Fire and Steel, Volume 6

by Gerald N. Lund

  September 12, 1937, 2:47 p.m.—Munich Branch, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

  As they reached the top landing of the stairs, Emilee and Inga, who were in the lead of their family, stepped aside. “Hans Otto,” Emilee said, “take Enrika and Nikolaus into the meeting hall and save us some seats. Near the front if possible.”

  As they started past her, Emilee held up her hand, stopping Jo and Lisa, who were bringing up the rear. Jo looked up in surprise. “What?”

  “There’s something I need to say to the two of you.”

  A little taken aback by that, Lisa nodded. “Okay.”

  “I expect you both to be on your very best behavior today. No outbursts of emotion. No speaking in a loud voice. No. . . .” She was searching for another good word.

  Inga provided it for her. “No rushing madly about like you were in a school gymnasium.”

  The two sisters looked perplexed. “All right,” Lisa said slowly. “But I do feel compelled to say that I have never thought of church as a gymnasium. What are you trying to say?”

  Emilee answered. “We’re trying to say that today you might be tempted to forget where you are, but we can’t have that. You must remember who you are and where we are, no matter what occurs today. For many of the members will be watching you. Agreed?”

  Totally puzzled, Jo and Lisa looked at each other. “Did you do something you didn’t tell me about?” Jo asked.

  Emilee laughed softly. “It’s not what you have done that concerns us. It is what you are about to do.” Then she laid her hands on Lisa’s shoulders and turned her completely around, so she was facing down the stairs. Coming up the stairs from the ground floor were Elder Carlson and Elder Whitchurch, the missionaries currently assigned to their branch, along with two other missionaries. When they saw the Eckhardts, they raised a hand. “Guten Tag,” they called. The four women waved back.

  Lisa looked at her mother. “We have four now? When did—” She froze, her hand coming up to her mouth, her eyes wide. Then a low cry was torn from her throat as she gasped. “Benji?”

  At that same instant, Jo started jumping wildly, squealing with joy.

  “Jolanda!” Emilee snapped, trying hard not to laugh herself. “That’s what we were talking about. No outbursts of—”

  But the two girls were already tumbling down the stairs toward a grinning Elder Westland and his very startled companion.

  4:39 p.m.

  Lisa stepped back, watching as Benji tried to fill his plate from the table laden with food. He wasn’t making much progress. Members old and young kept stopping him, clapping him on the shoulders. Younger children were clinging to his leg. Older women kept giving him awkward hugs and kisses on the cheek. During his six-week stay two years ago, the branch members had taken him in as one of their own. Now they swarmed around him.

  Lisa turned to her mother. “You should have given Rikki the same instructions you gave me and Jo,” she said enviously. “Look at her. She hasn’t let go of his arm since the meeting ended.”

  Inga smiled. “Rikki is ten, Lisa. Not seventeen.”

  “I know,” she said forlornly. “But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

  Emilee put her arm around her daughter. “I know, Liebchen. I know. But look at him,” she said in wonder. “So confident. So assured.” Then she pulled her in closer and whispered in her ear. “Just be glad the whole branch didn’t see the look in his eyes when he first saw you. There was no hiding that.”

  “I know,” Lisa said softly. “It made my heart melt.” Then tears came to her eyes. “Oh, Mutti. Why do they have to leave so soon again?”

  “Because they are not here to see us,” Inga said. “They are here by assignment, and we are very fortunate to see him at all.”

  Emilee turned her head toward the serving table. “Ah, look. The president is intervening, asking the members to let the missionaries get their food. Come. Let’s invite them to sit at our table.”

  5:44 p.m.

  “It is so good to see you again, Benj—uh . . . Elder Westland.”

  The smile softened his whole face and brightened his eyes. “Ah, Lisa. For me too. I thought I had to wait another year to see you again. This is wonderful.”

  “I’m so excited for your new assignment. It sounds very important. And you will really get to see a lot of Germany.”

  “Yes, we will.”

  Elder Wilson was nodding. “President thinks we’ll travel more than ten thousand miles before we’re through.”

  “And we’ll get to meet the members from all over Germany and Austria,” Benji added.

  Lisa colored slightly, realizing that, whether he had intended it to be so or not, this was a gentle reminder that there were higher priorities in Benji’s life right now than sightseeing across Germany. She fought back the compelling urge to reach across and touch his hand, if only for a second or two. “Will you be coming back through Munich in all your travels?”

  “Once,” he said. “But we’ll do Austria first, then come back up this way. But not until around the last of November. And whether it will be on a Sunday or not, we don’t know yet. The president is still working out the last part of our schedule.”

  Jo leaned in, smiling at the two missionaries. “And do you know yet what your next assignment will be?”

  “Yes,” Elder Wilson answered. “Well, at least we know what President Welker is going to recommend. Elder Westland and I will be returning to Austria. I will go back to Salzburg with a new companion, and Elder Westland will move to Vienna and he’ll get a new greenie.”

  “Vienna!” Lisa exclaimed. “How exciting. I love Vienna.”

  “So you won’t be traveling elders after that?”

  Benji shook his head. “President wants the new mission presidents to make that choice. But his recommendation is that Elder Wilson and I not be the ones. Which is great. We’re both anxious to get our own areas again.”

  “Amen,” Elder Wilson said.

  “Ummm. . . .” Lisa was studying Benji’s face, but then she shook her head.

  “Um what? What were you going to say?” Lisa looked away, blushing now. “Just say it, Lisa. It’s all right.”

  “Do you think you will be able to stop here in Munich on your way home?”

  “I . . . I don’t know, to be honest. That will depend on where I am laboring when I finish. I still have nine months to go. And they usually have missionaries who are being released come to the mission home. That’s in Basel. Munich is a long way in the opposite direction. But President Welker said to ask the new president when he gets here. Maybe he will allow me to go home a different way.”

  “I guess it would be wicked to pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him to soften the president’s heart,” Jo said, her eyes wide and innocent.

  Benji burst out laughing. Lisa was horrified. “Jolanda Elfriede Eckhardt!”

  “Well,” she said sweetly, “I was just wondering.”

  “All right, girls,” Emilee chided. “Let the elders eat before their food gets cold.”

  6:35 p.m.

  About half of the members had left now, with half still sitting around talking. But they were at other tables now, obviously letting the two elders have time with the Eckhardts. Suddenly President Enzenberger came out of his office and headed straight for them. He was holding a piece of paper in one hand. As the rest of the family saw him coming and fell silent, Benji and Elder Wilson turned around.

  “Elders,” he said warmly, “I was just on the phone with the district president. Change of plans.”

  Lisa managed to stifle a groan, grateful that all eyes were on the president and hadn’t seen her face.

  “President Welker called him and asked if he could put you up in Nuremberg for tonight. That will give you a two-hour earlier start on tomorrow.”

  Both missionaries
got to their feet.

  “You’ve got a little time,” he said. “My wife is running home to get your bags. She’ll be back in about ten minutes.” He glanced at Lisa, then turned back to Benji and handed him the slip of paper. “Here is the president’s address and directions to his home. Also a note from Sister Welker.”

  Benji took the paper and read it quickly. He drew in a sharp breath, then read it again.

  Elder Wilson was watching him. “What is it?”

  He handed him the sheet. He too read it twice, then grinned and turned to Lisa. “This may interest you. ‘Elder Westland, the president and I agree that it would not be inappropriate if you and Alisa Eckhardt were to have a few minutes of time alone together, as long as you are in full view of your companion and President Enzenberger.’”

  Lisa felt her face go warm as everyone laughed softly.

  6:43 p.m.

  Benji stepped one step closer and lowered his voice. “There’s Sister Enzenberger. Time to go.”

  Lisa turned away. “I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry.”

  He touched her arm. “Lisa. Do you remember what I said to you just before I left here the last time? About the future?”

  Her eyes widened. “Yes!”

  “Well, nothing has changed for me. I still feel exactly the same.”

  She felt a little jolt of electricity shoot through her. “As do I.”

  “Gut,” he said, standing up straight again. “Don’t think of it as nine months left, but twenty-seven months done.”

  “Yes!” The tears spilled over. “Goodbye, my love,” she whispered.

  Benji smiled, and what Lisa saw in his eyes nearly melted her heart. Then he stepped back and extended his hand. “Auf Wiedersehen, Sister Eckhardt,” he said loudly enough for all to hear. Then, ever so softly, he added. “Ich liebe dich. I love you. Twenty-seven down.”

  February 12, 1938, 5:44 p.m.—Near the Campus of Ludwig Maximillian University, Munich

  Hans trudged along, feeling the melting snow seeping under the collar of his overcoat and down his neck. The snow was coming in almost horizontally now, driven by a bitter cold wind coming straight out of the north.

  When he had come out of his office and seen what was waiting for him, he had started back inside to call Emilee. Then he remembered that she was meeting with the children’s teachers at school to get progress reports for their three youngest. So he lowered his head and increased his pace, ignoring the ache in his hip.

  As he came to the street that marked the western boundary of the campus, he rounded a corner, then instantly slipped into a recessed doorway, shrinking back into shadows. He stood motionless for a full two minutes, staring out into the storm. When he was satisfied that no one was following him, he stepped out and moved on again.

  It had been a year and ten days since Alemann and Richelle had come to their home and stunned them with their announcement. Hans felt a little foolish that he was still checking his back, still watching for any sign that the Gestapo suspected him. And yet it had become a habit he was not ready to abandon quite yet.

  Pulling his overcoat more tightly around him, he stepped out and continued on his way. But he hadn’t gone half a block when he slowed his pace again. Through the snow, he saw a single figure coming toward him, but on the opposite side of the street. A car’s headlight put the figure in silhouette as it came slowly past him, driving carefully on the snow-packed roads. In that brief moment, Hans saw that it was a man and that he was shuffling along very slowly, as if he were in pain. Or maybe half drunk.

  The car passed Hans and was gone. Hans pulled up as he saw that the man had changed course and was now crossing the street over to this side. Wary, but not greatly concerned, Hans continued, keeping close to the buildings, giving the man plenty of room to pass. Without lifting his head he studied the man as the gap between them closed.

  He was tall, maybe an inch or two taller than Hans. He wore a workman’s cap, now white with snow, and he had a full beard and hair down to his shoulders, which was matted and tangled. His clothes were old, tattered, and filthy.

  Hans stopped at a small grocery store and pretended to examine the vegetables on display inside, watching the man out of the corner of his eye as he approached. He shuffled on past Hans without seeming to notice him. As he went by, Hans got a whiff of what he called the “street smell.” It was an odor he knew well from when he had been a bum on the streets of Berlin, pawing through garbage cans looking for food. But surprisingly, there was no hint of liquor. He started forward again once the man was past him.

  “Hey, buddy,” a gruff voice suddenly called. “Could you spare fifty cents for a poor man who hasn’t eaten in two days?”

  Hans turned. The man had stopped and was facing him, his eyes imploring, one hand out. Panhandlers were not uncommon on the streets of the big cities in Germany, and long ago Hans had developed two personal rules. First, never give money to a drunk, for it only fed his habit. Second, if he had the money, he’d give what he could spare. He had never forgotten the hunger and the shame and the humiliation of having absolutely nothing to your name. So he turned slowly, fishing in his pocket.

  The bum was clearly surprised, and a sudden eagerness lighted up his eyes. “You drunk?” Hans asked bluntly as the man approached him.

  “Nein. I’m hungry.”

  Hans took a step closer and sniffed the air. Satisfied, he reached in his pocket and fingered the few coins he had there. He finally chose the largest coin he had, took it out, and gave it to the man.

  The bum took it, looked at it, then drew in a sharp breath. Then, stunning Hans, he extended his hand, the coin in his palm. “You’ve made a mistake, sir,” he mumbled. “This is five marks.”

  Hans nodded. “Get something to eat. Maybe find a cheap room where you can get out of the snow for the night.”

  The man began to back away. “Danke schön, kind sir. You are a good man.”

  “No, just one who knows what it’s like to be where you are.”

  As Hans turned away, the man called to him. “Wait.”

  Hans turned, and to his surprise the man had a small slip of paper in his hand. He stepped forward and pressed it into Hans’s palm. “Take this as a token of my appreciation.”

  A slip of paper in return for five marks? He found that amusing. But before he could say anything, the man stepped around him, and with considerably more alacrity than he had shown before, he walked swiftly away. Totally taken aback, Hans watched him disappear around the corner, then lifted the paper to the light from the grocery store window. The paper had four lines.

  HANS, FROM THE LATIN JOHANNES: A GIFT FROM GOD.

  EMILEE, FROM THE LATIN AEMELIA: SHE STRIVES FOR GOOD.

  ALISA, FROM THE ALYSSUM BLOSSOM: SYMBOL OF NOBILITY.

  JOLANDA, FROM THE VIOLET BLOSSOM: PURPLE, SYMBOL OF ROYALTY.

  Stunned, Hans gaped at the paper for several seconds, not comprehending. How could a bum on the street—? Then it hit him. With a yelp of joy, he spun around and raced back toward the corner where the man had disappeared. When he reached it, there was nothing to see in either direction except swirling snow. Bitterly disappointed, he studied the area more closely. The man had definitely come this way. He could see his footprints alongside his own in the snow. They were fresh.

  He broke into a swift walk, following the prints. A hundred feet farther on he stopped. A rough arrow had been made on the sidewalk, probably by someone’s foot. It pointed straight ahead. He broke into a trot. Another hundred and fifty feet there was another arrow, only this one pointed to the left, to a narrow alley. The footprints went into the alley too. Moving slowly now, nervous about walking into a trap of some kind, Hans went in about thirty or forty feet, enough to see that it was a dead end. A few more steps, then he stopped and stared. The footsteps abruptly stopped. Beyond them was pristine, undisturbed snow.


  A prickle of uneasiness ran up his spine. How could that be? It was like the man had vanished into thin air. Hans shook his head. That couldn’t be. He tipped his head back and found the answer. There was a ladder attached to the side of the building, the bottom rung about eight or nine feet above his head. The rungs led to a fire escape about twenty feet above him. He could see where the snow on the rungs had been partially brushed away.

  He leaned further back, squinting as he looked up. Then he cupped his hand and called in a hoarse whisper, “Alemann! Is that you?”

  Nothing! For a moment, Hans considered following the man up the ladder. But then, in the faint light from the street, he saw something white—something much bigger than any snowflake—fluttering down toward him. He reached for it but missed. He quickly picked it up from the snow. It was another slip of paper similar to the first, folded in half. Holding his breath, he opened it. He recognized Alemann’s neat, precise handwriting instantly.

  Tomorrow. 9:00 p.m. Reichenbachstrasse 44. Old Town District. Come by trolley. Bring the girls. Still great risk to you and yours. If you do not come, we fully understand. Competent watchers assure me you were not being followed, but take no chances. Memorize address, destroy note. It would be good to bring a flashlight.

  Hans was soaring. He read it twice more as he moved slowly back out to the street. He stopped at the entry to the alley, peering out in both directions to make sure he was alone. A car turned the corner and started toward him, moving slowly, headlights glistening on the snow. He stepped back into the shadows. The car did not slow as it passed.