The man opened his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t let him.
“I can help you. I want to help you. I went all the way into Freiburg today for you. I could have gone to a village closer to here, but they wouldn’t have had the painkillers you need. Put the gun down, and let me help you, and then, when the roads open, I’ll deliver you to the local authorities, and you can resume your recovery in a Luftwaffe hospital.”
The man looked at the ground and put the gun in his lap. His voice was weak, drained of life. “Why are you doing this for me?”
“Because I’m a nurse. Because you needed help.” Because I needed to be valuable again. I needed to do something useful, something good.
“You don’t need to deliver me to the authorities. I can look after myself.”
“Whatever you wish, Herr Graf. I really don’t care. Think of this as a recovery ward in a hospital. I’m here to do a job, and once you’re gone I’m no longer responsible. Does that sound fair?”
“Yes, it does. Thank you, Fr?ulein.” His body drooped. The color had drained from his face.
“You’re welcome. You must be half-starved. Have you had anything to eat?”
“I didn’t make it to the kitchen.”
“You wouldn’t have found much in there.”
Franka let out a deep breath. She still didn’t know who he was, but that conversation could wait. Right now she needed to be a nurse again, and that felt good. She reached into the bag and removed a small bottle of morphine. He didn’t speak as she drew out the syringe and filled it full of the clear liquid.
“This will help you with the worst of the pain. I have enough for the next three days or so, and then you’ll be back to aspirin. You might feel dizzy, faint, or drowsy, and we’ll keep a bucket for your vomit, but you’ll be spending the next few days in bed anyway. There’s no reason for you to be out here.”
“I understand.”
“You’re not my prisoner,” Franka said as she flicked the barrel of the syringe with her fingernail. “I’m a friend. You’ll come to see that in time. You’re free to go as soon as the roads open, or you can stay a little longer should you wish to continue your recovery here.”
“Thank you.”
“Now how are we going to get you back into that bed?”
“I crawled out here. I can crawl back in.”
“And how exactly do you suggest crawling back into the bed? You won’t be able to haul yourself up.”
“I can manage it.”
“I have a better idea.” Franka went around behind him and tilted the rocking chair backward so that his legs were off the ground. He stifled the pain, biting down on his fist. She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I need to get you back into the bed first, and then I’ll give you the painkillers.”
“It’s just a little discomfort. I’m fine.”
Franka took her hand off the man’s shoulder and pushed the rocking chair. He kept the gun on his lap. She didn’t reach for it or even ask for it back. Pushing him proved harder than she’d anticipated, and progress back to the bedroom was slow. Thankfully, it was only twenty feet away, and after a few aborted attempts, they arrived at the bed. The man tried to haul himself up, his thick arms struggling with his weight until she reached under his armpits, helping him up and over. He reached back for the pistol and shoved it under his pillow. Best to let him keep it, to show him that she trusted him, that she wasn’t the enemy. He lay back, the pain he was trying to hide etched on his face. He was sweating, panting, and she left to get him a glass of water before coming back and administering the drugs.
“It will take about twenty minutes for the drugs to start working, and then I’ll set your cast tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I’ll get you something to eat before any nausea sets in.”
The man nodded. She smiled at him before going back to the kitchen and returning with a plate of fresh bread and cheese. He ate it in seconds and collapsed back onto the pillow.
It was after seven o’clock. “I’m going to leave you now. Try to relax and get a good night’s sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” I’ll be the one asking the questions then.
The man closed his eyes, the drug-induced euphoria kicking in. A tiny smile came across his face.
“Good night, Fr?ulein,” he whispered.
She covered him with a thick layer of blankets, extinguished the oil lamp, and shut the door behind her as she left. He’d picked the lock once. Locking the door would be useless now. She would have to trust him, because she knew he wasn’t giving up her father’s gun.
The fatigue she’d denied all day came to bear, and she shuffled into the kitchen to get some ham and bread. As much as she wanted to go to bed, she knew that the fire wouldn’t last the night, and the supply of wood was getting perilously low. She finished her meager meal, and after summoning the energy, she put on her hat, coat, and gloves and ventured back outside. Fortunately, there was just enough chopped wood remaining on the back porch to get them through the night. She would need to get more tomorrow. It was up to her. Everything would be.
Daniel Berkel haunted her thoughts as she lay in bed. His ice-blue eyes were the last thing she saw before she finally succumbed to sleep.
The house was cold when she woke. The fires had died overnight, and the air in the cabin was bordering on glacial. The mountainous layer of blankets on her bed was the only sanctuary, but she knew it was a temporary one. Hunger, and her desire to check on the man, drove her feet onto the floor. Her coat was hanging by the bed, and she put it on over her nightdress before emerging from her bedroom. With no sign of life from the other bedroom, she made herself a breakfast of liverwurst, bread, and cheese. The snow had come in earnest again last night, and the car was almost invisible now. Her footprints would be covered at least, and with the roads closed for a few more days the man would have some time to recover from the worst of his pain. The extra layers of snow outside would also offer some protection against any unwanted visits from Berkel. Perhaps by the time the snow had melted and the roads were passable, he would assume that she’d moved back to Munich. Wishful thinking. The Gestapo never assumed anything. She would need to finish that hiding place under the floorboards as soon as possible.
Franka went to the man, pushing his bedroom door open with two fingers. He was still asleep, lying on his back, snoring.
“You sleep, whoever you are,” she whispered. “That’s the best thing for you.” She stayed in the doorway for another minute or two, listening to the sound of him breathing, hoping to hear him say something in English again, to cement her convictions. He didn’t say a word, in English or German. She left him. The matter of warming the cabin was more pressing.