November 29, 1945

Train to Jenkinsville, Arkansas

Charlene's invited me up to Boston just like she promised. I'm supposed to leave in two day's time to be gone for a whole week. Grandpa and Grandmother aren't too thrilled that I'm missing school, but since I already have a job guaranteed after high school, they'll permit me. But just like Charlene promised something, I promised something to somebody else.

Yes, I'm going to Boston, but I'm not coming back. I don't know how long I'll be gone, maybe forever. Edmund says I'm good enough at German to at least to find my way around Germany, but I would have to enroll myself in a class or at least have whoever I'm housing with teach me more. I haven't told Edmund, but he'll be sitting alone at the bus stop, and he'll know.

Edmund's real funny about my proposed departure. He doesn't really want to be involved, but he's not stopping me. He drops little hints like, "If I were traveling to Germany, I would go to…" This restaurant on this corner of so-and-so street. Once, he straightforward said to me, "My young American friend, if you ever find yourself in Germany, ask around for Edmund Klosowski's family." That was the only time he called me an American in English.

I also made a promise to someone else, too. I promised Ruth that I would say good-bye to her before I left for good. Tonight, I find myself in Jenkinsville, Arkansas. It's twilight outside just like it was the last time I was here. I walk quickly through the streets wearing my traveling coat and hat so I look like an ordinary visitor. It is much colder here now than it was last time. I hug my coat around me to keep warm.

Ruth's house has one light that shines from the front window. The rocking chair is no longer on the front porch giving the porch a bare appearance. My footsteps make a loud creaking noise as I approach the door.

The door is thrown open, and Ruth rushes out and gives me a big hug. "Patty, baby. Please don't tell me this is it." Her voice is more stern than I have ever heard it, yet she holds me to her like I'll sweep away like dust.

How'd she know?

"Ruth," I begin as she waves me into the house not taking my coat but putting another piece of wood in the stove. It occurs to me that she's only doing so because I'm here, and I'm glad that she is warmer. "I've got to find him."

"Now, hold on, Patty girl." Ruth situates herself into a chair. "What's your story? You can't up and leave without telling anyone anything."

"Charlene got a job in Boston for the paper up there. I'm visiting her."

I know the way I say 'visiting' sounds off. It's the key word.

"How long do your folks think you're visiting her?"

I don't say anything for a short moment. "A week."

Ruth lets out a low whistle. "I know you can't get to Boston, Germany, and back. What do I say when I see you pretty face on a milk carton?"

"Well, you'll know I'm safe," I say nodding trying to convince her.

"No, I won't either." Ruth taps her toe on the floor. "Who's gonna know if you drown falling off the boat? Who knows if you die being over by a train? Nobody knows nothin'."

"I'm terribly sorry, Ruth." I hug her around the shoulders. "One day, I will send you a letter. But it won't be any time soon."

"I knows it, Patty baby." Ruth sighs, and I swear I can see tears in her eyes. "I knows it as soon as I knows that he was willing to put his comfort and freedom aside for a friend. That's you, Patty baby. I knows in that moment that's what God put you here for. Now, you get on out of here and find that boy."

Just when I begin to warm up, I find myself back on Ruth's front porch facing a cool evening. The night Anton left flickers through my mind. It goes backwards from there, revolving around his figure yards away from me, angry, ready to kill my father. The man who wouldn't dare shoot his enemy.

I want to see the place where I saw him last again. I want to flood my memories to have the courage to do what I need to do.

The hideout has an abandoned look to it. It seems like one of those scary, abandoned houses in West Memphis. I'm not even sure if my father would go in there. My entire hideout could be nothing, destroyed. Just like he told me what I was, nothing. But I know I'm much more.

I sigh in contempt but in reminiscence when the house comes into view. There are good memories here. All include Ruth and Anton. Some include Sharon.

The house itself hasn't changed, but it has. I sneak around the back toward the garage. But light coming from the kitchen window plants my feet in place. Father, Mother, and Sharon sit around the table. Ruth's replacement is going through the backdoor. I press myself against the house, but she sees me anyway. The funniest thing happens. She stops, nods at me, and gives me a smile.

"Ruth told me about you. Don't get into any trouble now." With a stern look, she keeps walking.

I take her advice and continue on to the garage.

The ladder's the same; the hideout hasn't been touched, well since the FBI. I quickly put everything back into its proper place. The thin mattress is still there where Anton slept. I lay down on it. It's musty and dirty, but I feel sleep. And it doesn't matter anymore.

Just when I believe I'm comfortable, I feel something hard pressing into my back. There's something in the mattress.

I roll over feeling along side the mattress. There's a long, thin hole in the side. I take a breath and push my hand into the slot. Inside, it feels like paper. Lot's of paper. There are tablets. I gasp and pull them out. There are two of them, and they are all filled with writing.

They are numbered too. The first one begins I'm writing from prison. It's prison in America, so it is not exactly prison. A girl in a shop sold me these tablets along with pencils and a pencil sharpener. The English word is what I thought it would be.

It's Anton's.