The Plum Tree

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

“I’ll see who it is,” Vater said. “Stay here, Christine. Everyone start eating. We’ve delayed long enough.”

  Christine sat back down and tried to breathe normally, wondering if the Gestapo would bother to knock. Maria dished a hot Bratwurst and a forkful of onions onto Oma’s and Opa’s plates. Christine picked up the dandelion salad and passed it to Oma, keeping her eyes on her father. As soon as he was out of the room, she went to the window.

  A black army truck was parked on the street, gray columns of smoke spewing from the shuddering upright pipes behind the high cab, the white outline of the Iron Cross painted on the doors, a red flag with a black Hakenkreuz, or swastika, draped over the covered truck bed. Two men in Barbarossa helmets and black uniforms were unloading dark cubes from the back of the truck, handing them out to four other soldiers. Christine recognized them as SS, or Schutzstaffel, Hitler’s Nazi security, and breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t the Gestapo. She pushed open the window and looked down at the walkway between the garden and the front of her house. One of the men was at their door, talking to her father. From where she was, she could see that the dark cube in the SS man’s hands was a radio.

  “Nein,” she heard her father say. Then she saw him take the radio. “Danke schön,” he said.

  “Heil Hitler,” the soldier said, raising his arm in salute. She wasn’t surprised that she didn’t hear her father reply. The SS man took long, purposeful strides back to the truck.

  Christine watched the other SS going door-to-door, identical radios in hand. Three of the men came back to the truck with old radios, just like the one her family had sitting on a white doily on the end table next to the couch. After a few minutes, all the men converged on the armored vehicle like rats to a hunk of Limburger cheese, disappearing into the passenger-side door and the 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 family. They were too young to keep a secret. Vater was taking the radio to hide it. The idea made her light-headed. She picked up the platter of Bratwurst.

  “Would you like me to reheat this for you?” she asked her mother, hoping she could get her into the kitchen alone.

  “Nein, danke,” Mutti said, taking the serving dish. “I’m sure it’s fine.” She pierced the sausage with her fork and scraped the rest of the onions onto her plate, her pinched face a curious struggle between misery and an attempt to put on a happy smile for her family.

  “Did you have any trouble?” Oma asked in a quiet voice.

  “Nein,” Mutti said. “Herr Bauerman was having problems getting our paychecks organized, that’s all. And Frau Bauerman is beside herself. All but three servants have been let go. She asked me to make lists of what was in the root cellar and the pantry, that kind of thing. Everything took longer than I’d thought.” She finally made eye contact with Christine. “Isaac was there, helping bring all the paperwork in from his father’s office.”

  Christine braced herself. “Did you talk to him?”

  Mutti opened her mouth to answer, but Vater came back in the room. She picked up her silverware and began to eat instead. Her father sat down, face red, shoulders hunched in frustration.

  “If the other parties hadn’t been so busy fighting,” he said, “and if the country hadn’t been in such economic turmoil, we wouldn’t be in this mess! Hindenburg was too old and tired to put up a fight, otherwise he would have never appointed Hitler chancellor. That madman wasn’t elected by the people! And now that he’s arrested or murdered the opposition, he’s selling National Socialism like a preacher sells religion. You do not question. You obey. If not, then they’ll just get rid of you!” He slammed his fist on the table, and everyone jumped. The plates and dishes rattled, and Oma put a hand over her heart. Christine’s mother put her arm around Karl, who started to cry.

  “We just have to hope for the best and keep going,” she said.

  “But he allows the Gestapo to arrest anyone who criticizes him. Soon they’ll control everything! They already control what we read, and now, they want to control what we hear. There are no newspapers but the Nazi newspapers, and now they control the radio too!”

  Mutti cleared her throat and frowned at him. “Right now it’s time to be together,
share a meal, and be grateful for our family.”

  “And they’ll throw you in jail for talking like that,” Opa said, gesturing with his gnarled, blue-veined hands.

  Opa’s warning reminded Christine of the notice she’d read in the Nazi newspaper, Völkischer Beobachter, The People’s Observer: “Let everyone be aware that whoever dares to raise his hand against the State is sure to die.”

  Her father had always been outspoken, but until today, she hadn’t thought anything of it. Then she remembered her mother having a talk with her and Maria a few months ago. She’d told them to keep quiet about their opinions, to be careful what they talked about in public. They should keep their conversations light, talk about the weather, the latest gossip, even boys, anything but politics. At the time, Christine had shrugged it off, wondering why her mother would think that two young girls would care about a subject so boring.

  Vater sighed. “I’m sorry. Your mother’s right. Now is not the time to talk about the problems of the world.” He sawed a slice from his cold Bratwurst, put it in his mouth, and made an attempt to smile.

  “Vater,” Heinrich said in a small voice. “In school yesterday we were told we had to put together a family tree. The teacher said the Führer wants to know if there are any Jews in our family. He said we should do as we’re told because we don’t want to attract the wrong kind of attention. And our parents should bring in papers about birth, marriage, and baptism.”

  Vater stopped chewing and shook his head in disgust. Opa took another helping of dandelion salad, then passed the bowl to Vater, acting as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

  “Don’t worry,” Mutti said. “We’ll help you.”

  Vater agreed, and they all finished their meals in silence. Christine forced herself to eat, then sat on her hands, waiting for Mutti to start clearing the table. As soon as her mother wiped her mouth and stood, Christine picked up the serving platters and followed her into the kitchen.

  “I have a note from Isaac,” Mutti said. She reached into the pocket of her coat on the back of the door. “But it will be the last one. Your father is to know nothing about it. And I told Isaac the same thing I told you. The two of you are not to be in contact again until this is over, do I make myself clear?”

  “Ja, Mutti. Vielen danke,” Christine said. She held the note tight in her fist. “May I go to my room now?”

  “Go ahead. It’s been a long day for everyone.”

  Christine ran up to her room and shut the door. She sat on her bed and tore open the envelope.

  My beautiful Christine,

  Meet me in the alley behind the Market Café, tonight at eleven o’clock. Be careful. Don’t let anyone see you.

  Love,

  Isaac

  Christine fell back on her bed, the note clutched to her chest. How would she get through the next eight hours?

  A few minutes later, just as Christine was pushing Isaac’s tightly-rolled note through a loose seam in her Steiff teddy bear, someone knocked on her bedroom door. She jumped and forced the message into the bear’s stuffing with one finger, then placed the tattered animal back on her desk and wiped her cheeks. She took a deep breath.

  “Ja?” she said, trying to sound calm.

  “It’s me,” Maria said in a soft voice. “Can I come in?”

  Christine opened her armoire and pretended to straighten her clothes. “Come in! The door is open!”

  Maria slipped into the room, closed the door behind her, and sat on the edge of the bed, arms folded to ward off the chill. “What’s going on?” she said. “You were acting like a nervous chicken during Mittag Essen. And now you’re up here hiding in your room.”

  Christine pulled a dress from her armoire and draped it over the back of her chair. “I’m not hiding. I’m just doing a little rearranging, that’s all. I think I might have a couple dresses to hand down to you. I’m getting so tired of wearing the same old thing!”

  Maria stood and took the dress from the chair. “Ja? Like this one? Your favorite?”

  Christine looked at the outfit in her sister’s hands. It was her blue Sunday dress, the soft cotton one with the gathered waist and embroidered collar. She loved that dress. And Maria knew it. “Nein,” she said, taking the frock from her sister. “Not that one. I told you, I’m just rearranging my clothes.”

  “Mutti told me why she was home from work early,” Maria said. “But that doesn’t explain why you were so on edge.”

  “The Gestapo could have been at the Bauermans’!” Christine said, hoping her frown looked convincing. “They could have arrested Mutti!”

  “But she’s home now,” Maria said. “She’s safe.” Maria moved closer and put a hand on Christine’s arm, her head tilted, her eyes soft. “Remember that time everyone was supposed to bring a pear branch and three marks to school? Your teacher was going to have the branches carved into flutes, so everyone could learn how to play. You had the pear branch, but Mutti and Vater didn’t have three marks to spare. Everyone in your class had a flute except you. Instead of crying, you polished the banisters and swept the stairs, even though they’d just been cleaned a day earlier. Mutti thought you were being helpful, but I knew. I saw the sadness in your eyes. You were keeping yourself busy so you wouldn’t sit down and cry. Besides, you and I both know you barely have enough clothes to rearrange, let alone extras to give to me. I know you’re sick of them, but Oma won’t be making more anytime soon. Now tell me, what’s really going on?”

  Christine’s shoulders dropped, and she sat down hard on the bed, her blue Sunday dress clutched to her chest. “Isaac loves me,” she said, an overwhelming rush of joy and misery making it hard to breathe.

  Maria gasped. “How do you know? How did you find out?”

  “He told me. This morning.”

  Maria laughed and plopped down beside her. “Did you tell him you love him too?”

  “Shhh . . . !” Christine cupped a hand over her sister’s mouth. “Vater might hear!”

  Maria pulled Christine’s hand away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So? Did you tell him? Did he kiss you?”

  Christine bit her lip, smiling and nodding, her vision blurring with fresh tears.

  “He kissed you!!” Maria practically squealed. “How many times? What was it like?”

  “Shhh!” Christine said again.

  Maria rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry!” she whispered. “I’m just excited and thought you would be too!” Then she noticed Christine’s tears, and her face went dark. She grabbed Christine’s arm. “Did Isaac say or do something to hurt you? Gestapo or no Gestapo, I’ll go over there and straighten him out if he did!”

  Christine shook her head. “Nein,” she said. “It’s nothing like that.”

  “Well then, I don’t understand. I thought you’d be happy!”

  A lump formed in Christine’s throat. How do you explain the best and worst day of your life happening at the same time? Maria had known all along how Christine felt about Isaac; she’d guessed her older sister was in love the same day Christine had realized it herself. Christine had come home that afternoon, daydreaming about Isaac’s chestnut eyes and deep voice, remembering the way he’d smiled at her in the sunlit garden. With a warm, pleasant glow filling her abdomen, she’d been lost in thought, unusually quiet while helping Maria peel potatoes in the kitchen. Eventually, Maria nudged her and said, “What’s his name?”

  “Whose name?” Christine said, coming out of her trance.

  “Whoever put that silly, glazed look in your eyes,” Maria said, laughing.

  In the end, Christine had admitted everything, swearing her sister to secrecy in their usual way: “Promise to God, all included, nothing counts.” The made-up phrase meant Maria had sworn to God, with no way out because it included everyone in the room and discounted the power of crossed fingers or whispered confessions to take it back. It was their private way of knowing a promise was real. So far, Maria had stuck to her oath about Isaac, just like she’d stuck to her promise
not to tell when twelve-year-old Christine and Kate had snuck off to get their fortunes read by gypsies camping in the forest, or the time Christine had spilled Mutti’s only bottle of perfume on the bedroom rug. But that had been a long time ago, in a different world, back when they were children, before the Nazis made the rules. Things were different now. People’s freedoms, and very possibly their lives, were at stake.

  Christine thought of Isaac’s note, hidden inside her silent teddy bear. The thought of meeting Isaac later, in secret, sent an electrifying current of excitement and fear through her body. She could barely contain herself and wished Maria would go back downstairs before she revealed everything. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be insane, ecstatic and miserable all at the same time, ready to weep one minute and rejoice the next, unable to explain it to anyone. More than anything, she wanted to tell Maria about the message and the secret meeting, but in the fear-charged atmosphere the Nazis had created, she was afraid Maria would try to keep her safe by telling her parents. Instead, she told her sister about the kiss in the orchard, about Isaac’s strong hands and soft lips, about the surprise invitation to the holiday party she’d never be able to attend. It was difficult not having someone to confide in, but even “Promise to God, all included, nothing counts” wouldn’t work this time. Christine couldn’t risk it.

  “Just because you can’t work for his family doesn’t mean you can’t see him!” Maria said. “When you’re in love, you can’t let anything stop you!”

  “The Nazis aren’t just anything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mutti didn’t tell you about the other new law?” Christine said. “The one that forbids us to be together because Isaac is Jewish?”

  Maria’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. “Oh nein!” she said, pounding her fists on her knees. “How is that possible? Who do those Scheisse head Nazis think they are?”

  Despite her heartache, a small, half crazy-sounding chuckle erupted from Christine’s lips. Maria never swore. She tried to be a good Christian in every way, from never missing church to reminding them all to say their prayers every night. And she always admonished Vater for cussing. It was like hearing Oma use bad language.