The Plum Tree by Ellen Marie Wiseman

canvas-covered back. The driver gunned the engine and started up the hill, thick-treaded tires gripping the cobblestones like oversized caterpillars inching their way along the street.
    Just then, Mutti came around the corner of the weathered barn, purse hooked over her arm, eyes glued to the unfamiliar vehicle in the road. As quickly as it had arrived, the truck left, and Christine pulled the window closed. Should she just sit down and try to eat, or go and meet her mother at the door? Vater was aware of the new rules and regulations. It was his belief that if they just did as they were told, they’d be left alone. He’d be angry if he found out Christine had written a note to Isaac, and he’d be even more upset that Mutti had agreed to take it.
    “Christine,” Maria said. “Your food is getting cold.”
    Christine pulled out her chair and sat, certain that everyone could see her heart thumping beneath her dress. She looked around the table, wondering why, all of a sudden, everyone was so quiet. Opa sat with his head bent over his plate and gummed his food. Oma was cutting Karl’s meat, while both boys swung their socked feet under their chairs and nibbled on fried Bratwurst. Maria was the only one looking in her direction, brows lowered as she chewed on a mouthful of dandelion leaves.
    Maria wiped her lips with her napkin and whispered, “What’s wrong with you?”
    Before Christine could answer, her father came into the room, the new walnut-brown radio in his hands. He stood at the end of the table, shaking his head. Everyone stopped eating and waited.
    “Unplug the radio, Christine,” he said. He set the new radio on the table.
    “What’s going on?” Oma said.
    Christine got up and unplugged the old radio. Then Vater lifted it off the end table and set it on the couch.
    “Read this for us,” Vater told her. He held out the bright orange tag that had been tied to one of the new radio’s dials.
    “The People’s Radio,” Christine read out loud. “Think about this. Listening to foreign broadcasts is a crime against the National Security of our people. Disobeying the Führer’s order is punishable by prison and hard labor.” She looked at her father, waiting for him to comment, but he said nothing, his face set in hard anger.
    “What does it mean?” Maria said.
    Just then, Mutti burst into the room, tying the strings of her apron around her back. Her face was flushed, her eyes watery and red, but she smiled at her family.
    “Can I get anyone a cup of hot tea?” she said. When she saw her husband and Christine standing on the other side of the table, she stopped. “Is something wrong? What were the SS doing outside?”
    “Come sit down,” Vater said. “We have everything we need.”
    “Did you get out of work early today?” Maria said.
    “We’ll talk about that in a minute,” Mutti said, running a hand over Karl’s head.
    Christine stared at her mother, hoping for some kind of sign that she’d given Isaac the note, that he’d written back, anything to let her know that Mutti had seen him. Their eyes met for a split second, but her mother looked away, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
    “We’ve had a visit from some of Hitler’s puppets,” Vater said. “They were handing out these radios. The old shortwave can be tuned to stations from all over Europe. But this one can only be tuned to two channels, both run by the Nazi Party. They asked if we had any other radios. I told them no.” He turned to face Heinrich and Karl. “Do you know why I told them no?” The boys shook their heads. “I told them no because we can use this old radio for firewood. We’re not allowed to have it anymore. If they find out we still have it, they’ll put us in jail. I’ll go burn it in the kitchen stove right now, to heat the water for the dirty dishes.” He picked up the old radio and left the room.
    Christine knew what he was doing: What Heinrich and Karl didn’t know couldn’t hurt them or their