Where Southern Cross the Dog (13 page)

“What can't wait 'til morning?” she had asked, her voice raspy with sleep. He had never answered. She stayed up and waited for him, an hour or more, before she fell back asleep. When she awoke the next morning, he was still gone. The pastor had arrived soon after and given her the bad news.

Now, she would have her first chance to ask what had happened that night. And to tell him that she loved him and the children missed him.

But the pastor thought otherwise. “Don't ask him about the confession or what he did,” the pastor said. “He needs to talk about other things. Like the family and what's going on at home.”

“I'll try,” Elma said.

The pastor stopped in front of the county jail. “I'll be back in an hour or so. Be strong. He needs you.”

“I know.” The compassion her neighbors had shown her and her children had built a reservoir of strength that she would try and share with Luke.

Elma adjusted her hat, pushed down the wrinkles on her blue dress, and went inside. She signed in and was led into a small room partitioned into four sections that provided some privacy. There was a table with two chairs in each section. She sat down in the section farthest away from the door and waited.

A few minutes later, Luke—wearing handcuffs and leg irons—was led into the room, shuffling and rattling. The guard helped him into his chair across from Elma, removed the handcuffs, and walked to the door.

“I'll be right outside,” he said. “If there's a problem, just holler.” He closed the door behind him.

Luke and Elma stared at each other for a moment. He looked a little pale, but rested. Relaxed. He also needed a shave and his clothes were terribly wrinkled.

“Hello, Elma, I've missed you,” Luke said. “More than I thought I would.”

“Oh, Luke,” Elma said.

“You look nice. I haven't seen you with a hat on in a while. Is that a new dress?”

“I didn't buy it. Someone loaned it to me.”

“Blue always did look good on you.”

She smiled.

“How are things back home?” He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “How are the kids?”

“Everybody's doing fine. The kids send their love, and they want you to come home soon.” Thinking about her kids without a father made her sad. She forced herself to remember her minister's suggestion to be strong for Luke.

“Do they know where I am?”

“Not yet. I told them you came to town to work on a job.”

“What did they say about the crops?”

“Nothing really. I told them we'd get it done. With some help.”

“Are folks helping you?”

“More than you can imagine.” Elma barely knew where to start. “The reverend collected some church money for things that aren't donated. And we got some new beds, so no one's on the floor anymore. Then the neighbors have been giving us so much food we've had to start giving some of it back, or it'll spoil. I'm keeping all the canned foods, though.”

She could see Luke's excitement over her new life in his face. She knew he longed to share in it. But she also knew that for it to exist at all required his absence.

“Sounds like things are going just fine. I'm glad.”

“They are for now.” She paused. “What happened?”

She didn't know whether he had an answer or not. “I don't know, Elma. I guess I just got tired of things the way they were. Tired of seeing the kids and you with nothing. Tired of spending every single day out in that dry, dirty cotton patch. Tired of letting you down. All that makes a lot of hate in a man.”

“But it ain't your fault. It's nobody's fault.”

Luke lit a cigarette. “Everybody gets through in different ways. I just got through my own way.”

“Did you do it, Luke?” Her eyes started to fill with tears. “Did you do all that killing?”

Luke put his forehead in his hands. “I did what I had to.”

Elma wiped her tears with a handkerchief. Be strong, she thought. She cleared her throat. “Well, they're saying there's a chance you might go free anyway.”

“I don't know. I just don't know.” He looked back up at her. “But I got a lawyer, and he's gonna do what he can.”

“I want to come to the trial.”

“Are you sure you want to sit through all that?”

“I'm sure.”

“What will you tell the kids?”

“That I've got to do something in town. Or that I've got to run an errand. I'll get someone to keep an eye on them.”

Luke sat back in his chair. “I'm sorry, Elma. I didn't mean to hurt you and the kids.”

“I know,” she said, putting the handkerchief back in her purse. “Luke, I've got to go. Reverend Coulter is waiting for me. When can I visit again?”

She watched him think it over.

“Next week? Unless it's too hard on you. The traveling.”

It was the answer she wanted. “I'll be here next week.”

“Good.”

She felt her lip start to quiver again. She couldn't stop thinking about what her husband had been accused of. The father of her children. How could it be?

He reached out and grabbed her hand. “I'm sorry.”

Looking at the floor so Luke couldn't see her eyes, she nodded her head gently. “I've got to go. Love you.” Elma walked over to the door and knocked lightly. The guard opened it and Elma glanced back at Luke. He seemed so alone.

On the ride home, Elma was quiet. She looked at her bone-thin arms and hands. She felt worn and battered, and she wasn't even thirty years old. Too many stillborn babies, too many hungry mouths to feed in a house that had nothing. At least she was better off than
her own mother, who died at thirty-two during the delivery of her ninth child. Yet now she was the wife of an accused murderer. She still couldn't believe it, even though she had seen her husband in jail—
in chains
.

“Where are we going?” she said, suddenly realizing they were driving down an unfamiliar road.

“A shortcut,” the reverend replied.

Coulter continued on for a few minutes longer, turning left then right down out-of-the-way roads, before finally stopping at the dead end of a narrow path. The reverend turned the engine off and shifted around to face Elma.

“Elma, I want to speak with you about Luke,” he said.

She was silent.

“We don't know what's going to happen,” the reverend continued, “but from the looks of things it may not be good.”

“But some folks are saying he may go free,” Elma said. “There's still a chance things may work out.”

“Maybe, but don't be too hopeful.” He moved his arm so it lay across the seat behind her. “You've got to start thinking of life without Luke.”

“Not just yet, I hope.”

“You're still a young woman. You can have a full life without him.” His hand brushed her cheek.

“But, Reverend, I'm—”

In one quick, startling motion, he shifted next to her.

She fumbled for the handle, but he grabbed her hand tightly and pulled it toward him. “Reverend, my kids are waiting for me.”

“You're alone now, Elma. You need help. Let me help you.”

He shoved her awkwardly onto her right arm, roughly pulling her legs onto the seat, and pinning her while he fumbled underneath her skirt.

She thought mentioning Luke might stop him. “What about Luke?”

But Coulter didn't stop. “Let me help you,” he kept repeating, but Elma wasn't listening.

She lay there, his weight crushing her into the seat and taking the very breath from her body. She thought of Luke, hating him for leaving her alone. She closed her eyes and tried not to feel.

After a while the pastor moved aside and then started the engine again. When the car stopped in front of Elma's house, Coulter removed an envelope from his coat pocket.

“Here's something for next week,” he said.

She looked at the envelope and back up at him. One of the kids came out on the porch and waved. He was wearing a new shirt.

Elma's hand trembled. She took the envelope.

“Take care, now, Elma,” the reverend said.

She gathered her things and stepped out of the car.

“I'll check in with you in a few days. Or let me know when you need a ride back into town. Anything you need, let me or Helen know, all right?”

The kid on the porch came running toward the car. “Mom, mom. Look what I got! Look what I got!”

I'll give you your last chance.

—Gus Cannon

GENERAL HERMAN SCHNOR WAS SEATED IN GENERAL Erwin Mauer's office in the Leopold Palace, which housed the Third Reich's propaganda machine. Each general had his own copy of the contents of Conrad Higson's most recent package. Included were the drawings he had sent, accompanied by synopses of the meetings he had attended, including details about who had been present and what topics had been discussed. New information immediately applicable to the war effort was underlined in red.

“Higson did an exceptional job this time, don't you think?” Mauer said.

“Yes, General, he did,” Schnor answered his boss. “He always does excellent work.” Reaching into his pocket, Schnor extracted a
single sheet of paper. “I've also brought the letter that arrived at the same time his package did.”

Mauer put on his glasses and slowly read the typewritten letter. Halfway through, he started shaking his head. When he was finished, he placed the letter on his desk and sighed. “Does Higson really want to return? He's been doing such a good job there.”

“He's a very stubborn man, General. Moreover, I believe he may be turning into a security risk.”

“Why?”

“He's been there so long. Two years, altogether, between his time in New York and now in Mississippi. The longer he stays, the greater the likelihood he makes a mistake. We've seen it before. If he's allowed to remain in the United States, I think he will eventually be caught. At that point, the American authorities will probably unravel our network. Diplomats will be compromised, in addition to our carrier routes. We might not get any more useful documents or information out of the country for quite a while. And we need those to keep moving forward.”

“Yes, you're right. We've been lucky up to now. What do you have in mind, Schnor? He's your responsibility.”

“Well, I think we must bring Higson home. Better to lose him than the entire network. What about his reinstatement?”

“It's not yet decided.” Mauer picked up a file from his desk. “Where is he from again?”

“Born in 1885 in England, but he came to Essen when he was ten.”

“And his background? Rich? Poor? What did his father do?”

“His father, German by birth, was an alcoholic coal miner. Worked on and off. Six children in all. Higson was the second youngest. From what I understand, he, along with his mother, was the target of his father's animosity, and the son became quite protective of her.”

“It's a pity children must grow up like that. At what point did he enter the university?”

“I believe the mining company put him to work first. It was evident early on that Higson had extraordinary potential. A great intellect. The company eventually sent him to Hamburg University. He worked on some military projects, graduated, and then taught in Berlin.”

“And why was he expelled?”

“He was classified as a political undesirable.”

Mauer tossed the file on the desk and crossed his hands on his lap. “How so? Wasn't he a member of the Nazi Party?”

“Well, yes. But during a review by the Military Projects and Funding Committee, Higson got into an argument with General Kopf and belittled him publicly. When the expulsion list was being compiled, Kopf made sure that Higson's name was on it. He wanted him executed but settled for expulsion. Higson and some others were taken close to the French border and they walked the last ten miles into France.”

“Sherry?” Mauer said, picking up a crystal decanter sitting on a credenza behind his desk.

“No, thank you, sir.”

“How did Higson get to the United States?”

“Are you familiar with the Emergency Committee in Aid of Displaced German Scholars?”

Mauer poured himself a small glass, toasted Schnor, and took a sip. “Not that particular one, but I've heard of similar organizations.”

“They contacted Higson once he was in France, and he entered the program. He already spoke perfect English, so it was easy to place him. He immigrated to New York, and then contacted the German embassy in Washington about passing classified documents. And he's been very clever while in the United States even though he's not located near any of the distinguished universities. He's using an agricultural machine, a harvester, to test materials and designs.”

“But he's a security risk if he stays, especially if he should decide to turn. And he has no family, no sponsors here, except you. Is he worth all this trouble?”

“I think so.”

“What do you suggest?”

“That we should arrange for his extraction from the United States and his transportation back to Germany.”

“Is he still needed here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is he still valuable to the scientific community?” Mauer swallowed the last of his drink and placed the glass back on his desk. “Can he still contribute? Or has he done all he can?”

“We just agreed that he's done an excellent job in the United States.”

“Yes, but gathering information in the United States and working on military projects here are two different activities. And don't forget, he's a political undesirable. Banished once already. I can tell you now that no one on the committee will want him working around matters of military importance. He's spied once already, he may do it again—possibly for the other side. It's in his nature now.”