TDTLBU Chapter 68

“Someone’s there,” Sandy spoke in an undertone, fingering his gun nervously. Ronnie turned, peering through the darkness. The old barn seemed even larger on the inside than it did on the outside… nearly completely dark except for the thin rays of sunlight filtering through the cracks in the walls and littered with old equipment and debris. Listening closely, he could barely detect a faint sound coming from the back of the building… something like the rustling of hay and perhaps even the cry of a small animal. It was so quiet, he could barely hear it.

“Probably just some animal,” Sam shrugged. “I’m tired of always being so paranoid.” 

He collapsed more than sat on the floor, leaning heavily against the wall as he unbuckled his steel helmet and dropped it to the side with a loud clang. Sandy jumped at the sound, his eyes wide with fright and Sam laughed at him. 

“Stay quiet,” Ronnie warned sharply, narrowing his eyes. Holding his rifle at the ready, he stepped silently along the wall, edging his way toward the pile of hay in the back corner. A scrap of fabric lay exposed in the loose hay, betraying someone’s presence. Couldn’t have been an enemy soldier… they wouldn’t have hidden this way unless they were wounded. Setting his rifle down slowly, Ronnie bent to brush the hay aside. He was met by a pair of dark eyes, large and frightened. A young woman… barely more than a girl… stared up at him, still as a marble statue except for her shivering. Or was she trembling with fear? She clutched a small, ragged bundle close to her heart as she shrank back into the hay. 

“Hey… it’s okay,” Ronnie whispered, kneeling in front of her. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Amerikanisch?” she murmured, the fear in her eyes so real it seemed tangible.

“Yes. Do you speak English?”

“Jah. I do.”

He glanced her over, noting how her eyes seemed almost hollow in her thin, pale face. Her hair was tucked neatly under a ragged scarf and she was wrapped in a threadbare coat that couldn’t possibly have offered any protection from the bitter cold. It was then that he noticed the dirty yellow star sewn over her left shoulder.

“Are you alone?” 

She nodded quickly, then paused and slowly shook her head. With trembling fingers, she pulled back the cover of the little bundle she held so tightly to reveal the face of a sleeping baby boy.

“My son…” she explained, bending over him lovingly. “He is cold… hungry…” she looked up at Ronnie, pleadingly. 

“You look plenty cold and hungry yourself.” He looked back over his shoulder at his comrades who sat silently, staring at the girl. “It’s alright,” he called. “No enemies here.” 

Pulling off his haversack, Ronnie dug through the remains of his meager supplies. Not much more than a can of Spam, some stale biscuits, and a can of milk. The milk he had been saving… for what, he wasn’t sure. But it was a rare treat and worth saving. He pulled it out now, opening it quickly.

“Frozen,” he muttered angrily. “Gonna be a minute, but you and the baby are gonna have warm milk.” She watched him with a sad sort of smile as he painstakingly built a tiny fire in his tin mess kit. He managed to keep it going by adding hay almost constantly. 

“I’ve never seen such a little fire before…” she murmured, stretching her hand towards it. 

“Wish I could build a bonfire,” Ronnie grinned crookedly. “Must be forty below zero, the way it feels out here. At least there’s no wind in here.” He pushed the mess kit towards her and she leaned closer. In spite of the tiny flames, the milk in the can thawed quickly.

“Danke,” the girl whispered as she accepted the milk and gently shook the baby to wake him. He blinked round black eyes at her and yawned. Cradling him against her heart, she lifted the can to his lips, giving him slow sips to keep it from spilling.

“How old is he?”

“Just over twelve months,” she answered softly. “He has not had enough to eat for so long… so long…”

“Save some of that milk for yourself,” Ronnie advised as he opened the Spam and set the can in the flames. “It’s the only can I have.” She nodded, but he noticed that she only took a few sips, letting the baby drink almost all. She accepted the meager food with another quiet “danke”, again feeding the baby before she herself would touch it. 

The wind was picking up speed and the temperature dropping. It seemed to constantly blow in gusts through the cracks in the worn walls of the old barn. Carrying Dan between them, the others retreated to the far corner of the barn where Ronnie stayed with the girl, using the hay to keep warm. They too shared what they could of their rations. Jory came up rather triumphantly with another can of milk, which they practically had to force her to drink. She wanted to save it for the baby. She was starving, freezing to death. But her first and only concern from the beginning had been her baby and so she had wrapped him in every layer she could spare, leaving no more than a thin jacket for herself. She reluctantly handed him over to Ronnie as she ate, watching him with nervous, alert eyes as he bundled the baby in his blanket.

“It’s been a long time…” she whispered between lips blue with cold. “Since I’ve eaten anything. What I had, I gave to the baby.”

“You’re freezing,” Ronnie frowned and she only nodded as if it was a fact she was well resigned to. He handed the baby to Sam and, unbuttoning his overcoat, slipped it around her thin shoulders, ignoring her protests.

“I’ve got a lot of layers. I’ll be warm enough.”

“Gott segne dich,” she murmured, drawing the coat closer around her body. “God bless you.”

“What’s your name?” Sandy asked, looking up from the cold can of Spam he was devouring. It was nearly frozen and just as disgusting as ever, but he was ravenous.

“Rachel. Rachel Cohen. My baby is Benjamin. Benji. And your names?”

“Private Jack Marshall. This here is Private Dan Asher, Private Sam Ross, and Lieutenant Ronnie Stewart.” Sandy answered for all of them, in spite of his mouth being full.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” Ronnie spoke. She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. 

“No. Nowhere.”

“You’ll come with us, then.” He stated it matter-of-factly and she accepted it just the same, nodding solemnly. 

“And then?”

“We’ll get you out of here. Maybe to France… England… somewhere where you’ll be safe.”

She nodded again, keeping her eyes on the ground. Silence fell, the stillness deep and intense. Dan lay motionless on the hay, his eyes closed. Sandy had collapsed beside him, burrowing deeper in the hay and pillowing his head on his arm as he watched Sam holding the sleeping baby. Rachel huddled against Ronnie, moving closer to him as if desperate to feel protected. She had been alone for so long. 

“My husband…” she broke the silence suddenly, her voice faint. “Isaac. He… he’s been gone… a long time. The baby and I… we’ve been hiding… going from place to place… we were staying with a family but they had to leave. I was separated… it’s been two, maybe three weeks, I don’t know.”

“What happened to your husband?” Sandy’s impulsive question earned him a glare from Ronnie but he ignored it. Rachel’s eyes grew sadder still.

"He… he's dead." 

“I’m sorry,” Sandy spoke softly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No… no…” Rachel murmured. “It’s been a long time. I need to be able to talk about it now.” She fell silent, her head drooping in weariness. She cast an urgent look toward Benjamin and Sam smiled, nodding reassuringly.

“It’s okay, Ma’am. The little guy’s fast asleep. Go ahead and get some rest yourself.”

She didn’t answer, just smiled gratefully. Completely exhausted, she was asleep within moments, her head dropping to rest on Ronnie’s shoulder. He shifted sideways to support her better, laying his rifle across his knees to inspect and reload it.

“We’re in for a long day,” he spoke quietly to the others. “I don’t dare move out until it's dark. Especially with a wounded man and a mother and child. Keep the baby quiet but try and get some rest. I’ll take first watch. We’ll move out as soon as night falls.”

The day wore on slowly, hour by hour. The wind whistled fiercely through the worn walls, every gust seeming to carry with it the sounds of shouting and distant gunfire. Every little sound, every creak of the old building, every sigh or snore from his sleeping comrades put Ronnie instantly on alert. He was exhausted and yet found he had no trouble keeping his eyes open. Just a few moments of sleep could mean imprisonment or death for every one of them.