Free Safe Haven by Anna Schmidt Page B

the whole country of the plight of the refugees.”
    Ilse glanced at her husband. “Franz?”
    “We do not wish to do anything that might jeopardize whatever possibility we have to stay in America. Perhaps we should let others be the voice of this circumstance, Miss Randolph. My family has been through enough.”
    And there was her no.

    Back at the boardinghouse, Theo noticed at supper that Suzanne was unusually quiet. Hilda Cutter babbled on about the refugees and the gossip she had heard that morning in church and the trouble there was sure to be once the quarantine was lifted and “those people” were free to go wherever they pleased.
    Suddenly Suzanne’s head shot up, and she pinned Hilda with her gaze. “
Those people
are not hooligans, Hilda. Theo’s uncle, for example, was a respected university professor in Munich. There are doctors and men who were successful in business and women who also had careers. I was told by a fellow reporter that there is even a well-known French actress among the group.”
    “Well, from what I have heard, most of them are Communists. That is our next great worry, you know. The Communists are little better than the Nazis and—”
    “My uncle and aunt are not Communists,” Theo said quietly. “They are Quakers like me and my parents and siblings.”
    He saw Suzanne give him a slight smile before she turned her attention back to her food—food she was moving around the plate with her fork but not really eating.
    “A Quaker, eh?” Usually Hugh Kilmer concentrated on his food and paid little attention to the conversation. The other regular boarder, he was a traveling salesman who kept a room at Mrs. Velo’s for when he was calling on customers in northern New York State. “You folks the ones who won’t fight—won’t join up?”
    It was a challenge that Theo had grown used to. “We are pacifists, yes, but we serve in other ways.”
    “Safe ways,” Hugh muttered as he stuffed a huge forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and continued to stare at Theo. “You have relatives in the camp, then?”
    “My uncle and aunt and their daughter—my cousin.”
    “Germans, are they?”
    The words rolled across the room like syrup spilled on the lace tablecloth, sticking to everything as it oozed its way down the table. Theo was aware of all eyes on him—including Suzanne’s.
    “We are of German heritage, my family, yes,” Theo replied and went back to eating, although he had lost his appetite.
    “Seems off to me that old FDR would include Germans in those he picked to bring over here,” Hugh muttered. A beat of quiet was punctuated only by the clink of flatware on plates and ice shifting in glasses, but with the silence came Theo’s certainty that Hugh would finally drop the conversation. He was wrong.
    “I mean the French—sure. They’re on our side. Even the Polacks and Slavs I can see. After all, Hitler ran straight over them and took over their countries, didn’t he?”
    “He also took over Germany,” Suzanne said, her voice firm and dangerously soft. It was a warning for Hugh Kilmer to shut up, but it came through as clearly as if she had said those words instead.
    Hugh turned his attention to her. “You’re the reporter, right? From Syracuse?”
    “Washington,” Suzanne replied, concentrating on cutting her chicken cutlet into bite-sized pieces.
    Hugh released a low whistle. “Our nation’s capital. Impressive. What paper?”
    Suzanne’s cheeks reddened as if she was suddenly far too warm and needed air. “I … that is … there is … I am freelancing,” she finally managed just as Selma appeared from the kitchen carrying the pitcher of tea that she had gone to refill. “I am not feeling so well,” Suzanne murmured as she placed her napkin next to her plate and pushed back her chair. “Please excuse me.”
    Theo stood as he’d been taught to do whenever a lady entered or left his company. Hugh Kilmer just kept stuffing his mouth with mounds of