◆ 7 ◆

When Vater, Zeke, and Martha entered the kitchen for their noon meal, Rosene stood at the kitchen window with an empty pitcher in her hands, staring at the PWs and the sergeant at the picnic table. Martha stepped beside her. There was no way to tell what they were saying, but the younger PWs laughed, and the sergeant smiled along with them. Then the older PW, who looked like an officer, frowned and said something. The others froze, even the sergeant.

“What’s the guard’s name?” Rosene asked.

“Sergeant Schwarz.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

“No.” Martha turned toward Zeke. “Did he tell you anything?”

Zeke rolled his eyes. “He couldn’t stop talking.” He dropped his voice. “His parents are from Germany and came here before the Great War. They only spoke German in the home. He graduated high school with honors and went to Yale on a scholarship, where he studied German. He graduated last year and was immediately drafted. He failed his physical and ended up as a guard in a PW camp.”

Martha shook her head. “Figures.” If she were a man, she’d probably be a guard in a POW camp too. Unless she was a CO working with Jeremiah at Byberry.

That was nearly the story, minus Yale, of the guard who watched the PWs on the farm last fall. Martha stepped away from the sink. Rosene filled the pitcher and then poured the water in the glasses as everyone sat down at the table, except for Clare, who put the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy on the table.

Everyone dropped their heads as Vater prayed. Mutter slipped in the back door and to her place at the end of the table as he said, “Amen.”

“Thank you, Clare,” Mutter said as she dished up a slice of meatloaf. “It all looks and smells delicious, as always.”

Clare was an incredible cook, making do with the ration cards and less meat during the war. It took a lot to keep everyone fed. She’d had a difficult pregnancy, then a newborn, and now a rambunctious toddler. On top of all that, now a second pregnancy.

When Arden threw his spoon on the floor, Rosene retrieved it and then fed him a bowl of mashed potatoes using hers.

“How did the PWs do this morning?” Clare asked.

“Good,” Vater replied.

“Any problems?”

“No.” Vater took a bite of meatloaf.

Martha leaned toward her father, around Zeke. “What about the officer?”

Vater played dumb. “Which one is the officer?”

Martha shook her head. “You know. The big one.”

Zeke said, “Dirk. Dirk Neumann is his name.”

Vater shrugged. “He was fine.”

“Sergeant Schwarz doesn’t seem fine,” Martha said. “He seems like a pushover.”

Rosene asked, “What does that mean?”

“Weak. An easy mark,” Martha answered, still looking at Vater. “Dirk is going to be running the show in no time.”

Vater sighed and said, “I don’t think so.”

The conversation shifted to Mutter’s store, which had been extra busy that morning. When the meal was over, Vater stood. “I’m going to go rest. Zeke, you go ahead and take over the plowing.”

Mutter stood. “Are you feeling all right, Ervin?”

“I’m fine,” he answered. “Just tired.” The doctor had diagnosed Vater with hypertension three months ago. He’d gone to the doctor because he was short of breath and tended to fall asleep every evening in his chair. Treatment included resting, avoiding stress, and taking a bromide. “I don’t have anything worse than our own president,” Vater said after he was diagnosed. “And look at what Mr. Roosevelt is getting done.”

Vater walked around the table and patted Mutter on the shoulder. It was the most affection they showed in front of others.

Clare gave Arden a cracker and began stacking the plates. “Rosene,” she said, “would you hang the diapers on the line before putting Arden down for his nap?”

“Sure.” Rosene stood. “Then you should nap too.” Clare was quite ill during her pregnancy with Arden, and they were all concerned about her now, but Rosene was especially concerned. “I’ll do the dishes once Arden is down.” She took off down the basement stairs.

Martha headed to the back porch. Zeke followed her down the outside stairs as Rosene started up the basement steps with the basket of wet laundry.

Zeke called out to the PWs, “Time to get to work!”

The guard translated what Zeke said into German. Martha guessed, if the PWs knew much about the Amish or the Mennonites, they might suspect Zeke spoke German, although perhaps not the dialect the PWs spoke.

As Rosene reached the clothesline, the PWs began standing. The sergeant gathered up their pails from the picnic table that had held their lunches. Dirk washed his hands in the bucket of water on the table. Another PW, one with dark hair, headed toward the outhouse.

The other PW with the dark hair yelled in German, “Pavlo, hold your nose!”

Pavlo turned toward him, his nose pinched with his right hand.

“Andreas,” Dirk barked. “Clean up the table.”

Now Martha knew the names of three of them—Dirk, Pavlo, and Andreas. Clearly Dirk was in charge. Pavlo and Andreas appeared to be twenty-two or so. The youngest, the light-haired blond boy, looked to be perhaps twenty.

He stood and said to Andreas, “I’ll help you, Witer.” That must have been his surname.

Zeke waited at the edge of the yard. Martha started toward the barn, but then stopped and turned, not wanting to leave Rosene unattended.

Rosene placed the basket on the ground, picked up a handful of diapers, and began pinning them to the line.

“There’s a baby in the house.” Martha couldn’t see him, but Dirk was the one who spoke.

Rosene had her back to them and kept pinning.

“Maybe Martha has a baby,” Dirk said. “Or maybe the little one hanging the diapers is the mother.”

The youngest PW laughed nervously. Martha took a step toward the birch tree. The sun had come out, and the tree cast a bit of a shadow.

Dirk passed by and then stopped once he reached Zeke. Rosene continued pinning the diapers, one by one, and ignored the PWs.

Dirk asked Zeke in German, “Are you the boss now?”

Zeke stared at him blankly.

Dirk smirked. “I know you understand what I’m saying.”

Zeke shrugged as he continued to stare at him.

Mutter came down the back steps and turned to the right, toward the store.

“I can’t figure this family out,” Dirk said as Andreas and Pavlo joined him. “Who’s who? Are they Amish or Mennonite? Or German?”

He stared at Rosene as she pinned the last diaper, grabbed the basket, and headed back toward the basement.

Dirk asked Zeke, “How about the girl? Is she your wife?”

The other men laughed.

Zeke was younger than Rosene, but no one would have guessed she was nineteen. She was barely five feet tall and thin. Most guessed she was fifteen or so, while Zeke was over six feet and broad shouldered like Jeremiah. But he did have a baby face.

Vater said this group of PWs seemed fine, but Martha disagreed. Dirk was trouble. She was sure of it.

Martha was tending to a cow’s hoof when Rosene hurried into the barn, out of breath.

Martha looked up in alarm as Rosene took a ragged breath and said, “Mutter came to the house—she had a message from the Zimmermans. Their Mamm’s cough is worse, and she needs to go to the doctor. Zeke needs to take her. I didn’t want to go straight to the field to tell him and have Zeke leave the PWs there with nothing to do because no one was there to drive the tractor.”

Martha let go of the cow’s leg and said, “Come with me to the field.” Elizabeth Zimmerman must not be doing well. She wouldn’t agree to go to the doctor unless she was truly ill.

“I have a kitchen full of dirty dishes.”

“They’ll have to wait.” Martha wiped her gloved hands on her overalls. “We’ll have to do the plowing together. I’m not afraid of any physical harm from the PWs, but I think they’ll be more likely to harass one of us than two of us together.”

Martha thought of the verse Clare often quoted from Ecclesiastes. Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. They had to work together.

She finished up with the cow, and then they both headed toward the field. When they arrived, Zeke was at the far end, turning the corner on the tractor. The four PWs were spread out in the field behind the tractor, picking up rocks and putting them in burlap bags. Sergeant Schwarz plodded along behind the PWs, his rifle slung over his shoulder.

The youngest one tossed a dirt clod at Andreas, who turned quickly. Still, it hit him in the side of the head. He picked up something—a rock?—to retaliate. “Otis!” Andreas yelled.

Sergeant Schwarz yelled in German for the men to stop. Dirk crossed his arms as a smirk settled on his face.

Andreas tossed the rock into the air, caught it, and then wound up as if he were going to hurl it at Otis, who was only ten feet away from him. Martha shouted, “Knock it off!”

All the men turned toward her.

Zeke had the tractor turned around. He waved, and Martha motioned for him to stop. She marched toward him as she called out to Sergeant Schwarz, “Zeke is going to take a break. We’ll be driving the tractor. Keep the men in line.”

Zeke stopped the tractor and turned it off. Martha veered toward him, across the already-plowed rows. Rosene followed. When they reached him, Martha explained he was needed at home.

“Is it Mamm?”

“Her cough is worse,” Rosene said. “She needs to go to the doctor.”

Zeke jumped down. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“We won’t plan on seeing you this afternoon,” Martha said. “If you can’t work in the morning, let me know.”

He nodded and gave Rosene a little wave. She gave him a sympathetic smile, which didn’t go unnoticed by Martha.

The PWs had reached them, and Martha said quietly to Rosene, “Climb up on the other side.”

She did, holding her skirt close as she landed next to the tractor seat.

Dirk stood back, but the younger PWs stepped closer to the front of the tractor. One of them—Pavlo—went around the side, then to the back, then ran up the wheel of the tire and slapped the exhaust pipe that stuck up along the side of the seat.

“Hey!” Martha barked. “What are you doing?”

He came around the other side and grinned, without saying anything. Dirk said, in English, to Martha, “You are much better to look at than Zeke, even in that ridiculous outfit.” Then he repeated what he’d said in German.

They all laughed loudly. Except Dirk—he kept a straight face. Sergeant Schwarz smiled but stopped when Martha scowled at him.

“Get away and stay away from the tractor. All of you.” She stepped toward Sergeant Schwarz and told him quietly to control the PWs. Rosene sat down on the tractor seat. When Martha started back to the tractor, Sergeant Schwarz ordered the PWs over to the row Zeke had just plowed.

Martha jumped up on the tractor, and Rosene moved off the seat to where she could hold the back of it and stand.

“Don’t look at them.” Martha gripped the steering wheel. “We have the rest of the afternoon to set the tone for the next eight months. We can’t let them think we’re okay with the way they’re acting.”

Thankfully, the tractor started on the first try as Martha pressed the foot button. She shifted it into gear without as much as a lurch and eased it forward. As they began rolling along, Martha let out an audible sigh of relief. They passed the PWs going the opposite direction, headed toward the far end of the field. Maybe this wouldn’t be such an ordeal after all.

But then the tractor began to sputter. It rolled a few more feet before it stalled. And then stopped. Martha put it in neutral and set the brake. Then she jumped down and opened the hood. Rosene sat down in the seat.

When Jeremiah took over the farm, besides getting rid of the electricity, he’d also sell the tractor. The Amish didn’t allow them in Lancaster County. Jeremiah said he wouldn’t mind not having it. He’d never lost work time, at least not much, because a horse wasn’t working right.

Martha slammed the hood shut.

Dirk had left the group picking up rocks and spoke in English. “I know engines. I can help.”

“No.” Martha’s voice was low and firm. She marched around to the side of the tractor and climbed back up in the seat, but then she stood.

“What are you doing?” Rosene asked.

“Checking the exhaust pipe.” She reached up and felt the top of the pipe and then said, “Maybe you can get it. It’s wedged in there pretty tight, and my hand is too big.”

“What is it?”

“A potato.”

“A potato?”

She nodded. “It’s a prank. They clogged the exhaust pipe—that’s why the engine stopped. You’ll have to stand on the seat. I’ll give you my gloves and knife—if you can pull the potato up a little and then stab it, maybe you can lift it out. Then slip it in your pocket. Don’t react. I’ll stand between you and the men.” She turned and called out, “Back to work! All of you!”

They stood about twenty feet away, staring. Sergeant Schwarz translated what Martha had said.

Martha put one foot on the tire and another on the platform, blocking their view of the exhaust pipe. Then she took off her gloves and pulled her knife from her pocket, handing them both to Rosene.

Rosene put on the gloves and held the knife in her right hand as she climbed onto the seat. She stood on her tiptoes and reached into the pipe. “What if I knock it down into the engine?”

“It’s too big.” Martha spoke quietly as she stared at Rosene’s hand. “But be careful.”

She was able to get enough of a wiggle on it to move it upward, and she stabbed the potato and worked it in deeper as she held the potato with her other hand. Then she lifted it out and slipped it into her pocket.

“Thank you,” Martha said. “Let’s wait a few minutes and then I’ll start the engine again. The main thing is to not react—and hope they haven’t sabotaged anything else.”

“How did Pavlo do that,” Rosene asked, “when we were all here?”

“Maybe he did it earlier when Zeke stopped the tractor. Perhaps we didn’t notice. Or maybe when he ran up on the tire.”

After a couple of minutes, Martha pushed the start button with her foot again. It took several tries, but it finally started. The tractor lurched forward. “I hope Jeremiah has some ideas for me when he comes home tomorrow,” Martha said. “I don’t know how we’re going to do this without him.”

“I don’t know either,” Rosene said. “But if anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”