War Girls Complete Collection Chapter 272

Chapter 19

T

he afternoon dragged on and they passed fertile green meadows where Gerlinde would pick the odd edible plant, but Lotte’s stomach continued to grumble.

“We need to buy food,” she said.

“Do we even have money?”

“Some Reichsmark hidden away in my shoe, those should get us at least a decent meal.”

“But we have to find a town with a shop first.” Gerlinde paused for a moment, shielding her eyes from the merciless sun.

“After that godawful winter, who knew it could become so hot up here?” Lotte wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

“We’re at the height of summer, when the days are endless. It’s only normal for the weather to be hot.” Gerlinde laughed. “It shows you’re a child of the city, the likes of you never pay attention to the passing of the seasons.”

“Oh, I did…” …

live on my Aunt Lydia’s farm for two years

. It was increasingly difficult for Lotte to keep her web of lies straight. Maybe she should tell her friend the truth about who she really was? But after their falling out over the Jews, she feared Gerlinde would abandon her when she discovered the truth.

“I don’t want to walk anymore!” Lotte cried out, flopping to the ground. “I’m dusty, thirsty, hungry and my feet are aching. In fact, there’s not a single cell in my entire body that’s not in pain.”

Gerlinde settled beside her, taking off her shoes and stockings, exposing feet covered with oozing blisters. “It was your idea in the first place. We should have stayed where we were. Eventually we would have been processed and released. At least we wouldn't be thirsty and going nowhere in the sweltering heat.”

“Processed? Was that what you call being processed?” Lotte looked at her friend aghast, just as a military truck passed by, jostling soldiers included. She glared at the men and snarled, “Would you rather experience

that

again?”

“No,” Gerlinde replied, hanging her head and looking away.

Lotte squeezed her hand. “We just need to get a ride. It shouldn’t be that far to the border crossing at Flensburg anymore.” To tell the truth, she had no idea where they were, since their only guide was the sun now hanging in the sky behind their backs.

They took up their journey again and when another horse-drawn cart passed, Lotte pushed Gerlinde forward to ask for a ride. The driver turned out to be a young Danish boy of about ten years of age.

His initial suspicion soon faded away when Gerlinde told him they were Poles, forced to serve the German soldiers as their maids, and were now on their way home.

“Hop on,” he said and moved over on the box seat to make room for them. “I’m Jens. And you?”

“Agnes and Maria,” Gerlinde quickly answered, and after seeing Lotte’s questioning glance, she specified, “I’m Agnes and my friend is Maria.”

“Nice to meet you.” Jens cracked his whip in the air, and Lotte involuntarily ducked her head. Another remnant from her time in Ravensbrück. Would she ever be able to function like an average human being again?

The horse trotted at a brisk pace and the miles rolled by. The inquisitive driver asked all kinds of probing questions, reminding Lotte of her nephew Janusz. Janusz had just turned thirteen, but he still had the annoying habit of every keen child to ask a million questions a minute, most of them starting with

why

.

“You have traveled a long way,” the boy said. “I can take you about fifteen miles further south, where I have to deliver this coal.”

“That’s so kind of you,” Lotte was grateful for the offer that would save miles of legwork.

About two hours later, Jens stopped at the marketplace of a small town and dropped the women off.

“Good luck,” he shouted after them as he drove away.

Lotte looked around the sleepy village and found a bakery open. The owner wasn’t too pleased to find out they would be paying with Reichsmarks, but he seemed to value the sale more than his pride and took the out-of-fashion currency.

When they stepped out of the bakery with freshly baked, mouthwatering Danish bread, Lotte looked at the brooding darkness of the sky. Dark clouds had been rolling in from the west all day and were now piling up above the small town.

“I sure hope it won’t start raining right now.” Lotte walked to a bench at the side of the marketplace, where they bit hungrily into the hearty bread.

“Hmmm, that smells so good.” Gerlinde closed her eyes in delight, sniffing at the warm, aromatic loaf in her hand. Just when they finished eating, the skies opened up and it began to rain, drenching them to the bone within moments.

There was no cover nearby, so they ran toward a row of houses and dove for shelter in a doorway, the torrential rains lashing down on them, soaking their clothes and chilling the girls.

“What a sorry end to a splendid day,” Gerlinde said through chattering teeth.

“Can’t have everything,” Lotte trembled as she wrapped her arms around her. “Thanks to Jens, we have covered a lot of distance today. We should be able to get to the border crossing in a day or two.

“First, we have to find somewhere to spend the night,” said Gerlinde miserably.

Lotte glanced at the torrential downpour and sighed. “I’m not going anywhere in this apocalyptic weather.”

Gerlinde laughed. “What do you know about apocalyptic weather? That’s normal near the sea. Sunshine one moment, rain the next. But the good thing is, it passes just as quick as it starts.” Gerlinde’s words proved true. Half an hour later, the rain subsided into a feeble drizzle, the wind pushing the dark clouds further east. The sun peeked out between ruptured clouds, conjuring up an enchanting rainbow across the sky.

“How beautiful,” Lotte said, still shivering. “I’d love to go to the end of the rainbow one day and find the pot of gold.”

Her friend giggled. “I’ll come with you. But now let’s go and find a place to stay for the night.”

Looking like drowned cats, the two women were walking indecisively along the streets in the small town when they came upon a fishmonger’s shop. A woman changed the sign from

open

to

closed.

She had her blond hair braided around her head and wore a blue-and-white-striped apron over her dress. She hung the apron on a hook, stepped out of the shop and locked the door.

Her gaze fell upon the two younger women and she said, “You got yourself quite wet. Do you have a long way to home?”

“Ma’am. In fact, we are a seeking an inn to spend the night,” Lotte said in German.

The other woman’s smile disappeared, replaced by a hateful stare, and she made to walk away.

“Please, we are Poles.”

The woman tilted her head, studying the two girls. From close up, she looked to be in her late thirties. Neither her fashionable dress nor the rosy glow on her face, that was definitely assisted by skillfully applied cosmetics, could hide the wrinkles etched into her face.

“Poles?” she repeated, her red lips pursed. “And what brings you to this forlorn place?”

“We were kidnapped by the Nazis and brought years ago to work at the harbor in Stavanger, Norway, and now we’re on our way home. We’ve been walking most of the way from Hirtshals.“ Lotte said, “But today a young boy gave us a ride on his horse-driven cart.”

“That must’ve been Jens.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The expression on the woman’s face warmed. “There’s no inn in this village. But how could I send you away after you’ve suffered so much? Come with me. I’m Karen, by the way.” She extended her hand.

“I am Agnes and this my friend Maria,” Gerlinde explained. “We can’t possibly accept your hospitality.”

“Of course you can. We are all travelers on the road of life,” Karen replied. “If we don’t extend a helping hand to those in need, we are worth nothing.”

They followed her during the five-minute walk to a small house at the end of the village. Giving her friend the once-over, Lotte grimaced, throwing up her hands at the sight. They were both drenched, dirty, and presented a pathetic, bedraggled sight. Their dissimilarity to the elegant lady couldn’t have been more pronounced.

Karen followed Lotte’s gaze and smiled. “Take off your boots. The rest we’ll take care inside.”

Leaving the mud-caked boots and her stockings in the hallway, Lotte traipsed barefooted into the cozy home. Karen lit a cigarette and waved them onward.

“You’ll catch your death like that. Go to the laundry room and take off your wet things. Give yourself a good wash and I’ll fetch towels and something dry to wear for you.” Karen disappeared and returned with two dresses. The one Lotte received was a black short-sleeved dress in A-line form with fancy white and pink birds printed on skirt and top. It was wide around the waist, but Lotte didn’t care.

Gerlinde’s dress turned out to be even fancier: a fiery red one with the same A-line skirt, and a pronounced corset-like waist with three decorative buttons on each side. The sleeveless top had a low bustline going way beyond decency, the décolleté thinly veiled by an inset of a half-transparent black material with white polka dots.

“Wow. You look stunning!” Lotte said and Gerlinde couldn’t resist giving a twirl. Her skirt flew wide and stripes of the same polka-dotted cloth from the bustline became visible inside the folds of the skirt.

Lotte wondered where on earth Karen had managed to buy these two stunning dresses, when everyone else had to make do with ration coupons and mending old clothes. They left the laundry room and caught the appreciative glance of their hostess.

“Ah, look at you girls. So young and beautiful,” Karen said, amazed by the transformation brought about by soap and water. “Hair like spun gold! All this loveliness hidden under...,”

“Layers of dirt,” Lotte admitted and the three women laughed at the veracity of that remark.

“Well done. Now you look like peachy girls and not like tramps.” Karen drew from her cigarette and offered, “You want one?”

Lotte politely shook her head, but Gerlinde all but jumped at the vice she’d missed so much these last days.

The hospitable woman told them to wait on the sofa in the sitting room and shortly thereafter returned from the kitchen with two steaming mugs and a plate of

smørrebrød

.

“Coffee, but not the real one. I hope you don’t mind,” Karen apologized.

“Not at all.” Mind? Lotte had long forgotten the smell and taste of real coffee and she had definitely not expected such a luxury from her hostess.

“Where are you going?” Karen suddenly asked.

“Returning to our home town near Königsberg,” Gerlinde truthfully answered. What she didn’t mention was that area had once again changed hands and had been divided between Poland and Russia.

“That’s quite a long ways. And you have to cross our neighbor to the south. It won’t be nice. I hear the Allies have bombed all of Germany to ruins and there’s no means of transport, no housing and even less food. Serves them right.”

“Yes, we have heard this, too,” Lotte said. Then, hoping to glean more information asked, “Do you know anything about the border crossing?”

“Not really.” A wave of sadness overtook Karen’s expression. “There’s a checkpoint about twenty miles from here. Queues are long, because military traffic has priority and, you know, most people don’t have proper papers. So they need to go to the British admin first and apply for temporary papers and a travel pass. It seems quite easy for the ones who only want to go a few miles into Germany, but if you want to cross occupation zones it gets really tough.

“For now, it seems the Allies have decided that everyone has to stay in the sector they were in when the war ended, but exceptions and inter-sector travel permits are given on a by-need basis. To go to Poland… I don’t know. You’d have to talk to the Brits and then to the Soviets.”

Lotte hadn’t expected the traveling to be so complicated. Somehow she’d assumed they’d simply cross the border and be on their way. But upon closer consideration, they couldn’t even use their Wehrmacht ID cards and thus were undocumented aliens, having to apply for some kind of temporary identification. She sighed.

Karen gave her a sympathetic look. “I know, I know. Isn’t it a shame? But if you’re not in a hurry, I can ask around and organize papers for you. It’ll take only a few days and will make the border crossing a lot easier. Although I would ask you to work for me in the fishmonger’s meanwhile. God knows I could use some help.”

Gerlinde and Lotte exchanged a look. Both women actually were in a hurry to find their loved ones, but this offer was too good to pass up.

“That’s a very generous offer and we certainly will work at your shop for the time being.” Lotte said.

“We’re used to hard work,” Gerlinde added, and Lotte elbowed her. Neither one of them had any experience with fish, or with hard work. Tapping out Morse code might require plenty of focus, but it certainly didn’t count as physical labor.

“Then it’s a deal. How wonderful!” Karen was a cheery, good-natured person, in spite of her ebullient exterior with elegant clothes and too much make-up. But she also had a shrewdness to her and seemed to be able to organize anything – fancy dresses, abundant food and even identification papers. Lotte wondered how a fishmonger had come to be so resourceful.

Karen appeared to be delighted at having company and the girls soon found out why.

“My husband was a fisherman. He died years ago in a fierce storm. God bless his soul.”

“My condolences,” both girls murmured in unison. At least her husband hadn’t died at the hands of one of their countrymen.

“Well, at one time we had four trawlers and a thriving fishing business, but now… it’s not easy for a woman to keep those fishermen at bay.” Karen gave a crooked smirk. “But I manage well enough, supplying our herrings to the military.”

Now Lotte had a surprisingly good idea where the fancy dresses and the abundance of food came from.

“Don’t judge me, girls.” Karen pursed her lips, apparently aware of the hidden thoughts. “It’s not that I particularly liked the German occupiers, but we all have to make do. Selling my merchandise to those who can pay proved beneficial – for me and those fishermen employed by me. With so many livelihoods at stake, what can a woman do? The resistance is a luxury pursued by the rich or the young, not by normal people like you and me.”

Lotte nodded her agreement. In this war everyone had supported, appeased, or collaborated to some extent, and who was she to judge? Her own contribution to the downfall of Hitler had been minimal at best. And the time spent supporting the regime with her work – even though it served as a disguise for her spying activities – had probably been at least equal to Karen’s actions.

Karen continued to talk, “Now the Germans are gone and the British are here. They, too, need to feed their army. So I continue to sell to the new powers that be. One day, when Denmark is free again, I will find me another man and sell only to Danes.” She giggled at her own words. “More coffee?”

“No thank you, Karen,” Gerlinde said.

“Now, I’ll show you girls where to sleep, because we need to be down at the harbor before dawn when the ships come in.” Karen clapped her hands and showed them into a spare room. The room was furnished with a broad bed. A colorful counterpane covered two thirds of the bed’s length, revealing immaculate white sheets and the softest-looking cushions with equally white covers.

Lotte sunk into the soft mattress, Gerlinde by her side. Already drifting away into sweet dreams, she wished it was Johann sharing the bed with her, instead of her friend. What wouldn’t she give to hold him in her arms again, showering kisses on his familiar face with the warm and alert eyes.

I wonder if he’ll still have me after... after...

She couldn’t even think the words. She decided never to tell him, and in her dream the awful thing never happened. She stood at the platform when his train arrived and he climbed down, looking as dashing as ever, grinning down at her, before he swooped her up into his arms, kissing the breath from her lungs.