The POW’s Legacy #11

Our current story is The POW’s Legacy. This is the last week to share a tidbit from this story. It’s off for editing at the end of the week. We’re looking at a November 11^th release. This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘careless.’

Since I left you hanging last week with the mention of machine guns set up, and I didn’t continue that scene this week, I’ll share what happened here. That first Christmas Eve 1944, the Camp Commander had gotten a tip about a planned escape. They did have two machine guns set up and ready. But the German prisoners were ones that went around and kept the fires stoked. They purposefully let him come in to do his duties – where he could observe the machine gun set up and aimed at the chapel where the prisoners were having their Christmas Eve service. The German POW glanced around and saw, but didn’t say a word, and left. It did the trick. Word got out and the escape was ditched, and all was well.

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The POW’s Legacy will be available
November 11th!

One evening, a few days into the new year, Vivy rushed to the house so excited that she slipped on an icy spot and landed on her rear in the middle of the flower bed that sported her mother’s iris blooms during warmer days.

Unfortunately, Vivy’s friends were still backing out of the drive and saw her ungraceful landing. The ladies in the car burst into laughter. Wilford stopped the car and LaVon rolled down the window and shouted out, “You okay, Vivy?”

She stood, wincing slightly, and brushed the snow off her backside. “I’ll live. I just damaged my pride.” She gave a wave and moved to the back steps, stepping slower and being more cautious.

Annie stood at the sink, washing the dirty bowl from mixing a fresh batch of biscuits, and saw the episode. When Vivy stomped in the back door, Annie had to stifle the giggles that threatened to overtake her.

“Hit a slick spot?”

Vivy jerked her jacket off her arms and hung it up with a sharp tug. She dropped into a kitchen chair and started removing her wet, snowy boots before answering. “I’m so tired of this snow. I’m ready for spring.”

“You’ve got a wait in front of you. It’s only January. Why so riled up about it this year?”

Vivy shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because I’m out in it more this year. Before, I just ran to the chicken coop and back inside.”

Annie grabbed a dish towel and started drying her favorite Pyrex bowl. “Guess you’d better slow down and not be in such a hurry. Might keep you out of my flower beds.” It took all her efforts to suppress the grin that wanted to accompany her words.

“You saw?”

Annie let a slight smile slide into place and nodded.

“I was so excited about what happened today at work, that I couldn’t wait to tell you the grand news. I got careless.”

“What happened?”

“Colonel Lobdell’s secretary was ill today. So, I got to work in his office.”

Annie placed the clean bowl where it belonged in the cupboards. “You like working with him, don’t you?”

Vivy nodded, causing an errant curl to escape and bob in the middle of her forehead. “I do. It’s what I overheard that thrilled me to no end. A captain wanted to talk to Lobdell. Captain Gunner Norgaard is an assistant executive officer in charge of recreational and cultural activities for the prisoners. He’d been talking to Eduard Kaib and wanted to discuss Kaib’s plans for this coming year.”

“Kaib? He’s the one that orchestrated the nativity scene everyone’s been talking about, isn’t he?”

“He is. And for Christmas next year…he wants to create an even larger one.”

“Bigger? I thought that the one they just made was huge.”

Vivy flashed a toothy grin and bobbed her head again. “It was – twelve feet wide. But the one he wants to make for next year is massive. Next year’s creche should be a scene forty feet wide.”

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The POW’s Legacy #10

Our current story is The POW’s Legacy. This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘sound.’

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The rest of the evening slowed to a crawl. Even with the cheerful Christmas songs echoing from the radio, the mood was anything but peaceful. Tension seeped around the corners of the room as if it lurked in the background, trying to pretend it wasn’t there. But the family knew it was.

At every creak and ping from the house, noises and sounds of an older house that they usually didn’t even notice, all sets of eyes flew to the doorway watching to see if Fremont reappeared.

Annie began dropping stitches in her socks, something she wasn’t prone to do. She finally jabbed it all back in her bag and tucked it at the side of the davenport. “Oh, bother. I’m making more of a mess than accomplishing anything. I’m better off putting this up for the night.”

She sat watching dark hallway, as if willing her son to come join them.

Finally, he did. He stood just inside the parlor, hair tousled, rubbing his eyes.

Vivy stuck a finger in her book, holding its place, as she sat up, ready to rush towards the tree. “Ready for your presents?”

“Not yet, Sis. Let me wake up first.” Fremont stretched before coming further in the room and plopped down in his favorite armchair.

William sat, legs crossed, eyeing his son for hints, but waiting until he spoke.

Annie couldn’t wait. “So? You gonna tell us? What was going on at camp?”

Fremont hesitated, then took a deep breath. “You know how Vivy and I had been saying for a few days that something felt strange? There was something odd going on. It was even worse when I got there yesterday.”

“In what way?” William asked.

“When we pulled up, crews of men were going about inspecting the chain link and the barbed wire fences. Very carefully. Seemed odd, as no one’s seemed to give it much notice before.”

“That is peculiar,” Vivy said. “In all the times I’ve been in and out, I don’t think I’ve ever noticed anyone even looking at the fencing.”

“And then, the plot thickened, as they say in those mystery books you love so much.” He nodded at the book laying in Vivy’s lap. “The whole camp was swarming with our men. All about and everywhere. Instead of my typical sweeping and delivering duties, the captain had me delivering messages back and forth.”

At this point in his story, Fremont sat up and leaned over closer to the family. Dropping his voice to just above a whisper, he spoke slowly. “You can’t tell a word of this to anyone. Vivy, tomorrow you can’t be sharing this with your friends on your ride in to work.”

“That’s not fair. Telling us something we can’t tell anyone else.” Vivy looked put out with a full-blown pout.

“Don’t worry too much. Word will get around. Probably in a day or two. But until it’s common knowledge, don’t tell a soul. But they even had two machine guns set up and ready.”

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The POW’s Legacy #9

Our current story is The POW’s Legacy. This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to a picture prompt. These snippets will be short. Each one is 300 words or less. There are several pictures to choose from and we each pick one to write to.

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“All done. The children have eaten and are out doing chores. It’s Saturday. You taught Vivy well. She does know how to fry up an egg, you know.” He nodded his head to where the dirty dishes sat in a sudsy dish pan.

“But…”

“No buts. Sit down and have a cup of brew. The percolator is still full. No reason to be up early. Take a look outside.”

Annie went to the window over the sink and pulled back the curtains. Sunlight sparkled in the room, bouncing off of any shiny surface it could find. The bare trees surrounding the house glistened in the frozen white iciness of winters first snow fall. White flecks still showered down slowly, accented by a glorious blue background of a brand-new day.

Unfortunately, later that afternoon, the shiny brightness of the glorious day became tarnished.

As they sat in the front room, William and Fremont listening to the radio, Annie knitting away, and Vivy with her face stuck in a book, words poured from the radio that sat them all on edge.

William leaned over and turned the volume higher.

“…devastating news from the front. The surprise attack through Belgium started this morning, December 16, 1944…Hitler found a weak point in the Allied lines in the Ardennes…trying to split the British army to the north from the American army in the south…”

Fear leapt into Annie’s gut. She clasped a hand over her mouth and felt her breath tighten. She noticed that Vivy had the same reaction, her book forgotten, laying in her lap. All four of them were frozen in place, eyes wide, and tuned to every word emanating from the brown box that heralded more bad news than they’d ever wanted to hear.

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Our current story is The POW’s Legacy.  I’m sorry to go from one scene to another this week. But after leaving you hanging last week with the news of a big secret, I wanted to end that part of the scene, so you all know what the news is. And then I headed into the next scene, which goes perfectly with this week’s word prompt. This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘fight.’

Enjoy the snippet here, then go check out the other delightful tales you’ll find at Tuesday Tales.

“Oh, Mother. That wasn’t that big of a secret. Why, by the time the day ended, I think the news was all over camp. But what’s your mystery? You’re whispering, so you must not want Father to know.”

“We had our knitting group today and-“

“Oh! Knitting. I missed it. Now I’ll never finish that pair of socks.”

Annie giggled. “Don’t be trying your tall tales on me. You had no intention of finishing those socks. If you’d wanted to, you’d be sitting in there knitting with me in the evenings as we listen to the radio.”

She flicked a fingerful of soapy suds towards her daughter. “Besides, I finished that project up for you about two weeks ago. But Pauline was there today, with the little ones, after missing almost a month.”

“Was she sick? I know she’s had some health issues – her heart or something like that.”

Annie spoke in even softer tones. “She didn’t say. I think it is her health. But not her heart or any other problems that we could tell. She was pale, more so than usual. She didn’t hardly eat anything. And she ran to the powder room more often than our short meeting warranted.”

“Is she…do you think she’s…” Vivy tapped her stomach and looked at her mother in a knowing way.

“I do. She didn’t admit to it, but I think she’s in the family way. I think next year she’ll be coming to knit with a little one bundled up.”

The following week, Vivy came home with a unique story. “The prisoners are on strike.”

Annie was flabbergasted. “On strike? What do you mean? Prisoners can’t go on strike.”

“They are. All of them. They refused to work today. There was a big fight about it. They said that they’re being treated inhumanely.”

Annie shook her head in disbelief. “Inhumanely? That doesn’t seem possible. From what you tell us, they’re treated very well. You’ve even told us how some of the prisoners and guards have become friends. That doesn’t seem like horrible treatment to me.”

“It’s the corn. The food service brought in a truckload of the finest sweet corn grown in Algona.”

William perked up. “That’s a treat.”

“I know. And you know. But it turns out, in Germany they don’t eat corn. They only feed it to the animals. So, by us feeding them corn, they feel we’re treating them like swine and chickens.”

Fremont snorted. “Why that’s the silliest thing I ever heard.”

“It’s true. Vuanita even checked with her friend Werner Meinel. He confirmed it. Corn is only for animals, not people.”

Annie still didn’t fully believe the tale. “But to strike over it? Goodness, what did they do? I’m sure they clamped a tight lid on that one.”

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The POW’s Legacy #7

Our current story is The POW’s Legacy. This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘bare.’

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The next night followed the pattern of the night before. Vivy arrived home, bursting with news of the day. She chattered throughout the meal, informing the family of just about everything that happened to her that day. Who she saw. What she saw. What work she’d done. She relished bringing home these reports of her new, exciting world.

“Did you see Lobdell today?” William asked.

“Not hide nor hare of the man today. I did meet a handsome young Private from Wisconsin. He brought in a report that I had to type up and turn in to the Commanding Officer I was working for.

Fremont glanced at her slyly. “Oh? And does this ‘handsome young Private’ have a name? We going to be hearing more about this fellow in the future?”

Vivy blushed. She picked up a biscuit and started to heave it at her brother’s head, then decided against that action and quickly laid it down on her plate. “I don’t recall his name.”

Her brother chuckled. “Yeah, don’t recall, or don’t want to tell us. You just don’t want me to be teasing you about him like you tease me about certain girls.”

Vivy’s flush deepened. She still didn’t volunteer a name. She slathered strawberry jam over her biscuit and took a bite. When no one else spoke, she added one more tidbit to the conversation. “There was one sad thing that happened today.”

Following all the easy-going chat, Annie tensed hearing these words. “Oh? What was that? Bad news?”

“It was. About one of the prisoners. He died.”

William stiffened and leaned forward. “On the base? What happened? You weren’t in danger, were you?”

Vivy’s shoulders sagged, and her eyes darkened. “Not on our Algona base. A lot of the prisoners work at other places. Logging in forests. Working in factories. He was working at one of our base camps and he drowned.”

Tears filled Annie’s eyes. “Oh, that poor man. Dying so far from home. What will they do with the body? Can’t ship it back to Germany.”

William shrugged. “About what happens to any dead soldier right now. Buried where they fall. They can’t be sending all the bodies back and forth across the sea.”

“Still…his poor parents and family.” Annie’s heart especially ached for the unknown prisoner’s mother.

Vivy leaned in closer to the table, as if she were sharing a great secret. “He died in Minnesota. But they’re sending the body back to Algona. He’ll be buried on base here. The secretary that told me said it was the first body that will be buried here.”

Later that night, once the table was bare, Annie and Vivy stood side by side at the sink, one washing and one drying. Annie bumped her shoulder up against her daughter’s. She tipped her head towards Vivy and lowered her voice. “I have a secret to share too. Although, not nearly as important as a dead prisoner.”

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The POW’s Legacy #6

Our current story is The POW’s Legacy. This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘simple.’

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William and Fremont were already at the kitchen table when Vivy hurried into the room. A flurry of words erupted as if she’d explode if she tried to hold them in any longer.

“And you’d never believe-“

Raising a hand in the air, William cut her off. “Let’s bless our meal first.”

Hardly had ended the prayer with the others echoing his ‘Amen’ when Vivy burst into her monologue again. “It was simply too exciting. I was busy all day. So much to learn. But everyone there is so kind and patient. I know I’ll have to ask them all the same things tomorrow. I’m sure glad I brushed up on my typing skills. I can see that I’ll be using these fingers a lot.”

She flexed her fingers over her plate as if an imaginary typewriter hovered over it.

Annie took the brief respite to squeeze a simple question in. “Where are you working? What position did they place you in?”

“I don’t have one fixed job. Most everyone there has been working since the camp opened, so all the regular positions are filled. They hired me to move around wherever I’m needed. Whenever someone’s sick, or they need off for any reason, I’ll fill in there.

Annie started to ask another question, but before the words left her mouth, Fremont jumped in. “That should be perfect for you. You get bored when you have to repeat the same thing over and over.”

Vivy nodded. “Exactly! But even so, I don’t see how I could get bored there. There is so much going on. Uniforms all over. People rushing about back and forth. Telephones ringing. Typewriters clattering. I felt like I was really, truly helping out with the war effort today.”

Annie noticed that William seemed quiet and not involved in the conversation. To her, it seemed that he was more intent on consuming his meal than listening to his daughter. When he spoke up next, she realized that she’d misjudged his silence.

“That’s good to hear. I worried about you today. First day in a job. Driving into town with other gals. But it sounds like it went well and that you’ll enjoy the work there. I think I worried more about you working around all the fellas – especially the prisoners. I didn’t realize how you are part of the war effort there and how good that made you feel. I’m glad you pointed that out to me. Your father has a stubborn noggin sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” The word burst out from Fremont before clamped his hand over his mouth and looked down quickly at his plate.

Not hearing any reply from his father, Fremont snuck a peek in his direction and was relieved to see that his dad hadn’t seemed to take offense.

Fortunately, Vivy spoke back up, interrupting the moment. “You’ll never guess who I met today…the boss of the whole camp… Lieutenant Colonel Arthur T. Lobdell, himself!”

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The POW’s Legacy #5

Our current story is The POW’s Legacy. This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to a picture prompt. These snippets will be short. Each one is 300 words or less. There are several pictures to choose from and we each pick one to write to.

Enjoy the tale, then go check out the other delightful tales you’ll find at Tuesday Tales.

The next afternoon, Annie and Vivy were in the garden collecting a pail of green beans when the mail truck flew down the road, a spiral of heavy dust following him. Dropping the pail on the ground, Vivy dashed down the drive to the mailbox. Annie kept plucking the green fleshy strands.

Within a few minutes Vivy returned, running, and waving a manilla envelope in the air above her. “I passed! I passed! They’re going to hire me!”

Annie was torn. She wanted to be supportive of her daughter. But also, a small, tight knot had formed in the pit of her stomach. Although William had professed to be accepting of Vivy’s choice, there was still an air of tenseness whenever the topic came up. She didn’t know what the reaction would be once he heard it was final and Vivy would be working at the camp.

That night Annie stood at the stove stirring pork chops to keep them from sticking to the cast iron skillet. Vivy buzzed about the kitchen, setting the table and getting the butter and jams from the ice box. Annie turned around and saw the usual white enamelware plates that Vivy had placed on the table.

“No, Vivy. Don’t use those everyday dishes. They’re chipped and nicked on the edges. Use the dishes from the blue hutch – the ones with the rose and lavender sprigs on them.”

Vivy halted in her track so fast she almost tripped on her feet. “But those are the good dishes. You only use those on special occasions.”

Annie tapped the spatula on the edge of the skillet. “And that’s what tonight is. A special occasion.”

“But…it’s no one’s birthday. And no one’s coming to supper. Are they?”

“No. No birthday. No guests. But it’s not every day that my daughter finds out she has a job.”

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The POW’s Legacy #4

Annie and William are off visiting this week. William wants to meet with some of the ladies that work at the POW camp before he gives Vivy permission to apply. Right now, they’re visiting with Vuanita and her mother. This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘cream.’

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William didn’t hesitate. “The Wegener place. Hopefully Hilda and Fred are home.”

“Vuanita too? Wouldn’t it be best to talk to her, since she is the one working there?”

“Yes, but I’d like to get a father’s opinion too.”

Silence filled the cab of the truck as they jostled along the roads. At one corner, William turned too fast. Tires slid, gravel flew up, and a spray of dust spewed across the truck and into the cab sending Annie into a coughing fit. When she stopped coughing and could breathe again, she slapped at William’s arm. “Careful!”

He looked contrite. “Sorry, dear. I wasn’t paying attention.”

He backed off of the throttle for the rest of the journey and drove with more caution. Annie finally began to relax. Soon, William slowed and turned up a drive to a cheerful yellow house sitting behind a grove of apple trees bursting with ripening fruit.

Hilda Wegener greeted them at the door. “William! Annie! What a pleasure. What brings you out to our neck of the woods?” She stood back and held the door open for them to enter.

William spoke first. “I wanted to talk to you and Fred about Vuanita working at the POW camp.”

“And Vuanita too…if she’s here,” Annie added.

Hilda motioned towards the front room. “Have a sit. Fred’s not here. He ran out to the feed store. Blasted pig got out of his pen last night and tore through some of the feed sacks. He’s about ready to find himself turned into pork chops and sausage earlier than planned.”

She laughed and clarified, “The pig. Not Fred.”

Scurrying ahead of them, Hilda grabbed the newspaper from the davenport seat. “Excuse the mess. Seems Fred didn’t pick up after himself before he left. Sit down. Vuanita’s hanging a load of laundry out to dry.”

Annie laughed as she settled down on the plump davenport covered in a faded brocade design with a row of cream-colored doilies covering the back and the arms. “Won’t take her long in this heat. Why, I’ll bet the first piece is dry before she gets the last piece hung.”

“Let me holler for Vuanita. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

Both William and Annie shook their head no, but Annie added a request. “If you had a glass of nice water, I wouldn’t turn one of those down. Not after this dear husband of mine drove me through a dust storm to get here.”

Annie grinned at her cleverness.

William glared in response.

Hilda returned shortly, carrying two glasses of water. “Fresh from the well. Should be nice and cold for you.”

Before they took a sip, Vuanita bounced in, brimming with energy. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt. Mama says you wanted to ask about the camp.”

William sat his glass down on a crocheted coaster on the side table. “I did. My daughter wants to work there. I wanted to visit with some that work there and make sure that it’s safe. You ever feel worried with so many German prisoners there?”

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The POW’s Legacy #3

Annie and William are off visiting this week. William wants to meet with some of the ladies that work at the POW camp before he gives Vivy permission to apply. They’re visiting with LaVon Lindhorst. This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘cushion.’

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Annie and William followed her up the steps, the dog bringing up the rear. Annie nestled down in the white rocker adorned with a faded floral print cushion and sat her pocketbook on her lap. She pulled last week’s church bulletin out and began fanning her face.

William didn’t waste any time. “What is it you do at the camp?”

LaVon sat perched on the edge of her chair. “Mostly clerical duties. When I started there, I was working with Margaret Patton at Headquarters. Then I transferred to Captain Jenner in Special Services. Right now, I’m working with Major Hutton, the Provost Marshal. Last week was a little different. I got to be a court report for the court martial of a Captain.”

“Do you feel safe reporting there every day? Would my daughter be safe?”

LaVon’s ponytail bobbed back and forth with her enthusiastic reply. “It’s absolutely safe. I’ve never felt uncomfortable or threatened.”

“Even with the prisoners escaping a few weeks ago?”

Annie sat, silent, her head swiveling back and forth between the two.

LaVon waved a hand casually in front of her. “Oh, that. It was a trifle. They caught the men right away and returned them to camp. No, the prisoners are harmless. Most of them are good men caught in the same battle we are. It’s not their choice to be fighting.”

She paused and her eyes darkened. “Now, there are a few that I wouldn’t want to have anything to do with. Those are the fervent SS ones, the entrenched Nazis. Fortunately, they aren’t kept at our camp. There have been a few that have come in for the night, on their way to a camp specifically for them. But on those few, rare occasions, security is beefed up with extra officers and heavier artillery. But as civilian employees, we are far removed from any of that.”

The lines around Williams eyes eased. “I feel a mite better, hearing that you don’t have any unease about being in the camp. I have to ask. You mentioned marrying last year, and I wonder why you’re living here at your parents and working there.”

Joy lit up LaVon’s face and brought a twinkle to her eyes. “When Ralph and I married, he was a 2^nd Lieutenant. I followed him to Washington and Oregon where he trained troops of military police. When he was shipped overseas, I came back home. I jumped at the chance to work at the POW camp. It makes me feel that I’m involved in the war effort and helping to do something for our country, while Ralph fights abroad.”

Annie stopped rocking and fanning and spoke up. “I heard the pay is good.”

“I won’t deny that. Better money than I’d make working in the market downtown, that’s for sure. I’m able to help my parents out, and put a few pennies aside for our future.”

William leaned back in his chair. “What are your plans when the war is over? You going to stay here in Algona?”

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The POW’s Legacy #2

Last week we met Annie, and her daughter Vivy, at the farmhouse in Iowa, during the WW2 years. This week we’re jumping ahead in the story a bit. Mother and daughter are across the road at Florence’s, for their weekly knitting group, where they’re knitting socks and bandages for the servicemen. This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘board.’

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Annie didn’t know whether to laugh or to groan. So instead, she looked up towards her hostess and took the conversation in a new course. “Florence, I’ve been meaning to ask you if Dick ever hired the prisoners to come work your fields? William and I were talking about it yesterday. No one remembers seeing any crews out here.”

The look on Florence’s face was not pleasant. Annie almost regretted asking that question once she saw her friend’s response.

Florence sat stiff as a board, before answering. “No, not yet. But they’ll probably be here next week, I fear to say. I’ve been dragging my feet. I don’t want them here.”

Annie felt confused. “Because they’re Germans?” She looked around as if making sure there weren’t any others in the room overhearing their conversation. She lowered her voice. “Is that a problem? I know we don’t discuss it in public, we haven’t for years. But both William and I come from German stock. Why, half the farmers here in Iowa do. Is that why you don’t want them on your place ?”

Florence looked like she’d bitten into a rotten apple. “I know there’s a lot of German blood here in the area. My sister Pauline is married to one. Her husband, Adolf, was born here in America. Both of his parents immigrated here from Germany. I’ve never had a problem with him or his lineage. It’s the others.”

“The others? The ones in the camp?” Annie’s muddle was getting murkier instead of clearing up.

Annie saw that Elizabeth’s head bobbed back and forth between her and Florence, but to her credit, Elizabeth didn’t interrupt or interfere.

Florence took a sip of her beverage, as if gaining courage from it before continuing. “It’s not the Germans here, living in America. It’s those across the seas. The ones fighting us and killing our own. You’ve met my younger sister, Mary, haven’t you?”

Elizabeth broke in at that question. “I remember Mary. Haven’t seen her in a coon’s age. She went off to help in the war. Nursing, wasn’t it?”

Florence nodded. “Yes, she’s a nurse in England. She fell in love over there and married Douglas Fraser. He was in a plane that was shot down over Germany. Ever since then, I haven’t felt too friendly towards the Germans. Don’t want them on the place.”

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