Rhineland Inheritance (6 page)

Reluctantly he turned back. Sally said quietly, “You really shouldn't give in so easily, soldier.”

It was Jake's turn to show surprise. “Ma'am, if you think I'm giving in, you've got another thing coming. This is what we combat soldiers call a strategic withdrawal.”

Sally inspected him for a long moment, then came to some internal decision of her own. “Have you got your jeep?”

“Right outside. Why?”

She rose from her chair. “Take me into town, will you? There's something I'd like you to see.”

“Sure.”

She pointed to a group of burlap sacks piled in one corner. “Give me a hand with those.”

Jake walked over and hefted one. “What's in them?”

“Contraband, soldier. Don't ask so many questions.”

They made the trip in silence, Jake because he was too wary of being shot down again, and Sally because she seemed to prefer her own company. Directions were passed on with the minimum of words or a simple hand movement.

Their route took them down what had once undoubtedly been a major thoroughfare, now a broad strip of cracked and pitted pavement bordered on both sides by rubble. The surroundings were as gray as the sky.

Not a single building was intact. As far as Jake could see,
the world was filled with single walls jutting like crumbling fingers toward an uncaring sky. All open spaces were filled with bricks and mortar and the refuse of war. A thick layer of dust covered everything.

The people they passed seldom looked their way. Attention was almost always focused downward, as though no one cared to see much of their world. There were a few bicycles, but most people straggled aimlessly by on foot. The only cars they passed bore military markings. On almost every street corner a man stood with a sign saying in German, “I must eat. I will do any work. Please help me.”

At several crossings, gangs of street kids materialized from thin air and chased after them, calling out for candy, cigarettes, chocolate, or just calling. Jake had seen this kind of thing in the smaller village where he had been stationed before, but had never grown accustomed to it. Every child he saw appeared to be begging. And here there were so many of them. All skin and bones and ragged clothing. And eyes. Haunting eyes big as saucers and old as war itself.

They stopped in front of what probably had been a prestigious apartment block, now a flattened heap with two intact walls and a free-standing chimney. Jake could see a few pictures, washed-out wallpaper, and water-stained curtains hanging from the interior of destroyed apartments.

He parked as Sally directed and followed her down a set of stairs into what had previously been a neighborhood bomb shelter. The door of the low building was marked with a broad painted cross. From the interior rose the sound of children chattering and playing.

On the bottom step Jake hesitated, his forehead creased in thought. Sally turned around. “What's the matter, soldier? Afraid of a few kids?”

Jake shook his head, unable to figure out what had surprised him so. He followed her into what appeared to be a crudely painted fairy tale kingdom. The walls were decorated with bright sketches of stories done with an amateur's
hand—Jesus on the Mount, walking on the water, calming the storm, healing the leper, gathering the little children. In the far corner stood a makeshift communal kitchen. Beside it stretched a long table with benches. The ceiling was oppressively low. Without the wall murals the chambers would have been grim.

“Jake, I'd like you to meet Chaplain Buddy Fox.”

“Any friend of Sally's is a friend of mine, Captain.” The chaplain was a small man with sandy hair and a voice as gentle as his eyes. “Welcome to my little créche.”

Jake snapped his fingers and declared, “Laughter.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Laughter. I've been trying to figure out what it was about this place. It's the first time I've heard laughter off the base since,” he tried to remember and was sobered by the realization. “Since I arrived in Germany.”

“That's the chaplain's doing,” Sally said quietly.

“I'm afraid we don't have much in the way of refreshments, Captain. The children devour everything just as fast as it arrives.”

“Cookie's sent you some more supplies,” Sally said. “We'd better get them out of the jeep before somebody makes them disappear.”

They went back upstairs and pulled out the sacks from the back of the jeep. Chaplain Fox peered into the first one and said, “Please tell Cookie how very grateful I am,” he said softly. “And the colonel, of course. Without them—”

“They know,” Sally said. “We all do.”

“This is a wonderful place,” Jake said as they returned to the shelter. Eager little hands reached out for the sacks, but not with the imploring, demanding, frantic plea that met him everywhere he went outside. Here it was a game. “Really wonderful.”

“Why, thank you, Captain. Here, just bring the sacks back to the pantry, will you? The only way I can ensure that we make our supplies last is to lock them up. I have no idea
how children normally are at this age, but these are eternally hungry.”

The several dozen kids all appeared to be under six. The youngest were still in diapers, gathered on a pair of stained mattresses by one side wall, watched over by a trio of young girls involved in some intricate hand game. A gray-haired matron sat on the floor surrounded by children, keeping them quiet with stories. Another woman watched over some children playing with battered building blocks and a few other toys. As the sacks were set down and the storehouse door relocked, the women's gazes remained fastened intently on Chaplain Fox.

Jake looked down at the children. “Whose are these?”

“Buddy's,” Sally replied. “Chaplain Fox's.”

“Well, there are several local people who help out,” said the chaplain. “We have worked out a series of shifts, and pay what we can from these stores. No one really has enough to eat, you know. Many such women are quite happy to work for food, and we need as much help as we can afford. I still have my divisional duties, of course. But everybody helps as they can. Some with food, others with blankets, a few with chocolates and cigarettes and other things I can use for money. And then Sally and Colonel Beecham help with everything possible, from medicines to stores to paint for these murals.”

“I mean,” Jake said, “whose kids
are
these?”

“Nobody's,” Sally replied.

“God's,” Chaplain Fox corrected. “As are we all.”

“I'm beginning to believe you,” Sally said. “Sometimes, anyway.”

“Nothing on earth could give me greater pleasure to hear,” he said.

Jake asked, “Are all of these orphans?”

“A few of them, but not too many,” Chaplain Fox replied. “Not anymore. Orphans are being gathered by church organizations, the young ones anyway. No, these are the unwanted.”

“Kids kicked out of their homes,” Sally explained. “The
ones left to fend for themselves. They fall through the cracks of officialdom, because their parents are still drawing rations for them and legally, at least, they still have a home.”

“They're just left on the streets?”

“Or in trash cans,” Reverend Fox replied, smiling sadly. “Or at train stations. Or on rubble heaps. Some the local gangs bring in, now that they know we are here.”

The chaplain caught sight of Jake's expression. “Do not be too harsh on the parents, Captain,” he said. “Some are genuinely good people who have come to realize that under the present circumstances, they have no way of bringing in enough to keep their entire family alive. So one must be sacrificed for the good of all. Sometimes it is the youngest, sometimes the one who causes the most trouble, sometimes a sickly child, or one who appears to be a little slower than the others.”

“This is awful,” Jake murmured.

“This is war,” Chaplain Fox replied. “This is why we need God. Here. Everywhere.” He smiled at Sally. “And the grace of friends like this dear lady.”

“You supply the love,” Sally replied. “I'll see what I can do about the grub.”

“God supplies the love,” Fox countered gently. “And the healing. If you look, I wager you'll find there is quite enough of both leftover for you.”

Sally turned toward a group of a dozen or so young girls who had been quietly waiting for her attention. She squatted down and was swiftly enveloped by small arms and questioning voices.

Reverend Fox brought Jake back around. “You are Sally's friend?”

“I'd like to be,” Jake replied.

“She needs a friend,” he said, inspecting Jake with clear eyes. “Come with me, would you?”

Jake followed him back out into the cold winter air. “She's got walls high as the Matterhorn.”

“Yes, she has.” Buddy Fox offered a smile. “Just the sort of challenge for a strong man like yourself, I'm sure. Are you married, Captain?”

“No.”

“Girl back home?”

“Not anymore.”

“Ah. A casualty of war.” He motioned toward someone behind Jake. “There goes yet another casualty, one I see much too often these days.”

Jake spun, caught sight of a gang of young teenagers flitting around a corner and vanishing. “They're outcasts too?”

“Almost all children of that age are left to fend for themselves, at least to some degree,” he replied. “Most of them have no fathers. Fathers are a rare commodity in Germany these days. Whole adult men of any age are, for that matter. An entire generation is growing up void of role models and direction, Captain. If only I had a division of strong and caring men like you. I just might be able to reach them.”

As Sally came through the doors and up the stairs toward them, Jake asked, “Do you have any contact with these kids?”

“With several of the local neighborhood gangs, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. We offer them meals two afternoons a week. It is both a peacekeeping measure, and a way of learning who they are. Many of them are growing up like wild tomcats, constantly on the prowl, sleeping where and when they can.”

“For some of them,” Sally said, “the only kind words they ever hear are the ones Buddy speaks to them.”

“If only there were some way to fill their empty days,” the pastor said worriedly. “If only I could give them a
purpose.
They need that as much as they need more food.”

Jake was about to express his sympathy over the plight of the young Germans when he was suddenly struck by an idea. He stood there, his mouth open, wondering how on earth anything could feel so
right.

“Is anything the matter?”

He gathered himself, shook his head. “Let me go check on something,” he said. “Maybe I can give you a hand with the kids.”

Chapter Four

“You want me to do
what?
”

The colonel's roar echoed through the open door, stopping all typewriters, footsteps, and conversations within hearing range. Jake pleaded, “It's just a gimmick, sir.”

“It's absolute madness, is what it is!”

“I'm not looking for results, sir,” Jake persisted. “I'm just trying to give them something constructive to do with their time.”

“You call running loose on the streets constructive?” The colonel's voice was loud enough to shake the windows three doors down. “This is what my liaison proposes is the best use of his time? Maybe I need to remind you, mister, that I could always make you officer in charge of the spud detail!”

“They're already running loose, Colonel,” Jake replied as Beecham stomped over and slammed the door. “And as far as I heard, they live pretty much full time on the streets as it is.”

Colonel Beecham walked back around his desk. “You've got to stop doing this to me, Burnes.”

“Doing what, sir?”

“Putting me in a position where I should blow my stack. It's bad for my blood pressure.” Beecham slumped back into his chair with a sigh. “You ought to know better than to come in and propose such a scheme in full earshot of everyone.”

“I guess I wasn't thinking, sir,” Jake replied, not understanding at all.

“No, that's one thing I'll agree with right off the bat. Maybe nobody heard you. Then again, maybe Morrows had some urgent filing that left him loitering just outside my doorway as usual. You know how it is. Anything to do with treasure, and this whole place threatens to come apart at the seams.”

“I'm sorry, sir. It's just—”

“I know. I know.” A glint of humor appeared in that steely gaze. “Buddy's got you hooked too, has he?”

“Sir?”

“Buddy Fox. The chaplain. He's gotten under your skin, has he?”

Jake nodded slowly, and confessed, “I heard them laugh.”

“Yeah, that hit me below the belt too. Never knew I could get so much pleasure out of such a simple sound. Or miss it as much as I did when it was gone.” Beecham fiddled with his pen, then gave an abrupt nod and said, “Okay, son. How much do you need?”

Jake's hopes soared. “As much as Stores can spare, I guess, sir.”

“Well, you sure can't bring them here and have Cookie dole out the leftovers. Not unless you want to make us a laughing stock from here to Berlin.”

“I can't?” Cookie already spooned out leftovers at the outside gate every evening to the people waiting there. They were always waiting, and there was never enough.

“Good grief, son. Did you really think you could line up a dozen young kids out there day after day and not have the word leak out? No, strike that. Word is bound to get out anyway. But can you imagine what they'd be calling us if we lined them up here?”

“It's more than a dozen, sir,” Jake interjected.

“Even worse. The Burnes Blarney Brigade. Or maybe Beecham's Best. How'd you like to hear that every time you turned around?”