Page 59 of Valor (Long Hot Summer: Christian Romantic Suspense #2)

CHAPTER FOUR

Northern Moravia, 1942

“Fred!” Father’s voice jolted him out of sleep. “Fred!”

He puffed out a frustrated breath. How could he have slept in like this? The plan was to be at the barn before Father. Fred got to his feet. The door flew open.

“You come to me when I call you, boy!” Father’s face was red, and his gray hair was stuck in all directions—a horsewhip in his hand.

“I’m—”

Swish.

The first blow always stung the worst.

“When you want to borrow something of mine, you ask.”

The whip flew through the air and burned itself into Fred’s cheek again.

“Father!” Fred put up his arm, protecting his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll show you what sorry looks like.”

He blocked the next hit with his forearm. It bit into his skin, breaking it.

“Stop!”

“You ungrateful?—”

But as Father pulled back his arm, ready to dish out more punishment, Fred reached forward and grabbed his wrist, then forced the leather whip out of his hand.

The man’s eyes bulged as his face turned purple. Saliva foamed at the corners of his lips. And then his black eyes grew cold.

Fred’s heart was in his throat.

“Father.” He gripped the fist aimed at his face.

The older man shoved against him. Fred was ready. Gone were the days when Father’s physical strength easily overpowered the young boy he had been. Working at the mill seven days a week, doing the work of three men, transformed the feeble teenager into a man. Since the day his brother Honza and Karel, the hired hand, disappeared, Fred was the only one to work along the side of his parents to keep the mill running.

He pushed his father against the wall. For the first time in his life, he dared to stand up for himself, if only because of her.

“Let’s sit down and talk,” he hissed through gritted teeth as his father gasped for breath. “Okay?”

The question was loaded with hope, not malice. He would not hurt this man whose purpose was to make his son’s life a living hell. No, he would let Father keep his dignity even though Fred was fully aware that the man in his grasp never let anything slip by without retaliation. Yes, he would pay for this one day.

God, let it not be today.

“Father?” He looked straight into the hateful glare.

The man narrowed his eyes. He struggled for a moment longer, like a wild beast stuck in a trap. Then he nodded. Fred let go.

“This is how you repay me for all I have done for you?”

“I just want to talk to you.”

Father spun around and walked into the kitchen. “You are no son of mine.”

“Wait!”

Father froze, then slowly turned back. “Are you talking to me, boy?”

“I need your help.”

A bitter, mocking laughter filled the mill. “My help?”

“Yes.” Fred ran his fingers over the bleeding welts on his cheek, then pushed his shoulders back and held his father’s murderous glare. “The reason the horse is outside the stall is because there are people there.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I need you to listen to me.” He picked up the whip and took a step toward the old man.

His father’s glare sent shivers down Fred’s spine.

“You know the dentist that fixed my teeth the time?—”

“You mean the Jew?”

“Dr. Weiss.”

“The Jew.”

“They asked me for help.”

“Mother!” Father hollered for his wife.

She scurried into the kitchen, still in her nightgown.

“Did you know that our imbecile son dragged a plague into our home?”

Mother stared at both of them. “What, by all that is holy, are you talking about?” She looked at Fred, then silently closed her eyes.

“This idiot son of yours brought Jews into the barn.” Father looked around the room as if making sure no one else was present.

Mother covered her mouth with both hands.

“You hid the priest here two months ago,” Fred was grasping.

Father stared at him.

“Gestapo is after the Weiss family.”

Silence.

“Mother?” Fred desperately searched for an ally.

Her eyes filled with tears. She gasped for a breath.

“That is no business of ours,” Father said resolutely.

“They can pay,” Fred said under his breath.

Father released one of his fists. “Pay? With what?”

“Dr. Weiss said he would.”

“And what good will that do if we all end up in front of a firing squad?” Mother sobbed.

“We won’t,” Fred said quietly. “They don’t want to stay. They plan to get out of here and find a place that would be safe for them.”

“And where would that be? You are such a dimwit.” Father’s words dripped with sarcasm. “The Germans have a place for them. The trains will take them East.”

“You know that is not true,” Fred hissed.

“I said that is none of our business.”

Mother stepped closer to Fred and touched his sleeve.

“They need to go. Right! Now!” Father continued to holler.

“Mrs. Weiss has two little sons, Mother. And Hedvika is here too.”

“God have mercy,” she whispered and gripped his arm, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Do you know how much it is costing me to keep you here?” Father spat, yelling. “It’s only because I’m a friend with the Oberfuhrer that you are not at the front right now.”

Fred stared at him. Wasn’t he here because the mill was essential to ensure an uninterrupted food supply for the Reich?

“Father?”

“I even had to give him Marta.”

Fred pressed his lips into a thin line at the mention of his sister. Had he not needed his help right now, he would have punched him. Fred knew that Marta’s forced marriage had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Father wanting German citizenship and the privileges that came with that.

“So, how much is your friend going to pay me?” Father scoffed. “You know there is a reward for bringing them in.”

“You can’t do that.” Fred’s temple throbbed.

“This is my house, and you would do well to remember it.”

Clammy perspiration covered Fred’s entire body. Would Father tell Fritz? If he did, Fred would never see Hedvika again.

“Yes,” he said through his teeth. “It is your house. That is why I am begging you to let them stay for a couple of nights.”

The old kitchen chair scraped against the floor. “Get me some breakfast,” Father ordered as he dropped his weight into it.

Mother rushed to the stove and ladled some hickory coffee into a blue mug. She added a touch of sugar, then picked up a hunk of dark bread and hurried toward the table.

“So, we have three adults and two kids,” Father said, dipping the crust into his coffee. “I wonder how much that would fetch.”

Fred pulled a chair and sat next to him, his hands trembling. His father couldn’t be serious.

“How much do you want,” he whispered in disgust. “I will tell Dr. Weiss.”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“You are really dumb, aren’t you? How much do they have? The Jews are no good to us at the mill. They have not done one day of honest work in their entire lives.” He sipped the dark brew. “And my teeth?” He opened wide, his mouth full of mushy bread, “they are all gone, so I have no use for a dentist.” Father laughed, spraying bits of soggy bread all over the table.

“Just tell me what you want.” Fred’s stomach clenched.

Father glared at him for a beat. “Who is helping them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find out.”

“Why?”

“Information is power, boy.”

Fred shook his head. Had he expected anything else from this harsh man?

“Where are they planning to go?”

“I think Dr. Weiss said Poland.”

Father cackled. “And I thought the man was educated.”

Fred frowned.

“There are almost no Jews left in Poland. They all took the train East . ” He slapped the table and laughed as if this was the best joke he had ever heard.

Fred gripped the edge.

“Here.” Suddenly, Mother stood next to him. She gave him a flour sack. When he looked in, there was half a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese. “Give them that and find out what their plans are.”

“Let’s see.” Father snatched it out of his grasp. He shoved his hand in and pulled out the cheese. “We are not that rich.” He tossed it to Mother, then pushed the bag at Fred.

“Tell Dr. Weiss I want to speak with him. Just us, men.”

“Okay,” Fred clutched the burlap to his chest. Hopefully, Dr. Weiss knew someone who would take his family across the mountains, not to Poland, but to Slovakia. He had heard whispers of the resistance fighters, the partisans, living in the hills since the Nazi government declared the new Slovak State. He looked at Father and prayed there was more to that man than greed and anger.