Hillbeck Farm

[Britwitch]

Closed for myself and southernscion

Hillbeck Farm, Swellingdale, Southern England,
March, 1943

The world is at war and at 22, Rebecca is too young to be a widow but she knew she was far from being alone at such a time. Fathers, brothers, husbands…war was not sympathetic to a man’s situation in life when it dealt out fate on the battlefield and it had not been sympathetic to her young husband when it decided he should fall in the line of the duty, in a muddy field in France. They had been married only a few months when war was declared in 1939 and he, like so many others, had rushed to defend their country and those others to which they were allied. Rebecca had begged him not to, to wait at least a little while before joining up, but he had assured her the war would not last long and that he would never forgive himself if he didn’t do what he felt was the right thing. Two years later Rebecca received the letter she, and so many others, never wanted to see.

Glancing in the cracked mirror on her dressing table she saw a young woman staring back whose eyes were the only indication that she had suffered the loss that she had. Her bright green eyes shone with a light that told of the hurt she had gone through. Her chestnut brown hair had grown since he had gone, now reaching between her shoulder blades, and she wore it twisted up out of the way. Her once pale skin was now dusted with freckles from working outdoors almost everyday in summer. Her frame and figure was now a little stronger and her naturally narrow waist was even more so given the rationing and exercise. While she, and other farmers, did eat marginally better than the rest of the population at such a time, she made sure she shared whatever she had with those around her.

The farm was fairly large, they had focused mainly on their crops since the start of the war and had a few chickens and cows whose produce they sold in the local village and gave any excess to the war effort. She basically ran things alone, young men from the village always helped in harvest time and until his death the previous year from ill health, Robert’s father had always been popping in to lend a hand should she need it. The land was rolling and the soil good, yielding good produce almost every year, it had a small wooded area near the northern edge of their land that provided berries in the autumn and a stream wound its way through the farm and ran past the farmhouse.

When Robert had gone off to war, Rebecca had wondered if she would cope but she soon quashed her concerns, figuring if he could face the unknown in France then she could definitely face the early mornings, muddy clothes and aching back of farm work. In fact, it helped her more than she knew to have a reason to wake up every morning, whether it was feeding the chickens or milking the cows, driving the cantankerous old tractor up to the main field to plough or plant, it kept her going, kept her alive when the nights were filled with uncertainty and unspeakable sadness, nightmares of what Robert might be going through so far away.

Then had come another surprise. His brother, James, had been wounded in battle and was being sent home. He came to live on the farm, bedding down in what had been their sitting room, resting until his injured leg was strong enough. The army deemed him too badly injured to return to the service and so he worked on the farm alongside her. Rebecca knew she should be glad of the company but, in truth, she wished he would find a home of his own. Aside from the striking family resemblance he had shared with Robert, making her heart ache at times to simply look at him, she had never really liked her brother-in-law. He drank too much and there had been something in the way he looked at her from time to time that unsettled her. She chided herself for thinking ill of him, knowing it was the Christian thing to do to help him and knowing it was what Robert would want her to do but still…
Recently he had taken to suggesting that she couldn’t possibly carry on alone and that he, believing it would have been Robert’s wish, should move in permanently, that they should possibly even marry. Keep everything in the family. She ignored his suggestions as politely as she could and simply changed the subject.

Rebecca dressed quickly and headed down to the kitchen, setting about putting on the kettle for tea even though the sun had not long been up above the horizon. Affectionately touching the bundle of letters she kept in her top drawer before heading downstairs. Robert’s letters had been infrequent and usually made her feel worse than better, telling her how he missed her, his Becky, how he wished she were beside him. She missed him so much more than she could ever tell anyone, or ever manage to write down in a letter to him. She had loved him almost from the instant she met him, he had been her first kiss, her first everything…
She smiled as she pulled her apron over her head, cinching it in around her waist, filled the teapot with boiling water and remembered their wedding night. Slightly shy and a little awkward, but unquestionably tender and full of love.

The loud sound of an engine backfiring cut through Rebecca’s musings and brought her back to the present, the reason she had bothered to wear a dress rather then a pair of Robert’s old trousers, today they were receiving a new worker, from the local POW camp. At first James had refused outright that they should let a German work on their lands, let alone feed him while he worked, but Rebecca had insisted. Reminding him gently that the farm was hers now and regardless of the man’s background, another pair of hands would be invaluable. Wiping her hands on the tea towel that hung from the side of her apron, she headed out of the kitchen door and into the yard outside, folding her arms around her body against the Spring chill in the air, wishing she’d thought to pick up her shawl.

A large military truck pulled up and a moustached officer jumped down from the cab. The truck was splashed with mud all over its dark green paint and at the rear, was a covered section.
“Mornin’ madam, you must be Mrs Seddon, I am Captain Martin, from Swellingdale Camp. I’m here to deliver your worker…we want to thank you for agreeing to take him on and we can assure you he will be no trouble…” The officer addressed her politely but formally, holding a crisp piece of paper in his hand. “I will be back for him at four thirty, if that’s alright with you?”
“Yes, yes…of course, that’s fine…” Rebecca took the paper and glanced briefly at it before looking back into the officer’s face. The driver of the truck, had in the meantime, moved to the rear and was in the process of helping a man down from inside.
“Can I offer you some tea before you go? We haven’t much milk yet until my brother-in-law comes back from the cow shed but it’s freshly mashed and still hot…” She smiled, folding the paper and slipping it into the pocket of her apron.
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs Seddon, but we do have to get round to the other farms with this little lot before it gets too late…” He returned the smile, gesturing over his back to the rear of the covered truck, out of which she could see many pairs of curious eyes peeking out of the slats.

The officer then frowned briefly, believing a hidden meaning in her words. “But we can of course wait until you brother-in-law returns if you wish, then he can show the lad here what’s what…”
“No, no…there’s no need for that…” Rebecca quickly assured him. “He won’t be long in coming and I can show the young man around in the meantime…” Feeling a vague blush rush to her cheeks, unsure if it was indignation that they thought she might not know what needed doing on her own farm or if it was embarrassment for herself and the German man opposite her that the officer would insinuate anything untoward occurring if they were left alone.
“Well, if you’re sure madam…”
“Quite sure…” She insisted gently.
The officer saluted and returned to the truck, within moments the engine roared into life and the truck rocked and bounced its way back down the track towards the main road.

Rebecca turned and smiled at the man she had been left with. Pulling the paper back out of her pocket she tried to read the name, squinting slightly as she tried to decipher the sprawling, slightly smudged, handwriting.
“I can’t…I can’t quite make out your name…” She admitted, shoving the paper back into her pocket and holding out her hand towards him.
“I’m Rebecca, Rebecca Seddon…this is my farm and you are very welcome here…” She was conscious of not speaking too fast, unsure if this foreign stranger even understood her. “What is your name…? What can I call you…?” She asked, gesturing for him to walk with her. “I will show you around a little and then we can have a cup of tea. My brother-in-law, James, will be here soon to show you the rest of the farm and show you what we would like you to do today…”

They walked around the chicken shed and the small barn, she took him to the track and pointed out the main field before escorting him inside the farmhouse and inviting him to take a seat while she poured them both a steaming mug of tea, before adding another log to the fire in the range.
“I hope it’s not too strong…” She said apologetically, handing him a mug and taking a seat opposite him at the kitchen table. She took a sip of her own, wincing as the heat stung her tongue slightly.
“Do you…do you mind me asking where you’re from…?” Rebecca leant forwards on the table, wrapping her fingers around the mug and letting the warmth slip into her chilled fingers. “I…I’ve never travelled myself but my…my late husband was in France for a time…” She added quietly, not entirely sure why she had said it at all.

[southernscion]

It had been over a year since Christof had been a free man. Captured by the British in November 1941 in Northern Africa, the platoon he had been commanding was surrounded and the choices became quite clear quickly that surrender or death were his options. It was a simple choice, he surrendered and he and the remnants of his platoon were separated, he went to a prisoner of war camp for officers, and had no idea where his troops went.

Over time, he had moved from camp to camp and finally landing in a prisoner of war camp, Swellingdale Camp to be precise. It was a minimum security camp which allowed its prisoners to work on local farms.

Christof was all for it. Though he did join the military out of loyalty to his country some of the rumors of atrocities that he was hearing couldn’t be true, and if they were, it wasn’t the Fatherland that he knew and loved.

And part of him mourned greatly for its demise.

The truck bumped to a stop and though Christof’s English had improved greatly since his capture, the voices outside were too low to follow with any certainty. Soon the mustached buffoon that was Captain Martin poked his head into the back of the truck and pointed and Christof and said, “You, come along now.”

Christof jumped out of the back of the truck and listened as the two of them talked about whether Martin would wait for the brother in law to return or not, eventually, she won him over and the truck roared to life and they left.

“What is your name…? What can I call you…?” She asked,

Christof thought a moment and decided to play it safe for now, and feigned a worse level of comprehension than he had and said, “Mein….name?…ist…Christof.”

She gestured his to follow her and perhaps he imagined it, perhaps it was real and subconscious, but Christof swore that Rebecca swayed with a come hither gait as she showed him around. Her waist was tight and slender, her hips swelling out nicely to each side. Her dress wasn’t new, but also wasn’t threadbare-yet. It appeared Rebecca was doing alright, but wasn’t getting rich.

Christof followed Rebecca inside and sat at the table in the kitchen as she poured two cups of tea. It was strong and hot, and perhaps one of the best things he had tasted since the war started. Though the German Army and the British POW camps treated officers with some amount of respect, military food was at its best, tolerable, and never good. It may be different for the Field Marshal’s but for Oberleutnant’s and their troops, not so good.

Unexpectedly the kitchen faded to black as Rebecca’s green eyes settled onto his ice blue eyes and leaned forward asking “Do you…do you mind me asking where you’re from…? “I…I’ve never traveled myself but my…my late husband was in France for a time…”

The world seemed to be focused for a time on her green sorrowful eyes. Christof, cleared his throat and said, “Ich bin…from Munchen. Ah…Munich?” Christof wasn’t sure that Rebecca was emotionally ready for someone to ask about her husband or not, but thought she needed to talk about him and asked, “Your…husband…he did not leave with the Expeditionary Force from Dunkirk?”

[Britwitch]

“Ich bin…from Munchen. Ah…Munich?”
Rebecca sipped at her tea as he replied, smiling gently at his slightly halting speech, although she damn near scalded her tongue as he asked his own question.
“Your…husband…he did not leave with the Expeditionary Force from Dunkirk?”
Trying to stop her hand from trembling she slowly put her mug back down on the table top and keeping her eyes focused on the steam rising from it Rebecca tried to recite the short, simple answer she'd had to give so many times over the last two years whilst trying to swallow the painful lump that was tearing it's way up her throat.

"No, he...he fell, in duty..."She paused with a frown, unsure if Christof's English was good enough to understand the phrase. "He was killed in France, a skirmish...er, a battle outside in a small village..."
Rebecca looked up and met his eyes as boldly as she dared.
"It seems so long ago now...it was October 1941, but I...well, I miss him...very much..." Rebecca finished quietly with a lightly trembling voice, picking up her mug once more and taking a large mouthful, hoping the still too hot liquid could be excused for making her eyes water the way they were.

Once she was sure she had regained control of her emotions, she looked up with as bright a smile as she could muster, although it was a poor imitation of one at best.
"But enough of such things...what did you do in Munich...before all of this, I mean..." She asked gently, avoiding asking about his own service. Given that he was a prisoner of war, his own service could not have ended well and she did not want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already must be given his current situation.

Rebecca listening to his story, nodding appropriately but being careful not to interupt. Interjecting at a suitable moment to offer him more tea, and noting as he handed her the empty mug the poor state of his clothing. She understood that prisoners would not be clothed in the latest fashions, especially with the rationing still in effect, but he would need decent clothes for working out of doors. He would be no use to anyone if he caught a chill from the frosty morning air and she doubted there would be much sympathy or care at the camp should he fall ill. Whilst listening attentively, Rebecca determined she could look through Robert's trunk later for some of his old clothes for the German to wear, guessing that they were of a similar build although Christof was perhaps an inch or two taller.

When he had finished, Rebecca glanced at the clock on the mantle.
"Are you hungry? James...my brother-in-law...my husband's brother..." She amended in case of confusion.
"Well, he will be back soon, he's just milking the cows...but when he gets here we will eat some breakfast before the rest of the day's work begins. If you think you can, I'd like you to help me plough the main field...our tractor has finally ceased to work, although the severe lack of petrol probably has more to do with that than there being actually anything mechically wrong with it..." She laughed lightly.
"So it means having to use our manual plough with our horse, I can lead him but I could use your help to steady the plough...you know, guide it..."
She motioned with her hands the idea of guiding something in a straight line, feeling slightly ridiculous in the process but wanting him to understand.
"Do you think you could do that...?"

[southernscion]

"Do you think you could do that...?"


He had stood there and listened to their conversation for a couple of minutes. At first James thought it was just an interview to see what he happened to be good at, but it turned personal in a hurry. They were trading their damned sob stories and then she hugged herself and James watched the Nazi’s eyes drift down to her bosom. It was only for a moment or two, but a jealous rage filled James.

Rage roared through James’ veins as he hissed, “’e’ll bloody well do what you tell ‘im.”

The door banged closed behind him, milk forgotten outside as he confronted Rebecca and the Nazi. “And for that matter, why are you letting a bloody Nazi in the house anyway?”

[southernscion]

Christof sat gazing into Rebecca’s green eyes, and as he started speaking noticed the brown flecks in her iris and the extraordinary way it seemed she caressed and yet held him at bay.

“In, uh, Munich? Yes Munich I, uh, attended, uh, hmm, Univeristat…? University?” Christof said. “Nein. No Akademie…? Academy? Ya…, uh Yes. I uh… trained us as offizier, uf… officer for der Armee…, uh army.”

Shrugging apologetically, Christof said, “I, um…, was uh… dienst, …hmm, serving in die Wuste…, um the desert, mit… uh with Rommel. I uh..was…gefangennehmen…captured? by your armee in uh…December …hrmm 1941.”

Her encouraging smile coaxed Christof along and though he knew he should not tell her too much, couldn’t help himself nonetheless. Rebecca poured them another cup of tea and then sat down hugging herself. Intentionally or not, she highlighted her breasts and Christoff was head pressed to not stare at her firm globes.

“Mein, uh…, My? Vater, hmm Father? Uhh, worked? For the Vittelsbach familie, und, uh… and, when, uhm…, the Zeit, uh Time, came I would uh, vertreten…, hrmm take his place when uh it hrm… was time? Yes time.”

Rebecca said, "So it means having to use our manual plough with our horse, I can lead him but I could use your help to steady the plough...you know, guide it..."

Before Christof had a chance to answer her, he heard, “’e’ll bloody well do what you tell ‘im.”

Turning his head toward the new voice, Christof saw who he presumed was James standing in the door way, anger etched across his face. James stepped inside and watched James turn his anger to Rebecca as he asked, “And for that matter, why are you letting a bloody Nazi in the house anyway?”

Christof was about to say something when he heard Rebecca pull in a deep breath. Christof sat back, and out of it for now and watched Rebecca.

[Britwitch]

“’e’ll bloody well do what you tell ‘im.”
Rebecca couldn't help but jump as James' booming voice cut through the air, wincing as the door slammed shut behind him.
“And for that matter, why are you letting a bloody Nazi in the house anyway?”
"James, please...!" Rebecca exclaimed, her expression shocked and her cheeks red with embarassment on behalf of Christof.
"You know how I hate to hear such language in the house..." She managed to keep her voice fairly level as she rose, her tone managing to temporarily silence her brother-in-law. Throwing Christof an apologetic smile, Rebecca moved to take James' elbow and guide him over to the washbasin and hopefully out of Christof's direct earshot.

"I know you don't approve of my taking on help from the camp but in times like this every pair of hands is a help to the war effort, regardless from which country they come from..." She whispered, although given the size of the kitchen it was more than likely the German would hear every word, although whether or not he understood was another matter.
"However, please remember this is my farm James, and I will do all I can to keep up your brother's wishes and keep it running as smoothly as I can...if that means taking on every German and Italian in that camp, so help me, I'll do it!" Her hands were on her hips and her expression determined as she held James' eye undaunted by the great difference in their height and the obvious anger riding through his veins, her chin tilted almost defiantly upwards to meet his eyes.

She glanced back over her shoulder towards Christof before moving closer to James and adding in a softer tone.
"Please don't think that I don't appreciate all you do around here, you know I couldn't have run this place on my own when...well...you know..." She swallowed, determined that if she was going to cry, it would be in the privacy of her own room.

"Now, please, can you bring in that milk and wash your hands while I make us some breakfast..." She cleared her voice and directed her voice towards the German, signalling the 'private' conversation was over.
She set about putting bacon into a pan and making a fresh pot of tea, while James quietly did as he was asked.

Trying not to look over at where she was certain James would be giving their German guest less than friendly looks, Rebecca added 3 eggs to the pan. Soon she placed steaming plates of bacon and eggs before James and Christof, before adding a basket of thickly cut bread along with the new pot of tea
"So, Christof will help me in the main field today, James...can you take some of the potatoes we harvested last week into the village? I promised Mr Gregg in the grocers he would have them before the end of the week..." Rebecca asked when the silence hanging over the table had just started to become oppressive.

Rebecca hoped James wouldn't disagree, thinking that to keep Christof and him apart from one another would probably be the best course of action given James' temper, at least for the first few days.
"And Christof...I will find you some warmer clothes to wear..." She smiled at the German, or at least as much as she dared to in front of James, and made sure she spoke slowly so he would hopefully understand. "I know we have some old overalls lying around somewhere and that we definitely have boots you can wear out in the fields...no sense you ruining the few clothes you have..."

"Yes, I think it will be quite fine today..." She added with a glance out of the window at the brightening sky, hoping her prediction about the weather would also cover the rest of the day in general. The last thing she wanted was for James to end up picking a fight with Christof, to her mind he seemed like a nice young man who had done his bit for his country and was now looking to do what he could in the country of his enemies.

She glanced across at him, taking in the lines of his face and the seriousness in his eyes, feeling a sense of sympathy for him being so far away from everything he knew, everyone he loved. She wondered briefly if there was a wife or a lover missing him in Germany the way she had missed Robert when he first went away...
Lost in her musings she suddenly found Christof's eyes looking in her direction and, blushing, she quickly averted them and focused on the remains of her breakfast.

[southernscion]

James

James listened to the same old tripe about how they needed help and so on. Help didn’t have to come in the form of a Nazi did it? To James’ mind: No. Robert would not have wanted the farm to fail, but surely there was another way. Hiring Italians from the camp would be acceptable, they hardly worked, but at least they weren’t Nazis.

After all, an Italian didn’t kill Robert; a Nazi did.

He brought in the milk and washed then sat down at the table as Rebecca put the plates in front of him and the Nazi. Rebecca asked, “James...can you take some of the potatoes we harvested last week into the village? I promised Mr Gregg in the grocers he would have them before the end of the week..”

“Yeah, I can do that.” James said.

James’ eyes widened and filled with disgust as he heard Rebecca offer to get the Nazi clothes. There were only two sets of men’s clothes here, Robert’s and his own. It was too much, James got up from the table and muttered “I’ll eat breakfast in town. No Nazi’s there.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~
Christof
*~*~*~*~*~*~

Christof watched as James’s mood went from sour to worse and somewhere between clothes and fine day, James stormed out.

Christof sat and watched Rebecca for a moment while she was lost in thought. And then suddenly she blushed and turned her face aside. In a low light voice, Christof said, “So…uh…die,,,er,,you.. verstehen…understand?” nodding Christoff continued, “Ich..I.. bin..am..nicht..err. not…ein..a..Nazi.”

Christof ate the rest of his breakfast quietly. He could see the turmoil roiling just under Rebecca’s surface and it mostly had to do with her deceased husband. Sighing as he finished the tea, Christof ran his finger’s through his hair and leveled his eyes on Rebecca again.

Christof stood and cleared his and James’ dishes letting Rebecca have one last moment of quiet before the tasks of the day began. Stepping outside, Christof looked around at the farm. Spotting the hen house, Christof went over to it looking for the feed. Not seeing the feed there he went to the barn, and found it inside the door. Walking back to and then into the coup, Christof clucked at the chickens and talked to them.

If anyone was listening, they would have heard him flirting with the hens. As Rebecca approached, Christof turned to her and asked, “Vo ist der Hahn? Err, Where…uh…is the…Rooster? Ja, Rooster.”

[Britwitch]

"I’ll eat breakfast in town. No Nazi’s there.”
Rebecca winced as Robert flung his insult at Christof before stomping out of the kitchen, the door banging behind him.
“So…uh…die,,,er,,you.. verstehen…understand? Ich..I.. bin..am..nicht..err. not…ein..a..Nazi.”
Rebecca's embarassment caused her cheeks to burn brightly.
"I know you're not...I mean, please believe that whatever differences exist between our countries I know nothing of you other than what you have told me and, if I can be honest, you sound like a very nice person. You stood up to be counted and you, as far as I can tell, fought bravely for your homeland…” Rebecca paused, unsure if he even understood half of what she said given the halting nature of his spoken English but she had to try and make him understand that her views were nothing like those of her brother-in-law.
“I know you are not a…well, not like that…” Unable to bring herself to say the hateful word she simply tried to smile as brightly as she could before letting her eyes drift away from him.

Rebecca was so lost in her own musings, she didn’t even notice Christof rising and clearing the table or his exit from the kitchen. When at last she realised she quickly grabbed her shawl and wrapped it tightly around her upper body before knotting it tightly around her waist, making the heavy woollen material cling to the curves of her upper body and emphasise her narrow waist in the process. She picked up her gloves, and an old pair of Robert’s, before heading out in search of Christof.
She soon found him in the henhouse, feeding the birds and, apparently, deep in conversation with them. A smile curved her lips as she drew nearer, hoping to hear what he was saying but he turned as she approached and so his conversation with the hens remained private.
“Vo ist der Hahn? Err, Where…uh…is the…Rooster? Ja, Rooster.”
“Oh he’ll be around here somewhere…” Rebecca replied before tentatively holding out the gloves for him.
“They’re fairly old and probably full of holes but you’re welcome to wear them…it’ll be cold up out in the fields.”

Rebecca left Christof with the hens to go and fit the ploughing bridal to their only horse, a huge bay called Conker. Stroking his neck as she fitted the harness, making soothing sounds as she ran the leather straps along his back ready to be attached to the plough.
She led him out of the stable and towards the fields, Christof she noticed followed without a word.
“We’re going to start with the main field today…” Rebecca explained as they headed across the barren earth. They had already been harvested and now it was time to prepare the earth for new crops. The ground was hard underfoot, thanks to a heavy morning frost, which would no doubt make the ploughing all the more difficult.

There was an icy wind whipping across the main field, teasing locks of Rebecca’s hair free from the pins holding it in place and making them dance around her head as they worked to attach Conker’s reins to the plough.
“I’ll lead Conker…the horse…if you can guide the plough…” Rebecca asked quietly before moving to take the reins and clicked her tongue to urge the large brown horse into action.

The work was hard and slow but soon they found their rhythm and Rebecca felt the need for conversation to distract them from the chilly air.
“So, Christof…you were telling me about your life in Germany…before the war…if you would care to share, I would love to hear more…”
Rebecca glanced back at him, noticing how the exertions of guiding the plough had brought a healthy flush to his cheeks, smiling in an attempt to coax him into speaking. Worried that James’ outburst might have made him too nervous to speak to her anymore.

“Please, tell me about your home…Munich wasn’t it? Before the war came, before all of this horridness, what did you do when you weren’t studying or working? Did you have brothers or sisters…or a wife perhaps? If there is someone you would like to write to I can always post letters for you, I don’t know if they let you do such things in the camp…” She trailed off, hoping she had managed to spoil everything by mentioning the camp.

“I have no brothers or sisters…but I grew up on this farm, playing with Robert and James…and I loved to read, although I have little opportunity for it now…” She admitted quietly before pausing, hoping Christof would understand she only wanted to make him feel at ease, to genuinely find out more about the man who she would be spending many, many long days with.

[southernscion]

Christof continued clucking and flirting with the hens as Rebecca headed to the barn. Christof’s eyes followed her into the barn; the shawl accented her shapeliness and drew the attention toward her hips and their gentle sway. Shaking his head, Christof finished feeding the chickens, asking them in German, “Why is it that I got the pretty widow and not the old fat one?”

Christof grabbed the gloves that Rebecca gave him and headed toward the barn and arrived as she was leading the horse out of it. They got the plow into the soil and for a while had some difficulty in getting the furrows straight. Eventually, Christof decided that watching her while plowing was probably not going to work. Once he focused more on where they were going than on the horse’s guide, the plowing became much straighter. To say it became easier would be a lie.

There is nothing easy when plowing with a horse and a plow share.

Very quickly the coolness of the day and the absolute frostiness of the wind were forgotten, the constant struggle with the plow, and the macho part of him not wanting to pant in exertion, was barely listening to what Rebecca was saying, something in the wind about wife. Christof said, “Bitte … Please…” as the approached the end of the row. As they were turning the horse and plow around, Christof said, “Wait.”

Rebecca turned and looked at him quizzically, and Christof said, “It is too cold and the work is too hard for me to bother with the pretense of not being able to speak English, when in fact, I am quite proficient with it.”

The look on Rebecca’s face was priceless in its shock and despite himself, Christof chuckled. “I am more than happy to explain, but can we do it after finishing the field over a hot cup of tea?” Nodding down at the plow, Christof said, “Plowing is much harder work than I expected. Or thought.”

[Britwitch]

“Wait.”
Rebecca looked back as he approached, an eyebrow quirked questioningly.
“It is too cold and the work is too hard for me to bother with the pretense of not being able to speak English, when in fact, I am quite proficient with it.”
Her mouth dropped open unbidden and her eyes widened in response to his voice, it's clear diction and admitted excellent pronunciation completely caught her by surprise.
It was only when she noticed Christof laughing at her expression that she managed to pull herself together.
“I am more than happy to explain, but can we do it after finishing the field over a hot cup of tea?...Plowing is much harder work than I expected. Or thought.”
"....As you wish..." She replied after a very long pause, feeling somewhat at a loss for words.

Rebecca returned to the front of Conker and continued to lead him back down the field, beside the furrow they had just ploughed. Her mind was whirling with a million questions...although they all focused on one common theme...why had he deceived her like that?
She frowned as she led Conker up and down the field, trying to concentrate on the task at hand but failing as her mind kept returning to his startling admission.
For the first time since meeting him, she felt a little uneasy. If he had lied to her with apparently no problem about his ability to speak English, who knew what other secrets and lies lay beneath his apparently calm and polite exterior.

Stealing a glance back at him over her shoulder, she scolded herself for letting her imagination run away with itself, reminding herself that he probably had very good reason for doing what he had done...reasons he had seemed all too willing to share once the work was finished. And that he had yet to do anything to make her doubt his character.

A couple of long, cold, hours later, the work was done and Rebecca led Conker back towards the farm. Filling his trough with fresh oats before heading inside the farmhouse to where he was waiting. Casting Christof a slightly wary smile, she filled a bowl with hot water for them to wash their hands before refilling the kettle to make tea.
Soon enough they were once more sitting at the kitchen table, no sign of James' return although Rebecca suspected he would be some time in returning, no doubt trying to rid himself of his temper in town.

"So...Christof..." Rebecca smiled, offering him sugar for his tea. "I think you were going to tell me something...?" She asked gently, not wanting to pressurise him into talking but desperate to know the truth.
"Up on the field I was asking about your life...before the war, about Munich? Before all of this horridness, what did you do when you weren’t studying or working? About whether you have brothers or sisters…or a wife perhaps?…" Her voice tailed off as she raised her mug to her lips and sipped at the tea, feeling it's warmth seeping into her chilled body. Her eyes holding his while she waited for his reply.

[southernscion]

It was a miserable two hours. Not the least of which, Rebecca was clearly and perhaps understandably upset with Christof. Plowing was painstaking and painful work. With each pass Christof managed to twist an ankle, lose control of the plow, wrench a shoulder, or wrist or any combination of the three, including one incident where he managed to do all three at once.

Finally the finished, and Rebecca took the horse and plow back to the barn and Christof headed to the house. And though he wore the pair of gloves that Rebecca had given to him, it seemed they did little to help. Peeling the gloves off of his hands, Christof could see the blisters, the popped blisters, and one case of a blister having a blister. Stepping into the kitchen, Christof ran cold water over his hands, relieving some of the ache and stood there until he saw Rebecca coming out of the barn.

Christof watched as Rebecca busied herself with hot water and starting the tea kettle. Eventually she sat down and asked, "Up on the field I was asking about your life...before the war, about Munich? Before all of this horridness, what did you do when you weren’t studying or working? About whether you have brothers or sisters…or a wife perhaps?…"

Christof sat a moment wanting desperately to grab that source of warmth in a cup infront of him, but knew better, his hands would immediately regret it, so he clasped the handle and sat a moment, thinking. “As I said in the field, my English is rather decent, or so I like to believe. Why the subterfuge?” Christof asked.

Seeing Rebecca’s nod, Christof answered, “Because people like James seem to find some comfort in my inability to speak English so long as I understand it. What I mean is, if I understand and obey. All is well and I am left to do what is needed. If I speak English then suddenly I am a threat to them and their way of life, and guards hover over you and weapons are pointed at your back.”

Rolling his sore shoulders a little, Christof said, “You don’t strike me as the type that requires others to be inferior to you somehow for you to feel good about yourself. James does. So if it is all the same to you, I would like to keep the pretense in front of him, but when he is gone, I will gladly drop it.”

“Now, as to why I speak English. If you recall Otto Von Bismark, he was Premier of Prussia from 1862 until 1890 and oversaw the unification of Germany?”

Christof saw Rebecca nod as she said, “Yes of course.”

Taking a sip of his tea, Christof allowed the heat to trickle down his throat and settle into his stomach prior to continuing. “Some where around when he was retiring from public service Bismark said in an interview that the most important aspect about European history for the twentieth century was that the American’s speak English and not some other language; like German or Italian.”

Christof took another sip and waited a moment allowing Rebecca to absorb what he had said so far and then leaned forward and said, “My father with the advice and assent of his employer decided I should study English at University. So I studied Accounting and English as my primary areas of concentration.”

Waving vaguely in the direction of the POW camp, “Being a prisoner of war for almost two years now hasn’t hurt my studies in that regard.”

Christof looked at Rebecca and remembered that he hadn’t answered all of her questions/ “Oh yes. My family. My father serves the same family that we have served since 1312. Assuming I live through” Christof was searching his memory a moment and said, “’all of this horridness’ I will return home and assume my duties assisting my father. As far as siblings and such goes, there are several, all sisters. And for wife? I have not met anyone that puts up with me for any time.”

[Britwitch]

“As I said in the field, my English is rather decent, or so I like to believe. Why the subterfuge?...Because people like James seem to find some comfort in my inability to speak English so long as I understand it. What I mean is, if I understand and obey. All is well and I am left to do what is needed. If I speak English then suddenly I am a threat to them and their way of life, and guards hover over you and weapons are pointed at your back.”
Rebecca felt a pang of guilt at having doubted his motives, unable to comprehend how it must feel to be judged so severely just for being born in a different country.

“You don’t strike me as the type that requires others to be inferior to you somehow for you to feel good about yourself. James does. So if it is all the same to you, I would like to keep the pretense in front of him, but when he is gone, I will gladly drop it.”
“Of course, I totally understand…” Rebecca interjected before listening carefully as he continued.
“Now, as to why I speak English. If you recall Otto Von Bismark, he was Premier of Prussia from 1862 until 1890 and oversaw the unification of Germany?”
“Yes of course…”
“Some where around when he was retiring from public service Bismark said in an interview that the most important aspect about European history for the twentieth century was that the American’s speak English and not some other language; like German or Italian.”
She mulled over all that he said, marvelling at his intelligence and making a mental note to ask why someone so accomplished had not managed to find work at a higher station than the one he had mentioned previously.

“My father with the advice and assent of his employer decided I should study English at University. So I studied Accounting and English as my primary areas of concentration…Being a prisoner of war for almost two years now hasn’t hurt my studies in that regard.”
Rebecca opened her mouth to comment on how genuinely impressed she was but held back as he continued.
“Oh yes. My family. My father serves the same family that we have served since 1312. Assuming I live through ’all of this horridness’ I will return home and assume my duties assisting my father. As far as siblings and such goes, there are several, all sisters. And for wife? I have not met anyone that puts up with me for any time.”

Rebecca took a long drink from her tea before lowering her mug and meeting his gaze across the table.
“Well, Christof, it seems you are a man of many talents and I am genuinely impressed with your dedication to your studies…your hard work has truly paid off, your English is exceptional.” Rebecca added earnestly.
“I would have loved to have sisters…or even brothers for that matter…but I am an only child. I grew up on this farm playing with Robert and James…I don’t think I could have imagined that one day I would live her but then I suppose fate deals us the hand she thinks best and it is not our place to question. I am sure your sisters, and your family miss you…and are proud of you…” She tailed off uncertainly, not wanted to bring back any upsetting memories for him.

“And I am sure it will not be long after your return that you find yourself a sweetheart for I have yet to find anything about you that I would have to ‘put up with’ as you put it…” Rebecca flushed as she realised how personal the conversation had become. She coughed awkwardly before draining her mug and adding,
“But I can’t help but wonder why one as accomplished as you is content to merely serve another family when you must have a wealth of opportunities available to you…? More tea…?”

[southernscion]

“Yes please. I would love more tea. Thank you.” Christof watched Rebecca as she moved around the kitchen with an easy grace. As she sat Christof said, “What my father does, and what I will do, is not merely serve. Nor is it entirely unlike working a farm.”

Christof wrapped his hands around the hot cup and winced a little as the heat, as welcome as it was, agitated the blisters on his palms. “Bavaria for more than 800 years was under the rule of one family and for three hundred of those years my family has served them in one manner or another. This farm has been in your husband’s family for how long? You could have left for London, but didn’t.”

“Serving them has its benefits.” Christof smiled and said, “My education was free. I get to attend formal balls frequently. I stay out all night with the rich and powerful until the wee hours of the morning.”

“On those occasions when an opinion is asked for, they follow the advice given. And as they try to figure out their role in a democratic, and increasingly industrial, Germany, they have many questions.”

Chritof looked down at the brown liquid in the cup before him and said softly, “Democracy is a very new concept to my countrymen. And if half of what I hear is accurate, then we have made a miserable mockery of it.”

Christof looked out the window and saw clouds rolling in with the cold front. Bringing his eyes back to Rebecca, Christof said, “Sorry. I fear my country will have much to atone for when this is over.”

Clearing his throat Christof looked at Rebecca and asked, “What sort of books did you read, when you had the time, and why don’t you have the time anymore?”

[Britwitch]

“What my father does, and what I will do, is not merely serve. Nor is it entirely unlike working a farm. Bavaria for more than 800 years was under the rule of one family and for three hundred of those years my family has served them in one manner or another. This farm has been in your husband’s family for how long? You could have left for London, but didn’t.”
Rebecca had to acknowledge the truth in what he said. She had been offered a sizable sum by a local landowner for the farm, a sum that would have allowed her to move to London…or anywhere. But, no matter how much money she might have had, she couldn’t begin to imagine what she would have done with her life without Robert in it. At least on the farm she had purpose, to finish his work and keep his hopes and dreams for the farm alive.

“Serving them has its benefits. My education was free. I get to attend formal balls frequently. I stay out all night with the rich and powerful until the wee hours of the morning.”
“I must admit it does sound like a very interesting life to lead…” Rebecca mused, her fingers playing with a stray lock of hair as she listened.
“On those occasions when an opinion is asked for, they follow the advice given. And as they try to figure out their role in a democratic, and increasingly industrial, Germany, they have many questions.”

“Democracy is a very new concept to my countrymen. And if half of what I hear is accurate, then we have made a miserable mockery of it.”
Rebecca frowned in sympathy as she watched him glance of the window. It was truly tragic that his homeland was behaving the way it was in some misjudged belief in what was right but it was not her place to say such things, and he clearly didn’t need to hear them.
“Sorry. I fear my country will have much to atone for when this is over.”
“There will be many apologies after all of this…your country will not be alone in that, believe me…” Rebecca insisted delicately.

“What sort of books did you read, when you had the time, and why don’t you have the time anymore?”
His question surprised her slightly and for a moment or two she didn’t know quite how to respond. She wasn’t used to talking about herself. People tended to ask her about the farm, or about the absence of her husband but very rarely did they ask about her. She found it oddly flattering and her cheeks blushed a little in response as a shy smile curved her lips.
“Well, in truth I read anything I could get my hands on!” She smiled wider. “Novels, historical books…it was a way of escaping I guess, living in my daydreams or some such nonsense…” She looked down shyly, realising Christof was the first person she had shared these things with aside from Robert.

“I could curl up by the fire and read about far off lands and great events, my imagination carrying my far away from all that I knew…it was magical. Well, it was to me anyway…” Rebecca shrugged.
“I don’t really remember when or why I stopped reading, until one day I was dusting and realised as I cleaned a shelf that I had barely turned a page since I moved to the farm after our wedding. I suppose I was too busy and, perhaps, with Robert in my life I didn’t need to ‘escape’ with my books anymore…” Suddenly Rebecca’s forehead creased and she felt her eyes pricking with unexpected tears.

“I’m sorry, please…please forgive me…” She mumbled as she rose sharply and moved to the sink, hoping to take control of the tears now threatening to spill over her cheeks, not wanting to worry Christof or make him feel guilty for awakening the grief that was all too quickly starting to consume her.
“D-don’t worry, I…I will be quite alright in a moment…” She tried to sound calm but her voice trembled beyond her control as the tears began to creep down her face. “I…I’m sorry Christof…” She whispered before weeping softly over the kitchen basin, her back to the German soldier and her heart aching unbearably in her chest.

[southernscion]

Christof sat there shocked while Rebecca stood up and went to the sink, clearly sobbing. Her shoulders shuddering up and down while she tried to stifle her tears. As she sob through an apology, Christof walked over to Rebecca and gently laid a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

To his astonishment, Rebecca turned to him and wrapped her arms around his chest and burying her face into his neck. Tentatively, Christof's arms encircled Rebecca holding her close.

It wasn't what he imagined. It had been a long time since Christof had held a woman, and arguably the previous one had been wanton, at least when compared to Rebecca. And in all of the torrid dreams he had had in the last couple of years, not once did he imagine that he would be holding an English widow while comforting her, no matter how beautiful she was.

Her vulnerability and need awoke in Christof a deep seated hunger, a need for her specifically that coursed through his veins, clouding his mind to all but her and the moment at hand.

Tightening his grip on Rebecca, he pulled her close and whispered, "It is okay, let it out, Rebecca. I am here for you."

[Britwitch]

Rebecca felt a consoling hand on her shoulder and a fresh wave of emotion swept over her.
Even in the aftermath of Robert’s death, she had been embraced by his parents but they had become lost in their own grief and she had been largely left to deal with her own alone. James’ embraces always felt slightly strange and disconcerting, as rare as they were. The feel of Christof’s hand, gentle and caring, all but overwhelmed her and Rebecca found herself turning towards him.

Pressing herself against the reassuring breadth of his chest, her head finding sanctuary in the crook of his neck, her arms curling instinctively around his body; it happened so quickly, so smoothly, Rebecca wasn’t entirely sure if she had embraced him or his arms had drawn her in.
She was oblivious to anything except how ‘good’ it felt to be held. The ache in her heart was not forgotten but it was…easier.

She felt Christof pull her closer and she willingly shifted her body,
"It is okay, let it out, Rebecca. I am here for you."
“…Thank you Christof...” She whispered against his neck. “I… I am sorry, this…this is not your fault…please don’t think that it is. It’s just…”
Rebecca pushed herself away enough to be able to look up into his face without having to release the comforting hold she had and the reassuring feeling of his arms around her, her eyes bright with tears.
“I think sometimes I almost forget how much I miss him…most days I’m fine but then little things…insignificant things…remind me of what I had and lost and…well…it hurts, even now…”

She smiled, admittedly the smile was small but it was genuine.
“I think I am alright now…but thank you, for your compassion…”
A pause followed and for a moment Rebecca didn’t even realise she was looking up into his eyes until she caught herself and blushed, instantly looking down.
“You are a…a…” Rebecca struggled to find the right word, ‘nice’ seemed too pathetic, ‘kind’ seemed condescending, so in the end she settled for. “Christof, you are a lovely person and this gives me further belief that you will not be alone long once you return home…”
She looked up and smiled once more and moved to step away from him, although if she was honest she felt as if she could linger in the comforting confines of his embrace all afternoon were it not for the countless problems it might cause.

[southernscion]

It was there. In her eyes. In the cast of her face, Christof saw the desire in Rebecca to stay in his arms.

And there was concern, a smidgen of fear. And they weren't as strong as the desire, but there nonetheless.

Slowly, almost painfully, Christof removed his arms from around her, but his fingers trailed behind, longingly wanting to clasp around her tight torso again. And as his hands returned to his side, an Arctic cold swept over his body. Christof barely maintained enough control of himself to not quiver in need.

"I understand." Christof said. "I will be in the bard working on the tractor, unless you have some other chore in mind for me this afternoon."

Christof turned and walked out to the barn and looked at the old tractor that stood there. He hadn't the foggiest idea of what to do with a tractor, but it provided a means for him to leave Rebecca alone with her thoughts. And it appeared to Christof, that she certainly had plenty to work through.

[Britwitch]

"I understand...I will be in the barn working on the tractor, unless you have some other chore in mind for me this afternoon."
Rebecca watched as Christof headed out to the barn, part of her wanting nothing more than to follow him and simply carry on talking. She hadn't realised how alone she had become until his arrival.
Of course, she and James talked but it was always slightly awkward and she never felt he was talking with her so much as talking at her.

Wiping her tear streaked face with her apron Rebecca shook herself and decided to focus on sorting out the evening meal. Without doubt, James would return to be fed, although whether he stayed at the farm for the evening or simply returned to the village pub would be another matter.

Rebecca busied herself making a stew, peeling and chopping potatoes and carrots, adding an onion before slicing up the precious amount of meat that was in the larder and adding that with some herbs from the garden and plenty of water to make the stock.

Once the stew was bubbling on the stove, Rebecca glanced at the clock. The afternoon was already starting to slip away. She felt a brief and unexpected pang of sadness as she realised that soon the truck would arrive to take Christof back to camp.
Making up some sandwiches and a fresh steaming mug of tea, she headed out to the barn.

Smiling as she approached the now grease covered German.
"I thought you might be getting hungry..." She smiled, offering the plate and mug.
"How's it been going in here...? Any success...?"
Her eyes passed over the now revealed engine of the tractor. In all honesty she had no idea what any of the parts before her eyes were responsible for but she admired his efforts in trying to fix something that had been already starting to fail long before the war.
"I'm afraid it's only cheese in the sandwiches...I should have some ham tomorrow though..." Rebecca added, moving to sit on a hay bale, before starting hesitantly.
"Can I...can I ask you something...about the camp? ...I'm sure it's nothing like a 'home' but...they do...they do treat you fairly, don't they...?" Her eyes had widened a little bit as she asked him. Already planning to secrete some more sandwiches in his jacket pocket before he left.

[southernscion]

Rebecca settled on the pile of hay and smoothed her clothes and Christof's mind made the connection to rolling in the hay. For the briefest moment, the warmth of Rebecca's arms wrapped around his shoulder's, the strength of her legs wrapped around his waist, flashed through Christof's mind and his breath caught painfully in his throat.

Wrested from the lovely visions throbbing in his mind, Christof heard, "...about the camp? ...I'm sure it's nothing like a 'home' but...they do...they do treat you fairly, don't they...?"

Christof mulled the answer over as he cleaned off his hands on a rag and then placed a pail upside down in front of Rebecca and sat on it. Taking a bite of the sandwich, Christof said, "The camp...It is of course a prison. Our time is strictly regulated and each move is overseen by someone."

Raising his eyes from the floor of the barn, he met Rebecca's eye's and held them softly as he said, "Despite the expected reactions from your brother in law, my time here has been a most welcome respite from the drudgery of the camp. And I thank you."

Suddenly clearing his throat as an unexpected tidal wave of desire for Rebecca crashed over him, Christof said, "I took the liberty of making a list of the things the tractor will require for proper operation. I am not sure if all of the parts will be available or not, but depending on what isn't available I think I can make the tractor functional."