125 - Oma & Killer

*Tell me what you need, my little light. Let me take care of you tonight. - Darkness*

Darkness could see it as Camille spent the next few hours answering questions. The topic was heavy, and she had adored her mother’s Oma. It was obvious that she loved telling stories about her Oma Uittenbroek and her Oom Jan. For a few hours, they both lived again.

But it was taking a toll on her.

She spoke of how their mother and remaining sibling, seventeen-year-old Amalia, starved to death during the Winter of 44. How working for the German officer allowed Ilse to have access to food, even if it was just scraps. When the Royal Canadian Dragoons liberated the city in mid-April of 45, both kids were diagnosed as malnourished.

The nuns from the Archdiocese of Boston arrived in late June and the kids were put on one of the first boats of refugees. One of the nuns put Ilse in a baggy postulant habit to get her through immigration and hide her growing belly. They then lied about her age, which was later blamed on a language barrier, to ensure that she could keep her baby.

She shared stories about how Oma Uittenbroek insisted that her son, and then his daughter and then her children all learned how to defend themselves. They all learned how to shoot at a young age. How to fight, with and without weapons. Even how to make weapons. And bombs.

No, she would not share that information. Yes, in the event that the United States of America was invaded, she would teach them how to fight the invaders.

Darkness watched as the emotional exhaustion took hold of his wife. Her shoulders slumped and she seemed to fold in on herself.

He stood up and walked over to where his godfather sat in rapt attention. “Zy, I need a huge favor.”

“Sure, anything.”

“Can the kids stay with you tonight?”

He finally looked at his godson, concern was written all over his dark face. “Sure, what’s wrong?”

“Look at her.”

Turning back to where Camille sat, he took in her slumped form and the smile that she was giving Mitch seemed forced and did not reach her eyes. He sighed and shook his head.

“I was so engrossed in the story that I didn’t think about what it was doing to her. It’s like it’s killing her to tell it but kills her to keep it locked away inside herself.”

Darkness nodded in agreement, “Yeah. I see why they don’t go around telling people about everything that their family went through. I knew that her uncle was killed by the Nazis, but I did not realize that he was tortured to death.”

“I did not realize that they experimented on gay men, but had no problems with lesbians,” Zydeco shook his head again. “That shit makes no sense.”

“About as much a short, dark haired, dark eyed man with Jewish ancestry thinking that the perfect race of people would be tall, blonde, blue-eyed Christians with no Jewish ancestry even though the original Christians were Jewish.”

“Yeah, lots of logic there,” Zydeco chuckled. “Just have Vin take them home and get an overnight bag before sending them to my house.”

“Her mom called me yesterday and warned me that she would become hyper focused and might spiral,” Darkness tipped his head towards where she sat. “Looks like she’s reaching that point. I’m going to take them to lunch and forbid the discussion of anything Nazi.”

“Good luck with that” Zydeco chuckled.

“I have a plan,” Darkness smirked. “It seems that there are stories about Oma Uittenbroek with the club up there. Even to the point of going toe to toe with the founders.”

Zydeco shook his head, “No wonder the Saints were all scared of the woman.”

“Exactly,” he clapped his godfather on his shoulder before heading over to lean over the back of the couch and kiss the top of Camille’s head. “Why don’t we take a break and go grab some lunch?”

“Do we have to?” Nicki asked.

“Trust me,” Darkness warned with a grin, “you do not want to deal with this woman when she is Hangry.”

“He’s right,” Rosie said as she nodded. “Woman scares the hell out of me when she gets hangry.”

“Nothing scares you,” Camille countered with a grin.

“You do!” the older woman confirmed. “Why do you think I was always shoving food in your face?”

Camille shrugged, “There’s a woman back home, Nessie, and her cure for everything is food. So I just assumed that was your answer also.”

They packed up the binders, replica clothing and pictures that were divided out by years in multiple manilla envelopes. The boxes were then placed in the back of the Jeep. Looking at the fifth box that was not open, Mitch turned to look at Camille.

“What’s in the last box?”

She smiled, “Let’s just call that the ultimate of evidence.”

“Really? When do we get to look?”

Grinning, Camille closed the Jeep and commanded Tink to go to Darkness to have his halter put on, “Either when your teacher tries to deny that this happened, or after she admits defeat. It’s really cool. But I think we need to wait.”

“Can we go watch Him give the report?” Nicki asked.

Nodding, Camille agreed, “We can probably arrange that.”

A little later, as they sat at a table at a local café that was a favorite of theirs, where every other table was still not being used, they placed their orders for a large midday meal. Drinks were served and the appetizers of fried green tomatoes and fried pickles were sat in the middle of the table.

“So,” Darkness grinned at his wife, “your mom told me about an incident between your Oma Uittenbroek and Killer.”

Camille started laughing. It took her several minutes before she stopped laughing enough to have a drink before she started telling the story.

“Now, my Opa, my mom’s dad and my dad’s stepdad, that is a whole other story, but it’s important to know for this, was a member of the Saints. That’s how dad got involved with them, Boar introduced him to the club and encouraged him to prospect.”

“Opa and Oma Rachel were still married, but it was on the rocks, and they ended up getting divorced a less than a month later. Dad was about halfway through bootcamp, and mom had told them that she was pregnant. Oma Rachel was pissed as fuck and Opa was at the clubhouse celebrating being a grandpa.”

“His mom shows up fully intent on getting drunk with her son. Killer, one of the founders and was the president at the time, had the not so brilliant idea of telling her no. They ended up in a shouting match and the whole club was watching them. They go to his room to continue the conversation in private.”

“The next morning, Pops, the vice, watched Oma leave Killer’s room. Killer never came out, around two or three, the find him tied to his bed. Stripped bare assed naked, a gag in his damned mouth and grinning happily.”