Several miles down the road they came across a man fixing a tire on his rickety cart, which was more like the frame of an old truck minus the engine. The back was piled high with furniture, suitcases, and bundles, all covered with a large old tarp. His two sturdy horses grazed nearby while his wife and three children sat to the side, waiting for the job to be completed.
“Good man, are you going toward the border?” Lotte asked.
“None of your business,” the large, barrel-chested man replied gruffly, barely looking up from his work.
“We are heading for Flensburg,” Lotte persisted, and his head came up, looking at her with suspicion. She hastily added, “…on our way to our home in Poland.”
“Poland, eh?”
“Yes, good man. We’ve been abducted by the Nazis to work for them and now we’re despera
