AUTHOR'S NOTE: About a year and a half ago, while working on another story, I came across an idea for a different type of S&H tale. What emerged out of that was a project that has since then literally kept me writing every day. Conducting the research for Ashes, was both enlightening and extremely heartbreaking, for the story deals with a dark period of history known as the Holocaust. Reading the pain and misery of so many people wasn't easy, especially when my own mother was confined at both Dachau and Buchenwald during World War II as a slave laborer. Sometimes I would come across an incident that was just too horrific, I couldn't bring myself to include it in the story. And yet, during those times, I would remind myself of all the millions who never got a chance to tell their stories. So, this is for the victims...may we never forget you.

My sincere and grateful appreciation goes out to my betas, britwizz and Dawnwind. Ladies, I couldn't have done this without your wonderful help. And a special 'thank you' goes out to Nicol Tyler, who graciously produced several pieces of artwork for this story. At some future point, I will post a link to my website where you can view her work and the story in its original format and entirety.

(This story is complete - The first two chapters are below, and starting Monday, each following chapter will be posted daily - I hope you enjoy!)

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Buried in Ashes

May 30, 1979

David Starsky sat down at his kitchen table. The breakfast dishes were washed and dried, except for one cup that was still full of coffee. A mound of letters and newspapers sat in the center of the small table, waiting to be sorted. The mail had been accumulating at the post office for the last few weeks while he'd been away visiting his daughter halfway across the country in Chicago. Within a few minutes, he'd finished dividing the letters into two separate piles—one for the trash, the other bills—and started to skim through the newspapers.

Once he had sorted them from oldest to newest, he decided to just quickly scan through the first few pages of each, looking for any interesting headlines. As he read over the 'News around the State' section for Sunday the 6th of May, a story out of Los Angeles leapt out at him.

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Bay City – A police officer is in critical condition after being gunned down at a local precinct in what sources say was an apparent mob hit. Witnesses claim the gunman was disguised as a uniformed cop, and reports indicate that an automatic weapon was used. Detective Sergeant David M. Starsky was shot numerous times and is currently in the ICU at Memorial Hospital. His partner, Detective Sergeant Kenneth R. Hutchinson was not injured. The suspect(s) involved remain at large.

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David immediately scanned through the remaining papers, breathing a sigh of relief when he found a more recent article on the shooting.

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Bay City – James M. Gunther, CEO and head of Gunther Industries, Inc., was arrested on Thursday, May 10th, in San Francisco in connection with the shooting of Bay City Police Sergeant David Starsky. Although charges are still pending in the case, it is believed Gunther will be facing two counts of conspiracy to commit murder of a police officer. If convicted, Gunther could be sentenced to life imprisonment. According to a spokesman from the Bay City Police Department, Sergeant Starsky is still listed in critical condition at a local hospital.

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David tossed the paper down and reached for the telephone. After obtaining the number from information, he called the police department in Bay City, eventually getting hold of someone in public relations. Armed with the most recent information, he threw on a jacket and sprinted out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at a small, but pleasant-looking cottage a half mile from the beach and just off one of the main streets in town. Grabbing the two newspapers, he got out of the car and sprinted up to the front door.

Kendrick Hutchinson stood in the kitchen, watering the last of his house plants. One in particular, a small Ficus, looked withered and dry. The plant had fallen victim to the playful antics of his new kitten and now seemed to be facing almost certain death. Torn from his task by a pounding at his door, Kendrick placed the sprinkler on the kitchen table and hurried over to see who his visitor was.

"Oh for God's sake, David, I'm not deaf you know!" he huffed, recognizing his old friend.

Pushing his way into the house, David quipped, "I think you might want to get a second opinion on that." He stopped about halfway into the living room, then abruptly turned and waved the newspapers at the man still standing at the open door. "Well, are you just going to stand there, or should I go tell my news to the cat?"

Kendrick let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. He closed the door and joined David by the couch. "Would you like to sit down?" he asked calmly. "Can I get you anything? Some coffee?"

"I run over here to tell you something, and you want to waste time getting me coffee?"

Raising his hands in surrender, Kendrick said, "Fine. Make yourself comfortable." He sat down in his recliner and promptly folded both arms across his chest, looking as interested as a bored five-year-old.

David shook his head. "You're some friend, you know that?" he said. He took a quick glance around the room. "Where's Vanessa?"

"Shopping," Kendrick answered flatly. "A new mall opened up over by the interchange. She left here at 8:30 sharp."

Smirking, David gave a nod. He went over and dumped the papers in Kendrick's lap. "Here," he said, pointing to the first article, "Read this."

He watched as Kendrick read the story, curious what his reaction would be.

"I can't believe this," Kendrick whispered.

"Look at the date."

"May the 6th. What's so special about…"

"No, that's the date the paper came out. The shooting, that happened on the 5th." When his friend still looked confused, David quietly added, "May the 5th."

Kendrick's face instantly went pale. "How…?" He looked down at the paper again. "That's unbelievable. Is he…is he still alive?"

Letting go of a long sigh, David replied, "Yes. I just called the police department down there before coming over. I have to meet him, Kendrick."

"Why? Do you think he's a relative?"

David's gaze drifted to the floor. "I don't know, maybe. I never did find out what happened to my cousin Michael. But this…" he said, pointing to the newspaper. "I can't do nothing. Will you come with me?"

Kendrick stared at him. "David, are you sure…? I mean, so we have the same last names, that doesn't mean anything. What would these two cops care anyway?"

"Fine, I'll go by myself." He reached down to grab the newspaper. "Hey!"

A hand grabbed David's arm. Kendrick's eyes fell on the line of six little numbers tattooed on the left forearm, and seemed to linger there for a moment before he gently released his grip. "That's a good six-hour drive," he said calmly. "Let me talk to Van when she gets back. I'm sure she won't miss me for a few days. We can leave first thing tomorrow morning. Would that be alright?"

David smiled and nodded his head. "Sorry, I just…I don't know how to explain it…"

"I know," Kendrick said firmly. "Memories, right?"

"Yeah—memories."

Later that night, David finished packing the last few pieces of clothing in an overnight bag. He'd found a hotel that was only a couple of blocks away from the hospital in Los Angeles and made reservations for the next two nights. If the wounded cop didn't turn out to be a relative, he and Kendrick could spend some time sightseeing in the big city.

Just as he was closing the zipper on the bag, David suddenly remembered one last item. He went over to his dresser and picked up the silver framed picture sitting on top. The black and white photo underneath the glass definitely showed signs of wear. Lines and creases marred the image and one corner on top was bent. But the young woman's portrait still looked as clear and vibrant as the day it was taken, some forty years ago. She had an angelic face, framed with shoulder-length, wavy black hair. Her smile was bright and full, which made the pair of dimples under her cheeks hard to miss. Finally, thick, curled lashes accentuated the doll-like eyes, making them sparkle and appear full of life.

From the day she'd entered his life, this remarkable woman had never left his heart. She'd been his best friend, constant companion and blessed him with his first child. As a wife, she'd given him the finest years of her life. David brought the picture up to his mouth and gave it a kiss. He carefully placed it inside the travel bag and got ready for bed.

"Did you remember to bring a map?"

Kendrick turned his attention away from the road and glared over at his passenger. "You ask me this after we've already been driving for two hours?"

"Well, did you or didn't you?" David pressed, ignoring Kendrick's sarcastic tone.

"I know how to get down to Los Angeles. Why, in heaven's name, would I need a map?"

"Any idiot can figure out how to get there, Mr. Smarty Pants," David intoned. "But how do we find the hospital?"

"Ask for directions, like anybody else."

"I've seen you ask for directions. You don't listen and then get lost even more."

Kendrick huffed. "I asked you if you wanted to drive and you said 'no.' So, either quit yapping or you can get out and start walking. Your choice."

"All right, you don't have to be so crabby."

David propped his head up and stared out the window. Ever since picking him up this morning, Kendrick had noticed his friend was a little grumpier than usual. Thinking David might have changed his mind, Kendrick had asked if he still wanted to go. The answer had been a very unambiguous "Of course, you dummy." Without worrying too much over his pouting passenger, Kendrick concentrated on driving. He knew David would eventually talk about whatever was bothering him. And true to form, the wait wasn't long.

"You know, I was thinking," David began, "if this kid is related to me…I mean, do you think he could actually be Michael's son?"

"Is that what you're hoping?" Kendrick asked. Although David rarely spoke about his cousin, he'd always mentioned the possibility of finding him one day.

David shifted nervously in his seat. "Well, yeah…" There was a long pause before he continued. "I guess I've just about given up on ever knowing what happened to him. He could've ended up anywhere after the war." He let out a deep sigh, then added quietly, "Probably too much to hope for."

Kendrick looked over at him. David's last comment had sounded much too distraught. Instinct was already telling him to pull over before Kendrick saw the first tear. He quickly stopped the car and reached over to comfort his friend. Kendrick had only seen a few of David's terrifying flashbacks. Gradually, they'd diminished over the years, but until each one was over, there was no way of predicting just how bad they might be. Sometimes, a whiff of something burning would set David off, other times, memories alone could do the trick. This time, Kendrick suspected the later was to blame.

"It's all right, buddy, I'm here," Kendrick said in his most soothing voice. Thankfully, David was already trying to compose himself. Kendrick opened the glove box, snatching a small box of tissues. He pulled a couple out and pressed them into David's hand. "Here you are. Everything's going to be fine."

David wadded up the tissues and dabbed his eyes. "Shit…you'd think one of these days I'd be able to quit crying like a baby."

"It's okay. You've got nothing to be ashamed of." Kendrick patted him on the shoulder. If there was ever a definition of bravery, it was the man sitting right beside him. "It won't be too much longer and we'll be there. Hopefully, you'll get some good news."

David snorted. "It'd just be nice, to see him again—" He gazed at Kendrick, his indigo eyes still shimmering with tears. "Michael was a decent man. He lost his father sooner than I did, but that didn't keep him from making the most out of life. I still can't believe his mother just abandoned him. Some people never seem to appreciate what they've got."

"I know. I didn't realize that until I lost my parents." Kendrick rubbed David's back one last time, then grabbed the steering wheel. Over the years, he and David had learned the best way to deal with their painful memories was to get back to the present. The past would never change, but the future always contained the promise of better times. Kendrick checked his rear view mirror and eased the car back onto the highway.

Hutch watched the doctor turn around and leave the room, leading a small pack of med students out the door with him. Mumbling a few profanities, Hutch glanced over at Starsky. His partner lay in bed, still too weak to do much more than shift gingerly from one side to the other. For the past week, the doctors had cut back unmercifully on his pain medication. Hutch was sure, had it not been for the heated discussion just now, that Starsky would've been down to two aspirin starting tomorrow.

Hutch got out of his chair and went into the bathroom. The tight look he'd seen forming around Starsky's eyes and mouth meant only one thing—the imminent arrival of pain. A moment later, he emerged with a wet washcloth and returned to his partner's bedside. He carefully wiped around Starsky's face, then folded the cloth and placed it across his forehead.

"Feel any better?" Hutch asked, knowing the washcloth was nothing compared to a good dose of morphine.

Starsky closed his eyes and frowned slightly. "Yeah, terrific. Don't know how they expect people to heal up when they hurt like hell."

Hutch smiled in sympathy. "Remember that guy I was telling you about last night?" he ventured, wanting to change the topic.

Starsky opened his eyes. "The one that thinks he might be related to me?" he asked, scrunching up his face.

"Yeah, that one. You still feel like meeting him today?"

"You thinkin' he might be here for something other than a family reunion?"

Hutch took the washcloth off. "I don't think so. Hanson in Records says the only thing he could dig up on Mr. Starsky was a few speeding tickets."

That produced a short chuckle. "He probably is a relative then." With a more serious tone, Starsky said, "Hey, if he isn't…"

"I've got your back, partner. When he gets here, I'll go talk to him first."

The curly head nodded. With his eyes drifting shut, Starsky mumbled, "Always wanted my own bodyguard."

Hutch pulled the bedspread up under Starsky's chin. It was still a miracle to see him like this. Alive. Talking in complete sentences. But Hutch was selfish. He wanted him completely healed, and now. Starsky had already suffered enough, and while it was crazy to think that the worst of his pain was over, he didn't need some publicity-seeking civilian trying to convince him he was some long-lost relative—especially if that meant digging up painful memories.

David and Kendrick sat in the lobby at Memorial Hospital. As they waited for someone from the police department to come and talk with them, Kendrick watched his friend with amused interest. He hadn't seen David this jumpy since awaiting the birth of his daughter. Then, as now, he could barely remain still—his head darting back and forth, and eyes latching onto each approaching person, hoping they were coming for him.

Kendrick was worried, though. If this cop didn't turn out to be related to Michael, he wasn't sure how David would take it. His cousin was the only family member whose fate had remained uncertain after the Holocaust. If he had survived, it would mean everything to David, the least of which would be that the Nazis hadn't succeeded in wiping out his entire family.

When David suddenly went rigid, Kendrick followed his stare to the blond-haired man who had just entered the reception area. Upon seeing them he'd stopped in his tracks, acting as though he'd seen a ghost. Kendrick was stunned, as well. Did he have a younger cousin? He looked back at David. The shocked expression on his friend's face must have mirrored his own.

The man approached them hesitantly. "I'm Sergeant Hutchinson," he said, "Detective Starsky's partner."

David stood up and offered his hand. "I'm David Starsky, and this," nodding towards Kendrick, "is my friend, Kendrick Hutchinson."

Kendrick rose and shook the sergeant's hand. For a moment, everyone just stared at one another.

Breaking the silence, Kendrick said, "Since we all seem to have similar names, what do you prefer, Sergeant?"

"'Hutch' is fine, and my partner goes by 'Starsky'."

"Ah," David said, "Hutch and Starsky. It has a nice ring to it."

Hutch couldn't help but chuckle. "And what should I call you?"

"Anything nice will do," David quipped, which drew another smile from Hutch. "But usually I answer to 'David' and my friend here, if you say his name loud enough, goes by 'Kendrick.'"

Hutch watched affectionately as the older man gave his friend a nasty smirk; however, it was time to get to a more serious topic. "Why don't we go into the family room over here?" Hutch announced. "It'll be a little more private."

As the three headed off, Hutch mentally shook his head. Meeting these two men was like peering thirty years into the future. If David wasn't related to Starsky, and if Kendrick didn't have a common ancestor with Hutch, then there was obviously something very wrong with the natural order of the universe.

Entering the room, David picked a seat on the blue fabric couch. Kendrick followed right behind and sat comfortably right next to him. Just like he and Starsky, Hutch thought.

"I know you've traveled a long way today." Hutch said, taking the chair opposite them. "And there's no doubt my partner is going to want to see you, but he's not really having one of his better days." He looked at the two disappointed faces, and added, "What I'm saying is, let's leave how long you stay up to him. Is that okay?"

"Of course," David spoke up. "It's not our intention to cause any problems."

Hutch acknowledged him with a grateful smile. He looked at Kendrick, and for a few moments found himself intently studying the features on the older face, but before the man could tell he was staring, Hutch broke off his inspection.

"Ah, David…let me ask you something," Hutch said, leaning forward in his seat. "When we spoke on the phone last night, you said you and Michael Starsky were cousins."

"Yes. His father and my father were brothers."

"And your father's name was Jakob?" David nodded. "And Michael's father was…"

"Malakhi. Malakhi Isaiah. He died in 1938."

"When was the last time you saw Michael?" Hutch asked, careful to not divulge the truth about Starsky's dad.

"I think it was March…no, maybe April, 1940. He was rounded up in a lapanka…that's a Polish word. The Nazis, they would round up people off of the street and take them away." David's eyes grew dim and he bowed his head slightly. "That's my last memory of him. Standing in the back of a lorry."

Kendrick, sitting next to David, put a comforting hand on his thigh.

Hutch watched the surreal moment with a sense of amazement. Had the two people in front of him not been flesh and blood, Hutch would've thought someone was pulling his leg. Could these two really be old relatives?

Clearing his throat, he said, "I'm going to go see how Stars…uh, Dave—my partner, is doing. Is there anything I can get you before I go?"

Both men shook their heads.

After excusing himself, Hutch got on the elevator and pressed the fourth floor button. Right now, he was probably more anxious to see Starsky than the visitors downstairs. When he got back to the room, he was glad his partner was still awake.

"Well, that was quick. I guess the guy was just a quack, huh?"

Hutch stopped at the foot of the bed. "Starsky, what was your grandfather's name?"

The pale face twisted in confusion. "My grandfather?"

"Yeah, your father's father," Hutch pressed impatiently. "What was his name?"

"Mal…Malcolm…no—Malakhi. I think. Why?"

"Are you sure?"

Starsky frowned. "He died way before I was born, Hutch."

"What year?" Seeing another confused look, Hutch repeated, "What year did he die?"

"Hutch, why don't you just…"

"Starsky, c'mon. What year? Roughly?"

He glanced up at the ceiling. "I'm pretty sure it was before World War II started." Lowering his gaze back to Hutch, Starsky said, "Would you quit playin' twenty questions and just tell me what's going on?"

"Starsk, the guy that's here—he makes Nick look like a distant relative."

A few minutes later, the two Davids and the two Kens found themselves studying each other for an awkwardly long moment. Finally, David broke the silence.

"You look just like your father," he said to Starsky. "Are you an only child?"

Starsky glanced over at Hutch, who shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"I have a younger brother," he began. "He lives in New York, not far from my mom, Rachel."

"Oh, I see," David said, taking a seat in the chair closest to the bedside. He remembered Michael seeing a different woman. But it was Starsky's lack of mentioning anything about his father that had him worried. Before David could ask that dreaded question, Starsky saved him the trouble.

"My father used to be a cop. One night, after he got off work, he was shot and killed. That was in 1956—over twenty years ago."

David felt his heart tear. He'd had a sense of foreboding all day, and now, after decades of not knowing, he'd gotten his answer. Feeling a slight pressure on his shoulder, he glanced to the side, not surprised that Kendrick was offering sympathy. But then movement from the hospital bed drew his attention. Starsky had extended his hand, palm up, wanting to hold David's.

"I'm sorry," David said forlornly, taking Starsky's hand. "I should be offering you condolences. He was your father."

Starsky gave him a weak smile. "I've had a little more time to deal with it."

David felt his hand squeezed tighter. "I tried to find out what had happened," he said, "where the Nazis had taken him. But so many documents were destroyed…it was just impossible."

"I know that he escaped during a march to a concentration camp. My mother could probably tell you more—"

Starsky suddenly grimaced and let out a quick gasp. Hutch was by his side in an instant, but Starsky stuck his arm out and stopped him. "It's just a cramp," he wheezed. "I'll be fine."

David glanced at Kendrick and hastily stood up. "This is not a good time, we understand. Maybe tomorrow, before we go back home…"

"Huh? No, wait!" Starsky pushed harder at his partner. "I'm fine, Hutch, okay?" He turned back to David. "Hey, I'd really like to know more about my Pop, and the two of you. How long have you been friends?"

"Well," David said, "since we were kids." He stopped answering, not sure if he should continue. Starsky definitely looked like he needed a shot of something. "Are you sure you want to hear this now?"

"Trust me," Starsky huffed, still taking short breaths, "It'll take my mind off of things."

David peered over at Hutch, who nodded affirmably. "It's a long story; I'm not sure where to start."

"Tell me about your family. How about—hey, did you have a bar mitzvah?" Starsky asked.

"Yes, I did."

"Then start there."

Chapter 2

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March 25, 1934 – Southeastern Germany

"Mazel Tov, Jakob! You must be proud of your son. Congratulations!"

David Starsky could hear the greetings of the guests arriving downstairs, but had no interest in going down to join them. Sitting on his bed, he studied the design of the tallit laid out in front of him, thinking about its significance. The prayer shawl was a birthday gift from his father, who no doubt had been anticipating this day for a long time. David had tried to act pleased when Jakob gave it to him, but he still had mixed feelings about tonight's upcoming ceremony. A part of him couldn't wait to be considered an adult, but the other part felt he didn't deserve such recognition.

Unlike Jakob, a traditionalist, David was less than enthusiastic about going to the temple and studying the ancient texts. In that respect, he was like his mother, Catherine. She'd followed some of the teachings and observed the holy days, but didn't consider herself a devout Jew. David wanted to learn something other than Hebrew, like becoming an auto mechanic, a job he could make good money doing. He'd always been interested in cars. Not just the metal shell that gave each one its unique look, but the true essence of what made it run—a piston-driven motor. Catherine had seen that desire in him, and had even insisted that Jakob allow him to spend time at a local auto shop, learning what he could. After many nights of arguing between the adults, a compromise had finally been reached.

But when his mother had died a few months ago, so had the hope of becoming what he wanted to be. His father told him there would be plenty of time when he was older to learn a proper profession, like bookkeeping, where he could come home with clean clothes and hands. For now, though, there'd be no spending time at the mechanic's. Jakob's decision was hard to accept, and left David aching for the understanding only his mother could offer. He missed her tremendously. There were still too many nights, last night among them, when tears led the way to sleep.

As the noise from downstairs drew him away from the past, David took a look at the piece of paper lying on his desk. It was a handwritten section from the Torah he was expected to recite at the synagogue this afternoon. He picked it up, and looked at one of the sentences he'd underlined.

Vayedaber Adonay el-Moshe lemor.

The phrase resonated in his head and he tried it out loud. "Va-ye-da-ber, A-don, A-donay, el-Moshe le-mo, le-mor…damn!"

David wadded up the paper furiously and tossed it away. He looked at the small clock sitting on his desk. Five minutes until four o'clock. Finally! He jumped off the bed and dashed out of the tiny loft and down the stairs. His father caught sight of him just as he grabbed his jacket from the crowded coat rack.

"David! Where are you going? Everyone is here," Jakob called, stepping away from a group of people.

"To Kendrick's. He invited me for supper, remember?"

His father came closer, his face showing concern. "Of course I remember, but you should welcome your guests first. Some have come from all the way across town."

David let out a prolonged sigh, louder than intended. He hung his coat back up and followed behind Jakob as he returned to their visitors.

Half an hour later, David was walking briskly through the old Catholic neighborhood. He liked this part of town. Instead of rows and rows of brick apartment buildings like his neighborhood, this area had beautiful old churches mixed in with modern apartments and decorative store fronts. The streets were also densely packed as people had more upscale shops and banks to patronize along the busy thoroughfares. And every few blocks, there was at least one park.

He and his best friend had grown up here together. David had known Kendrick Hutchinson since they had started going to school. Almost exact opposites of each other on the outside—David with a darker complexion and curly brown hair, Kendrick with fair skin and straight, blond hair —their inner selves matched perfectly. Their bond had grown even stronger a few years earlier, when Kendrick lost both parents in an explosion at a local factory. David had pleaded with his father to take the young boy in, but Jakob had refused, saying their family didn't make enough money to feed another mouth. Eventually, Kendrick was adopted by an older, childless couple, but David often wondered if, had his friend been Jewish, the outcome would've been different.

Crossing one last street, David arrived at a modest brick building and dashed up the staircase to the third floor. It had been a while since he'd been to Kendrick's because his adoptive parents didn't invite him over very often. At least, that's what he figured since this was only the third time he'd been asked to come since Kendrick's real parents died.

When his friend opened the door, David suddenly found himself speechless.

"Hey, David," Kendrick blurted out, standing like a soldier at attention. "What do you think?"

David stared at the figure before him, not sure if he was looking at a boy or a young man. The camel-colored wool jacket Kendrick was wearing looked sharp. It had several front pockets and each flap closed with a silver button. A shirt in a lighter shade of brown and a tie peeked out from underneath, and a black leather belt and cross strap made Kendrick's chest appear larger than it actually was. A sheathed dagger in a metal scabbard hung off the belt, and just above his left elbow, Kendrick wore a red and white striped band. David's eyes fixed on the black swastika set in a white circle embroidered on its side.

Not sure what to say or do, David remained outside in the hall. Kendrick's mother appeared and stood behind him. Putting a hand on her son's shoulder, she said, "Doesn't he look nice, David? Kendrick just had his first meeting in the Hitler Jugend; he really likes it. Too bad you're only thirteen." The woman paused for a moment, then coolly added, "Then again, Jews aren't allowed to join—are they, Kendrick?"

The blond dropped his head, and a bit of his pride seemed to disappear. "No, I don't think so," he answered weakly.

David gave the uniform one more cursory glance. "It looks good on you," he replied, his mouth feeling like dust.

Smiling like a cat just before killing a bird, the woman pulled Kendrick away from the door and remarked, "Well, let's not keep your father waiting, liebchen. Come in, David. We don't want dinner getting cold."

.

After eating, the two boys went outside and walked over to the nearest park. The trees were still bare, but tiny leaf buds were starting to sprout. Sparrows flew among the branches, joined occasionally by a starling or two. Finding an empty bench, David sat down, followed by Kendrick. Both remained silent for a while, taking in the comings and goings of other visitors.

Finally, Kendrick spoke up. "You didn't eat very much. Weren't you hungry?"

"Yeah, I mean, it was good. We don't eat pork at home, though."

"Oh, I didn't know. Mother seemed to think that you'd like chops."

David turned to look at him. "I don't think she likes me. At least, not as much as your real mom did."

Kendrick gave him an apologetic smile. "You're probably right." The smile faded as he asked, "Do you miss your mom?"

"Yeah, a lot. Why'd you ask?"

"Just curious. I think my new parents have more money than my real Mom and Dad ever did."

"Do they buy you a lot of things?" David asked, his attention momentarily drawn to kid riding a bicycle nearby.

"All the time." Kendrick looked down at his clothes. "When I came home from school the other day, this was all laid out on my bed. I talked to a few kids at the meeting, and they said these uniforms cost a lot of money."

David studied the clothing again, and for a second time became fixated with the arm band. "If my father sees you wearing that, I don't think he'll like it," he said.

Kendrick saw what David was looking at. "It's just the German flag. I think it makes the uniform look official." He glanced up and catching David's attention, remarked, "If they'd let you, would you want to join?"

"Maybe…is that a real knife?" David asked, spying the dagger's handle.

"Yeah, the blade's really sharp." Kendrick leaned back and drew the dagger out of its sheath. He pricked one of his fingers with the tip of the blade, drawing a tiny drop of blood. He then handed it to David.

"Blut und Ehre," he said, reading the engraved words on the blade. "Blood and Honor?"

"It's our motto."

David continued looking at the knife. He wasn't surprised that the handle had a diamond-shape inlay containing a swastika. Handing it back, he asked, "So, what do you use it for?"

Kendrick shrugged his shoulders. "They haven't told us yet." He slipped it back into the scabbard. "Did you learn what you're supposed to read tonight?"

"Oh, scheisse! I forgot about the time!" David sprang up from the bench. "I've got to go. Papa will kill me if I'm late." He paused, then added, "Thanks for inviting me today."

"I'm glad my parents let you come. Maybe you can come again next week?"

"I'd like to."

David turned and started to hurry down the street. He'd be surprised if Kendrick's invitation was still good by the time next week came. Although his friend's parents never were very kind to him, David had felt particularly shunned by them this evening. He remembered when their families were still alive, and he and Kendrick would constantly visit each other's homes. Religious preferences hadn't mattered then, nor politics. It had all changed now and, obviously, not for the better.

"Hey David! Wait!"

David turned as Kendrick ran up to him. "Hi, Kendrick," he said flatly and continued walking.

A few leaves drifted down to the ground from the trees that lined the street. The air was crisp today, feeling more like early winter than the middle of autumn.

"Why haven't you been at school?" Kendrick asked, catching up with his friend. "Don't you know we have a test next week?"

"I've been working."

"You've been working? Why?"

"Father says the Nazis are telling people not to buy from the Jews. He's losing customers, so I have to work now."

Kendrick slowed down, but when David kept walking, he hurried to keep pace with him. "What about school?"

David shrugged his shoulders.

"Do you want me to ask for some homework for you?"

This time, he stopped walking and in a tired voice said, "I don't know when I'll be able to do it." He stared at Kendrick for a moment, and added, "I see you have a new jacket. Do you like going to those meetings?"

Kendrick dropped his head. "They're okay," he lied.

Truth was he'd never had so much fun before in his life. Since the spring, he'd made new friends, gone on weekend camping trips and earned a lot of badges. Only when the adult leaders started to condemn Jews, did he think about the ones he knew. At least, one in particular. He glanced back at the brunet and noticed the empty look on his face.

"David, are we still friends?" he asked, not sure how to interpret the boy's silence.

"I don't know. I don't think my father wants me to see you anymore." David replied, his voice heavy and sad.

"When I hear them say bad things about the Jews," Kendrick began, "I start thinking about you—and I know it's not true. But I like being in the group, David. We're always doing something fun…" A cold stare from David stopped him momentarily. "Maybe we shouldn't be friends anymore," Kendrick said softly.

David's expression changed. "It's not your fault you're having fun…and it's not my fault that I have to work. Maybe Papa will get some new customers soon, and I'll come back to school."

"What if you colored your hair blond and said you weren't a Jew anymore? You have blue eyes, so who would know?"

"I'd look silly with blond hair, you idiot! Like Harpo Marx's twin!"

Both broke out in laughter. "Maybe you're right," Kendrick conceded. "I'll bring some homework for you tomorrow."

David nodded then turned and ran up the street. Standing by himself, Kendrick mumbled, "At least people like the Marx brothers…"

TBC