Page 48 of All We Thought We Knew
“It was extraordinary.” I couldn’t hide my awe. “Mr. Schneider was a student at Columbia medical school when he was arrested.”
“Ah. That answers some of my questions.” He met my gaze. “What else did Mr. Schneider tell you?”
I suddenly felt a strange sense of protectiveness over the conversation I’d had with Gunther about his arrest and detainment. Although he hadn’t elaborated on his life, he had trusted me enough to vocalize his confusion over the situation he found himself in. While Colonel Foster oversaw the hospital, I didn’t know if the private details Gunther shared with me were relevant to his job.
“He hopes to return to medical school someday to become a doctor.”
The colonel looked thoughtful. “Tell me what you witnessed Mr. Schneider do that day.”
I described the situation as best I could. I also had to confess it was my idea to involve Gunther in the first place. “I’m not a doctor, but I can’t help but wonder if the soldier would have survived if Mr. Schneider had not acted as he did. It’s a shame he’s locked up, unable to continue his studies. At least he’s able to work as an orderly until he’s released.”
A pensive look crossed the colonel’s face. “Major Tyson doesn’t agree. He refused to let Schneider return to the hospital after the incident.”
“But why? Mr. Schneidersavedthat soldier’s life.”
“The major doesn’t believe an orderly should have performed a medical procedure. Especially not an orderly who is a German detainee. Schneider could have killed the man.” He paused. “I agree with Major Tyson. We can’t have unskilled personnel acting without supervision.”
“But Mr. Schneider isn’t unskilled. He was training to become a doctor before the government arrested him.”
The colonel gave me a patient look. “We don’t know anything about Mr. Schneider, other than the information he himself has provided. I don’t think it wise to find him trustworthy just yet.”
“But is it fair tomistrust him simply because he’s German?”
A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Touché.” He tapped his finger on the desk. “Perhaps I should meet Mr. Schneider before I decide on whether to let him continue to work in the hospital or not. Please set up an appointment for him to come to my office tomorrow.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Yes, sir.”
He chuckled. “I believe your skills of persuasion are wasted as a secretary, Mrs. Delaney. You should be an attorney.”
I returned to my desk and checked the colonel’s schedule for the following day, determining the best time for Gunther to meet with him. I wasn’t sure how the German man would feel about this, or if he even desired to continue working in the hospital, but I also couldn’t help but believe he had skills that shouldn’t go to waste.
After several unsuccessful attempts to contact the guardhouse at the detainment area by telephone, I decided to go in person. I hadn’t ventured beyond the hospital complex since I began working on base, and I felt nervous as I drove along unfamiliar streets.
The internment camp was located farther away from the main sector than I realized, yet I knew when I reached it. Surrounded by forest, the entire area was enclosed in high, barbed-wire fencing. Guard towers were visible where armed men watched over the inmates. Row after row of small, identical huts with pointed roofs—exactly as Stella and Ethel described—filled my view as I inched toward the gated entrance.
An unsmiling soldier exited a guardhouse and approached when I rolled down the car window.
“Ma’am, this is a restricted area. You’ll need to leave.”
I swallowed my nerves. “I work for Colonel Foster. He has requested a meeting with one of the internees.”
The young man eyed me suspiciously. “Which internee does the colonel wish to see?”
“Gunther Schneider. He works as an orderly in the hospital.”
The guard walked back to the small building where another soldier stood, watching me. They conferred, then the first man returned.
“Where does the colonel want the prisoner brought, and what time?”
My shoulders stiffened. “Mr. Schneider is not a prisoner. None of these men are. They’re being detained by our government because of their birth origins. Some of them aren’t even aware of the charges brought against them.”
The soldier appeared unmoved.
I gave him the location and time for the meeting tomorrow, then turned the car around and headed back to the office. However, I couldn’t help but study the internment camp as I drove alongside the barbed-wire fence. Although most of Camp Forrest’s buildings were new construction and had little embellishment, the huts Gunther and the other internees lived in seemed especially austere. Maybe it was simply that I knew it to be a prison of sorts, but I found myself outraged that men like Gunther Schneider were forced to reside here.
When the day came to an end, I bid Bren and the others good night and drove home. The beauty of the countryside always lifted my spirits, and I turned up the radio when Jimmy Dorsey’s “Blue Champagne” began to play. Richard had loved to dance to this song, and I smiled, remembering how he’d twirled me across the dance floor at the USO in Nashville.
I turned off the paved road and crested the hill to the farm, grateful that memories of Richard didn’t hurt as much as they had right after we learned he’d been killed. I still missed him and wished things had turned out differently, but the tiniest hints of peace were beginning to replace the fear and aloneness I’d felt in those first weeks.
