Brothers-in-Arms E-Book

Jack Lewis Baillot

• Herausgeber: Dove Christian Publishers
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Franz Kappel and Japhet Buchanan never expected their friendship to be tested by the Third Reich. Friends from early childhood, the boys form an inseparable, brotherly bond. Growing up in a little German village, they escape most of the struggles of war until the day Japhet is banished from school for being a Jew, and later has a rib broken when other village boys beat him up. Franz learns he is putting himself in danger for spending so much time with Japhet but continues to stand up for his Jewish friend even at the risk to himself. Then one day their lives are shattered when they see first-hand that the price of being a Jew is dangerously high. 

With the war now on their doorsteps, Franz and Japhet come up with a desperate plan to save their families and get them out of Germany alive. Leaving behind the lives they've always known, they move into Berlin with nothing to protect them but forged papers and each other. Convinced their friendship can keep them going, the boys try and make a new life for themselves while trying to keep their true identities and Japhet's heritage a secret. Taking his best friend's safety upon himself, Franz joins the Nazis in an attempt to get valuable information. At the same time, Japhet joins the Jewish Resistance, neither friend telling the other of their new occupations.

With everyone in their world telling them a Nazi and a Jew can't be friends, it is only a matter of time before they believe all the lies themselves, until neither is certain if they are fighting against a race of people or fighting for their homeland. Somehow they have to survive the horrors of World War 2, even when all of Germany seems to be against them.

Leseprobe

Brothers-in-Arms

A World War II story

Also by Jack Lewis Baillot

The Haphazardly Implausible Series

Haphazardly Implausible

Abolished Impracticality

The Loyalty Trilogy

A Stretch of Loyalty

A Test of Loyalty

Brothers-in-Arms

A World War II story

Jack Lewis Baillot

Dove Christian Publishers

P.O. Box 611

Bladensburg, MD 20710-0611

www.dovechristianpublishers.com

Copyright © 2016 by Jack Lewis Baillot

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission of the publisher.

eBook Edition

Published in the United States of America

Brothers-in-Arms is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Book design by Raenita Wiggins

To the unknown men and women who served in WWII

So many stories from the war have never been told for one reason or another. Although my story is a work of fiction, I hope that through it, those forgotten stories might have a chance to be remembered.

Contents

Foreword

PART ONE - Somewhere over the rainbow

A friendship forged over sisters

Snowball fight

Hanukkah

Standing up

The world begins to change

Unfair fight

Flying monkeys

Saving the baby

PART TWO -There’s a land that I heard of

Grief

Threats and a nightmare

Plans to enter Berlin

Escape in the night

Fight in the woods

Entering Berlin

Nightmares in Berlin

A final happy memory

Franz’s idea

Japhet meets the Hitler Youth

Tested

The Resistance

Lies

Joining the Nazis

Stein

Joining the resistance

Refusing to be moved

Protective walls

Meeting the Americans

The Nazis attack

The fight

Seth’s confrontation

PART THREE - The dreams that you dare to dream

Believing the lies

Trying to break through the wall

Seth intervenes

The battle

Losing himself

Franz interrogates

Gone too far?

James Rodgers

Distracting Japhet

A trap is laid

Trying to be convincing Germans

Staying behind

Death of a war hero

A betrayal

Japhet’s capture

The Rabbi

First interrogations

Facing consequences and going back

Searching for the Resistance

Ways to survive

Finding Japhet’s files

Preparing for death

Final confrontation

Afterward

Historical Note

Special Thanks

The Author

Foreword

In January 2014, I arrived at work and did something unusual. I stopped to read the newspaper. The front headlines caught my eye. It had been an oddly warm winter, and the spring-like weather had made the front page.

Weather in my hometown has always amused me. Usually in January we hit below zero temperatures and everyone passing through flees as fast as they can go. This time, the rest of America was being buried in snow while I wore my jackets and enjoyed the sunshine.

The paper had an article about how the weather had passed up a 1970 something record. I thought if I read down far enough I’d see someone shouting global warming even though they’d been shouting second ice age the year before. I forgot all about it, though, when I noticed a man sitting nearby. Since it was part of my job, I smiled at him then went back to the paper.

“You’re the author, aren’t you?”

I looked up in surprise. I wasn’t surprised he knew me to be an author, even though no stranger at work should have known I was Jack. However, I worked with my mom, and I remembered her telling me about a man whose car wouldn’t start and she’d called my dad to come and help him. I put two and two together, being that she had talked to the man, this man was he, and my mom – proud of the book you’re about to read – had been telling everyone about it.

No, what surprised me was someone talking to me.

“Yes,” I answered.

“You’re writing about Auschwitz?”

Still not over someone talking to me, my mind went blank and I didn’t understand the question, so I quickly replied with, “WWII.”

He nodded, and I calmed down. We began to talk. He told me he’d visited Auschwitz and I nearly began to cry. He then told me his dad had served in Africa during WWII, he was a pilot. I almost jumped up and down. I was currently reading A Higher Call and Franz – the pilot in the story – was in Africa. I recognized all the places the man named.

I listened with rapt attention as the man said, “My dad never talked of the war. He only had one picture taken while he was in Italy. He was staring off into the distance and one day I asked him what he was thinking when the picture had been taken.”

(The picture was taken soon after the Germans had surrendered.)

His dad told him he’d been waiting for his orders to be sent to Japan. He would have flown the front lines, and he knew he wouldn’t make it home alive.

“If they hadn’t dropped the atomic bomb,” the man concluded, “I wouldn’t have been born. I copied the picture of my dad and gave it to each of my kids so they wouldn’t forget.”

The story struck me hard. I’d been editing this book at the time and was again ready to give up on it. I don’t pretend for one moment that my story is anything like to what the men and women who fought in WWII went through. Mine is a work of fiction. But I hope through it, the men like this man’s father, might not have their stories forgotten. Even when they don’t talk about it, and all they have is one picture.

Part One

Somewhere over the rainbow

One

A friendship forged over sisters

1944

There were many times in the next few years when Japhet Buchanan wished he could escape his world and flee to another one like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. He wanted to slip away and find himself in a place where the biggest concerns were witches and shoes. He would even have been willing to face the flying monkeys.

He sometimes liked to pretend he was able to escape into Oz. He would close his eyes when Stein stood in front of him and yelled, demanding Japhet give up the others in the resistance. Japhet would cast himself and others as the characters and imagine how different life would be.

He would be the Cowardly Lion looking for his courage. Courage to stand up to his friend, to stand up to the world even after the world took everything from him.

Jimmy was Dorothy, pulled out of the world he had always known and thrown into one full of insanity. The idea of Jimmy being Dorothy always made Japhet smile because Jimmy would have thrown a chess piece at him if he knew Japhet cast him as Judy Garland.

Stein was the Wicked Witch of the East, out to take what he wanted and kill whoever got in his way. Sadly, he didn’t die when he got wet.

The role of the Scarecrow was always filled by those who had insanity forced on them by the Nazis.

And Franz – Franz Kappel was the Tin Man. The man with no heart. The man who could coldly turn his best friend over the Nazis without batting an eye.

1931

They hadn’t always been best friends. They hadn’t known each other until they were eight and seven. But when they met, it was an instant bond.

It happened at church. The Buchanans were Jewish, but also born-again Christians. They didn’t go to the local synagogue every week, but instead attended a nearby church fairly often. That was how they first met the Kappels.

The Kappels had one of those long, boring family histories that Japhet Buchanan had never cared about. Everyone in Germany seemed to have one, his own family included, and after hearing ten such stories he stopped listening. From what he did hear, the Kappel family had been living in Germany for over a hundred years, and the recent Kappels had been living outside of Berlin for fifty years.

There weren’t many kids Japhet’s age in the little church. Japhet saw Franz from time to time but for some reason never thought to talk to him. Instead, it was Mrs. Buchanan who went to talk to Mrs. Kappel one day after the service. After that the two women talked after church for a month, then Mrs. Kappel came to tea and Mr. Buchanan and Mr. Kappel began to talk. It was only a matter of time before the two mothers forced their sons into an introductory meeting.

It happened during one of the tea sessions. Mrs. Kappel brought her son over and Mrs. Buchanan told Japhet he should take him out into the backyard to play. Japhet thought the whole thing was stupid. Mothers couldn’t just arrange friendships, and he knew Franz Kappel was older than he, so he didn’t know why he had to play host. But Japhet wasn’t one for arguing with the woman who could send him to his room without supper. He obeyed.

Franz also wasn’t overly impressed with the friendship attempt, and for a while, the two boys sat on the woodpile and said nothing. That was until Japhet’s older sister thrust her brown head out of her bedroom window and demanded that Japhet return her brush.

“It’s your brush,” Japhet retorted back. “Why would I have it?”

She’d yelled at him until she saw Franz, then she glared and yanked her head back inside. Once she was gone from sight, Franz grinned almost wickedly at Japhet.

“Did you take it?” he’d asked.

There was something in that grin. Some kind of camaraderie Japhet had never seen before in any of his other friends. He matched the evil grin.

“Yes.”

The evil grin widened.

“I did that to one of my sisters last week.”

One of. That stuck in Japhet’s mind faster than eggs stuck to a hot pan.

“You have more than one sister?” he asked.

Franz laughed scornfully. “I have five older sisters,” he muttered.

Japhet felt instant sympathy.

“I’m sorry. I have only three older sisters.”

And that was the start of it. Because boys know something mothers might not ever understand. Nothing creates a friendship faster than finding a fellow sufferer in a household of all girls and no boys.

***

1933

The fire snapped and devoured a log as Franz stared at the page laid down in front of him. The words on the page danced in front of his eyes. He knew if he blinked they would clear, but he didn’t feel like it. Across from him, Japhet had his homework book closed already. He had his sketchbook open and was drawing.

Franz refrained from smashing his head down on his open history book. It was December. One more week of school before the Christmas holiday. Franz had to remind himself of this, over and over. He could make it.

Of course, making it would have been easier if Japhet didn’t get through his homework so fast, or so easily. The two of them always got together after school to work in the Buchanan kitchen, and Japhet always finished an hour before Franz. Then he would “doodle” with his left hand, even though he was right-handed. It was almost aggravating since his so-called doodles probably could have been sent to an art museum.

“You could at least pretend to care about my agony,” Franz finally grumbled.

Japhet didn’t look up from the landscape his pencil flew over. Trees and a rolling hill were starting to take life.

“I could,” he replied, “but then I’d have to tutor you again. And you’re an annoying student.”

“Am not.” Franz spun his pencil around on the table. “You’re a know-it-all teacher.”

“I pay attention in class.”

A bird joined the trees. The bird was so lifelike it could have flown off the page. Franz considered shooting his pencil at Japhet.

“No one likes a bragger,” Franz muttered just as Mrs. Buchanan walked into the kitchen. When she saw them at the table, she placed her hands on her hips and frowned.

“What are you two doing in here? There’s fresh snow on the ground. Why aren’t you outside?”

“Franz is too slow with his homework,” Japhet complained.

Walking over, Mrs. Buchanan studied his history page over his shoulder. She smelled like firewood and fresh bread. She was a short woman, plump, with bony arms. Franz knew they were bony. He’d once startled her when he’d barged into the kitchen and she’d caught him in the stomach with her elbow.

“History,” Mrs. Buchanan said. She shook her head. “It’s almost the school break. You two need to go outside for a bit and get into a snowball fight or something. The snow is perfect for snowballs.”

When Franz looked at Japhet, his eyes were twinkling. They both knew how important it was to get outside while the snow could be formed into snowballs. If they waited too long, it would start to melt and then all they’d have would be slush. Besides, when an adult said they ought to have a snowball fight it was impossible to say no. Franz slammed his book closed, Japhet laid his pencil on his sketchbook, and they raced to the door. They tried to pass through the kitchen door at the same time, crashed into each other, and fell into the living room where Mr. Buchanan was just coming in the front door. He removed his hat and stared down at them.

“I’m so glad to see my son racing to see me,” he teased. “There’s a mob of boys outside, by the way.” As he spoke, Mrs. Buchanan came out of the kitchen, stepped over the boys, and went to kiss her husband.

“I just ran into Gert,” Mr. Buchanan said, speaking of their neighbor across the street, after he’d returned her kiss. Franz only half listened as he wiggled out from under Japhet’s leg and ignored his glare.

They snatched up their coats as Mrs. Buchanan did the proper thing and asked how the neighbors were doing. Japhet grabbed one of the Franz’s gloves, dropped it on the floor, and pinned it under his foot.

“Great. The baby has finally stopped howling,” Mr. Buchanan continued. Husband and wife ignored the boys as Franz shoved his shoulder against Japhet’s chest. The younger boy didn’t budge.

“Did they find out what’s been wrong?”

Franz lived a block from the Buchanans but, like everyone else in the little village, he knew Mr. Leitz—Gert to the adults—and his wife had just had a baby boy who had been howling non-stop since he’d been born. No one could make the baby happy, and he kept neighbors and his parents awake. Right now, though, babies hovered in the back of his mind. He shoved his shoulder harder against Japhet, who braced his feet and grinned.

“The baby couldn’t figure out how to eat.”

Japhet and Franz stopped their struggle and Japhet squinted at his dad. “How can a baby not know how to eat?” he asked.

“It happens more often than you’d think,” Mrs. Buchanan answered. “A baby is fed by a tube while in the womb. Then one day it comes out into the cold world and it isn’t fed anymore and has to eat on its own. And no one is there to give it instructions.”

Japhet grinned and dug his elbow into Franz’s side.

“Bet you needed instructions since I wasn’t around yet to help you out.”

Franz pounced on him and knocked him to the floor as Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan continued their baby conversation.

“Gert said we can come over and see the baby now. You have to come with me so it won’t be strange that I’m over there.”

It wasn’t easy holding Japhet down. He was smaller and skinnier than Franz and could squirm away. He wiggled like a fish and slithered across the floor. Franz jumped up and threw himself on top of him again, pinning him by the couch. They both banged loudly onto the floor, but Japhet’s parents said nothing.

“You need more babies in your life,” Mrs. Buchanan said.

“Yes, you should give me more. Then I wouldn’t have to make excuses to go over and hold the neighbor’s.”

Franz heard lips smacking, a sound he’d gotten used to. Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan always seemed to be kissing.

“I’d gladly give you more kids, but then we might have another son.”

Japhet snatched a cushion off the couch, somehow twisted around under Franz, and beamed him in the face with it. Franz stumbled back and looked for something with which to retaliate when he realized he was now being talked about.

“What’s so bad about another son?” Mr. Buchanan had asked.

“Well, Japhet is this bad with a part time brother. Can you imagine him with a full-time one?”

Their hair standing on end from the wrestling match, Japhet and Franz both looked up. Mr. Buchanan’s eyes had gone wide.

“What?” he exclaimed. “You mean Franz isn’t my son?” He glanced down at Franz. “Why are you always over here then, eating my food?”

“Because I’m so amazing and he hopes to pick up on it.”

Franz spun around with a retort to counter Japhet’s teasing but instead got a face full of cushion.

Mr. Buchanan picked up Franz’s glove and tossed it to him. “I guess you’ll have to keep coming over then,” he said with a wink.

“Funny.” Franz tried to swallow his grin, but like always he failed. Instead he got to his feet, yanked on his coat, and dashed out the door before Japhet could hurl the cushion at his head.

Two

Snowball fight

1933

The first snowball fight of Christmas break always proved to be the best. Franz and Japhet held it in the Kappel’s front yard since it was bigger than the Buchanan’s.

Mrs. Kappel kept the water in her teapot hot so the boys could have hot chocolate when they came inside. Mr. Kappel helped them build their first fort. After that, they would pile more snow on it to fortify it as needed.

The moment they were let out of school on the last day, Franz and Japhet would dart out the door and meet up in the schoolyard. They would then race each other to the Kappel’s front yard.

Franz always won the races. Japhet did his best. He pushed himself until his lungs burned, but his short legs refused to allow him to pass Franz. He always made up coming in second by jumping on Franz’s back the moment he stopped.

Snow started to fall by the time Franz and Japhet reached the front yard. The fort was already built—they and Mr. Kappel had worked on it the night before. The moment they reached it, Franz and Japhet dove behind it and began rolling snowballs while keeping an eye out for the other boys. They took turns, one keeping watch while the other rolled.

“Are they coming yet?” Japhet hissed after half an hour had passed. Their pile had grown to a good size, but he was concerned. None of the other boys had ever been this late before.

“I’d have told you if they were,” Franz retorted. “I’m not sleeping up here.”

Picking up one of the smaller snowballs, Japhet threw it at Franz’s back. Franz turned and jumped on him and they rolled back and forth in the snow, their grunts interrupted only by their laughter.

Japhet was getting the upper hand, which rarely happened since he was smaller than Franz, when a shout alerted them that they were no longer alone. Before they could get back behind their fortress, a snowball whizzed at them and got Franz in the head. Japhet snorted with laughter as he snatched up snowballs to return fire.

“I got one of them!” Japhet’s friend, Amell, shouted. Amell was his neighbor, the one with the new howling baby brother.

“Duck!” another boy, Gilbert, yelled. He hit the ground behind a neighbor’s car but wasn’t fast enough. Japhet got his leg as he dove for cover.

Franz now at his side, Japhet picked up two snowballs and hurled them at Amell, who took longer to duck in an attempt to hit Franz before he got behind the fortress. Amell’s snowballs flew harmlessly over Franz’s head while one Franz threw found a mark. It smacked Amell full on the face and Japhet grinned with glee when he saw snow drop down his collar.

“How’s your face?” Japhet asked Franz before he stuck his head up and hit the stunned Amell in the chest.

“Not fair!” Amell accused. He dropped to his knees and rubbed at his face. “I’m blind!”

“War isn’t fair!” Japhet shouted. He glanced at Franz, who nodded. With a war cry both leaped up and charged Amell, hurling snowballs as fast as they could.

From behind the car, Gilbert whimpered and said something which sounded like surrender. Japhet ignored his pleas, ran past Amell, and pummeled Gilbert as he tried to wiggle away under the car.

The massacre was swift but merciless. Franz and Japhet never took prisoners and didn’t let up until both Amell and Gilbert begged for mercy.

Grinning, Japhet sat down on the sidewalk and watched as Amell pulled off his coat and beat snow out of it.

“Your shirt is wet,” Japhet said.

“You think you’re so good at this,” Amell complained. He brushed snow out of his hair and Japhet howled with laughter when it dripped down his shirt.

“You wouldn’t be laughing so hard if this were a game of hide-and-seek tag and not a snowball fight,” Gilbert grumbled. He had his glasses off. He kept rubbing them on his shirt to get the snow off but just smeared it.

Franz sat beside Japhet and said little, though Japhet had long since gotten used to his silence. Franz talked to Japhet but never said much to the other boys. Japhet didn’t care, it made his friendship with Franz feel different than with Amell and Gilbert – closer somehow.

“I’ve been getting better,” Japhet told Amell. Not only could he not outrun Franz but he couldn’t outrun the other boys either. Amell was a year older, so not being able to outrun him didn’t matter as much. Gilbert was a year younger and another matter. His mom considered him a genius, Japhet figured there might be some truth in that. Gilbert was the youngest one in Japhet’s grade and he knew more than Japhet ever planned on learning. He spent all his time reading and was slightly pudgy, which only made it worse that he could outrun Japhet.

“Sure you have,” Amell mocked.

Lifting his head, Franz glared at Amell and then exchanged glances with Japhet. They both grinned at each other.

“Don’t believe me?” Japhet asked.

“Does it look like we do?” Gilbert asked. He put his glasses back on and water dripped down the lenses.

“You look scared to me,” Franz said.

“We’re not scared!” Amell shouted. He got to his feet and scowled. Japhet grinned just to annoy him.

“Fine.” He got up too, Franz scrambling up beside him. “Prove it.”

Then, before Amell had time to react, Franz reached around Japhet, slapped Amell’s arm, and took off.

“You’re it!”

“Try to find us and catch us!” Japhet added as he also turned and ran. Gilbert followed suit, stumbling off in the other direction, leaving Amell standing alone in the cold.

Japhet found an empty trashcan that didn’t smell of dying bananas and someone’s leftover dinner. He heaved himself inside, pulled on the lid, and slowed his breathing, not moving a muscle. Franz had taught him all his hiding tricks.

“If you can’t outrun them find another way to beat them.”

And he had. All through the summer he and Franz had perfected his hiding skills. Now Japhet bit his lip to keep from smiling as Amell ran past his hiding place. Once, twice, three times. It started to get cold and Japhet had to fight to keep his teeth them from chattering. “Buchanan!” he heard Amell shout once or twice before his voice faded off down the street. Japhet could have laughed.

Finally, Amell’s voice was joined by Gilbert’s, a sign that Gilbert had been found. More time passed. The chill got worse. Icy fingers came up Japhet’s backside and climbed his spine. He still refused to move.

“When I get my hands on him I’m going to strangle him!” Amell snapped once, then his stomping feet faded.

“Where is he Franz?” were the next words to reach inside Japhet’s trashcan. The question came from Gilbert. By then his fingers were little icicles.

“I don’t know,” Franz murmured.

Amell snorted in anger. “You do so, Kappel. Tell us! Before we all turn to snowmen ourselves.”

“You give up?” Franz kept his voice level, but there was a note of triumph in it.

“Yes, sure. I can’t feel my toes. Just find him for us so we can go inside. My dad will kill me if I leave him out here all night.”

Franz laughed and Japhet closed his eyes as the lid came off the trashcan. Cold air hit his head and he lifted his face, opened his eyes, and looked up to find Franz grinning down at him.

“I think you won,” Franz said.

Three

Hanukkah

1933

“I’m supposed to invite you to Hanukkah.”

Franz looked up from the pile of wood and nails. He had locked himself in his dad’s back shed, even though it wasn’t really locked since the lock had long since broken off. It had something to do with Franz and Japhet trying to see if they could kick doors in, though nothing had ever been proven.

“What?”

Japhet stood in the doorway and somehow he’d gotten a hold of Franz’s hammer. He held it out to him.

“Hadi said I had to come over and invite you and your family to celebrate the last day of Hanukkah with us.” Japhet leaned in the doorway and frowned at his boots.

Hadi was one of the middle Buchanan girls. Her full name was Hadassah, but Franz could only remember one time she’d ever been called that. She and Kirsten, who was Franz’s 19-year-old sister, were close. Probably because they had boyfriends with whom they liked to spend almost every waking moment.

“We always come over on the last day of Hanukkah.” Franz, now armed with his hammer, began nailing boards into place.

He spoke between the banging. “Why is she inviting us now?”

“Something to do with Ross,” Japhet said. Ross was Hadi’s boyfriend. “I guess he’s coming over and she said it should be more formal. Or something. I didn’t really listen.”

“If it’s so formal why is she making you ask us over? Why doesn’t she do it? Or have Kirsten ask us?” Franz didn’t expect an answer. He had sisters. He knew half of what they thought up wasn’t meant to make sense.

“I don’t know. Just make sure you come, okay? I don’t want to spend the whole day alone with Ross. I need you there for moral support.”

Holding nails in his teeth, Franz turned from his hammering. He raised his eyebrows and Japhet grinned. Franz pulled the nails from between his lips.

“Maybe I don’t want to come over now that I know Ross is there.”

“If Kirsten hears he’ll be there then she’s going to bring Hardy. So you’d better come or I’m going to climb in your window at midnight and bury you in snow. And you know I’ll do it.”

Since Japhet had done it before, Franz didn’t doubt one word. He shrugged and returned to his catapult. Japhet entered the shed and helped him by holding boards into place for him.

Franz had come up with the catapult design and idea. His talent didn’t lie in drawing so he made up for it in other areas. Usually, they involved pulling pranks on Amell and Gilbert. He planned to set the catapult up behind the fortress and get Amell and Gilbert on the last day of the Christmas break.

They worked on it until Mrs. Kappel called them into dinner. Franz didn’t know if Japhet had originally planned on staying to eat, but he didn’t say anything as his friend sat at the table.

Not that it mattered. Both boys often ate at each other’s houses. If they didn’t show up at their own home for dinner, their parents knew where they were.

“How’s the catapult?” Mr. Kappel asked as Japhet and Franz claimed their seats.

“Good. I think we’ll have it done by the end of the week,” Franz answered.

Kirsten shook her head as Mr. Kappel grinned.

“This is one reason Hardy doesn’t like to come over, Dad. And you encourage it.”

Mr. Kappel’s grin turned evil.

“You’re my girl, Kirsten. If Hardy is as interested in you as he claims, he will brave anything the boys throw at him. This is my way of testing him, to see if he’s worthy of you.”

Sighing, Kirsten tugged on a strain of blond hair. Franz settled back into his seat and beamed at his sister. Thankfully she had gotten too old to fling peas at him.

Japhet had taken a few bites of food before he seemed to remember his invitation.

“Mr. and Mrs. Kappel,” he said, ripping his eyes from his plate, “my sister is being weird. She wanted me to invite all of you to Hanukkah. I told her you always come, but she told me to ask. I think it has something to do with Ross.”

Franz saw his dad’s eyes shine, but he held back any laughter. He glanced slyly at Kirsten but said nothing. She didn’t notice the look, which disappointed Franz. He liked it when her face turned as red as an apple.

“Is your mom cooking?” Mr. Kappel asked Japhet.

“Wilhelm!” Franz’s mom rebuked. “You’re going to make the boy think the only reason we go over is for Sarah’s cooking!”

“That is the only reason I go over,” Mr. Kappel teased.

“I’m telling her you said that,” Mrs. Kappel warned.

“I’m not scared.”

“You will be when Josef finds out you are trying to horde all his wife’s cooking.”

“Traitor,” Mr. Kappel said into his peas.

The rest of the meal passed with Kirsten, Bea, Elsa, Gabi, and Sophia trying to decide what they would wear to the Hanukkah gathering and Franz and Japhet kicking each other under the table. When the meal was over and Japhet started for home Mr. Kappel made sure to remind him they’d be over for the celebration, and Franz made him promise to come back the next day to help finish the catapult.

“I want to get Hardy tomorrow night; we can test it out on him.”

Japhet grinned. “I’ll be here then.”

Four

Standing up

1934

Ten was a special age. When Franz turned ten, he’d been given permission to go alone to the field a mile outside of town—not that he ever went alone. Japhet always went with him. They just no longer had the need to beg their sisters to take them. Ten was an age which meant more freedom. Except Japhet had school the day of his birthday.

“It’s not fair,” he grumbled as he and Franz walked down the middle of the road together. It always made them feel like they were walking on the edge of danger even though there were few cars in town. “Last year my birthday was on Sunday.”

“It’s because the days are always changing,” Franz pointed out, trying his rarely used big brother tone. He swung his books in an arch, almost hitting Japhet with them. “But it isn’t going to be so bad. I’m coming to spend the night again. And Ruth said she will make your cake. Besides, I had to go to school on my birthday.”

Ruth was Japhet’s fourteen-year-old sister and the youngest out of the three girls. She excelled at baking even if her big sister skills needed work.

“You owe me this birthday,” Japhet said.

“I owe you?” Franz stopped swinging his books. “For what?”

“For my last birthday. Remember? Last year you came up with the idea to prank our sisters, and I got grounded for it. I had to spend the whole day inside.”

“You’re just whining,” Franz said. “I spent all day with you while you were imprisoned and you know it. Even though I’d already served my punishment.”

Japhet laughed gleefully. “You had to polish all of your sisters’ shoes and do their laundry. For a week.”

“And cook dinner on Kirsten’s night so Hardy could take her to a restaurant. If anything, you got off easy.” Franz smacked Japhet lightly on the back of the head.

Such gestures always called for war. Japhet shoved Franz and took off running down the snowy street, the cold winter air stinging his lungs. Franz gave chase and they dashed into the school yard and made it to the lawn before Franz tackled Japhet to the ground. Books went flying and the boys rolled over and over each other. When they came to a stop, they were covered in snow and there was a hole in Franz’s pants leg.

“I’m dead,” he said.

“Good. Serves you right, tackling me on my birthday.” Japhet sat up and reached for his hat, which had gotten knocked off his head. As he brushed snow out of his hair and tried to keep it from going down his back, some of the other boys walked past him and Franz. Looking up, Japhet smiled at them, not sure if it surprised him anymore when the other boys didn’t return it. Something strange had been going on with Amell, Gilbert, and the others for the past few months. Japhet had given up trying to find out what.

“Franz, what are you doing?” Gilbert stopped and looked down at them. Japhet shifted his seat when he felt the snow beginning to melt and seep into his pants. He peered up at Gilbert.

That was another thing Japhet had started to notice. Whenever the other boys were around now, which wasn’t often, they spoke to Franz instead of him. At first it had been funny, watching Franz glare and sputter for sentences. Now it was annoying.

Franz stopped making half-hearted grabs for his scattered books.

“I’m sitting in the snow, idiot. What does it look like?”

With his new thrust into the social world, Franz’s temper had made an appearance. Japhet made a snowball and threw it at Gilbert, but the boy just ducked and kept his eyes on Franz.

“No.” A couple of other boys joined Gilbert. “What are you doing with him?” Gilbert pointed right at Japhet.

“Him?” Franz stared at Japhet in confusion and Japhet stared right back. Japhet racked his mind in a sudden panic, trying to remember if Franz had talked him into pulling a prank on Gilbert, which would have ended looking like Japhet had done it. He couldn’t remember anything. They’d only seen Gilbert once that summer.

“I’m sitting in the snow with him. And he has a name.”

“But—” One of the seven-year-old boys stared in horror as if Japhet had suddenly grown fangs.

“But he’s a Jew!” Amell suddenly joined the group and the conversation.

“Duh,” Franz muttered. “Everyone knows he’s a Jew. Everyone has always known he’s a Jew. You’ve always known he’s a Jew.”

Japhet’s face reddened. He had never really considered his heritage. He had been born and raised in Germany, just like all the other boys. He was a Jew, but that didn’t make him all that different from everyone else. His parents were Christian and only celebrated some of the Jewish holidays to remember their past. Japhet couldn’t understand why, all of the sudden, being called a Jew made him uncomfortable.

“But you shouldn’t be...playing...with a Jew,” Gilbert said slowly.

“What?” Franz got to his feet and glared, his temper running shorter with each second. “Why not? He’s my best friend! Besides, you play with him all the time.”

“I don’t anymore!” Gilbert yelped.

“It doesn’t matter what we used to do,” Amell cut in. He held his head high, using his height advantage over Franz. “He’s a Jew!”

Japhet didn’t know how to react to the argument and kept his seat in the snow as Franz clenched his hands into fists.

“Stop saying that!” he shouted. “It doesn’t matter if he’s a Jew or not! It has never mattered and it never will!”

Amell stepped closer to Franz. “It does matter! He’s a stinking Jew and he shouldn’t even be allowed here! He’s so stupid he shouldn’t even try going to school! He can’t learn anything!”

Stunned, Japhet didn’t know how to react. He’d never once dreamed Amell would say anything like that about him. Japhet’s head felt like it was spinning and he couldn’t make sense of what was happening.

Unexpectedly, Franz’s fist slammed into Amell’s stomach. The boy doubled over and Franz kicked him in the shin, then jumped on him and knocked him to the ground where he punched him again.

“You take it back!” Franz shouted as he let his fists fly.

Gilbert, gasping in horror, grabbed one of Franz’s arms and tried to pull him off Amell, but Franz wouldn’t budge.

“Take it back!” he yelled.

Japhet heard his friend’s angry shouts. He heard girls screaming and calling for the teachers. He heard Gilbert’s words of reason and Amell’s grunts of pain, but it all sounded far away and muffled. The only thing he heard sharply was the sneering taunt of Jew as it rang loudly in his head.

***

Franz and Japhet sat outside the principal’s office. Franz’s lip bled slowly from a lucky swing Amell had gotten in. The cut hurt, but he didn’t care, because it was the only blow Amell had been able to land – and the other boy, doubled over and gasping for air, had two black eyes and had to be helped off the school lawn. That would teach him to insult Japhet.

Inside the office, Franz could hear a murmur of voices. His parents and Japhet’s had been called in. That had been over an hour ago, and during that time Japhet had not once uttered a sound. He sat stiffly in his chair and stared at the opposite wall. He looked as if someone had taken his world and turned it on its head. The vacant look frightened Franz.

“I’ve never liked Amell. That’s why I put those ants in his desk last semester.” Franz tried to break the silence. Japhet didn’t as much as blink.

“Tomorrow I think I will put a tack on his seat. You have one I can borrow, don’t you?”

Even then Japhet didn’t respond. Franz was about to poke him when the office door opened and the Kappels and Buchanans emerged. They said nothing, but Mrs. Buchanan held out her hand to Japhet and Mrs. Kappel motioned for Franz to follow her. The two boys did as they were instructed, but as they left Franz noticed the principal frowning at them and he knew things were never going to be the same.

Not a word was said until they had all left the building, then Mr. Kappel demanded to know what had happened.

“I beat up Amell,” Franz explained, trying to sound sorrier about it than he actually was.

“You beat him up?” Mr. Buchanan asked. Franz didn’t know why he sounded surprised.

“Yes, and I’m not really sorry I did.” Franz could still see Amell’s sneer and it made his blood boil.

Stinking Jew. What did Amell know? He was stupid, and he’d been held back a year in school.

Mr. Kappel stopped walking and faced his son. “And Japhet. Where was Japhet when this happened?”

“By me. Well, not really. He was sitting.” Franz didn’t understand why it should matter where Japhet had been. Japhet didn’t get into fights.

“He didn’t beat up Amell?” Mr. Buchanan asked. He looked at his son.

“No.” Franz frowned deeply and answered since Japhet was still quiet. “I beat Amell up, by myself.”

“Why?” Mrs. Kappel asked gently.

“He called Japhet a stinking Jew,” Franz explained. “So I punched him. You can punish me for it, but I’m not sorry.”

Mr. Kappel sighed and ran both hands through his neatly combed hair. When he lowered his arms, a small smile played on his lips.

“You shouldn’t beat your fellow schoolboys up,” he said in his fatherly tone, “but to be honest, I don’t really feel like punishing you. You stood up for your friend. Soon, we might all have to decide how far we’ll go to do that.” He glanced swiftly at Mr. Buchanan as he spoke.

“What do you mean?” Franz’s stomach tied into a knot. He wasn’t getting in trouble, and his father sounded worried. Something wasn’t right.

Mr. Buchanan placed one hand on his shoulder and one on Japhet’s. He smiled.

“Don’t worry about it right now. Come on. Let’s get you two home and cleaned up. We have a birthday to celebrate.”

***

Franz sat up and glared over the top of the bed, but he couldn’t see Japhet on the other side of it. Leaving his warm blanket, he rolled onto the bed and dangled his head down the other side.

“You’re not asleep so wake up!” he hissed. He poked Japhet’s ear, the only thing visible above his blanket.

Japhet ignored him so Franz retaliated and snatched his pillow. Japhet’s head hit the floor and he came up fighting. Franz smacked him with the pillow, momentarily stunning him. There was something satisfying about knocking his best friend slightly senseless on his tenth birthday.

Sitting up on the bed, Franz crossed his legs, pulled the pillow to his chest, and smiled over the top of it. He kept that position until Japhet recovered enough to hurl himself at Franz. They crashed backward, off the bed, legs and arms flailing as they tried to keep from hitting the floor. The attempt ended with them landing in a thunderous crash.

Both of them laid still and listened. Franz knew they had just made enough noise to wake the dead, but he hoped they hadn’t been loud enough to wake anyone in the house. He counted to ten, but when no sounds came, he turned his head and saw Japhet grinning at him.

“That was an unfair fight,” Japhet said, “I was almost asleep. You can’t hit an unarmed man.”

“It’s only ten o’clock, and it’s your birthday. You can’t just go to sleep like that,” Franz rebuked. “And you would have been armed and prepared if you’d been awake.”

Japhet looked away and Franz knew he had begun thinking about school again. He refused to let Japhet sulk on what was left of his birthday and shoved the pillow into his chest.

“Come on, we can’t go to sleep yet. Besides, I didn’t have a chance to give you my present.”

Tossing the pillow away, Japhet twisted his night shirt around so it wasn’t strangling him.

“What present?” He leaned forward.

“The one...from me. I already said that. I didn’t think you wanted it...”

Japhet reached for the discarded pillow, but Franz kicked it even farther from his reach.

“Of course I want it,” Japhet said.

With the pillow safely out of the way, Franz pulled a package out from under the bed. He had hidden it there when he’d come up to change into his night clothes. He’d been waiting for the perfect moment to give it.

Japhet accepted the box and Franz sat back and grinned as he watched Japhet eagerly tear into the paper. When he had it all pulled back, Japhet sat back and stared, then lifted his large eyes and stared at Franz. Franz felt a spike of pleasure and his grin turned smug.

“You...where...how...?”

Franz clasped both hands over his mouth so he wouldn’t risk bringing down the wrath of the sleepy Buchanan girls as he laughed.

“I’ve been saving up for it. Do you like it?” he asked after a few moments.

“I...it’s the best present I’ve ever gotten!”

Japhet held the knife up in the moonlight so he could get a better look as his eyes gleamed. He turned it over and over, examining the black handle and the shiny, sharp blade.

“Your dad and mine helped me pick it out. They said it would last you for the rest of your life. It even has a sheath.”

Pulling the black leather sheath out from the paper, Japhet beamed a grin at Franz.

“Thank you,” he said in that almost mushy way that made Franz’s face turn red. “It’s perfect! But you know what this means, don’t you?”

“What?”

“This means I have the upper hand when we play war.”

Franz reached for the pillow. “I’m older, and taller. You’ll never have the upper hand. I’ll always be able to catch you.”

Five

The world begins to change

1935

Snow covered the ground, at least three inches thick. Outside Japhet’s bedroom window, he watched Mr. Leitz and Amell as they tried to free their brand new Opel Olympia from a snow bank. Two years ago, Japhet would have gone out and helped, but that was before he’d been labeled a Jew. No one wanted help from a Jew anymore.

Japhet turned back to his history book. Normally, history was a subject that held his rapt attention but this morning his thoughts kept wandering. The night before he’d overheard his parents talking. The conversation replayed through his mind, over and over, even though he tried to force it out.

“They cut my hours,” Mr. Buchanan had said.

This was followed by silence, then Mrs. Buchanan’s gentle, “We knew it was going to happen sooner or later. At least you still have a job. Aaron lost his.”

“I know I should be grateful,” Mr. Buchanan murmured, “God has been taking care of us. There are others worse off than we are. But, everything about this is wrong! Japhet and Ruth being forced to leave school, me losing hours at work and being forced to turn over my gun, you not being allowed into the shoe—”

“Hush,” Mrs. Buchanan whispered. “I told you not to worry about the shoe incident.”

“Things are so much worse in Berlin,” Mr. Buchanan whispered back. “How long before it really begins to affect us? They’ve already stamped our papers with a J. They’re labeling Jews, keeping an eye on them.”

“All we can do is pray,” Mrs. Buchanan reminded him. “Pray, and stick together.”

Pray and stick together. Isn’t that what families did? When one of them got kicked out of school, the other followed. When hours were taken from a job schedule families learned to do without sugar and other non-necessities. And life went on.

But for how much longer?

Giving up on history, Japhet grabbed his sketchbook. He’d finally decided that he wanted to start taking art seriously, maybe even pursuing it as a career when he got older. That wasn’t why he’d started drawing more. It helped when he began to remember the stories he’d heard about families being dragged off and never seen again. Stories about people fleeing Germany, of people who vanished into the night.

Smack!

Something splattered against Japhet’s window and he jumped, falling backward out of his chair. One of the chair’s arms dug into his rib cage and he rubbed his side as he picked himself up and tried to look around the snowball covering the middle of his window. He wasn’t surprised to see Franz standing in the yard, his hat askew, a snowball in one hand, and a grin on his face.

“Goodness!” Mrs. Buchanan gasped from downstairs. “Please don’t tell me that was another bird!”

“I keep telling you, Mom...we need to stop washing the windows so much then that wouldn’t happen,” Ruth said from the kitchen. It was her favorite spot to do school since she could sit by the oven. Japhet preferred the quiet of his room – when it was quiet.

“It wasn’t a bird!” Japhet called down as he shoved his window open after frowning at his sketch book. His picture of a deer now had a jagged line through it. “It was just Franz!”

“Just Franz?” Franz retorted, catching the last part as the window jerked free of the ice which held it to the window sill. “Since when did I become ‘Just Franz’? I’m almost another member of your family!”

Japhet leaned on the frame, not caring when cold snow seeped into his sleeves. “That’s when you became ‘Just Franz’,” he said. “Like Ruth is ‘Just Ruth.’ And you ruined my drawing. I hope you’re happy.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Ruth, wearing socks, had managed to sneak up behind him without making a sound. It was one of her more annoying talents, in a long list of annoying older sister talents.

Before Japhet could say anything to her, she was at the window. She scowled down at Franz.

“What are you doing out there, throwing snowballs at our windows?” she scolded. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“It was canceled since half of the teachers couldn’t get there because of the snow on the roads,” Franz explained. He tried to look pensive for the snowball.

“Well, Japhet still has school,” Ruth reported, tilting her nose high in the air, “so why don’t you go home and let him study?”

“Study?” Somehow Mrs. Buchanan had joined them, also without making a sound. “With this much snow on the ground? I don’t think school should be allowed on days like this.” She smiled and held Japhet’s gloves up. “Besides, Franz is out there all alone. And, knowing him, he will probably stand there until you go out. You had better hurry.”

Japhet could have kissed his mom, but he was eleven. Instead, he accepted his gloves, smiled smugly at Ruth, and dashed down the stairs where he stopped long enough to pull on his boots, coat, hat, and gloves – then he was out the door, snatching up snow, and hurling it at Franz’s head.

Franz ducked, barely avoiding being hit in the eye, and released the snowball he had been holding. Japhet saw it coming for him and dived into a snow bank. He rolled over and ended up sprawled out on his back. Franz walked over and looked down at him.

“Does this mean war?” he demanded, his arms crossed over his chest.

Japhet didn’t answer. Instead he swept his legs to the side, knocking Franz’s legs out from under him. His friend went down hard, his arms flailing as he tried to catch himself. As soon as he was down, Japhet fought to get to his feet, crawling until he was out of the deeper snow, then running into the road. Once there he spun around, grabbed a handful of snow, and rolled it into a ball. Franz rolled out of the snow bank and sprawled out on what used to be the walkway but was now just a smaller pile of snow.

“So, war it is,” Franz yelled as he got to his feet.

Grinning, Japhet threw his perfectly made snowball, hitting Franz in the back of the head, then laughed and ran away as Franz spun and came after him. They dashed down the street, breath rising in puffy clouds in the cold air. Japhet could hear Franz closing the distance behind him and knew it wouldn’t be long before he caught up. Franz was still faster, even though Japhet did all he could to beat him in races. Sometimes he even resorted to cheating but always failed.

Even so he kept trying. Japhet wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

Japhet took a road that led to one of the open fields. He darted right into the deep piles of snow and pushed through even when the wet cold tried to pull his boots off and slow him down. There was a hill in front of him—one he and Franz liked to roll down in the summer—and Japhet charged up the side of it. By then his breath was coming in desperate gasps. His lungs burned from cold and lack of air, but he kept going. Franz would shove him head first into the snow if he caught him and that was his motivation to keep pushing.

At the top of the hill, Japhet risked a glance over his shoulder and saw – with not enough time to avoid it – a snowball flying for his head. He ducked, but it still smacked him, right in the face. Stunned, he stopped running and Franz threw himself forward. He wrapped his arms around Japhet’s legs and both lost their balance and crashed down the other side of the hill.

They rolled over each other and down, snow filling their coats and boots. Japhet lost one of his gloves and he was certain at one point he got Franz’s boot in his teeth. Then it was over, and both lay on their ba [...]