The Last Green Valley - Mark Sullivan (black female authors .txt) 📗

awkward position to do it, bent over, taking most of the weight in the mid and low back, which almost immediately began to protest as they started down Bahnhofstrasse, the street that wound away south from the Oebisfelde train station and the frontage road that ran west toward the border.

They passed between rows of smaller homes interspersed between large brick-and-stucco buildings. Adeline barely gave them a glance. Sweat was pouring off her brow into her eyes, making it difficult to see as she tried to crane her neck to gaze ahead and down every side street they passed, looking and listening for anything that might indicate the approach of a patrol.

“That smells good,” Will said as the aroma of baking bread wafted on the wind.

Somewhere in the distance, Adeline heard a sound like wood striking wood, followed by a long rushing sound that took her breath away. That was a gunshot!

Part of her wanted to turn around, but she didn’t.

No doubts, Adeline. You’re already with Emil.

One block. Two blocks. Three blocks. Her back and hands were on fire. She peered ahead and up, trying to spot that medieval tower before they went too far and missed that diagonal alley that led to the farm lane heading west.

But what about the trees?

They walked on, the remaining three wood-and-tin wheels of the little wagon sliding in the slush as they went through a roundabout at the intersection of two roads. They continued south on Lessingstrasse as more sun poured into the town. Why hadn’t they encountered anyone else?

“Mama,” Will said.

“I told you—”

“The tower, Mama,” Walt said.

Adeline saw Oebisfelde’s medieval tower in the distance, tall, peak-roofed, with big windows thrown wide at the top.

She set down the rail and the front end of the wagon, spinning around and picking it up again before crying, “Back the other way, boys!”

She hurried them out of sight of the tower toward that roundabout. Before they reached it, she spotted an alley on their left cutting diagonally northwest. At the end of it, she could see where the buildings stopped and met empty ground beyond. Is the lane there?

As far as Adeline was concerned, it was. She puffed with effort as they moved the little wagon into the alley and up its length, passing the backs of homes where lights glowed and children laughed and cried.

Nearing the end of the alley, Will said, “Mama? I’m thirsty, and that lady’s getting water.”

He was pointing at the dim figure of an old woman cranking a bucket from a well in the yard of the last house on the right. Adeline stopped as the woman poured water from the well bucket into another.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Adeline said. “Can I bother you for some water for my sons? We’ve come a long way, and they’re very thirsty.”

The old woman looked at them and then at the little wagon.

“No,” she said. “I’m sick and tired of helping the traffic.”

Before Adeline could beg, she’d turned, walked down the side of her home, and disappeared into the shadows.

“Here we go again, boys,” Adeline said, and lifted the wagon as the rising sun lit up the snow-clad meadows and overgrown fields beyond.

“Mama, I’m thirsty,” Will complained.

“We’re all thirsty, Will,” she snapped. “Please, help Mama and be quiet. I promise to get you water as soon as I can.”

Frau Schmidt had said there was a dirt road running north-south that they would cross to get to the farm lane. Adeline could see that road now, just beyond an open-faced shed in the old woman’s yard that had firewood stacked inside. They passed the shed. Across the north-south road and slightly to her left, she spotted the two-track lane heading west.

She’d taken the first step out of the alley toward the lane when she heard the clop and jingle of an approaching horse.

She glanced to her right, seeing a swarthy man driving a horse and cart loaded with large milk cans. He was almost upon them and waving wildly at her.

“Can’t you see?” he cried, pointing out into the farmland. “There’s a Soviet patrol coming in from the guardhouse! Get back and hide!”

Adeline did not wait to look and spun around to pick up the wagon’s front right corner from the reverse direction. “Go back again!”

Will and Walt could see the fear in her face and pulled until they were back into the alley. The man on the horse and cart went by, waving at her to get into the old woman’s firewood shed. Adeline grunted with effort as they hauled the wagon behind the shed and urged the boys to follow her into it.

“Don’t move!” she gasped. “And not a peep now from either of you!”

Adeline could see in their faces that the boys understood they were in danger, but they said nothing when she motioned them to crouch behind the woodpile while she peered over it.

The shed was flimsily built, with gaps between most of the planks on the rear wall, which faced the dirt road, the lane, and the farmland. At first, she saw nothing. But then, coming out of a low spot about five hundred meters west of town, she saw four Soviet soldiers with guns and fixed bayonets urging a group of prisoners with their hands behind their heads back toward Oebisfelde. Beyond them another kilometer or so, she made out the roof of the two-story guardhouse. The patrol had to be coming from there.

In minutes, they were near enough for Adeline to see that there were twenty prisoners, fifteen men and five women, and to hear the soldiers berating them in Russian, calling them traitors to the new order.

“Don’t move,” she whispered to the boys, and stayed frozen herself as she watched the prisoners come so close, she could see the terror plain and gutting on their faces.

To a person, they were filthy. Several bled from facial and head wounds. Adeline tried to breathe shallow and low when the patrol reached the end of the lane, less