Dorothy Garlock (6 page)

“But what happens when they return?” Sophie asked.

“We don’t know that they will come back.”

“They will,” Karl worried.

“We cannot be certain,” Hermann said as he walked over and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “For all that we know, they
were simply talking about the war, had too much to drink, and acted without thinking. It is possible that they don’t even
remember what they did that night.”

Sophie could not bring herself to believe what her father was saying. The three men hadn’t been drinking. On the contrary,
they had soberly concocted a plan and had executed it perfectly. First, they had lit the barn on fire in order to draw the
family outside. Second, they had reacted calmly when Hermann had attacked them; a drunken man, a man not in complete control
of himself, would simply have shot the charging man dead. The eyes of the leader she had glimpsed through the holes in his
hood in the flickering lights of the burning barn were not those of a drunkard.

“But what if you’re wrong? What if they do return?” Maria asked irritably.

“Then we will fight.”

“How?”

Sophie already knew the answer to that question; she had seen her father cleaning a pair of shotguns in the small shed at
the side of the house. When they’d first arrived in the United States, Hermann had hunted the woods and fields of their property
for small game. He had done less of it in the last several years, but he was no stranger to using the guns. So intent had
he been on the weapons, he hadn’t noticed her watching him. The thought of her father using the shotguns on the three hooded
men nearly made her sick.

“Leave that to me,” he answered calmly. “I don’t want any of you hurt.”

“Like you were,” his wife shot back. Anger at her husband’s obstinacy had risen in her breast and flushed her cheeks. She
was ready for a fight, as full of stormy intentions as dark clouds gathering on the distant horizon.

“Now, Maria—”

“Do you know what it was like to watch those men standing over your bleeding and broken body? Over Sophie’s?” she asked, the
fury of her emotion overwhelming her. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to hear their laughter as they walked away? Karl
and I were too frightened to move, too scared to run to you and make sure that you were still alive, so afraid were we that
they would return!”

Without a word in answer, Hermann moved to his wife, pulling her into the safety of his thick arms just as the first tears
began to run down her cheeks. He held her as if she were a child, soothing her hair and planting a gentle kiss on the crown
of her head.

“We can’t act… as if nothing has… happened,” she sobbed.

“That’s not what I want either,” Hermann explained, his voice empty of all of his earlier emotion. “Something did happen,
but we can’t let it change the way we live our lives. We must all go on. Karl starts back to school in a couple of weeks,
while Sophie has her job at the newspaper. On top of that, we have plenty of work to do here on the farm. The harvest will
be coming soon and the barn will need to be rebuilt before then.”

“We’re going to rebuild the barn?” Karl asked.

“Of course. No one’s going to chase us from what we have worked so hard to create. The most important thing to remember is
that this is our home. It will not be taken from us.”

“But what if the men do come back?” Sophie asked. “What then?”

“We are Americans now,” Hermann said simply. “We will fight.”

Sophie sat on the windowsill and sighed. Outside, her father and Karl were picking through the rubble of the destroyed barn
while her mother hung laundry. Were it not for the wrecked building, it would have been a day much like many that had come
before, but Sophie couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Despite her father’s convictions, the future seemed to be filled with uncertainty
and danger.

“Do you worry, child?” Gitta’s voice asked from behind her. She turned to see her grandmother shuffle into the room and slowly
lower herself into her favorite chair. Once she was settled, she looked at her granddaughter with a small smile full of love
and concern. Sophie gave a weak grin in return.

“A little,” she admitted.

“Tell your old
Oma
all about it.”

“I keep thinking about all that’s happened,” Sophie began, searching for the words to explain her feelings. “How could… someone
do such a thing? How could men that don’t even know us do us such harm? We’re not the enemy! It just doesn’t seem real.”

“Bad men are everywhere. The world is full of them.”

“But isn’t that more reason to be worried?” she wondered. “What happens if Father is wrong? Those men weren’t just drunks
that stumbled here to do mischief. They mean to hurt us if we don’t do what they want. What do I do if they come back here
or if they show up at the newspaper?”

Gitta held her granddaughter’s worried gaze for a moment before lacing her thin fingers together in her lap. “Then you will
do what you have always done. You will act.”

“Like I did the other night?” Sophie laughed involuntarily. “I was too scared to move! It wasn’t until Father had been hit
with the rifle butt that I was able to take even a step.” Suddenly, the words that the gunman had spoken to her came flooding
back.

“The only good Kraut is a dead one…”

“He could have killed me,” she muttered.

“Even in the face of such fear, even with the chance that you could have been hurt, you still chose to act,” Gitta explained.
“I saw it all from my window. You have much more strength than you know.”

“I do?”

“Of course, my dear,” the older woman said, a smile breaking across her wrinkled face. “You are a special young woman who
cares deeply for those around you and knows what is right and what is wrong. When those men appeared, you were frightened,
we all were, but you didn’t let that fear paralyze you. When it was time to act, you did so to help those you care for. If
the time comes where you have to do so again, I know that you will.”

Sophie could only answer with a nod.

A horse’s whinny drew her attention back to the window. Karl was leading the family’s draft horse, a large brown and black
beast, away from the ruins of the barn. Hermann had tied a rope to its harness and its muscles rippled in the hot sun as it
pulled a burnt piece of timber free from the rest of the rubble.

After all that had happened to the Hellers, the sight of her family beginning to take steps to rebuild what they had lost
filled Sophie with hope. While she was not as optimistic as either her father or grandmother, she knew that some of what they
said was indeed true; there were things that were worth fighting for. The life they had built in America was certainly one
of them. When she had run to her father’s side, regardless of the danger that it posed to her, she’d been running to fight
for that life, to defend her family’s right to live it.

If she had to, she would act.

The burnt yellow and orange sun had begun its slow descent toward the horizon in the west when Sophie bounded down the steps
that led off the back of the Hellers’ house and headed through the thick brush and wildflowers that abutted the eastern side
of their property. All around her, heath aster and bush clover filled the air with the sweet scent of their flowers. Bees
buzzed about, flitting from one flower to the next in their never-ending pursuit of pollen. High above, a pair of eagles soared
in wide circles, their keen eyes scanning the ground for any errant field mouse not wise enough to stay burrowed in the cool,
tall grass.

“Just a little more!”

“I’m trying!”

Behind her, she could hear the shouts and groans of her father and brother as they continued their work on the destroyed barn.
The sound of their voices sent a slight shiver of shame racing across her heart; she’d left the house without a word to anyone
as to where she was going. She knew that it wasn’t the smart thing to be doing, especially alone, but she needed to get away
for a while.

She needed to get to her special place!

Ever since her family had arrived in America, Sophie had been captivated by the wilderness around the farm. Nature had called
to her and she had obliged by traipsing along the creek beds, climbing in the trees, watching the animals as they lived and
died, and enjoying all that was there to offer. But one spot in particular had spoken to her, and she had often gone there
when she needed to be alone. Now was certainly one of those times.

The tall grass fell away and she entered the tree line, leaving the heat of the summer sun for the cool interior of the woods.
Scant brambly brush filled the space underneath the tall oak trees and she made her way easily. A thin creek, its water gurgling
as it rushed over the worn stones of its bed, was easily jumped. Sophie had walked this way so many times that she was certain
she could have found her way with her eyes closed.

Soon, a familiar knot of rock came into view. Three large crags of stone were bunched together, one rising atop the other,
all bursting from a sharp drop in a low hill. Long ridges ran the length of each rock, exposing deep grays, bejeweled reds,
and flecks of green. These ridges offered willing hand- and footholds, ready to be climbed and explored. The stones had always
seemed out of place to Sophie; it was as if some ancient giant had forgotten his playthings behind him thousands of years
ago. It was this oddness that had charmed her the first time she had laid eyes upon them.

Without a moment’s pause, Sophie began to climb. She found familiar sharp points and worn indentations, pushing and pulling
herself upward, straining her arms and legs. Swiftly, she rose toward the summit. Climbing one rock and then another, she
finally reached the top.

“So beautiful,” she muttered.

From where she stood, the forest opened up before her in every direction. Oak and maple trees spread their branches toward
her, their green leaves bright in the sunlight that filtered through their canopy. The creek snaked away into the distance
before being lost to sight, the sound of its water mixing with the chirping of birds and the scurrying of squirrels and rabbits.

Lying on her back, Sophie spread her arms wide and turned her palms to the sky. Thankfully, the top of the rock was as dry
as a bone; water pooled in the stone’s many small recesses in the spring thaw and fall rains but dried up in the strong heat
of summer. As she stared at the small clouds that drifted across the blue sky above, she knew that the peaceful life she had
heretofore led had been forever violated. With the attack upon her family and the threats that came with it, she would never
be able to go back, to recapture the innocence of her earlier life.

What mattered now was the future, whatever it might be!

She wanted to believe her grandmother and reward the older woman’s faith that, when confronted with the need to act, she would.
Sophie had been raised always to do the right thing. In the calm of her special place, she knew exactly what that meant.

Whatever comes, I will be ready!

U
NDER THE BLAZING
July sun, Cole slowly made his way toward Marge’s Diner. Crossing the street in front of the bank, he cursed his bad leg;
on days like this, having to hobble along, carefully turning his hip, was a real pain in the ass! Hunger had driven him into
the summer heat. It was late afternoon and he was famished; over the hustle and bustle of the town he swore he heard his stomach
rumble. There were only a couple of cars and a lone pickup parked in front of the small restaurant, but that was more a sign
of the lateness of the lunch hour than a comment about the quality of the food. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Cole pulled
open the door and stepped inside.

Marge’s was small and cozy. There was hardly room enough for two people to walk side by side between the row of booths that
lined the wall next to the windows on one side and the long countertop and stools on the other. Only a few seats were taken,
the occasional burst of laughter was heard over the other sounds of the restaurant; the scrape of a fork, the clatter of a
cup in a saucer, and the soft whir of the ceiling fan. The smell of hamburger grease and coffee clung to the air and sent
Cole’s taste buds salivating. The diner held some of his fondest memories in Victory.

“Well, land sakes!” a woman’s voice suddenly shouted, overpowering all of the noise in the diner. “Is my eyes deceivin’ me
in my old age or did Cole Ambrose just walk through my door?”

Marge Stewart hurried out from behind the counter wearing a flowered apron over a white blouse, the worn stub of a pencil
stuck behind one ear. Short and squat enough to appear nearly as wide as she was tall, Marge had coal black hair that was
piled on top of her head in dark clouds. A pattern of wrinkles creased her face as she smiled. Marge had been a fixture in
Victory for years. She ran the diner with her husband, Dick; Cole could see the back of his balding head as he manned the
grill. The Stewarts knew everyone in town by both name and appetite.

“It’s good to be back, Marge.”

“I sure wasn’t expectin’ to see you! When did you get home?”

“Just yesterday.”

“I’m glad to see that all those years of fillin’ your head full of numbers and the like didn’t push out your common sense,”
she crowed, cheerfully patting his cheek with her pudgy hand. “First day back in Victory and you make a beeline straight for
my cookin’!”

“After all those years eating in the cafeteria, I’d almost forgotten what it was like to get an honest-to-goodness meal,”
Cole chuckled. “My mouth started watering on the way here.”

“Now you’re just butterin’ me up,” Marge scolded him, but her eyes quickly brightened. “But then again, I love that sort of
thing! Sit yourself down right here at the counter where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cole did as he was told.

“One cheeseburger and a glass of milk, coming up!”

As Marge busied herself fixing his order, Cole sighed. He could have just as easily eaten at home, but ever since the fateful
day of his mother’s accident, being there by himself had always made him uncomfortable. To make matters worse, he had only
been home for less than a day but his father had done nothing to make him feel welcome.
I’ve been gone for so many years! You’d think there would be some part of my father that would have been happy to see me!
Cole was relieved that Robert had already left for the hardware store by the time he woke; no words at all were certainly
better than the harsh ones he had received upon his arrival. He’d dressed quickly and hurried out the door. Though he’d been
hungry, he wanted to get out, to get some fresh air, and reacquaint himself with Victory.