Wolfpack Across the Wall: Billy Love's Novels, #6

By Dr. Jean Wolf

In the sixth book of the BIlly Love novel series, the Forsaken Children, now young adults, find themselves in the midst of the mid-sixties Cold War between East and West. Their common German-American background and their imperfect, invincebale friendships with each other leads them on a mission that takes them across the Iron Curtain into East Germany and Russia. The Wolfpack, as they are known, embark on a journey that straddles both worlds. Nurse May Phillips has been arrested, charged with spying on the Russians, and is incarcerated in a prison in East Germany. She holds many of the answers to the foursome's questions. As Ursula, Renata, Wolfgang and Ruth enlist the help of many, including celebrities, to free her, they come together through remarkable resilience and determination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dr. Jean Wolf
• Release date: Apr 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215530849

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ruth

1964

Upstate New York

The Bronx

Eva Braun sat curled up in a wingchair located in a corner of the old farmhouse, a ratty blanket covering her lap. She gazed at the fire roaring in the fireplace, which exposed the shadows under her eyes. At once, I understood the look in her eyes...the sadness and mourning for her lost youth spent at the beck and call of the dictator Adolf Hitler. It was a legacy she could never outrun, even if she spent every day on earth repudiating him.

Mother, can I get you something? I asked. A cup of tea or a glass of wine?"

No, Ruthie, I’m fine. Just sitting here thinking..., she said as her voice trailed off.

It’s time to quit thinking, I said. I leaned over her small figure, feeling the warmth of the flames traveling from the fireplace. Let’s take a trip down to New York City.

Whatever for? I don’t want to subject myself to those people in the city who want to revile me.

It would be a quiet trip, Mother. I want to go back to the orphanage where you found me.

Eva sat up and turned toward me, startled. Why, Ruth?

I sat down in an upholstered charcoal-gray chair beside Mother, taking her hand in mine. It would be closure for me—to experience what it is like to languish in a facility for rejected children. I was so little that I don’t remember any of it.

Eva shut her eyes and began speaking in a quiet voice. I remember rocking you for hours—how you clung to me like a baby monkey, your arms wrapped tightly around my neck. Every time I had to leave you it was excruciating for me. You cried so hard, and the staff had to pull you away from me. It was a painful time, Ruth. I don’t know if a trip to the orphanage would be good for me, or for you, for that matter.

I ran a hand through my curly blond hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. Mother was right. I was being selfish—I had not considered how the trip would affect her. But I pushed ahead anyway. The orphanage was an important part of my story and I wanted to explore it.

If it’s too painful for you, Mother, I can go without you, but I need to make the journey.

Eva sighed. No, no, Ruth I need to face my demons. The orphanage put up so many roadblocks against me adopting you. I was a single woman and then, of course, I had the worst offense against me—consorting with the evil German dictator Adolf Hitler.

A lot could have changed there since the end of the war, Mother. It’s the sixties for God’s sake! Everything is evolving. It is time to celebrate women and their achievements. We’re no longer viewed as subservient housewives without a brain.

Eva chuckled as she picked up her knitting needles and looped the red yarn over one tip. I admire your gumption, Ruth. But really, change happens slowly...it’s incremental. You take two steps forward and one back. There are many powerful men who still rule the world and want to control women. I know about that firsthand.

But we are moving forward, aren’t we? Women don’t need men to survive. I left Wilhelm because he was not being honest with me and, although there are parts of him that I miss, most of the time I don’t even think about him.

Eva sat up, squaring her shoulders, and wagged her finger at me. Ruth, you are impetuous. You didn’t really give him a chance to explain things before you flounced out of West Berlin.

I jumped up from the couch, grabbed a poker from beside the fireplace and stabbed at the logs before me, stoking the embers back to life. With my back to her, I spoke, feeling my voice quiver with emotion. Are you taking Wilhelm’s side, Mother?

No, I’m just trying to make you see his situation from his point of view.

I turned and stared at Mother. And what, exactly, is his point of view?

Eva slid the knitting needles together and completed a stitch. After a long silence she spoke. Sit down, Ruth. I have information to share with you about Wilhelm.

*************************

Mother and I didn’t speak on the train ride down to the orphanage in the Bronx. I was stunned by what she told me about Wilhelm and was intent on processing it. Mother was consumed with worry that she would be recognized and harassed. She sat stoically with her head down, her brow furrowed, staring at her lap. The train car was half empty and, as I looked around, no one seemed to take notice of either of us. Two men dressed in drab suits were arguing loudly over government interference in their business. A woman two seats ahead of us scolded a small child. And a lone woman scanned a book, lost in its pages.

As the train pulled into the station in the Bronx, I reached over and grabbed Mother’s hand, squeezing it tightly. She had been through so much; my pettiness was inexcusable.

I whispered. Thanks, Mother. I’m sorry for my rudeness, but what you told me about Wilhelm...

Mother smiled wanly, but said nothing as the train whistle sounded, signaling we were coming to a stop. She pulled her heavy tweed winter coat around her and stood up. In that instance, I looked at her in a new way, not as my mother, but as an observer. She was elegant, even beautiful, with her carved cheekbones and luminous wide-set blue eyes. Her trim figure and dyed blond hair made her look years younger than her actual age. She needed to move on with her life—find someone she could share it with.

The train pulled into the station and stopped abruptly, squealing its brakes. I stood—determined to banish the thought of Wilhelm—even if it were for one day. We’re here, Mother, and the orphanage is close by. We can walk there, I said.

I pulled out a map of the Bronx from my handbag and studied it, noting the location of the facility. We climbed down the metal stairs leading from the train and set off, the stiff wind whipping around us, kicking up puffs of snow. Locking arms, we headed toward the orphanage.

Mother came to a sudden halt and looked up. This is it.

A dilapidated, six story brick building stood before us with an engraved sign at the entrance that simply said The Bronx Orphanage. My heart started pounding as I anticipated entering the facility. I found myself paralyzed, staring at the sign before me. What would I find behind the heavy wooden doors? Would I remember anything? After all, I was just a toddler.

Come on, Ruth. You wanted to come here, Mother said. Are you reconsidering?

I shook my head, coming out of my trance, and started up the cement steps leading into the building as Mother trailed behind me. At the top of the steps, I reached up and pressed my finger to the doorbell.

Yes? a woman’s voice came across the intercom.

Hello, my name is Ruth Braun, and I was a small German girl placed here after World War II ended. Can we come in? My mother and I would like to visit the children and look around a bit.

The latch clicked and I grabbed the door handle. We entered, stamping the snow off our boots while simultaneously removing our head scarves and heavy woolen coats, then hanging them on hooks near the door.  I sat down on a wooden bench and tugged off my boots, then carefully placed them under the seat. Mother did the same. A trickle of fear skittered through me. Why was I returning to the orphanage?  I tried to shake off the feeling, but it lodged like a boulder in my stomach, making me queasy.

When I managed to look up, Eva was standing next to a wall of pictures. Each person was identified as a member of the orphanage board of trustees. She stood before one of them, tracing her forefinger over his image. Her voice wavered as she slowly read the name: Mr. Warren Butler, Chairman of the Board.

Who is he? I asked as I pushed aside my uneasiness and stepped forward to examine the photograph.

Eva whispered. An old friend and lover. He was a gunner in a fighter plane in the United States Air Force. The Germans shot the plane down and, somehow, he survived. He was held in a P.O.W. camp up by the Baltic Sea until the Russians liberated it.

I was stunned. I had never heard the name Warren Butler mentioned before.

"Why haven’t you told me about him before?" Her friend and lover?

Why would I? We couldn’t make it work; I went on with my life. I had you to keep me company, Eva said. I don’t think he ever trusted me completely. He thought I must have been in cahoots with the Nazis and Adolf Hitler. It didn’t matter how many times I told him about my escape from Munich and the tyranny of that evil man.

Would you ever consider seeing him again, Mother?

Tears welled in her eyes. He helped me adopt you, Ruth. He pulled some strings with the other board members to lift some absurd regulations, so I am eternally grateful to him for that. But I don’t see a future for us.

Sensing my energy returning, I hugged her to me and smiled. Then I consider him to be an important person. I would like to meet him.

Mother continued to stare at the photograph of Warren Butler—her mind a mile away.

A small, gray-haired woman, clad in a flowered apron, appeared at the top of the stairs.

She looked down at us over the railing. Ruth Braun?

Yes. I’m here with my mother, Eva Braun.

At the sound of her name, Eva turned and looked up at the old caretaker who was leaning over the balustrade. The woman’s eyes flickered and widened with recognition as she nervously smoothed her hands on her faded apron. We’ve waited a long time for the two of you to return to the orphanage. Please come up. We, who is we?

Mother and I trudged up the flight of creaky wooden stairs and stood before the petite woman.

It’s Jane, Miss Jane Marshall, the woman said, introducing herself.

Eva reached out and shook her hand. Miss Marshall, yes I remember you. I am grateful for the care you provided for Ruth when I was not allowed at the orphanage—during that time when the board put up roadblocks to Ruth’s adoption. You were my champion.

Miss Marshall’s face colored as she turned and acknowledged me. I loved all the children, but especially you, Ruth. There was something special about your relationship with Eva. That’s why I fought so hard to keep you together.

Jane, may I call you that? Thank you for persisting and being my advocate. The times must have been hard after the war with so many displaced German orphans, I noted.

Certainly, you can call me Jane. Ruth, very few people in the United States realized, or, frankly, cared what happened to the defeated German people, even the children. I’m glad I could make a small difference in people’s lives by helping care for the children without families. Several of them, you included, were in such bad shape when they arrived—some didn’t survive.

My eyes brimmed with tears. I had never considered my circumstances. That there was a massive amount of red tape that had be cleared away for German children to be adopted by American families.

Impatient, Eva nodded to Jane, then returned the conversation to its original purpose. Miss Marshall, can we tour the agency now? Ruth would like to see where she stayed.

Of course, right this way.

We trailed behind my old caretaker, wandering down the dimly lit hallway, then emerging into a large open space lined with small cots and cribs. A few older children were present, seated on straight backed wooden chairs drawn into a circle. Three girls and two boys abruptly stopped chattering and stared at the strangers who had entered their home.

A handsome middle-aged man, with closely cropped silvery gray hair, held a little curly haired girl in his arms. He stepped away from the tall window and smiled as he came toward the three of us. It was as if he expected us.

He spoke smoothly, in a deep baritone voice. Eva Braun, you are as lovely as I remembered. It’s been too many years—I’m so sorry I didn’t keep in touch, he said as he gave the child to Miss Marshall. Then he took Eva’s hands in his, clasping them tightly.

I stared at the two of them, recognizing Warren Butler’s picture—the chair of the board of trustees. How did this happen?

Eva seemed at a loss for words, but she didn’t let go of him. She finally cleared her throat and spoke. It was as if she and Warren were the only ones in the room. Warren, I was at fault, too. I put all my energies into trying to clear the paperwork that was required to adopt Ruth. And then, when she was finally mine, I retreated from New York City and bought a farm in upstate New York. I never should have let you go...I could have made more of an effort.

Warren looked uncomfortable, casting his eyes down. Eva, I married the wrong woman...someone who fit the mold for my conservative family. I was a fool, he said. We divorced five years ago. I’ve never forgotten you. I think of you every day.

Warren held his arms out and Mother collapsed into his embrace. I’ve followed you over the years, Eva. The coverage of your speeches about peace. Your trips to West Germany to retrieve papers exposing the Nazi regime’s Final Solution and all the other military secrets you gave to the allies. You are a remarkable woman. Will you ever forgive me for abandoning you, my darling?

Eva looked up into his eyes and nodded, as Warren smoothed a loose curl off her face and kissed her gently. The children clapped gleefully, springing from their chairs to surround the two of them. I stood wooden-like, feeling like an outsider witnessing a personal moment I should not be sharing. The petite woman in the flowered apron touched my shoulder and I automatically followed her. We slipped away into a small room to give the old friends, lovers, privacy. I had never seen my mother so giddy and, clearly, so in love.

This coupling, or whatever you wanted to call it, was not the outcome I had planned for myself at the orphanage. Yet, it was so much better than I could have imagined. It was a beautiful reunion of the American bombardier, Warren Butler and the former German mistress of Adolf Hitler, Eva Braun. I put Wilhelm out of my mind. He would have to wait until later.

Chapter 2

Wolfgang

January 1964

New York City

I came back to New York at the end of the lake season—September of 1963—and had been laying low ever since. Ursula and Renata knew I had returned, but very few others were aware of my existence here. I rented a walk-up studio apartment in a bad part of the city and hunkered down, waiting for something to happen.

My nemesis, Conrad, was out there somewhere, waiting to harm me. But was he really the evil guy I thought him to be? One could argue he was obnoxious and a know-it-all, but what did I really understand about him, other than he had tailed me all over Lake Okoboji? I could not get a read on him. What did he want from me?

Restless, I went to the kitchenette and opened the refrigerator. I pulled out a hunk of cheese, an apple and a bottle of cheap wine. Taking a knife, I sliced up the food and gathered up some crackers. Then I stood at the counter, looking out of the tiny window, and munched the snack, taking gulps of wine in between bites.

What was my next step? What was I doing with my life? Impulsively I heaved the glass full of red wine across the room, where it smashed against the wall. The wine trickled down the gray plaster, staining it red; in my mind, turning it to blood, Conrad’s blood.

The telephone jangled and I came out of my trance. It had to be either Ursula or Renata. No one else knew my number.

Hello? I said in a listless voice.

It was Ursula, talking rapidly in her usual manner. Wolfgang, what the hell have you been doing? I need to come over.

I ran my hand through my long, curly, blond hair. Ursula was exasperating. How did she always manage to come off smelling like a rose? While I was wallowing in self-pity, holed up in a shabby apartment, Ursula had once again found herself in the spotlight of an adoring international audience.

Ursula, I don’t want to see anyone. I’m not feeling well.

Don’t bullshit me, Wolfgang. You’re depressed and you need me to cheer you up, admit it.

Don’t you have to prepare for your little summit with President Johnson and the Russians? World peace and all that. I knew my voice was peevish, but I couldn’t help it.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Ursula spoke softly. I have our golden dove for you. It has been a long time since we’ve seen each other. Come on.

Okay...okay. Give me an hour.

I slammed down the telephone and got busy scrubbing down the wall and picking up the broken pieces of glass from the kitchen floor. It wouldn’t do for Ursula to see me so undone. I changed out of the dirty jeans I had worn for the past week, then pulled on a pair of worn corduroys and a ratty wool brown sweater. I ran a comb through my curls but left the three-day beard stubble. There was no need to impress her—it was Ursula after all. We had been best friends since we were children. She had seen me at my worst and at my best.

Precisely one hour later, there was a knock at the door, and I yanked it open. Ursula rushed into my arms, and we embraced. I breathed in her familiar smell—something between lilies of the valley and marijuana. Her presence never failed to cheer me up.

I held her away from me and studied her. Her short, chic hair and big brown heavily mascaraed eyes were all the rage now, and along with her all-black clothing, she played her looks to the hilt. She was the hottest poet in New York City—in demand at all the cafes in Greenwich Village.

She laughed, then danced around me, humming an unfamiliar tune, flailing her arms and legs simultaneously as she invented new moves. Damn, Wolfgang, you are filling out—have you been hitting the gym? Without waiting for my response, she continued, Let’s go out. Maybe meet up with Renata. It would do you good.

She was clearly in her element, on a manic high that I recognized. Ursula, absolutely not. Everyone knows you. It would be a disaster for me.

Ursula pretended to pout, sticking out her lower lip. Well, then, let’s at least call Renata and have her come over to your apartment. We have a lot of catching up to do.

I grinned, feeling better already. We could have a threesome, couldn’t we?

Ursula’s voice tinkled. "Now that would be fun! But, really, Wolfgang, Renata has a story to tell, and you are the central figure in the tale."

I raised an eyebrow.

What?

You really have no idea what she did for you, do you, Wolfgang?

Renata? I can’t imagine what a college girl has in common with me.

You really are naïve, aren’t you? Renata hasn’t been in college for almost a year.

So...what the hell are you talking about?

Let’s have her come over and she can tell you her story. By the way, here is our dove. I retrieved it from Mrs. Edward Brown’s mounted dog the last day I was in Okoboji.

Ursula handed it to me, and I ran my fingers over its smooth surface. The brilliant gold shimmered in the sunlight. This treasure, given to me by my mother, Katerina Wolf, has traveled all over the world- from Russia, to Germany to Canada to New York City and Lake Okoboji, Iowa.

I held the dove up between my thumb and forefinger. This little thing has caused us a lot of problems, Ursula. But I just can’t get rid of it. It’s what binds us together.

You can say that again, Wolfgang. Aren’t you lucky to have me? Now, let’s call Renata.

*************************

Renata swept into my apartment, carrying a large box under her arm. It had been many months since I had seen her. She was the epitome of sophistication and self-assurance, dressed in a pale lavender satin suit with a matching pillbox hat. Her high heels clicked against the wooden floor as she made her way over to me.

Wolfgang, darling, how have you been? she asked, as she air-kissed both of my cheeks. Her luminous black eyes, rimmed artfully with mascara, twinkled as she laid the box down on the armchair. She sat on the faded sofa, carefully unpinned the pillbox hat from her luscious dark hair and laid it on the cushion beside her where it perched like a crown.

Fine, Renata. I said as I took the cover off the box, looked into it, then stood back, questioning her with my eyes, waiting for her to speak.

Well, Wolfgang, you are looking at my uniform. She reached into the box, folded back the tissue paper and held up a pink satin corset. Laughing, she turned the corset around, patting and fluffing the bunny tail. Next, she pulled out the bunny ears attached to a plastic headband, slid it on, and shook her shoulder-length glossy brown mane from side to side. It was a move she had clearly done many times before.

Renata acted brazenly, batting her eyes at me. This getup couldn’t belong to Renata; our Renata was such a sweet girl.

What do you think of my outfit? she asked.

I was disgusted. Looking over at Ursula, I noted the silly grin on her face. What the hell?

So, you are...were...a waitress at the Playboy Club? And, what made you go into the underworld of such a place, where crooked cops and mafia bosses all mingle together in a world that mistreats women? I demanded.

Renata grinned. Wolfgang, I was a cigarette girl, which allowed me to roam the entire club. I found the group of men I was looking for.

Let’s get some drinks before we continue with this conversation, okay? Ursula interrupted.

Shaken to my core by Renata’s announcement, but trying not to reveal it, I looked from Ursula to Renata. You could immediately tell they were sisters; they were beautiful copies of each other. But today, they were on opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of appearance: Ursula clothed in head-to-toe black, in jeans and clunky work boots, her makeup garish, her spikey hair standing on end. Renata was clad in pale lavender, her shiny long hair coiffed just so, her makeup understated, yet impeccable.

Ursula went to the kitchen cupboard and took out the only three glasses I owned, two of which were chipped. I watched as she poured golden liquid from the whiskey bottle that she retrieved from the top of the refrigerator. She carried them over to us and set them down on the wobbly coffee table. She raised her glass in the air. Let’s toast to 1964. And let us hope it is a quieter year than 1963.

I smirked. Ha...fat chance. Your summit with President Johnson is coming up. There will be a wall of reporters watching your every move, Ursula.

Ursula nodded and the three of us clinked our glasses together, then drained the liquid. Momentarily closing my eyes, I felt myself relaxing as the liquor spread throughout my body, dulling my senses. I leaned my head back on the faded floral couch.

Renata began speaking in low tones. I was bored at college, and I was tired of always doing everything that people expected of me.

This was unexpected news. I became more alert, my hands clenched on my knees, trying to control my emotions. Renata, so you just up and quit college, to sell cigarettes at the Playboy Club? What did Billy Love and Parker have to say about that?

Across the room, Ursula watched Renata’s face. I understood her well enough to tell that she knew all about Renata’s activities at the Playboy Club. Why had she not shared this with me before now? God, she was irritating!

Renata’s lip curled. She rummaged in her handbag, pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and tapped one out, holding it between her manicured fingers. My parents don’t know, Wolfgang. And hopefully they won’t find out. If you must know, I did it for you, to get even. And I enjoyed every minute of it.

What do you mean you did it for me?

You heard her, Wolfgang, she nailed the crooked cop, Ursula interjected.

Renata lit the cigarette with a lighter, inhaled and exhaled the smoke, then sat back watching it curl in the air, waiting for me to respond. I narrowed my eyes at her as a niggling thought swept through my mind. Was it the cop who killed my lover, Timothy, and took me to Bellevue Hospital for aversion treatment in an attempt to cure my homosexuality? It was the worst time of my life. Seeking revenge, I had paid a mafia boss to kneecap that policeman, putting him in a wheelchair for life. Wasn’t that payback enough?

What did you do to him, Renata? I heard a rumor that he was gathering with his cronies at The Playboy Club and other bars, spewing garbage about me—putting a bounty on my head.

Renata stubbed out her cigarette in the chipped glass. Her voice became sharp. Hell, Wolfgang, it was all over the city that he was looking for you. Isn’t that why you skipped town for months, hiding in Lake Okoboji, in Iowa, for Christ’s sake?

I repeated myself. What did you do, Renata?

Let’s just say, after the dirtball grabbed my tit, I slipped, and my cigarette tray smashed into his ugly face. It was the cop who sent you to Bellevue alright. He was easy to identify...confined to his wheelchair due to his mangled legs, talking shit about you every night. Mr. Hefner was right beside me and saw what happened. He banned that guy from the Playboy Club. He would not dare to step foot in there again. And I don’t think he, or his buddies for that matter, will bother you ever again.

I folded my hands together and peered over them at Renata. Who would have