Fire and Steel, Volume 6

by Gerald N. Lund

“Yes, Leyna?” Emilee said gently. “You can ask.”

  “First, I want to say thank you. Thank you for being my family right now.” And just that quickly her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “There is nothing to be sorry about, Leyna,” Emilee said. “You are our family now, and you will be until your mother and Erika are released. You will always have a home with us.”

  “But my name isn’t Eckhardt!” she exclaimed. “Will they make me go with someone else when we get on the train?”

  Lisa was out of her chair and to her in an instant. She knelt at her feet and took both of her hands. “Oh, Leyna. I’m sorry. In all that’s been going on, we didn’t even think to show you. Herr Bergau was able to prepare new papers for you. You are now Leyna Katerina Eckhardt. You were adopted by our family a few years ago when your parents passed away. That explains why you and Jo are the same age. You are not twin sisters, but sisters of the same age.”

  More tears came, but Leyna was smiling through them.

  “And there’s one more thing, Leyna,” Benji said. “We got a message by courier last night. It was from the Bergaus. They communicated with the camp where your mother and Erika are being held. We found out that they can receive mail. As soon as you get to England, you can begin writing them, and they should be able to write you back.”

  “Truly? I can write to them?”

  “Yes,” Benji said, then added, “and Herr Bergau wrote to your mother telling her that you will be traveling with our family and will be safely out of Germany by the time she gets his letter.”

  And that did it. The dam broke and she began to sob. Jo was crying too as she put her arm around Leyna. And they weren’t the only ones. So much for not crying, Emilee thought as she dabbed at her eyes too.

  But she quickly recovered and went on. “We must leave for the train station no later than nine o’clock. We cannot be late. If you miss the train, you will not be given another chance to participate.”

  She searched their faces but they were all quiet. Finally, she turned to Benji. “Since you are the only priesthood holder in our family, would you give each of the five children a priesthood blessing before we go?”

  “Of course.”

  Jo’s hand was up. “Including me and Leyna?”

  “Of course. If Leyna would like one.”

  “I don’t know what that is,” Leyna said shyly. “But I want one.”

  Lisa’s hand shot up. “Me too.” Before Benji could answer, Emilee and Inga both had their hands in the air as well.

  “I would be honored,” he said huskily.

  Emilee drew in a deep breath. “Then let us pray before we wake up the children. Mama Inga, would you lead us in that?” Then she turned to Leyna. “We would love to have you join us for prayer too, if you are comfortable with that.”

  “I am.” She turned to Oma. “Would you pray for Mama and Erika too? And Papa? I liked what your preacher said about Papa being able to see us. I want him to know that we haven’t forgotten him already.”

  7:39 a.m.—Hans Otto’s Bedroom

  “We’re done packing, Mama,” Lisa said as she stepped into the room. “And Benji and Rikki were able to make room for—” She stopped and looked around the room. “Where’s Hans Otto?”

  Emilee was bent over a suitcase opened on the bed. It was half filled with clothes. She didn’t look up. “I finally sent him out to start making sandwiches for their lunches. He was driving me crazy asking to bring things that aren’t on the approved list. So he’s going to have to live with what I put in for him.”

  As she spoke, she picked up one of his summer shirts. She laid it on the bed, smoothed it out with one hand, then folded it into a small, nearly perfect square. Then she carefully picked it up and put it in the suitcase on top of a pair of his trousers. Lisa felt her eyes start to burn as she watched her mother’s hands moving so methodically, so meticulously. She went to her and laid a hand on her shoulder.

  Again Emilee didn’t look up, but after a moment, she said, “I’m not crying, Lisa.”

  “I know,” Lisa whispered, blinking rapidly. “Neither am I.”

  She rubbed her mother’s shoulder for a moment, then turned and quietly left the room.

  8:55 a.m.

  As Benji finished giving Oma Inga the last of the blessings and stepped back, Emilee got to her feet. Her face was grave as she looked from face to face. Then she took a quick breath and began. “All right. With nine of us, it’s going to be crowded in the car. Three in the front seat, six in the back. But it’s only about fifteen minutes to the train station, so we can manage that.”

  Niko spoke up. “We’ll all be on the train to England, Mama, so you won’t be crowded in the car coming home.”

  Emilee’s hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a sob. Then she managed a warm smile. “That’s my little Niko,” she said, her voice husky. “Always thinking of others.” She looked at them. “When we get to the train station, we need each of you to carry your own suitcase and handbag.”

  “And we have to stay together,” Lisa added. “There are about two hundred children in your group, and they will all have their families with them too. So it’s going to be very crowded.”

  Emilee nodded. “You can’t be running off. Rikki and Niko, I want you holding the hand of an adult at all times. Remember that Jolanda and Leyna will be right there with you all the way. When we check in with the Kindertransport people, they will have papers and numbers for each of you. They will also tell you where to sit on the train, so you must stay together. Especially when you get to Holland and transfer to the ferry. You stay right with Jo and Leyna.” She sighed. “It will be hard today. We all know that. We shall all have to be very brave. But remember, Benji and Lisa are leaving this afternoon and flying to London. They will be there at Harwich tomorrow when you finally arrive.”

  “And do we get to live with them?” Niko asked. “That would be neat!”

  Lisa had to look away as Benji answered. “No, Niko. At first, you have to go with the families that you have been assigned to live with. But Lisa and I will come and see you often. And we hope that we can eventually have you all come and live with us.”

  Emilee’s voice was strained when she spoke next. “Oma and I are still working on getting our visas, but it may take a while. In the meantime, you’ll have families who will welcome you into their homes.” She looked at the three youngest sternly. “You have to be obedient, and do what they say. Okay?” She looked around one last time. “We would like to have a prayer before we leave. Let’s all kneel together.” She turned. “Will you offer that for us, Lisa?”

  No! Not me! I’ll break down and bawl like a baby. But she took Benji’s hand, pulled him up, and then they knelt by their chairs as the others did the same.

  December 2, 1938, 9:25 a.m.—

  Train Station, Munich, Germany

  To no one’s surprise, the station was a madhouse. The parking lot was overflowing with people and some had parked where there were no marked places. Two drivers were out of their cars shouting at each other because both had tried to beat the other into an empty space and crunched fenders. After driving around the lot twice, Benji carefully pulled up over the curb and parked on a narrow strip of lawn, now dead with the winter’s cold. Immediately, seven other cars followed his example and that space was gone too.

  “Remember, children,” Emilee called as each one picked up his or her suitcase, “Be sure you are holding on to someone’s hand all the time. And we all stay together.”

  Two women in some kind of uniforms were waiting at the front entrance. Seeing the Eckhardts coming, the older of them came forward. “Kindertransport?” she asked with a smile, then motioned to the left when Emilee said yes. “This way.”

  The younger one called out, “Regular passengers to the right, bitte.”

  “Go straight
into the terminal,” the first woman said. “The check-in tables are straight ahead of you. Go there first before you go to emigration control, which is the second set of tables.”

  “Do the children have their own train?” Lisa asked as she went by.

  “Ja. Express straight through to Amsterdam. Kindertransport only.”

  “And when do they get in?” Benji wondered.

  “Tomorrow morning about nine. The train has to stop for coal and water, but that’s all.”

  9:44 a.m.—Check-In Tables, Kindertransport

  The woman seated at the table in front of them was in her sixties and wore some kind of uniform that seemed vaguely religious. Lisa guessed she was from one of the Christian charities behind the program. She had grey hair and kind, grandmotherly eyes, and a smile that was both warming and welcoming. She was running her finger down the page in a large, leather-bound ledger book. “Eckhardt,” she mused as she turned the page. “Ah, here you are.” She looked directly at the children who were gathered in front of her. “All right, when I read your name, please answer by saying, ‘Present.’ If you are not here, please answer, ‘Not present.’”

  It took a moment, then everyone laughed except Niko. “But if we’re not here,” he said, clearly puzzled, “how can we answer?”

  She looked shocked. “My goodness gracious. You are right, young man. So if you are not here today, then you should not answer at all.”

  As the others laughed, he got it too and laughed merrily. Lisa wondered if the woman was a retired schoolteacher, for Lisa had heard that old joke in school more than once. The woman read through their names in the same order as their birth age and put a check by each name. When she read out, “Leyna Katerina Eckhardt,” Leyna beamed and called out clearly, “Present.”

  “Now, children, listen carefully.” She reached over to a large stack of what looked like squares of cardboard, each about sixteen inches square. Each one had a large loop of twine fastened to the top side. She took one and turned it over. Now they could see that it was thick cardstock and that on the front of it was the number 33, printed in large block style. She held one up. “These are the cards that tell everyone that you are now officially part of the Kindertransport program. Jolanda?” When she raised her hand, “You are now number thirty-three,” and she wrote the number beside her name.

  “Leyna.” When she stepped forward, she handed her the next one. “You are now number thirty-four.” She did the same with the next three, giving Nikolaus number 37. He promptly put the string around his neck so the number showed to the front. Seeing that, the clerk smiled at him. “And what is your name, young man?” she asked sternly.

  “Nikolaus.”

  “Nein,” she cried in mock horror. “I have no Nikolaus here. What is your new name?”

  He beamed now. “My name is thirty-seven.”

  “Very good, young man. And will you be sure to remember your new name?”

  “I won’t ever forget it!” he exclaimed. “Know why?”

  That took her aback. “No, I can’t say that I do.”

  “Because three plus seven is ten, and ten is my lucky number, ’cause I’ll be ten in two months.”

  As the woman sat back and laughed, Lisa could have swept him up in her arms and smothered him with kisses. No tears for him this day. At least not yet.

  The woman turned to another stack of cardstock squares with strings attached, though these were smaller in size than the first. “Parents, these cards have matching numbers. Please help your child attach them to the handles on their luggage.” She counted ten of them off and handed them to Benji. “You can do that while you’re waiting in line at the next table.”

  Then she turned to Emilee. “Mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll need your help in filling out their paperwork. They need both an exit visa for Germany and an entry permit for England. Both have pictures of your child. Just be sure that we match the right form with the right child.”

  “Come, children,” Emilee called, stepping back from the table. “Bring your suitcases over here.”

  10:03 a.m.

  At the table where a large sign read “Emigration Control,” two uniformed men were as grim and dour as the woman had been cheerful and pleasant. As they finished with one child they grunted, and barely looking up, they motioned for the next child as they growled, “Papers?”

  When they were handed the two cards by each child, they first checked it against the same list that the woman had, then held up the card and compared it to the face of the child. That brought another grunt. Then they picked up a circular rubber stamp, and smacked it sharply twice on each card. The stamp was the emblem of the Third Reich—a black eagle with outstretched wings carrying the swastika in a circle of steel clutched in the eagle’s claws.

  By the time they reached the table of the third checkpoint, Lisa could see that the lines at the Kindertransport table stretched all the way out the main doors of the terminal and who knew how much farther. It made her appreciate her mother all the more, for she had been the one who kept saying that the later they were, the longer it was going to take them to check in.

  This table had no sign over it, but as they drew close, Lisa saw what was happening. There were two men and two women, this time in civilian clothes, but looking like they too were volunteers for one of the charities. And it was their task to make sure everything was in order. Just beyond this table were the doors that opened onto the loading platforms. Through the windows, Lisa could see trains lined up and waiting.

  They moved up to the first of the men. Here again, he was older, probably retired, and very pleasant in his manner. “All right,” he said once he had confirmed that all was in order, “please listen carefully. Parents and older siblings, just through the door there you will find luggage trolleys waiting. Have your children put their suitcases on one of the trolleys. Be sure to put all of your suitcases on the same trolley so they’ll stay all together. Oh, and be sure that the card matching your personal number is securely tied to the handle of the luggage.

  “Be especially sure that your children do not put their hand luggage on the trolley. If they do, they won’t see it again until they reach England.” He leaned forward, hands on the table, and addressed the five youngest. “Children, listen carefully. You cannot take those placards you are wearing around your necks off at any time. Not to sleep. Not to go to the toilet. If one of the strings should break, take it to one of the group escorts immediately.”

  He took a quick breath. “Parents and family members, the children will be taken to the trains in groups of fifty. Departure time is promptly at 12:35. Boarding will start at noon. Make sure your child is in place at that time.” Another breath, this time accompanied by a frown. “Please listen carefully to this next item. Because the platforms are not that wide and because we have so many people here today, parents and family members will not be allowed to accompany their children out to the trains.”

  That brought immediate groans and exclamations of surprise from the four adults. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That is not our policy, but the railroad’s. When the platforms are too crowded it is too easy for a child to get knocked onto the tracks.”

  They still didn’t like that, but it was a valid reason and they accepted it.

  “Once you have your suitcases on the trolleys, come back inside and turn to your left. Take the hallway there to a large anteroom. You may visit as families there until they call for loading. Oh, and one more thing. For children traveling together as siblings, you older brothers and sisters keep track of your younger siblings. Keep them right with you at all times.” He smiled. “I have five young grandchildren and I know how quickly they can dart away.” He paused. “I think that is all. Again, make sure that all luggage gets on the trolleys and that you are back here by 11:55.”

  11:43 a.m.

  When Lisa saw
Benji making his way through the throngs of people, she started moving to meet him. When she reached him, she ignored his hand that had reached out for hers. “Where did you go?” she asked, a touch of asperity edging her voice. “Niko was back several minutes ago.”

  “I know. I made sure he got back here safely.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “Just walking around. Watching people. Listening to people.” He glanced at her. “Letting your family have some time alone together.”

  She didn’t like that. “You are our family, Benji.”

  “I know,” he said. “But only for the last two days. That’s not the same, and you know it. This is your last time together. You don’t know when you will be reunited again.”

  That mollified her and she moved in beside him. “It’s so hard, Benj. So hard not to cry. I feel like it’s all bottled up inside me and if I can’t let it out, I’m going to scream.”

  “It’s not going to be that much longer. Then I think we’re all going to have a good cry.”

  “So what do you mean that you were watching and listening to people? Were you talking to them?”

  He shook his head. “No, just watching and listening. This is a moment of personal crisis for most of the people here. And it was. . . . I’m not sure how to describe it. Interesting. Fascinating. Disturbing. Discouraging. Depressing.”

  “I can certainly understand the last one.” But even as Lisa said it, something in his face intrigued her. “Like what? Give me an example.”

  “Well, there are lots of tears and sorrow, of course, but it’s fascinating to see how different we are. You’ve got the hysterical mothers who can barely talk, who are clinging desperately to their child, weeping copious tears. Then there were a very well-dressed husband and wife with two daughters. They reminded me of Alemann and Richelle. You could see the tragedy in their eyes, but it was like they were alone in the room, like they had drawn down blinds around them, and were grieving together in private. It was quite moving, actually. Like your mother packing up Hans Otto’s suitcase.”