My contribution to #sicktember2022

I don't think I could post thirty stories in a row but at least I can promise one or several during the month of September.

The story takes place a few months after It Takes A Thief

Frostbite

by

Sierra Sutherwinds

He found the little square and the Buxtehundestrasse without trouble. Once he knew what town it was, he was not lost anymore. He dragged his feet through the mounds of snow that had begun to form on the sidewalk. Although it was dark, the snow seemed to glow, offering a straight line to guide him safely. He was cold and numb, but stopping now could be a death sentence. He would freeze or be captured by one of the patrols in the neighborhood.

Fortunately, he was not lost; he had been there before. Taking an educated risk, he jumped the fence. His fingers barely responded as he struggled to pick the lock. This had been a bad time to forget his gloves. After he dropped the pick twice, the door finally yielded.

The living room was warm enough for him to realize how cold he really was. He sneaked in, looking for the fireplace. Although he had been there before, he did not know the entire house. From what the dim light allowed him to see, the furniture was all covered in crochet dollies and throws, like a dollhouse. Naturally, he was not surprised.

He walked towards the burning logs and sat on the floor. He must have whimpered in his dozing state; an involuntary sound that woke up someone upstairs. He did not move, resigned to his usual bad luck. At least, he was warm.

"Who's there?" The familiar voice of the lady of the house preceded her steps as she came down the stairs. "I have a pistol, so you'd better leave." There was no fear in her voice, although she must be frightened.

He stood up slowly, keeping his hands up. "Please, gnädige Frau… I'm not armed. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."

She stood on the last step, holding the gun with both hands. She was small and plump, her greying hair disheveled from sleep. If she was scared, her round face did not show it. "How did you get in? I don't have anything valuable in the house."

He knew that; she was still the brave lady he had met before. "I'm just cold… There's a blizzard out there." He stumbled and had to lean on a big chair nearby.

"That's your fault. It's a horrible night for robbing houses." She turned on the lights. "Are you hurt?"

He shut his eyes, dazzled by the sudden brightness. "I'm all right. I'll leave now…" Walking to the door was going to be painful. "Count till 100 before calling the police, all right? I'll see meself out."

"Wait… have we met before?" She narrowed her eyes. "You're English, aren't you?... Last winter, RAF, but you're not in uniform tonight."

"Gnädige Frau, please. The less you know, the safer you… both of us will be." He grabbed the doorknob and winced in pain.

"You are hurt," she stepped forward.

"It's nothing… me hand is a little stiff from the cold."

"Don't leave yet. Let me help you with that." She tucked the pistol in her quilted robe's pocket and helped him sit in the big chair. She spread a throw on him and nodded. "I'll be right back."

He closed his eyes for a moment. This was not like he planned to end the evening. One moment, he was collecting intelligence information, and the next, he was dying in the streets. Compromising security was not the best move but, at least, now he had a chance to complete the mission.

When he opened his eyes, she was spreading another blanket over him. "I don't know if you should be doing this," he said.

"Why not? Because you're the enemy?"

"I was going for 'your husband could get jealous,' but yes… that too. The police here doesn't like sympathizers." He gave her a faint smile.

"He's very understanding, my husband." She smiled for the first time. Carefully, she held his hand to examine it. "Frostbites can be dangerous if they're not treated on time." She brought a bowl of warm water and made him place his hand inside. Then she offered him a steamy mug of cocoa. "So, what are you? A spy? Because you're too lousy for a thief."

"Lousy?" He chuckled painfully. "I resent that… If I were a thief, that is."

"You've come twice into my house and I trapped you, twice… Move your fingers, please." She nodded, satisfied. "But what happened? I thought you were on your way to London."

"I have an awful sense of direction." He closed and opened his hand and smiled. "They won't fall off. You should be a nurse, me lady."

"Oh, I'm used to doing this for my husband… Herr Schultz often comes home looking like a big block of ice."

"Oh, yes. A big block of ice, I've seen that…" he said without thinking. "I mean… He must look like that, indeed."

She sat on the sofa. "I'm an old lady, imagining things, but I think you've met my husband." She leaned forward. "I've seen you at his workplace." After a moment of silence, she smiled. "You don't have to say anything."

"He's a good bloke, your husband. The best."

The sputtering of the fire filled the silence as she went away for a moment. He stared at the cuckoo clock, considering that this would be a good time to leave.

She did not take long to come back with a bundle of clothes. "Here, put this on," She handed him a pullover. "It was my husband's from his athletic years." She rolled her eyes. "And these gloves. Thief or not, you should know better than coming into a blizzard without your gloves."

He tried the pullover and laughed. "He's always been a big guy, hasn't he?"

She walked with him to the door. "Is he safe? Is he going to be alright?"

Newkirk took her hand in his and looked into her eyes. "We're taking good care of him. He'll be alright, I promise."

ooo

A couple of days passed, and Newkirk had almost forgotten about the incident. Schultz seemed a little suspicious, or that was just what Newkirk sensed.

"Newkirk, how are you?" Schultz made a motion for Newkirk to walk beside him as he made his rounds.

"I'm doing well. How was your leave?"

"Not bad. I went home and I found my chair all wet. Gretchen told me that a stray cat came into the house the night before." He chuckled. "Then, I found my old sweater and gloves in my laundry sac, the one I carry every month from here. So, she told me." He stopped to look Newkirk in the eye. "How's your hand, Newkirk?"

The Englishman took a deep breath, looking around to ensure no one was paying attention to them. "I'm sorry, Schultz, there was a blizzard, and I was cold… I wasn't thinking straight. I didn't mean to scare the missus. Frau Schultz was very kind to let me stay for a moment while I got warm. She kept her pistol with her all the time and I was a gentleman."

"Newkirk, I know my wife. She would've shot you between the eyes if you'd tried anything. The point is that you were outside the Stalag. How and why I don't want to know. I need you to promise that you won't do it again. It's very dangerous for you to go wandering about like that."

"I won't do it again, never ever," Newkirk said what the sergeant wanted to hear and turned to leave.

"Ah, Engländer… Don't forget your gloves again." Schultz smiled and resumed his walk.