Number the Stars - Lois Lowry [33]
"Have you seen anyone in the woods?" The soldier barked the question at her.
"No. Only you." Annemarie stared at him. "What are you doing in the woods, anyway? You're making me late. Uncle Henrik's boat will leave before I get there with his lunch. Or what's left of his lunch."
The soldier picked up the wedge of cheese. He turned it over in his hand. He turned to the three behind him and asked them something in their own language.
One of them answered "Nein," in an bored tone. Annemarie recognized the word; the man had replied "No." He had probably been asked, Annemarie thought, "Do you want this?" or perhaps, "Should I give this to the dogs?"
The soldier continued to hold the cheese. He tossed it back and forth between his hands.
Annemarie gave an exasperated sigh. "Could I go now, please?" she asked impatiently.
The soldier reached for the apple. He noted its brown spots, and made a face of disgust.
"No meat?" he asked, glancing at the basket and the napkin that lay in its bottom.
Annemarie gave him a withering look. "You know we have no meat," she said insolently. "Your army eats all of Denmark's meat."
Please, please, she implored in her mind. Don't lift the napkin.
The soldier laughed. He dropped the bruised apple on the ground. One of the dogs leaned forward, pulling at his leash, sniffed the apple, and stepped back. But both dogs still looked intently at the basket, their ears alert, their mouths open. Saliva glistened on their smooth pink gums.
"My dogs smell meat," the soldier said.
"They smell squirrels in the woods," Annemarie responded. "You should take them hunting."
The soldier reached forward with the cheese in one hand, as if he were going to return it to the basket. But he didn't. Instead, he pulled out the flowered cotton napkin.
Annemarie froze.
"Your uncle has a pretty little lunch," the soldier said scornfully, crumpling the napkin around the cheese in his hand. "Like a woman," he added, with contempt.
Then his eyes locked on the basket. He handed the cheese and napkin to the soldier beside him. "What's that? There, in the bottom?" he asked in a different, tenser voice.
What would Kirsti do? Annemarie stamped her foot. Suddenly, to her own surprise, she begin to cry. "I don't know!" she said, her voice choked. "My mother's going to be angry that you stopped me and made me late. And you've completely ruined Uncle Henrik's lunch, so now he'll be mad at me, too!"
The dogs whined and struggled against the leashes, nosing forward to the basket. One of the other soldiers muttered something in German.
The soldier took out the packet. "Why was this so carefully hidden?" he snapped.
Annemarie wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater. "It wasn't hidden, any more than the napkin was. I don't know what it is." That, she realized, was true. She had no idea what was in the packet.
The soldier tore the paper open while below him, on the ground, the dogs strained and snarled, pulling against their leashes. Their muscles were visible beneath the sleek, short-haired flesh.
He looked inside, then glared at Annemarie. "Stop crying, you idiot girl," he said harshly. "Your stupid mother has sent your uncle a handkerchief. In Germany the women have better things to do. They don't stay at home hemming handkerchiefs for their men."
He gestured with the folded white cloth and gave a short, caustic laugh. "At least she didn't stitch flowers on it."
He flung it to the ground, still half wrapped in the paper, beside the apple. The dogs lunged, sniffed at it eagerly, then subsided, disappointed again.
"Go on," the soldier said. He dropped the cheese and the napkin back into her basket. "Go on to your uncle and tell him the German dogs enjoyed his bread."
All of the soldiers pushed past her. One of them laughed, and they spoke to each other in their own language. In a moment they had disappeared down the path, in the direction from which Annemarie had just come.
Quickly she picked up the apple and the opened packet with the white