It was a relief to be anonymous. She mixed her ration coupons with the ones John had given her so the fakes wouldn’t stand out. It worked. The shopkeeper didn’t notice. She hid her elation as she left the store, her rucksack as full as her collection of ration vouchers allowed.

The narrow streets of the small town of Sankt Peter were deathly quiet. Franka kept her head down as she trudged along the sidewalk, all the way to the medical center. A teenager with his arm in a sling glanced up at her as she pushed the door open. Beside him sat two young men missing eyes and arms, one in a wheelchair, the other on crutches. The war had penetrated every inch of German society. No one was immune. A gray-faced old woman sat behind a drab wooden desk covered with papers. Franka went to her and waited her turn behind a mother with a baby in her arms. Once Franka’s turn came, the woman behind the desk peered up at her with tired eyes.

“I’m here to see Martina Kruger; she’s a nurse here.”

“What’s your business with Nurse Kruger?”

“I’m an old friend—it’s of a personal nature.”

“Nurse Kruger is busy, why don’t you—”

“It won’t take more than a few minutes,” Franka said.

The woman grumbled under her breath.

“Perhaps she’s due a break.”

“Give me one minute.” The woman disappeared through a door behind her.

Two minutes passed before the door opened again and Martina smiled, throwing her arms around Franka. They had known each other since they were children, had met in kindergarten and gone through school together. Martina had been in the same troop in the League of German Girls. Franka hadn’t seen her since she’d left for Munich in ’39. She looked almost the same, pretty, with long brown hair and shining green eyes. The woman glared at Martina, who scowled back before leading Franka outside. She lit a cigarette and offered one to Franka, who shook her head. They talked about Martina’s family for a couple of minutes. She had two daughters, and a husband stationed in France. Franka trusted her, not enough to ask her for morphine, or anything she might get in trouble for—but surely a pair of old crutches wouldn’t be missed?