Chapter 3
Winnie Kraus yanked her father’s arm. “No gun, Papa!”
“I won’t let them destroy us,” Otto said, eyes blazing. “I have to fight back.”
Winnie had to stop him before he got himself killed. “No,” she said firmly, blocking his path. “We’ll surrender.”
“Please, Otto,” urged Ivan, an older Polish worker. “Listen to Winnie.”
Otto stopped, his face flushed. “I need to protect you,” he said. “The enemy is evil.”
Winnie took a different tack. “It’s not the time to fight,” she said, speaking softly and trying to calm him.
Otto hesitated, his rapid breathing starting to slow. He glanced at the others and then nodded. “I’ll do as you ask,” he said reluctantly.
They all sighed with relief. Winnie stepped onto the crate and looked out the broken window, shards of glass hanging from the frame. “The soldiers are almost here.”
Herr Hempel, the owner of the neighboring farm, walked in front of the Americans. He seemed relieved when he saw her. “Who is with you, Winnie?”
“My father and our Polish helpers,” she said, glaring at the soldiers.
“Are any German soldiers with you?” Herr Hempel asked.
“No,” Winnie said. “It’s just us, all in the basement.”
“Please tell the truth,” Herr Hempel said, beads of sweat on his brow.
“I do speak the truth,” Winnie said, eyeing the Americans. “No one else is here.”
One soldier leaned toward Herr Hempel, speaking softly. The second walked around to the back of the house, his weapon drawn.
“What is the soldier saying?” Winnie asked, not trusting anyone.
“He wants you to come out,” Herr Hempel said.
“The front door is blocked,” Winnie said, not cooperating. Why would soldiers bother them—simple farmers? “They bombed our house.”
Herr Hempel frowned. “Go out back to the stable,” he said. “But please be careful. The second soldier will be waiting. If you don’t do as he says, he’ll shoot you.”
“We’re that much of a threat?” she asked. “Young girls, old men, an old woman?”
Herr Hempel rolled his eyes. “Winnie, please don’t be difficult.”
She paused, showing no fear. “Give us a minute,” she said. She stepped off the crate and faced the others. “We had best do what they want.”
“They’re not going to shoot us, are they?” asked Danek, one of the older Polish men.
“Not if we do what we’re told,” Winnie said.
Hanna, the old Polish woman, grabbed Winnie’s arm. “We didn’t survive the last six years just so the Americans can kill us.”
“They won’t,” Winnie said, although she didn’t know for sure. How could she convince them when the enemy had bombed their home? “Just do as I say.”
“You should have let me get my gun,” Otto muttered.
“Papa, stop,” Winnie said. “Don’t make it harder than it is.”
They went up the stairs, the Poles behind them. When they reached the top, Otto pushed the door but met resistance. “Debris,” he said. “I can’t get it open.”
“Nudge it back and forth,” Winnie said. She helped him wiggle the door, dust drifting in, until they opened it wide enough to exit.
“Look at my house!” Otto groaned.
Winnie gasped, her hand to her mouth. Debris filled the foyer and spilled into the hall. The roof above the front door had collapsed, the wall supporting it damaged. Plaster lay on the floor, broken beams in a heap by the door. The parlor windows were shattered, glass strewn across the carpet. Bullet holes fanned the walls, deadly patterns on faded paint. A family photograph had fallen from the wall and lay askew on the floor, still intact. Dust clung to the room, the smell of smoldering debris hanging heavy.
Mira, the young Polish worker, eyed sunlight streaming through the hole in the roof. “What did they do to our home?” she asked, eyes wide.
“They destroyed it,” Otto said, fuming. “They’re monsters.”
Winnie frowned. “Not now, Papa.”
Otto scowled and led them through the house to the stable. An American soldier waited, pointing his rifle at them. “Come closer,” he said. “Hands up.”
Winnie spoke English. She had studied at the university, hoping to become a teacher. “Put your hands up,” she said to the others in German as she did the same. “Walk slowly toward him.”
By the time they reached the American, the second soldier had joined him. He frisked each of them, searching for weapons—a knife or a pistol. Winnie was last, his hands wandering.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” she snapped.
His eyes widened. “You speak English?”
“I do,” she said.
“Hey, this one speaks English,” the soldier called to his companion. He turned to Winnie. “Is anyone else in the house?”
“No,” she said, keeping a hand on her father’s arm to restrain him.
“Search the house,” said the soldier with the weapon.
The other soldier put his face close to Winnie’s. “If anyone else is in there, I’ll kill you.”
“What did he say?” Otto asked as the soldier went into the house.
“Nothing,” Winnie muttered, not wanting him to know. Otto would fight—and he would lose. She turned to the Poles. “Don’t be afraid. It’s all right.”
A few minutes later, the soldier came back carrying two cucumbers and a bunch of carrots. “It’s clear,” he called to his comrade.
“That’s our food,” Otto protested.
The American didn’t understand him—not that he would have cared. He glanced at Otto and went to the other end of the stable.
The soldier guarding them lowered his weapon. “You can go back inside.”
A cow mooed from the pasture as another came closer, poking its head in.
“Are they your cows?” the second soldier asked, still holding his stolen vegetables.
Winnie didn’t know why he asked, but she couldn’t let him take their cows. “Don’t touch them,” she snapped.
The soldier’s eyes widened. His stunned look then changed to reluctant admiration. “You’re a brave one, aren’t you?”
Winnie shrugged, glaring at him, still showing no fear.
“Why did you bomb our house?” Otto hollered in German.
“What’s the old man want?” asked the soldier.
Winnie hesitated, not sure if she should tell him. But she wanted to know as badly as her father did. “Why did you bomb our home?” she asked in English. “We’re simple farmers.”
The soldier grinned and shrugged. “Because w
