They called us the Allies. We came together, pulled our resources together, and fought together. But what was I? How did I fit into this equation? I was the girl who hid a German soldier. If we ever had victory, was I allowed to celebrate? I was very sure that we would all be celebrating two very different things. The United States would be celebrating a great victory. I would be celebrating the end of a period in time that was so horrendous that I felt sorry for the enemy. And the enemy was my friend.

East Memphis, Tennessee

May 8, 1945

V-E Day

It was right before lunchtime when the news was announced. Yesterday, the Germans surrendered, unconditionally, to the allies. Today, we had Victory in Europe. The news was shocking. It came on a Tuesday, and school was let out early. There were people running and cheering and just crying in the middle of the street. Every ounce of food and beverage that had been carefully rationed was pulled out for the biggest party I had ever seen.

It didn't matter that I was the suspicious new girl that day. Everyone's doors were open. Every house was having a party. People were making rounds in the streets, going from house to house, exclaiming the news that everyone had already heard. Grandmother and Grandpa dragged me from house to house to everyone they had ever known for the past fifty years. The food was not entirely extravagant; it was just what people had in their icebox at the time. Of course, there were the people who had food that was extremely rare with whereabouts that were questionable- the black market was strong in the days of the war. But no one said anything about it.

That night, there was dancing, and I was asked by so many boys that I did not have a blush left in my body. But I knew they never would have asked if it hadn't been the day that the worst war in our history ended. My feet ached and were swollen by the time we got back home which was around one in the morning. I never would have guessed that my grandparents had so much energy. When I stood in front of the mirror that night, I was having trouble pronouncing the words correctly because I was smiling so much.

When I lay down in bed that night, my chest felt lighter, less compact. The events of the day hadn't let me full realize what the ending of the war in Europe meant. It meant that there were no more bombs flying down on people's heads. It meant that people could travel again. It meant that I could find Anton.

"Gute Nacht, Anton."

As Charlene requested, I sent my own view on the end of the war in Europe the very next day. It was to be published as soon as possible. I had been preparing the article for weeks, and it was a relief to not worry about it anymore. I didn't open up about Anton or compromise my identity. I simply put in a piece about a girl from Arkansas expecting to find her friend that she had lost in the war. It was Charlene's idea. I didn't want to write about how Anton may or may not be alive. I was afraid it might tip the scale of my chances to the side where Anton actually was shot that day.

Even after V-E Day, sometimes it didn't feel as if anything had changed. We still had to watch our supplies. They hadn't stopped the food rationing yet. They said it would be a while before our economy truly picked up. Maybe it was because, for me, the war hadn't ended yet. My war had only just begun.

I couldn't believe that it was only just last summer that I had met Anton. It felt like years ago. I had been put on trial, sent to prison, and been given an internship as a journalist. I couldn't believe my luck. It seemed that whenever I won something, I also lost something. It was that never ending balance.

I was doing the best that I could with my German, but the pronunciations were becoming harder and harder. I found myself becoming frustrated and throwing down the book often. I re-checked the book three times, but the library wouldn't allow me to re-check it a fourth time. When I went back, the book was gone. It would have been easy to believe that someone else had simply checked it out. But I knew better. Like many things, it was censored out of the stacks. I was frustrated and eventually took the first German book I had found out of the library without checking it out. The library would never see it again.

The end of the school year was fast approaching. I had a week left. The next week, we were having exams. Grandmother let me study out of the house one afternoon. I knew I would do just fine. Despite transferring schools twice this year, my grades were superb. So while I was supposed to be studying, I tried to get through the paragraph on Gottingen from the book. I only recognized the words: the, of, town, a, and. I sighed in frustration on a bench situated on one of the quieter streets of East Memphis. The street was lined with tall trees and lampposts. If only I still had that book.

"Sie sind Deutsch?" A voice came from right behind me.

I turned and nearly fell off the bench. A man with blonde, graying hair and glasses was leaning over my shoulder, his face right in mine. I struggled to understand him. Are you German? I believed was the question. I shook my head quickly and replied, "Nein."

"Amerikanisch." American. It wasn't a question. I had to wonder how I would ever make it in Germany if I was so easily distinguishable. The man was older, and I didn't know if I should back away. He looked friendly enough; plus, my curiosity would win out anyway.

"Neither am I," he said.

"What?"

"I am not Deutsch. I am not from Deutschland." I recognized that his accent didn't sound German, and it certainly wasn't English. "I am from Poland. Polska."

"Polska," I repeated.

"That is right. I am Edmund." He introduced himself in a way that sounded like 'I am cold' or 'I would like a cookie, please.'

"I'm Patty," I said, shaking his hand while feeling slightly more grown up.

"Nice to meet you, Patty," he said. "What are you doing here, Patty? You are alone on a bench with a book about the country that was our enemy last week."

"I was looking for a quiet place to be."

"A quiet place to hide," he said leaning closer to me. "I'm hiding, too."

I raised my eyebrows wondering what he could possibly be hiding from.

"Lucky for me, what I'm hiding from is an ocean and two train rides away. I suppose I could go back now, but I like it here. I am in the land of freedom," Edmund leaned back on the bench folding his hands behind his head. He looked as if he might fall asleep.

I began to shut my book.

"'At the heart of the quaint city of Gottingen is the university where professors and students come together.'" I whipped my head around to look at him. His eyes were open, and he dropped his hands. "I suppose what you are hiding from is much closer than that, Amerikanisch."

My heart leapt into my throat. How could he have possibly known? "I don't know what you're talking about, sir," I said quietly pulling my bag closer and shoving the book into it.

"Nein." He says solemnly. "That is a lie."

"Why are you here?" I countered.

"Well," he leaned forward resting his arms in his knees and clasping them. "The Nazis tried to kill me and my family. I escaped. They did not listen to me, but I guess that they are either dead or in some Swiss camp."

His answer was harsh to my ears. Edmund's eyes were gleaming and almost menacing as if daring me to question him further. But he talked to me, sat down next to me. He shouldn't have started that conversation if he wasn't going to continue it.

"How do you know German and English?" I asked.

"Many people know Deutsch. Deutschland borders Polska. English is the language I decided to learn when Hitler came into power. I knew America was my ticket, and I found it. Many did not listen to me," Edmund looked slightly sad.

A large engine was approaching down a side street. "How long have you been here?"

"Three years," he replied holding up the number with his fingers.

A bus turned onto the street and an idea popped into my head. "You know German, right?"

"That is correct."

"I need to know German," I said, my voice sounding desperate.

Edmund stood up. "The Amerikanisch needs help?"

I force my anger back, "Ja."

"Then we shall meet again, soon," He considered something. "Saturday."

"Not Saturday."

His eyebrows shot up. "Jewish, too."

My heart stopped.

"Okay, fine. Sunday at three o'clock in the afternoon." The bus stopped in front us.

"Fine," I whispered into the wind as the bus drove away.

I didn't know if it was lucky that I had met Edmund or something very dangerous that I had walked into. But it couldn't possibly be something bad. No, it couldn't.

I found the ring around my neck and held on tight.

I told Charlene about Edmund. She didn't exactly seem thrilled, but she couldn't disagree either. There was no other way for me to learn German right now. She also agreed that is it was imperative for me not to seem American when I traveled to Germany. People would probably figure it out if I started talking, but I would at least seem as German as possible until that happened. Because of the very public place where Edmund and I had decided to meet, Charlene didn't even need to go with me. She did give me a stern warning thought, just in case.

The next week passed without pace and without matter. I didn't know how I felt about Edmund just yet. All I knew was that he knew German pronunciation and sentence structure. He would be a splendid teacher.

When I got to the bench Sunday afternoon, Edmund was already sitting there. "This is for you, Anton," I whispered.

Edmund saw me and sprung up. He began walking briskly in the opposite direction. "This way, Amerikanisch."

I huffed a sigh and ran to catch up with him.

"Wie geht es Ihnen?" Edmund asked in a smooth German accent.

"I'm good," I replied.

"In Deutsch," he hissed, "This is a class, Amerikanisch."

"Gut, danke," I replied.

"Nein." He said, and I look at him, questioningly. "Your accent is terrible. Repeat after me, gut, danke."

"Gut, danke."

"Nein. Gut, danke."

"Gut, danke," I couldn't tell the difference between his accent and mine.

He didn't bother to correct me that time and continued down the street, pointing to various objects and giving me a name for them which I had to repeat at least twice.

Edmund and I developed a schedule: every Tuesday at four and every Sunday at three. We met on Tuesdays because he took the bus to a restaurant where he said his family would be if they ever found him again. I thought it was sweet. The story was that if they ever escaped, they would go to a safe house in Switzerland where a message would be waiting for them to find Edmund at the restaurant. Why he chose Memphis instead of some place like New York was beyond me. But, on Sundays, no one had a bus to catch. We usually just walked around, or he would treat me to a sundae at the parlor a few blocks away.

Only one time did Edmund ask why me I needed to learn German so badly. That's when I launched into some really complicated story about needing to meet someone in Germany when the war was over. He guessed that it was a boy.

"Why doesn't he just come here?" Edmund asked.

"He can't," I replied.

"Do your parents not approve?"

"Something like that." He seemed to understand that pretty well, and the subject was closed.

Each time we met, Edmund had a list of words ready for me. I would stand in front of the mirror at night and pronounce them properly, for once. Then, the next time we met, he would quiz me on the words. We tried to talk as much in German as possible. But, we could usually only exchange no more than five sentences when I would lose track on what it was we were talking about. If we began talking about the ice cream parlor, I would somehow end up talking about the movie theater. Edmund was a good teacher, impatient at times, but mostly he was just snappy. I attributed this to the fact that he was Polish.

"How old are you, Patty?" Edmund asked me a few weeks after our meetings began.

"Thirteen. Why?"

"You seem older. Perhaps, you have lived a life full of stress? It causes wrinkles, you know- stress." Edmund took a sip of coffee.

I didn't know how to respond, so I just asked what I really wanted to know. "How old are you, Edmund?"

"Thirty-seven," he answered, not at all bothered by my question. "But, I look more like forty-five. That is okay. I don't need to impress any more ladies." He winked at me then.

I smiled back. "Do you have a wife?"

Edmund exhaled deeply. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" How can someone not know if he had a wife?

"I don't know if I do have a wife or if I did." He eyed his coffee cup as if expecting it to grow legs and walk straight out of the café. "They took her. The Nazis." "Why?"

"Enough questions, young Amerikanisch."

"Why do you call me 'Amerikanisch' all of the time, Edmund?" I asked, annoyed.

"Because it is so obvious," He replied crisply. I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "You have the true American spirit. I can feel it. One day you will find this Anton of yours. And when you do, you will know the true meaning of freedom."