White Rose Black Forest(52)

“What are you doing back here?” Martina said.

Franka wondered how much she knew—probably everything.

“I came back to hear the reading of my father’s will.”

“I was so sorry to hear that he died. I saw his name in the paper. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Thank you. It seemed so random in a city that has hardly been touched.”

“The bombs are coming. It’s only a matter of time before the Allies try to murder us all.”

Franka ignored the comment, although she felt a sharp pike of anger stab through her.

“I’m sorry not to see you for so long and then ask you a favor, but I need something.”

Martina lit up another cigarette. “Of course, what is it?”

“I’m staying in my parents’ old cabin in the mountains. You remember it, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m there with my boyfriend.”

Martina’s eyes lit up. “You never told me you were seeing anyone. Is it serious?”

“I think it might be. He’s a medic, but he’s back from the front. We’re taking some time together while we can. We have a problem, however. He broke his leg skiing, and we’re snowed in.”

“Oh, no.”

“It’s not been easy. I managed to set a cast on his legs myself.”

“I thought it was just one leg?”

“No, it’s two. I meant to say two.”

Franka could feel her heart thumping in her chest. Martina’s expression changed to grave seriousness.

“He’s okay, and in casts, but he can’t get around. I need some crutches. I was wondering if you had any old sets lying around that I could borrow for a few weeks until the snow melts.”

“Does he need a doctor? Shall I ask—”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I just need crutches. I was able to set his legs, and they seem to be healing well.”

Franka stopped talking. Martina finished her cigarette and crushed it under her foot. She looked around to see if anyone was listening in.

“When do you need them?”

“Now, if possible.”

“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Franka waited outside in the cold for fifteen minutes and was just beginning to wonder if she was coming back, when Martina emerged, a pair of old crutches under her arm.

“These have seen a few winters, but they should do the job. I don’t think they’ll be missed either.”

“Thank you so much,” Franka said as Martina handed them to her. “This is going to mean the world to Tommy.”

Martina stayed with Franka a few more minutes before duty called and they said their goodbyes. Franka tied the crutches to her backpack and made her way out of town, explaining to the guard who stopped her that they were for her war-veteran boyfriend. He didn’t ask questions after that and handed her papers back.

Franka arrived back at the cabin, brandishing the crutches like a trophy. John slipped them under his armpits and pushed himself upward. Movement was still difficult, and he had to drag his legs behind him, but his situation now was miles ahead of being stuck in bed. His first journey was to the kitchen. They sat at the table together as Franka made up a meal of soup, bread, and cheese, and they ate it like it would be their last.

Later that day, Martina Kruger thought long and hard about the meeting with her old friend. Why hadn’t Franka wanted her boyfriend to see a doctor? Even if the bones were healing well, surely it would have been better to make sure? The thought stayed with her through Christmas, and even into the new year of 1944. She couldn’t shake the way Franka had looked at her and how unusual her request was. It was with some regret that she went to the local Gestapo office to report her friend. It was probably nothing, she reasoned, and surely Franka didn’t have anything to hide, but it was best to let the professionals deal with it. She suppressed any feelings she had about loyalty to friends, because in times of war like these, it was more important to put the führer first. Franka Gerber was a criminal after all, and Martina couldn’t risk getting involved. She had her family to think about. The Gestapo agent agreed with her—she had done the right thing.



Christmas came. They spent it together. They talked for hours on end. She went through every idea that the White Rose championed, and he told her he’d heard of the massive drops all over Germany of the Munich students’ manifesto. That was her Christmas present—the quiet satisfaction that what they’d done hadn’t been in vain. She told him of her childhood in the mountains. They had time to go through every summer she spent here, every memory she had. He taught her some English phrases—military language mostly. He told her of Philadelphia, his parents’ house, and sunny days at the shore during the summer. He talked about his father’s business and how uncomfortable he was with the privilege he’d been raised in. But the way he spoke about it was different from before. It wasn’t something to hold a grudge over. There were far more important things to live and die for.

He told her about meeting his wife in Princeton, and about how happy their first few years together had been. She married her airman a week after the divorce went through, a month before John shipped out. He’d never told anyone his story this thoroughly before—his ex-wife, his childhood, his parents, and where he’d grown up. He’d never had the time. He went through every conceivable detail he could remember about Rudolf Hahn and told her everything he knew about his work, which wasn’t much. There were parts of the mission shrouded even from him. He didn’t need to know everything.