“Herr Schmidt?” he asked.
“Yes?” Friedrich said.
“Walter Schmidt?”
“Yes.”
“Of Schuttorf?”
Friedrich nodded. Aldous had deliberately chosen a town close enough to the Dutch border for the travellers to plausibly be heading over to visit family nearby in the Netherlands, and the name Walter Schmidt was common enough to avoid attention.
In the front seat, Daniel began to squirm, unhappy that the vehicle had stopped moving. Ilse cooed and bounced him more vigorously. Beside her, Friedrich coughed. The guard studied him again.
“Becker!” the guard shouted over his shoulder, and Audrey flinched. A second guard emerged from the small lean-to and strode over to them.
“Walter Schmidt,” the first guard said to the other, an older, stockier man with a noticeable scar along his chin.
There was a silent moment when Becker reviewed the papers, then Friedrich. Daniel was now crying in earnest, and the din made Audrey clench her fists in her lap.
“Get out of the vehicle,” Becker demanded. “Everyone.”
Audrey’s heart hammered a tattoo against her tonsils as she locked eyes with Ilse, who was next to tears, and Audrey willed her to suppress her emotion. What was happening? Friedrich had said they’d be fine. But here he was nodding and opening the car door. He moved to help Ilse out of the passenger seat.
“Stop!” The guards both shouted, cocking their pistols. “Turn around!”
Friedrich’s eyes met Audrey’s for half a moment, and she feared the apology she glimpsed in their depths. He turned around, hands in the air. Audrey slowly climbed out of the car. Ilse was already out, standing beside her door, futilely shushing Daniel. He was red in the face, drool shining around his mouth as his screams split the morning air and echoed across the nearby fields. But the officers’ attention—and their pistols—were solely on Friedrich.
“Is there a problem, Officers?” Friedrich asked them.
“Walter Schmidt?” The first officer repeated.
“Yes,” said Friedrich, his tone irritable. “I have told you so. As have my papers.”
Despite her fear, Audrey was impressed with his performance. He must have been sweating beneath his jacket, but if the character of Walter Schmidt had nothing to hide, he would indeed be aggravated by this scrutiny and delay. Still, defiance under the circumstances took courage, and perhaps for the first time, she fully appreciated the extent of Friedrich Müller’s bravery in taking on the Reich. Until now, it had existed in concept, and in action only within the safety of the Kaplans’ comfortable sitting room as they discussed what they might do in resistance to Hitler. But in this moment, she observed a different version of the man. More warrior than idealist intellectual.
“Please either explain your concern or allow my family and me to be on our way,” Friedrich went on.
“Wait here,” Becker said, and disappeared back into the booth, leaving the first guard on watch. Daniel continued to wail.
“Quiet that child!” he barked.
“He needs a new nappy,” Ilse said, her voice wavering. “They’re in my bag in the front seat.”
“Let her get the baby changed,” Friedrich said. “It will stop the wailing.”
The guard assented, and Audrey sidestepped over to Ilse and retrieved the bag from the car. She laid a cloth down on the gravel at their feet and Ilse changed Daniel, soothing him with her soft voice. Once he quieted, the sound of the morning sparrows twittering in the hedges along the fence line came into focus. Audrey stood and surveyed the Dutch landscape just across the border. They were so close. The landscape looked identical to the lush greenery where they currently stood, yet it glowed somehow. It was a beacon of safety, unlike the dangerous terrain of Germany. She watched as Ilse scooped up Daniel and pulled another bottle from her bag. Her hands were trembling. Audrey and Friedrich had to get them to safety. They had to.
The second guard, Becker, returned with a sheet of paper, which he thrust at his comrade. They muttered to one another, too low for Audrey to hear, and both squinted at Friedrich, who still held his hands in the air.
“I will need to search the vehicle,” Becker said, flicking his hand at Audrey and Ilse as though waving away some irritant. The previous bite in his voice was gone.
They stepped back from the car, then the guard began his search, tossing items out onto the road as he went. As he opened their travelling cases, pawed through clothing and sundries, Audrey was thankful that Friedrich had abandoned his uniform behind the oak tree earlier. Seemingly satisfied, he slammed a door shut and beckoned to his comrade to lower his weapon. Audrey’s heart leapt.
The guards approached Friedrich and spoke in low tones. After a brief exchange, Friedrich nodded, then gestured to Ilse and Audrey that they were leaving. As he helped Ilse into the front with Daniel, Audrey quickly collected the items the guard had scattered and climbed into the back.
“What happened?” she demanded.
“It would seem Aldous chose a name that was a little too common,” Friedrich said, taking shaky breaths. “There is a Walter Schmidt wanted for robbery and battery two towns over.”
Audrey gasped.
“Fortunately,” Friedrich continued, “I do not match his physical description even remotely. Good God, my heart is racing.” He cursed under his breath.
“So are they letting us through?” Ilse asked, eyes wide.
“Yes, they’re letting us through. You’re going to be safe now. You and Daniel.” He held her gaze, touched her hand.
Audrey cleared her throat. “All right. Let’s get the hell out of here. How much longer?”
Friedrich looked back at her. “We’re nearly there. Less than an hour, I’d wager.”
When they crossed the border, the mood inside the car lightened as the elation of success and freedom set in. They had done it. They had gotten Ilse and Daniel out. They continued through the countryside toward the Von Albrecht home in the Dutch woods, just outside Enschede. The sun was shining in earnest now.
In better spirits with a clean nappy and a full belly, Daniel babbled in Ilse’s lap as Friedrich talked about his childhood in the south, near Munich.
“These woods remind me of the ones I used to run to when I didn’t want to go to bed,” he said, and his lip twitched as his eyes slid into the middle distance of his memory. “My mother hated the forest. Wouldn’t come after me. She’d send my sister Gisela in to drag me out instead. I drove her mad, I think.”
Ilse watched him. “You miss your family, don’t you?”
