“Yes, sir.” That meant he would not have any chance at a command, at least not for the time being. However, he would still be the president’s emissary and be involved as the army prepared for the attack against the invaders. Also, he might have a chance to stop off at a certain camp and see how Trina was doing.
While the others gathered their belongings to depart, it suddenly dawned on Patrick that Admiral Dewey hadn’t said a word. Why? Was something occurring that the admiral hadn’t wished to comment on or be drawn into discussing?
As Patrick retrieved his hat and walked toward the door, a Negro porter called to him. “General Mahan?”
“Yes.”
“Sir, a woman called on the White House phone and insisted you were living here and had to be reached. Fortunately, I overheard our part of the conversation and I remembered your name on the admission list for tonight.”
“Who was she?”
“Sir, she sounded Irish and very upset. She said that someone you knew, a Katrina Schuyler, had been burned in an accident and you should come as fast as you can.”
A
FTER
H
EINZ
S
CHMIDT
was unexpectedly commissioned as an officer, his world became a whirl: getting uniforms, finding out what a lieutenant was to do, whom to salute, whom not to salute, and just what the hell General Mahan wanted of him.
This was followed by a wild ride down to Washington on a commandeered private train where he, a young man who’d never been farther than twenty miles from home, was present in the White House and saw the great leaders of America. These included the high-ranking generals who made even General Mahan stand up straighter than normal. Heinz even saw the president, who seemed to acknowledge him and smile but did not speak to him.
This was followed by an even wilder train and horseback trip back up to New York, because a woman friend of the general’s was in some kind of trouble, injured or something. Burned in a fire was what he’d heard.
Finally, the trip ended at a small house outside Waterbury, Connecticut, which he later found out was rented by the woman they’d ridden to see. Patrick pounded on the door, which was promptly opened by a young woman in a drab dress who looked puzzled for only a moment.
“Well, thank God. What the bloody hell took you so long?”
Heinz was shocked. Patrick pushed the woman aside and entered, with Heinz following. “Damnit, Molly, in your message you forgot to say which camp you were at and where Katrina’d been taken. Do you know how many camps there are around here?”
The answer, Heinz knew from recent and frustrating experience looking for them, was a lot.
Molly softened and managed a small smile, which, Heinz realized, made her rather attractive. She had a good figure, full but still trim, and she had a nice smile and the hint of dimples. She was also very young, perhaps even younger than he. He straightened his brand-new uniform tunic and smiled.
Molly cheerfully acknowledged her oversight. “Well, perhaps I could have been a bit more specific, but you’re here now so it doesn’t matter.”
“Right. Now where is Katrina and how is she?” Patrick demanded.
Molly answered in an accented voice that Heinz realized was Irish. “She’s in her room and she’s resting. Do you want me to tell her you’re here?”
“In a minute. First, what happened, and has her family been told?”
Molly sat and gestured the others to do likewise. “She was burned in a fire that started in a storage tent. She was in there with some others trying to figure out how many blankets or some such there were when the tent sort of exploded. There must have been some chemicals or something, and a lamp made them blow up. She was dragged out hurt. Her face and hands were all swollen and red, and her hair was burned off. She was unconscious and cut bad on her head and they had to shave off what hair remained and stitch her scalp.”
“Jesus,” said Patrick.
“Even so, she was luckier than the others. She turned out to be more scalded than burned. A couple of other people were killed in the fire.” Molly looked a little contrite. “I may have panicked, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“And her family?”
“When she was unconscious I realized I didn’t know anything about her family. When she came to I found out that her father was in Texas and we don’t know where, and her brother’s at sea in the navy. Didn’t matter. Neither was going to be here for her.”
Patrick nodded. Her father could likely be located, but certainly not her brother.
“Now, General,” she glanced at Heinz, “who is this young giant?”
Patrick quickly made the introductions. He watched incredulously as her face turned from a look of gamine charm to one of venom. “A German? You brought us a fuckin’ German?”
He reached over and grabbed her hand. “No, Molly. Heinz is not from Germany. He’s from Ohio, which is in this country. He joined the army to fight them.”
Her look of hatred passed, at least a little. Molly was uncertain. Heinz seized the opportunity. “Miss Duggan, I am not a German, I am an American. I was born here, in Ohio, which makes me a citizen of the United States. My parents and many other relatives came from Germany, but now they’re Americans too. They left because of the German government and its crazy kaisers and its damned army that likes to kill and crush innocent people.”
Molly digested this. It had also been a while since a young man called her “miss.” “All right,” she said quite formally. “We’ll see. General, I’ll ask Miss Schuyler if she will see you now.”
Patrick thanked her. As she disappeared down the short hallway, he made a mental note to give Heinz some idea of Molly’s tragic time during the Brooklyn fire and how it had affected her attitude. Perhaps he couldn’t change her, but it would help to understand things.
A moment later, Molly beckoned and Patrick entered the small, darkened room and took a chair by the bed. The creature under the covers was a mummy, swathed in soft white bandages so that only her blue eyes were visible. The hands were wrapped in white mittens, and her head was also covered with loose white bandages.
“Frightened, Patrick?” Her voice was soft but firm.
“No.”
“Well,” she said, carefully adjusting herself so that she could sit up better, “I certainly was.”
“How painful is it?”
“Endurable. I’ve been told I look worse than I am. The burns are healing, although much of my face and hands are red and scabby. I believe I’m all swollen as well. But the doctors tell me nothing is permanent and I’ll heal in time.”
“How soon will the bandages come off?”
“Anytime I wish. I had Molly wrap me so I wouldn’t scare you away.”
Patrick laughed, half out of relief. “Scare me? A bold general?” His voice softened. “Show me.”
Slowly, and without using all her fingers, she unwrapped her hands, and then her face, and he realized how fortunate she had been. Even though he knew she was healing, she was virtually unrecognizable. She carefully removed her cap and he saw her shaved scalp and the jagged sewn gash that ran down the middle of her head. There was a light fuzz of blond where her hair was just starting to grow in. Her hands and the skin on her face were, as promised, cracked and scabbed. Where her skin was actually visible it was reddened like a bad sunburn. He realized she must hurt something awful.
“I said I can handle the pain and I will. I must,” she said. “Do I have a choice?”
“Not really.”
“I am very fortunate and I know it. Mr. Morris pulled me from the fire.” To Patrick’s puzzled look, she continued. “Mr. Morris is our chief of security in the camp. He was a police chief in a town on Long Island. Very sadly he lost his family in a German bombardment of his town. He is a very tormented man. I am, however, eternally grateful that he was nearby at the time.”
“As am I. Are you confined to the bed?”
“No. I was just resting. I still tire very easily.” She shook her head. “No, that’s not quite right. I’ve spent most of the last several days lying here feeling sorry for myself, which is ridiculous when you consider the true horrors the refugees are enduring.” She raised herself to a sitting position. “Please hand me my robe.”
He turned and found it draped across a chair.
“Please don’t be bashful. I’m going to need your help.”
Patrick took her arm, being careful not to touch her hands, and aided her to a standing position. As she swung her legs out of the bed he caught a glimpse of bare calf and tried not to look startled. When she stood, her nightgown modestly covered her from neck to foot. However, it was a light cotton gown and he sensed she had little on underneath.
“You’re not going to blush, are you?” she asked as he draped the robe over her and eased her hands through the sleeves. Patrick allowed that he hoped he would not. He helped her into the living room, where a surprised Molly and Heinz were waiting.
“I should have done this a few days ago. Molly, why didn’t you make me?” Molly snorted and said she’d tried but Katrina’d been a typical stubborn Dutchie.
Patrick looked at his watch. It was only midmorning. “I’ve got to get to General Smith fairly soon, but I can spend the rest of the day. If you’re willing, I’d like to take you out for a carriage ride and a small picnic. It’d do you some good.”
“I’ll have to be very careful of the sun.”
Molly spoke. “You can wear a bonnet to protect your head and face and I’ll fix something to cover your hands.”
“Fine, but how will I eat?”
Patrick grinned. “If necessary, I’ll feed you. I’ll be back at noon. Lieutenant Schmidt, you are free for the rest of the day.” He paused. “That is, after you’ve found a place for you and me to stay.”
Molly smiled. “Why General, sir, you and the German can sleep in the stable.”
Later, after Patrick and Katrina had departed, Heinz confronted Molly in the kitchen of the house.
“Molly, how can I convince you I am an American, not a German?”
“Heinz Schmidt is not a German name? Perhaps you’re one of those Polacks. Or even a dago.” There was bitterness in her voice, but also a degree of sadness.
“Molly, General Mahan told me your brother was killed by the Germans and that one beat you badly, and I’m sorry, but I want you to realize that I’m here to fight them, not love them. Look, the general and Miss Schuyler left us here while they went on their picnic, and I don’t want to spend the rest of the day with you hating me for something I never did.”
She looked at him, a large young man, light haired and open faced. He looked honest and intelligent. And she wanted to hurt him. Or did she?
“You said the Germans killed my brother? They blew his brains out in cold blood when all he did was try to protest them. He was twenty and the insides of his skull splattered all over me! Beat me? Some pig of a German punched me all over with his great fists, and then stuck his ugly thing inside me and raped me. Then, when he felt like it, he did it all over again!” She sagged from the confession and, to her fury, tears came from her eyes and her body began to convulse with sobs. “And it’s not just me. We see it every day as new refugees come in. The Germans let them pass, but they rob them, beat and kill them if they refuse, and take the women just like they did me. They are pigs!”
As she tried to regain control of herself, she saw the stricken and hurt look on his face, and saw that he too was near tears. “My father,” he said softly, “had two brothers. Now he has one. The oldest, Klaus, was drafted into the German army. It was peacetime and there was no problem. He would serve his three years and come home and resume his life. So would his two younger brothers. But one day Klaus came home in a box. An accident, they said. But we found he’d been beaten to death by a sergeant for not saluting some goddamn Junker properly. They held him down and stomped on his chest with their boots until his ribs were all crushed and he was puking blood.”
Heinz took a deep breath and felt some of the pain his father had felt. “When my father and his brother found that nobody was going to do anything about the murder, even laughed at him, they decided they wanted nothing more to do with the kaiser’s Reich, and that Germany was no longer their home. This is our home now and, if necessary, I will kill Germans to protect it.”
Molly looked at him and managed a small, bitter smile. “Perhaps I already did that for you,” she said and told him about the vengeance she’d extracted from her attacker.
“Good,” he said when she was finished.
“Young Lieutenant, you may be right. Perhaps I cannot go on hating everyone because of what one did. You are the general’s friend and he is Katrina’s friend, and they are both my friends. Therefore, I must figure out how and if I can learn to include you.”
“Molly, let me be your friend,” Heinz urged. “I am your friend whether you realize it or not or want it or not.”
“Really? We shall see whether I have a choice or not. Besides, don’t we have an assignment from their lordships?”
Yes, he thought, and not all day in which to accomplish it. If he and the general were to remain in the area, they had to find a place to stay. With an overflowing refugee camp only a few miles away, that could be a monumental problem. “You said there was a stable?”
Alone in his White House office, Theodore Roosevelt glared at the document he gripped in his hand. The handwriting was his own, but the words and the topic were so strange, so alien, as to be almost inconceivable. But they had to be conceivable now, didn’t they? He could not deny the dark reality of the invasion and the upheavals throughout the nation that resulted from it. He took his pen and began to read again, poised to make corrections and additions to the message that would be telegraphed throughout America the next day.
My Dear Americans,
Today, Wednesday, July 4, 1901, is the 125th anniversary of the founding of the United States of America, and a day in which the whole country should be uniting in festive celebration of a century and a quarter of freedom and prosperity.
Yet we look about and find it is not to be. For the first time since the War of 1812, a foreign army has imposed itself on our soil, and American soldiers are dying in valiant efforts to hurl them away.