Fire and Steel, Volume 6 Read online

  “How much time do you have?” Hans asked laconically.

  “Whatever it takes. Why don’t you start with what took you up there so unexpectedly.”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Hans said. “I went up to bell the cat.”

  Hans hooted at Alemann’s expression. “Okay, let me back up a little. It came from the discussions you and I have been having lately about how long I can keep my employment with the Nazi Party before I’ve had enough and have to get out.”

  “Well, well,” Alemann said. “That is news. I thought you and Emilee had decided it was not possible to extract yourselves. Too much risk of starting reactions you can’t control.”

  “That’s right. But the book burnings became a turning point for me. I can’t stomach being part of that kind of thing any longer.” Hans leaned forward and spoke for almost fifteen minutes, laying it all out as it had unfolded for him. When he finished, he sat back.

  Alemann was amazed. “And Hitler actually said he had no problem with you looking for other employment?”

  “Those were his words.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Neither could I, to be honest. It was a shock.”

  “No, I can’t believe what you just said. Do you know why I called to see if you could come over tonight?”

  “Because you feel sorry for this lonely old guy who’s rattling around in an empty house?”

  “No!” Alemann said, openly exultant now. “I called you because I have an idea I want to put to you.” He actually clapped his hands. “This is wonderful.” To Hans’s surprise, Alemann drew in his chair closer to where Hans was seated. “All right, then,” he said with a bit of a schoolboy grin. “You are not going to believe this. To begin with, let me say a couple of things. I don’t know if it was inspiration on my part or just plain dumb luck, but here goes.”

  Hans had to suppress a smile. “I’m listening.”

  “You put two options to Hitler, right? One, you try to find another job in the Nazi bureaucracy, or, two, you look for work elsewhere.”

  “Yes. Though in my mind, the first is really not an option because it sidesteps the basic question.”

  “Which is, can you be true to your values and continue to work for a party where virtually everything they are doing goes directly counter to those values? And the answer is a resounding no. Ja?”

  “That sums it up in a nutshell. But I didn’t think it wise to say that to Adolf,” Hans added.

  “Understood. But the good news is, he saw the logic in your reasoning and basically gave you permission to look elsewhere.”

  “That’s right. Which is a huge thing for me. I’ve thought of little else since I returned from Berlin,” Hans went on, “but I’m still coming up with a blank as to what I can do that will not alienate Hitler or the party but will satisfy me at the same time. And that pays well enough that I can continue to support my family. Where do I find something like that?”

  Alemann sat back, grinning like the Cheshire cat. He put his hands together, fingers forming a steeple. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  That brought Hans forward with a jerk. “Do you have an idea?”

  “Not an idea, Hans. A solution.” Alemann laughed aloud, clearly delighted with himself. “Sit back, my friend, and prepare to be amazed.” Alemann got to his feet, too excited to remain seated, and began to pace back and forth, even though he could take only three or four steps each way in the confines of his office. “It came to me out of the blue earlier today, though I feel stupid for not thinking of this before. I should have seen it right from the first.”

  “Seen what?”

  Alemann laughed right out loud and then leaned forward in his chair and pulled it closer, so they were knee to knee. “Hans Otto Eckhardt,” he intoned solemnly, “how would you like to become a university professor?”

  Hans gaped at him. “I. . . . What? Are you mad? If this is a joke, it’s—”

  “No joke, Hans!” Alemann cried. “Think about it for a minute.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You have to have a doctoral degree to be a professor.”

  “Not all do. Some have master’s degrees. Occasionally, depending on the field of study and other professional experience a person has, a bachelor’s degree can be enough to get you started.”

  “Yeah, but I have nothing, Alemann.”

  “Not true. You graduated from the Von Kruger Academy with excellent grades. You were accepted at the University of Berlin before the war. You told me that once, right?”

  “Uh . . . yes. But I never went. I went to war.”

  “Yes, you did. And then you came home and fought against the Spartacans and saved the government from going Bolshevik. Don’t you see it, Hans? You’ve got a doctorate in history, living history.” Alemann threw up his hands. “Want to talk about academic credentials? The scars on your face establish those credentials. You walk with constant pain. There’s another credential. For crying out loud, Hans. You were friends with Adolf Hitler before there was a Nazi Party. You were—what? One of the first ten members of the party?”

  “Hitler was number seven in the German Workers Party. I was number eight.”

  “Ja, exactly. I could go on for hours. You were part of the forces that put down the Communist revolution here in Munich. You were there when the Beer Hall Putsch took place. Every child in the country studies the Beer Hall Putsch because it was a pivotal turning point in our history. You spent time in prison for that.”

  Hans’s mouth was agape. Words were pouring out of Alemann’s mouth so fast he felt like he was drowning in them. “But—”

  “No, Hans,” Alemann cut in sharply. “No buts. Not yet. Just listen to me. You engineered one electoral triumph for the party after another. You were there in the Reichstag when von Papen forgot the letter of dissolution and lost his chance to dissolve Parliament permanently. Don’t you see it? You don’t have a degree in history. You are history!”

  He sat back, breathing hard now. “We have an old saying in the academic world: ‘To get where you want to be, you have to pay your dues.’ Hans, you’ve paid those dues a dozen times over.”

  Hans held up his hands. “Alemann! Stop!” He stared at his friend for a long moment. Then he shook his head and smiled. “You’re crazy, Alemann. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I do,” he chortled. “Crazy like a fox. Hans, you have a better sense of modern German history than half of our faculty, including those with doctoral degrees.”

  “Okay, I get it. But I still have no degree, which is—”

  “Yes, of course you’ll have to get a degree. Three actually. A bachelor’s, a master’s, and a doctorate. But the university gives credit for life experience, Hans. And you have fistfuls of that. So we’re not talking years and years here.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t make any promises. But I can tell you this. If I go to the dean of my college, the College of Social Sciences, which includes the departments of history and political science, and tell him I can get him a teacher who saved the life of Adolf Hitler during the Beer Hall Putsch, you’ll be in a lecture hall the next day. Probably as an adjunct professor at first.” He paused. “Do you know what that is?”

  Hans nodded. “Yes, like a part-time teacher, not a faculty member.”

  “Yes. And that’s how we get your foot in the door. Then we take your experience to the accreditation committee. I’ll bet they’ll grant you enough ‘life experience’ credits that you’ll almost have your bachelor’s degree.” Alemann fell back in his seat, laughing at himself. “Sorry to get so carried away, Hans. But this is your answer. You belled the cat, and this is the cheese.”

  August 4, 1933, 10:34 a.m.—Utah Bank and Trust, 310 South Main Street, Salt Lake City, Utah

  Benji Westland stepped into the bank’s main lobby and let his eyes adjust from the bright sunlight outside. It was a M
onday morning, and there were only two or three customers in the bank. Looking around, Benji spied a desk off to the right with a nameplate that read “New Accounts.” He didn’t see anything that resembled a receptionist, and the young woman behind the New Accounts desk was unoccupied, so he removed his hat and walked over to her.

  She looked up and smiled warmly as he approached. “Good morning. May I help you?”

  Benji smiled back. “Yes. I’m looking for Mr. Jacob Reissner. Is he available?”

  “Ah, yes.” The woman turned to look at an empty desk behind her. “Oh. He must have gone into the vault. I’ll let him know you’re here.” She started to get up.

  “That’s all right,” Benji said. “I’m not in a hurry. I can wait.”

  “He will want to know someone is waiting for him. Why don’t you take a seat—”

  A voice behind them spoke. “Benji?”

  He turned. Jacob was coming toward them, several manila files in his hand. Benji strode over to meet him. “Jacob. How good to see you again.”

  Jacob moved over to the young woman and handed her the files. “Nancy, could you take those up to Mr. Brockhurst, please? He’s expecting them.”

  “Of course, Mr. Reissner.” As she started across the bank toward a staircase, Jacob turned back and, ignoring Benji’s outstretched hand, gave him a big bear hug. “This is a surprise,” he said. “Last I heard you were in Oklahoma.”

  “True. Mose and I decided to try the oil fields there. We’d heard they were hiring. What we didn’t hear was that those Okies don’t take kindly to outsiders coming in to take their jobs. We didn’t even get close to the hiring office. We eventually found a few odd jobs here and there, but nothing permanent, so. . . .” He shrugged. “I stopped off at your house to say hello to Adelia and the kids, but no one was home.”

  Not surprised, Jacob nodded. “And where are you off to now?”

  “Not sure. Been debating between California and the produce harvest or Boulder City and the Hoover Dam project. Word on the road is that they’re hiring in both places.”

  Jacob looked around. “Where is Mose? Your folks told me that you two were traveling together.”

  “We were,” Benji said. “But when Oklahoma proved to be a bust, Mose figured he was about halfway home anyway by then, and with fall coming on. So he headed down to South Texas. Cotton harvest is just starting down there, and Mose has been picking cotton his whole life. He’ll work his way east until he reaches Georgia, then spend the winter with his family. We plan to meet again in April or May, depending on the weather.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “Hey, last time I talked to Mom and Dad, they told me that the Eckhardts were here, helping Aunt Paula. Are they staying with you? Or have they gone back home already?”

  Jacob smiled. “Let’s see. I think I heard three questions in there. Yes, Emilee, Inga, Jo, and Hans Otto came out in June to help Paula after her operation. Hans and Lisa and the two youngest did not. No, they are not staying with us. They are staying with Paula and Wolfie so they can be right there to help her. And no, they have not gone back home yet. They leave around the fifteenth, I think. And to the question you should have asked, namely, ‘Where are they now?’” He glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “They are probably somewhere between Provo and Price right now, on their way to Monticello and the EDW Ranch.”

  “Ah! Mom said they were going to come down for a visit at some point. Paula too?”

  Jacob shook his head. “No, just the Eckhardts. And the Reissners, of course. You know us. A summer without the EDW is a sad summer indeed. Adelia has the children with her.”

  “That’s great. Dang. I’m sorry I missed the Eckhardts.”

  Jacob peered at him more closely. “I’m finished here at three. Then I’m heading home and grabbing my bag and headed south too. Why don’t you come with me? I’m only staying a week, so I could bring you back as well.”

  “Uh . . . that is tempting, but I’m already a week or two off for the late harvest in California. I’d best be moving on.”

  Cocking his head to one side, Jacob sized him up and down. “Unless you swear me to secrecy, you do know what your mother’s gonna say when she learns you were this close and didn’t come down to see them. She’ll tan your hide.”

  Laughing, Benji nodded. “Now there’s the understatement of the century.” He sighed. “It would be great to see everyone again, including the Eckhardts and your family. But. . . .”

  “No buts. You need to do it, Benj.” Jacob reached in his pocket and drew out a ring of keys. “Here. You know where we live. Go get yourself something to eat. Wash your clothes if they need it. Maybe grab a nap in a real bed, and we’ll be off by about three thirty. Okay?”

  Benji looked at the keys but didn’t take them. “You make it hard to say no, Jacob, but this summer’s not been very profitable. Going home with empty pockets isn’t going to help much.”

  Jacob studied him for a moment. “There are some things you should know, Benji. Maybe that will help you decide. The last time I spoke with your dad, which was about two weeks ago, he told me that the government has notified them that the Department of Agriculture wants to cull out another hundred head of the EDW cattle.”

  “A hundred more!” Benji cried. “No! They can’t do that.”

  “Actually, they can, and they will. An agent is on his way there now. He’ll be in Monticello by next Monday. And since your herd is now scattered all across the summer range in the Blue Mountains, your family has to get them rounded up and into the holding corrals by the time the agent arrives. And that’s a challenge. Rowland and his two boys, Charles and Lem, who normally would help on such a roundup, are up here working for the railroad in Ogden. So they’re not available. And your dad needs to stay at the ranch until the agent comes so he can bring him up to the high range. So he’ll not be helping with the roundup beforehand either. MJ and Noah will be going up tomorrow. Abby will take Jo up with her, and my Liesel will be going too. But that’s still not nearly enough.” He shrugged. “And with the drought still going full blast, you know those cows are going to be all over that mountain range. These are hard times, Benji. And your folks could use a hand.”

  Benji had another thought. “Is Dad thinking of letting the Indians come up and get the meat again? They could help with the roundup.”

  Jacob was shaking his head before Benji finished. “Mitch said that he proposed that, but the agent heard what happened last year and has forbidden the Indians to be anywhere on the mountain while he’s there.”

  “He can’t do that,” Benji said hotly. “He can’t tell people where they can and can’t go.”

  “That’s what your dad said too. But this is a cocky young Ivy Leaguer with burrs in his britches. He probably knows nothing about cattle and even less about good sense. And being from the East, he probably thinks the Native Americans still carry tomahawks and take scalps. He told your father that once the cattle are killed, he and your dad will stay up there for another thirty-six hours.”

  “What? Why in the world would they do that?” Then Benji’s face darkened. “Until the meat spoils. So no one can use it.”

  Jacob nodded. “Look, Benji, I’m not trying to twist your arm, but I think your parents could really use another experienced hand right now. And the Eckhardts were really disappointed when you weren’t here to see them. So there’s another plus.”

  Benji was staring at the floor.

  “For a sweetener,” Jacob said with a smile, “once the roundup is done, your folks are going to take us all on our usual campout tour of Southern Utah—Arches and Canyonlands National Parks, Goblin Valley, the Irish Canyons.”

  “Ah, man! That’s hitting below the belt.”

  “Yes it is, Benj.” Jacob looked him squarely in the eye. “Aside from being anxious to see you again, your family really needs you. More t
han California does.”

  Benji reached out and took the keys. “Enough said. See you in a few hours.”

  August 10, 1933, 7:30 p.m.—

  Irish Canyons Area, Garfield County, Utah

  Benji sat as still as the odd shapes and forms of the orange-reddish sandstone rock all around him. His mind was reveling in the joy of being home, of being with his family again. And that said nothing about having the Reissners and the Eckhardts here as well. It felt so good to be off the rails. No sleeping in hobo camps. No going twenty-four to thirty-six hours without food. Taking a bath somewhere other than in a river or creek. He didn’t realize how tired he had grown of it. This had been rejuvenating for him.

  The sound of girls’ laughter floated down to him from above. He turned and looked up behind him but saw nothing, so he turned to his cousin. “Where was Abby taking them?”

  Noah shrugged. “They said they wanted to go higher. See what’s up there. You worried?”

  “Not at all. Abby knows this area like the back of her hand.”

  “She and Jo have sure hit it off, haven’t they?”

  “Yeah. They’re almost like sisters now.” Then Benji leaned in a little. “And speaking of hitting it off. What’s going on with you and Liesel?”

  Noah blushed a little and grinned. “We write all the time.”

  “And?”

  “Since she’s been down here this time, we’ve talked a lot together.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that during the roundup. Hey, you’ve been best friends since the Reissners first started coming here. Is there something more than that going on?”

  Noah nodded, his color deepening. “Kind of.”

  “Define kind of.”

  “Well, I turned nineteen last month. And I’ve always planned to go on a mission. But. . . .” He turned to face Benji squarely. “But with this Great Depression in full swing, I’m not sure that’s going to happen.”

  “Yeah. I wondered that. If I don’t find a way to make some money, I’m not going to be going either.”