Page 63 of Valor (Long Hot Summer: Christian Romantic Suspense #2)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Northern Moravia, 1942

Fred filled another bucket with water. This one was for Mother, to be used in the kitchen. He walked back to the mill, anger boiling in his veins. What was he to do with Father? His brother Honza left, and so had Karel, Marta’s fiancé. Neither one said a word to him before they disappeared. Marta cried herself to sleep every night until Father forced her to marry Fritz Eisenhart, the arrogant SS officer in charge of their district. The worst part was that Father made it sound like he did Fred a huge favor, arranging for the nuptials. Now, he was angry about the Weiss family hiding in the barn, and Fred had no doubt he would sell them out as soon as the dentist’s wallet was empty. They needed a plan. Fast.

Fritz was a powerful man. Father said that it was only because he was now part of their family, Fred didn’t have to fight the Reds. But every time Fred saw Marta, his heart twisted. His sister changed. She no longer smiled. If this was the price to pay for him to stay home so he could mill flour, maybe it wasn’t worth the sacrifice. But it was too late to think of that.

“Hey,” Hedvika’s voice startled him as she stepped closer to him, leaving her hiding place behind the wagon.

Cold water splashed his dirty, bare feet.

“What are you doing here,” he hissed through his teeth. “Get back into the barn.”

“I was thinking,” she said, her gaze downcast, “if you could get us some work clothes, we could help around until our contact gets here. Sitting in the barn is boring.”

Fred ran his fingers through the mess of his hair. Heat flooded his face. He hated for her to see him like this. He wished Father would allow him to wear Honza’s clothes so he could ask Mother to wash his only shirt more often. His Sunday best was for church. Same for his one pair of good shoes. Hers were beautiful. Black leather. Polished to shine. And she wanted to help around the mill?

“Let’s go.” He set his bucket down and strode toward the barn. Once the door shut behind them, he reached for her arm and pulled her closer. His blood pulsing in his ears, he mustered the courage and spoke into her ear.

“What are you talking about?”

“I can help. Papa said he would, too.”

Fred looked up. Mr. Weiss was standing at the top of the hayloft ladder, ready to descend.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Fred shook his head.

“Please.” Her eyes locked on him, causing another wave of heat to flood his body.

“Father doesn’t like your kind of people,” he said, fighting the shame. “Besides, what can you do?” He pushed the words out through the lump at the back of his throat.

“Anything but sit on the hay all day.”

She was so close to him; he felt her breath on his cheek. The hope in her voice squeezed his heart. What would Father say to this? And what if Fritz showed up unannounced?

Dr. Weiss climbed down from the hay loft.

“I’m not afraid of work, Fred. We don’t want to be a burden.”

“Let me talk to Father,” Fred said reluctantly.

“Thank you,” Dr. Weiss said, placing his hand on Fred’s shoulder once again. His fatherly gesture squeezed Fred’s heart. “For everything.”

Fred nodded curtly and walked out of the barn. Maybe this was a good idea. Father might warm up to it since he wouldn’t have to pay them. And if they were helping, he would perhaps quit complaining about the food they ate.

When Fred walked into the kitchen, Father wasn’t there. A series of thuds from the mill room reminded Fred of the broken hopper Father said needed replacing. Mother must be helping him. Fred followed the sound of his father’s voice.

“I said pull!”

“I am!”

“Not hard enough.” Another slam of the hammer. “There you are, you lazy hide,” Father’s voice boomed through the space as soon as Fred stepped into the milling room. “Help your mother!”

Fred gripped the hopper and looked up. “Say when.”

Another slam of the hammer almost ruptured his eardrums.

Fred pulled, and so did Mother, her face turning crimson.

“You two are so useless!” Father’s voice thundered. “Why did my idiot of a son have to leave me with a good-for-nothing ass to run this mill?”

Even though Father was fuming, maybe this was a good opportunity.

“Father—”

“What!”

He stopped hammering.

Mother sat on the stack of empty flour sacks, panting for breath.

“Dr. Weiss could help.”

“The Jew?”

“He asked?—”

“You are as dumb as your mother. You think I will let a Jew into my house?”

“Not the house,” Fred struggled to keep his voice steady. “Just the mill. He can help me to pull this fastener out.”

“Let him.” Mother clenched her chest. “I can’t?—”

Father stared at her. And as his anger slowly subsided, he silently nodded.

“Good,” Fred said under his breath. Then he looked up. “Can I give him Honza’s old clothes?”

“The rags he left behind? Good enough for the Jew.”

Fred clenched his fist. This wasn’t the time. He rushed to his room, reached into the cedar chest, and pulled out two bundles of old clothes, Honza’s and Marta’s. He had not asked Mother about his sister’s outfit, but if Hedvika showed herself useful, maybe Father would stop ranting.

His heart pounding in his ears, Fred ran to the barn.

“Here is a change of clothes, Dr. Weiss. Father needs help repairing the mill. And this is for you.” Fred passed his sister’s old clothes to Hedvika.” His eyes lingered on the lace fringe of her white blouse, now smeared with dirt. “It’s the best I can do.”

“Thank you.” Dr. Weiss climbed back into the loft. When he came down, he looked like a different man—much younger and much less posh, not at all like a wealthy dentist.

A loud sob filled the space. Fred looked up. Mrs. Weiss stood at the top of the ladder; an embroidered handkerchief pressed against her lips. Her eyes welled up with tears.

“It’s okay, Dear.” The new Dr. Weiss looked up.

“Let’s go,” Fred said, keenly aware that Father was waiting.

“What about me?”

He glanced at Hedvika as he was about to shut the door. “I’ll ask Mother if she needs help in the kitchen.”