The Promised Land (All My Love, Detrick Series) (All My Love Detrick Book 3)

by Roberta Kagan

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened,” Leah said.

  “And then she gave me up, as if I were nothing. How can I ever forgive her?” Katja said. Zofia walked over to Katja and sat down next to her, putting her arm around her daughter’s shoulder.

  “This is none of my business, but I am going to say something. If I am out of line, please say so.” Leah looked at Katja. “I know that the man who fathered you was not the ideal father, but my husband also posed as an SS officer in order to protect my father and me. So, your father may not have been what he seemed. During the war, things were different. People did strange things to survive. It is hard to explain. If you were not there, you could never understand.”

  Zofia nodded. “I was there, I understand.”

  “Also, please, remember this . . . you and your mother seem to be very close. If Helga had not given you up, you would never have met your mother. So sometimes, maybe things happen for a reason.”

  Katja looked at Zofia. She loved her mother. Zofia had given her everything, everything but life. Katja reached up and touched Zofia’s hand on her shoulder. Then she smiled at Zofia. Zofia was crying.

  “Sometimes things happen and we think that they are bad things, but if we look at them more closely we realize that God has given us a gift in return for all we have lost. I loved my husband more than anything in the world. And I lost him. But, at least before God took him, he gave me a son, my Daniel—my precious Daniel. So, you came into the world in a way that you find unacceptable, I understand this. However, if you look more closely, you will see that God has given you a mother who loves you. Perhaps a father, too? And a dear friend who is standing beside you even now.” Leah indicated Mendel. “Things are not so bad, Katja.”

  Katja nodded. “I do have a dear father, as well. And in many ways, I am blessed. I live in Israel, the land of our people . . .”

  Leah smiled and nodded.

  “Do you have any family in Israel?” Katja asked.

  “I don’t know. I had a brother. A brother I loved very much. He ran away when he was young, and he always had wanted to go to Israel. I’ve tried to find him, but I never could. So, I’ve always prayed that he made it to Israel.”

  “Perhaps we know him, what was his name?” Katja asked

  “Karl Abdenstern. Do you know him?”

  Zofia’s head snapped as she turned to look at Leah. “Karl Abdenstern. That is your brother?”

  “You know him?”

  “OH, MY GOD. I know him. I had a child. A little girl. We were in the Warsaw Ghetto. The Nazis were liquidating the ghetto. Your brother, Karl, was involved in the underground. He was also involved in the black market. He saved my daughter's life. One night,” Zofia took a deep breath, “He took Eidel, my daughter, she was a baby at the time, and he carried her over the ghetto wall and into the arms of a wonderful friend of mine who was not Jewish. This woman raised Eidel as her own daughter. If it were not for Karl, my daughter would have been dead.”

  Katja looked at Zofia, shocked. “Where is Eidel? You never told me about her. I never knew anything about you having another child. Was she Isaac’s?”

  “No, Isaac was not her father. And you're right, I should have told you. I should have told you so many things. After the war, I went to find Eidel. I was going to take her away to live with me. But when I saw her relationship with Helen, the woman who I’d given her to, I knew that I must leave her where she was. Eidel and Helen had grown very close. Helen raised her as her own.”

  “Does she know that you are her mother?” Katja said.

  “I don’t know. I never told her. She was so happy with Helen, so content. She had her friends and her life. I couldn’t rip her away from all of that.”

  “So you took me?”

  “It wasn’t like that at all. You were not a substitute for Eidel. I loved you. I love you for being who you are. You are my daughter, Katja. But I will explain further. When you were a little girl I was in the Treblinka concentration camp and that man, Manfred Blau, took me in as his housekeeper. He and his wife had adopted you a couple of years earlier. You were so little and so sweet. Manfred’s wife was a good, kind woman. She treated me well. I took care of you because she was sick. So, I raised you since you were a baby. It was like you were mine from the beginning.

  When the camp was dismantled and the Nazis ran away, Manfred and Christa took you with them. I missed you terribly every day. Every day I thought about you, praying that you would be all right. I never thought I would see you again,” Zofia said. “Then, I testified against Manfred and Christa was there in the courtroom. She came to my hotel room that night and said she was dying. I knew it was true. She was very sick when you were young, and she looked even sicker at the trial. She asked me to take you, to raise you. There was no question in my mind. I wanted you. I loved you, and to me you were like a gift from God. The next day I met her outside the courtroom. She had you with her. From the moment I took your tiny hand in mine, I knew that I would give my life to keep you safe. And since that day, you have been my daughter, Katja. I love you.”

  Katja listened. Then she began to cry. Zofia took her into her arms and patted her back. “Shhhh, Sunshine. Shhhh, it’s all right.”

  “Have you seen my brother again in Israel?” Leah asked Zofia.

  “No, I never saw him again after I was taken to the camp. I am so sorry, Leah. I don’t know what happened to him.”

  “I like to believe that he made it to Israel, to the Promised Land,” Leah said, a sad smile on her face. “He always dreamed of a Jewish homeland.”

  The room was uncomfortably silent for a few minutes.

  “Do you know what kind of farm it was where Helga was living, dairy? Or what kind of crops they grew?” Mendel asked Leah.

  “I can remember Detrick saying something about strawberries and asparagus. Sometimes, in the small villages, the people know each other. You might explore the little towns in the outskirts of Munich,” Leah said.

  “Yes, that’s a good idea,” Mendel said.

  “Did you know about anything about the Lebensborn?” Katja asked. “I had never even heard of it before I found out that I was born there.

  “A little, not much. The Nazis were crazy. They wanted to create a master race. The Lebensborn was a place where they were handpicking women to breed with SS officers in hopes of creating a master race.”

  “My God, that is unbelievable. So I was basically bred,” Katja said.

  “Does it matter, Katja? You are a beautiful, wonderful girl, with a good family and good friends. What’s past is past,” Leah said. “If you dwell on the past, it will kill you for sure. You must move forward with your life now.”

  Katja considered this. “You’re right, I know you are. I’d still like to meet her, though. I mean, after all, I would like to ask her a few questions . . . Helga, I mean. I wonder if I have any siblings.”

  “When Detrick went to visit Helga on the farm, I know that Helga was pregnant,” Leah said.

  “Hmmm,” Mendel rubbed his chin. “So, either Katja was born on the farm and then sent to the Lebensborn, which I highly doubt, or she has a brother or sister.”

  “I would guess she had a brother or sister,” Leah said. “Would any of you like some tea?” Leah asked.

  Zofia, Mendel, and Katja shook their heads.

  “No, thank you,” Zofia said. “We’ve taken up enough of your time. I think we have to go to Munich. That’s the next stop on our journey.”

  Leah nodded. “Good luck to you. I hope that you find the answers that you are looking for, and God bless you.”

  They left. Leah closed the door. Suddenly the silence felt heavy around her. She sat starring out the window, lost in memories of Detrick from many years ago. Detrick had looked so handsome when he went to see his sister in Munich. She could still remember the day. His aqua blue eyes shining with love for her. Regardless of the fact that he was wearing that horrible Nazi uniform, he was incredibly handsome. Even no
w, so many years later, she could still feel her heart skip when she thought about him.

  Detrick . . . they had loved each other so much. She knew how hard it was for Detrick to live a lie, to pretend to be a Nazi when he was secretly married to her, a Jew. But he’d done what he had to do to protect Leah and her father. Then, while Detrick was in Munich visiting his sister, the real nightmare began. The Gestapo broke into their house, taking Leah and her father by force. She could still see her father’s face bleeding from where the Gestapo agent had struck him. That was the last time she ever saw her father—the last time.

  She and her father rode in the back of the automobile, not knowing what the Nazis had in store. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it would explode. Jacob had patted her arm, reassuring her, telling her that everything would be all right. That was the last time she’d seen his kind face. They were sent to separate camps. Papa, oh papa.

  Then Detrick by some miracle, had come to the camp and rescued her. He’d stayed with her for only a short time and then he’d insisted that he must go and try to rescue her father. When he did not return within a few weeks, she felt sure that they both had to be dead. If Detrick were alive he’d have come back to her. But even though she knew the truth, she still hoped against all odds that somehow he had been arrested and was not dead but detained in a camp somewhere. How much she had loved her father, and how much she’d loved Detrick. Dear Detrick, he had risked everything for her. Then he’d put his life on the line a second time to try to save her father, Jacob. However, the second time he had not been as lucky.

  Outside of her window the sun began to set. The sky was a watercolor painting of pinks and purples, but Leah hardly noticed. She forgot to prepare dinner. In fact, she did not get up from the sofa until Daniel came through the door.

  Chapter 85

  The small farming village where Kurt’s family had lived for generations was a friendly town where everyone knew their neighbors. It was the fourth village that Zofia, Mendel, and Katja came to during their search. Finding Helga was surprisingly easy. They went to the general store and asked about Kurt and Helga. The old woman who ran the shop knew them well. She bought strawberries and asparagus from their farm when they were in season.

  “Are you friends of Helga and Kurt?” The old woman winked and smiled as she revealed a mouth missing several teeth. She had a giant wart on her cheek that looked like a small flesh-colored golf ball. She had small, beady, dark eyes.

  “Yes, we are,” Mendel said. “Do you know where they live?”

  “Of course, right up the road. There is a wire-fenced pen on the right-hand side of the road that will be filled with goats. When you see it, turn left. The farm you are looking for, where Kurt and Helga live, will be on the south side of the road. It’s a big white house set back from the road. You can’t miss it.”

  Katja nodded her head. “Thank you,” she said, feeling unsteady. She pulled on Mendel’s sleeve. “Can we go, please?”

  “Of course, Kat,” Mendel said. Then he thanked the old woman and they left.

  Mendel began driving toward the farm. Katja held on to her handbag that was lying on her lap. She had two white-knuckled fists. The automobile rolled and stumbled across the dirt road.

  After several moments of silence, Katja turned to Mendel.

  “I can’t go through with this,” Katja said. “Please, Mendel. Take me back to the hotel. I want to go home, home to Israel.”

  “Are you sure?” Zofia said. “For the rest of your life, Sunshine, you will wonder who your mother and father were. We are here, just a few miles away. The woman who has the answer to all of your questions is just beyond that bend in the road. Now, for me, you have always been my daughter. Sharing you with your birth mother will be hard at first and if you want to turn back, I won’t stop you. But I think that you should know the truth.”

  “Mama, I’m so scared,” Katja said. Her voice sounded like a little girl, and it touched Zofia so deeply that she felt a pain deep in her heart.

  “It’s going to be all right. Nothing will change. I am your mother. I will always be your mother. And, you are Jewish. You were raised by Jewish parents to be Jewish. But now that you know the past, you won’t be able to go forward with your life until you know everything.”

  Mendel reached over and took Katja’s hand. “No matter what happens, I’m here for you Kat.”

  She nodded. “I know; you’ve always been here for me, Mendel.”

  “You decide now. The decision is yours. I will support you in whatever you choose,” Mendel said, pulling the car over to the side of the road. Then he put the vehicle in park and waited. “What do you want me to do? Should I turn the car around, and go back to the hotel?” Mendel asked.

  “No. Go to the farm,” Katja said.

  Helga was sitting outside peeling potatoes when the automobile came slowly up the drive. She squinted from the sun to see if she could recognize the automobile. It must be tourists who had made a wrong turn. It seemed that every couple of weeks a car filled with folks who were lost came up to the farm asking for directions.

  Mendel pulled the car over to the side of the driveway and parked.

  “Stay here for a minute,” Katja said to Mendel and Zofia. Then she got out of the vehicle alone. Mendel stole a quick glance at Zofia, who shrugged in disbelief. Zofia’s eyebrows were drawn together and the color left her face.

  “Helga Haswell?” Katja said.

  “I used to be Helga Haswell.” Helga leaned forward as Katja walked closer so that Helga would be able to see her better.

  “Do I know you?” Helga asked, tilting her head to one side. “You look very familiar.”

  “My name is Katja. I was born at Steinhöring, the home for the Lebensborn. According to my papers, my birth mother was Helga Haswell.”

  Helga grasped her throat. Her eyes flew open wide. Then she fainted.

  Zofia and Mendel came rushing out of the car. Zofia went to Katja and Mendel went to see about Helga.

  Kurt had heard the automobile and he came walking out of the fields to see who had come to the farm. When he saw Helga lying on the ground surrounded by strangers he rushed over to her. Then he bent at his wife’s side. “Sweetheart, wake up. What is it? HELGA!!!”

  Helga lay still.

  Kurt ran to the kitchen and got a bottle of smelling salts. As soon as he put the open bottle under Helga’s nose, her body jerked and she regained consciousness. Kurt helped Helga to sit up. “Are you all right? What happened? Let me get you some water,” Kurt said.

  “No, no water. Stay here, Kurt. I need you.”

  “What’s going on here? Who are you?” He turned to Katja and asked.

  It was Helga who answered; her voice a soft, raspy whisper. “That is my daughter, Kurt. The child I gave birth to, who was taken from me at the Lebensborn.” Helga was shaken, but she studied Katja. For what seemed like a long time neither of them spoke. Then Helga stared into Katja’s eyes and said, “A day never passed that I didn’t think of you. Every year since the day you were born, I’ve remembered you on your birthday. I would say to myself, ‘What is my daughter doing now? This year she will be two, she must be starting to walk, and to talk, too. This year she is five, she will start school.’ I would pray to God that someone was holding you when you cried. All I could do was hope and pray that someone was caring for you . . . loving you as I would have if I could have.”

  “My father was an SS officer?” Katja cleared her throat.

  “Yes. I am ashamed to tell you that he was. But you should know the truth. You deserve to know. I was young and so foolish. I didn’t realize what the Nazis were all about. To me they were just men in uniforms that seemed handsome and powerful. I was taken in. And then you paid the price. Dear God, Katja, I am so sorry. So sorry. I had no idea when I signed into the Lebensborn that they would take you away from me.”

  “You didn’t give me up willingly?”

  “Oh, God, no. I wanted to keep you. I begged to
keep you. But I was a single mother. The man who was your father was long gone, and they would not let me have you without him. I could not adopt you unless I married an SS officer. Dear God, I begged Himmler to let me keep you, but he refused. You have no idea how much I wanted you, how much I did not want to lose you. I had no choice. I held you for only one minute after you were born, and then they took you away. I watched the nurse carry you out of the delivery room, and I tried to will myself to die right then and there. But I didn’t die. I was young and strong, and I lived.

  A week later I left Steinhöring. Alone. Without you. I cried for a very long time, on and off for many years. Then I finally got pregnant, and although I never forgot you, my pain was eased a little when Jana was born.”

  “I have a sister?”

  “You did. You had a sister. She died a week after her fifth birthday. I always felt that it was God’s punishment to me for what I did, for getting pregnant out of wedlock, and then going to the Lebensborn . . .”

  Kurt put his arm around his wife. Then Kurt said “It was terrible. I was afraid Helga was going to lose her mind. She kept talking about you, rambling on about the child that was taken from her at the Lebensborn, and then she would talk about Jana, our daughter who died. She couldn’t eat or sleep. Finally, I had no choice; I allowed the doctor to put her into a sanitarium for a few months. Since then she’s been a little better. But she has fainting spells and I would rather that you would all leave, and let her be. I’m not sure she can take this,” Kurt said.

  “It’s all right, Kurt. I need to do this. I owe it to my daughter,” Helga said to Kurt. Then she turned to Katja, “Please sit down. Don’t leave. We need to talk this out.”

  Katja nodded.

  “Come inside,” Kurt said to Katja, Zofia, and Mendel. Then he helped Helga to her feet. Katja noticed that Helga’s feet were swollen and when she walked, she seemed to be in pain.

  They sat at the kitchen table. “Can I get you anything, something to eat or drink?” Kurt said, his voice cracking, not knowing what to do or say.