Enemies To Lovers 5: Tears Of Gratitude

As time passed, Joanna grew more and more puzzled by her captor's behavior. If he indeed considered her inferior because of her race, why did he at times seem to go out of his way to be kind to her? Was it possible he'd grown to no longer see her as an object, but as a person, a woman, even? Yet if that were true, why was he still cruel most of the time?

One afternoon Schiller, snow dripping from his overcoat and boots, brought a large fur tree into the house and set it up in one corner of the living room. At its top he placed a swastika, and he decorated the tree with strings of lights and balls with swastikas on them. When it grew dark, he plugged the lights into the wall so they glowed in red, green, blue, orange, and yellow. Chills went up and down Joanna's spine as she looked on.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Schiller asked her. She only shuddered in response, and he gave a cruel laugh and walked away.

Several afternoons later, a group of young people gathered outside the door singing a solemn song containing the words 'Exalted night of the clear stars.' Schiller stood listening intently, clearly enjoying the performance.

"Get back to work!" he snarled when he noticed Joanna looking on. "Yes, we're at the dawning of a glorious age," he agreed, nodding in satisfaction when the group had finished the song and moved on.

Several weeks later, Schiller carried the tree outside and ordered Joanna to clean up all the needles on the floor. Cold, dark, monotonous days too numerous to count followed, and as she performed her daily tasks, she thought about her parents and couldn't believe she hadn't seen them in over six months. Were they still alive? Would she ever see them again?

Tears fell from her eyes and splattered on the floor.

Jurgen was in a good mood as he returned home one evening. He'd finished all his duties in record time, and every prisoner had been accounted for at the nightly roll call. In addition, he'd received word that his brother Ulrich's wife, Hedda, had just given birth to a healthy son, Gunther. A new Aryan for the utopia to come, Jurgen thought with a smile as he headed home.

Ulrich had asked him several times when he planned to settle down and start a family of his own, and Jurgen had always replied that he was too busy in the service of his Fuhrer to concern himself with such matters. "When the war is over and the Third Reich has been established, there will still be plenty of fair frauleins to choose from," he'd told his brother.

"You're not getting any younger," Ulrich had reminded him.

Lately, when Jurgen thought of his brother's growing family or the wives and children of his fellow officers, he felt more and more that something was definitely missing from his life.

He was still in this frame of mind when he entered his home to find Joanna hard at work and, as she raised her head and greeted him, he saw the streaks of the tears on her face. An unfamiliar feeling came over him, the same one he'd felt the night he'd picked her exhausted form up in his arms and laid it on the bed in his guest bedroom.

"You've been crying."

"It's my parents, sir. I haven't seen them in ever so long, and I just miss them so much!"

She watched his face closely, expecting the familiar scowl. When it didn't appear, she was encouraged to continue. "Sir, is there any way - could you please find out for me whether they're still alive?"

"What are their names?"

"Reuben and Michal Finkelstein, sir."

"I'll see what I can do."

The next day, Jurgen consulted the roster of prisoners. Under Finkelstein, Reuben, he read the man's date and place of birth, former address, and prisoner number and category. In the fifth column, he discovered that Reuben had died of typhus on December 23, 1942.

The same information was provided for Michal, except in the fifth column, it had been notated that she'd been assigned to work as a gardener.

Jurgen stood and stroke toward the wide, flat field in which the prisoners assigned to gardening duty transported soil, stones, or even manure vast distances on a carrying rack by twos.

"Michal Finkelstein!" he shouted. A middle-aged woman with long, dark hair like Joanna's looked up at him, her emaciated body quaking in fear.

"Come," he ordered, leading her into the administrative area of the building. "Do you know how to type or take shorthand?"

"No, sir."

"No matter." He led her into a small office containing a desk and chair. One entire wall was filled with file folders in various colors. "From now on, you're assignment is to organize and update the files for the personnel. You are to complete each day's assignments in a timely manner, without a single mistake. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." In her tired eyes, he saw only resignation.

"Good evening, Master Sergeant Schiller," Joanna greeted her captor as he entered the house. "Did you have a nice day?"

"Your father perished of typhus several weeks ago," Schiller replied. "I'm very sorry."

Joanna nodded, choking back sobs. "And what of my mother?"

"I found her performing back breaking labor in the field, transporting rocks to distant locations. I reassigned her to a much more pleasant task, updating files in our records room, and if she performs her job satisfactorily, she may remain there."

Tears of gratitude began to flow from Joanna's eyes. "Oh, sir, how can I ever thank you for saving my mother?"

The Nazi's eyes glowed with an evil gleam. "I know the perfect way."