A Flicker of Light

by Roberta Kagan

  Pulling the door open, Klaus burst into the farmhouse, alarming Daisy, who barked wildly in protection of her home until she saw that the intruder was her master. Then the old dog lay back down, resting her head on her front paws.

  “Siegland, come quickly!”

  “What is it, Klaus?” She put the dish she’d been washing back into the sink and wiped her hands on her plaid apron. When she saw the distress on his face, she hurried to his side.

  “Klaus, what is it?” Her heart began to pound. “What? Do you feel sick? Are you all right? Come, sit. Sit.” She guided him to a chair and began loosening the scarf around his neck. She reached up to his face with a practiced hand. His skin was a deep burgundy color and felt very hot.

  “You’re ill. My God, Klaus - here let me take your coat off.” Her own heart was drumming in her chest. Could her beloved be ill?

  Gently, he took her hands in his and stopped her. “Listen…” Out of breath with excitement and worry, he tried to calm her so he could explain, “Siegland, please...for a minute, sit. Listen, please.” He motioned to the chair.

  “What Klaus? What?” She sat on the edge of the chair, wringing the fabric of her apron between her hands, impatient with nervous concern.

  Gasping, he attempted to catch his breath. Then he struggled to make himself clear to her. “In the barn - a girl is in the barn, a young girl. She’s pregnant. It looks like she’s been hurt - maybe an accident. I don’t know. My guess is she’s probably cold and hungry, too. What should we do, Siegland? I don’t know. I mean, I have no idea where she came from, and we don’t need any trouble with the authorities. What if she is a criminal? We can’t risk getting involved.”

  Without a word, Siegland reached for her coat, and replacing her head scarf with a wool hat, she headed out to the barn with her husband close behind her. As she looked down on the seventeen-year-old child, hurt, vulnerable and pregnant, asleep in her barn, something stirred deep within Siegland Bruchmeier. Her empty womb cried out with the need to protect and nurture this poor, defenseless creature.

  “We must wake her. It’s too cold for her to sleep out here.”

  Never doubting his wife’s judgment, Klaus nodded in agreement as he watched Siegland’s maternal instincts overtake her. Oh, he had seen her care for sick animals with gentle compassion, but the look that emerged on her face as she studied the young girl gave her the appearance of a Madonna.

  Ever so gently, and careful not to startle the young woman, Siegland bent to kneel beside her. Ignoring the gout pain that shot up through her legs, Siegland softly touched the girl’s shoulder. Startled, Petra sprang to life, sitting up straight. “Please! I beg you! Let me go! Don’t turn me in!”

  Shocked and troubled, Klaus looked at the girl whose blonde curls now fell in ringlets about her head. “Turn you in? What did you do that I should turn you in?”

  “Never mind that now, Klaus,” Siegland glared at him, and then turning to Petra, said, “Don’t worry, child, nobody is going to turn you in, and certainly no one will hurt you here. You are not a prisoner. You can go whenever you wish. But I would like so much if you would stay and have some breakfast. Please?”

  “Oh, ma’am, that is so very kind of you. Yes, I would love some food. Thank you.” Petra was famished. The thought of going back outside and walking aimlessly in the frigid weather terrified her. If she could just have something to eat, maybe she would feel stronger. Although she was skeptical, she felt she had no choice but to put her trust in these people.

  “Come, then, to the house. It’s too cold out here. I have a nice fire going, and we’ll see just what we can scrounge up for you to eat, eh?”

  Siegland placed her thick, strong arm around Petra’s shoulder and helped her back to the farm house as Klaus quietly followed behind. Nervous, but touched, Klaus watched helplessly as his wife directed the girl into a soft easy chair in front of the fire. Surprisingly, Daisy walked over to sniff the visitor, but she never let out a single bark.

  “This dog over here, her name is Daisy. I’m Siegland and my husband is Klaus. We are the Bruchmeiers.”

  Petra petted the old dog gently, and Daisy lay down at her feet.

  “My name is Petra.”

  The love Klaus saw in Siegland’s gentle heart had always been magical to him. Now, watching her so overflowing with gladness, he realized the girl could serve an important purpose in their lives. With her long, curly blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, he felt sure that she could not be a Jew, not that he really cared. In truth, he had never even seen a Jew, only heard about them. What he had heard had not been pleasant. But living his life as a farmer, he had seen too much to be quick to judge. Still, common knowledge assured him that harboring a Jew would surely be an offense punishable by death. He preferred to avoid such a mess, if at all possible. If not guilty of being a Jew, he wondered what crime she had committed. Could it be murder? This young girl did not look capable of such a misdeed, but one never knew. A shudder ran through him, and since he had lost control of the situation, he put the possibilities out of his mind, at least for the moment. Perhaps they could find a way to help her.

  Aromas of fresh-cooked food soon spread through the air, and Petra felt her salivary glands respond in kind. She smelled the savory ham frying slowly in the pan and the sweet aroma of bread as it warmed in the oven. Her stomach made little hungry noises, bringing on thoughts of the baby. She knew she must eat, if not for her own sake, then for the child. Tenderly, Petra whispered, so that no one would hear, to the little one inside of her, “We will have some food very soon. Be patient.”

  “I insist that you stay close to the fire and warm up,” Siegland said as she brought Petra a tray with a full breakfast. Freshly-baked bread, ham, cheese, and boiled eggs crowded in abundance on the plate. She brought a small bowl of churned butter and another of strawberry jam, accompanied by a tall glass of milk. Even though she was consumed with hunger, Petra forced herself to eat slowly, remembering the manners her mother had always insisted upon.

  She placed her napkin carefully on her lap. Then she carefully cut each piece and placed her knife and fork down between bites. It was difficult because she would have liked to devour the entire contents of the plate in minutes. The taste of the food was scrumptious, and the overpowering feeling of her hunger only served to intensify the pleasure. The strawberry jam tantalized her senses with sweet delight while the cheese made her mouth want to sing a chorus of Hallelujah. She ate until her stomach swelled and bloated. Then Petra, exhausted and spent, basked in the warmth of the fire.

  “How do you feel?” Siegland asked, her voice soft, almost a whisper.

  “Very well, ma’am, thank you. God bless you and thank you so very much. I am so very grateful to you and to your husband for everything you have done.”

  “Oh, no need to thank me, child. It is my pleasure, but those cuts on your knee and your hand look like they could do with a little clean-up.”

  “Yes, I guess they could.” Petra looked at the dried blood. “But please, ma’am, you have done enough already. I don’t want to be a bother. I will be on my way.”

  “Nonsense - you are not a bother to me. I am glad for the company. Out here on a farm you only see the same folks over and over. It’s good sometimes to see a new face.”

  Petra smiled. The woman’s kindness radiated from her like warmth from the sun, and for some inexplicable reason, Petra trusted her completely.

  “How would you like to take a nice hot bath? While you soak, I’ll have Klaus go and get your bag from the barn. That way you’ll have clean clothes when you come out.”

  “I would, yes. I would appreciate that, truly. Are you sure it’s no bother?”

  “No bother at all, child,” she smiled at Petra. “Good, then it’s settled. I will go and start the water.”

  Alone in the bathroom, Petra removed her clothes. For a moment she stared at the black and blue bruises on her elbows, the cuts on her knee and hand, and then she said a prayer in
hope that the baby had not been hurt when she fell. The steam from the tub beckoned her. Careful not to slip, she climbed in.

  Caressed by the warmth of the steaming water surrounding her weary body like the hands of a long-time lover, Petra began to relax. As she lay in the bath with a towel over her face, Siegland took a dress from the suitcase and laid it on a chair by the fire so that it would not chill Petra when she put it on. Such a thin material, and it is so cold outside, Siegland thought as she felt the clothing. I would love to make her something to wear in a heavier fabric.

  Siegland quickly cleaned the kitchen, the task so familiar to her that she hardly realized what she was doing. While she worked, she thought about how nice it would be to have the girl and her baby stay with them for a while, at least until the weather broke. Once she had finished washing dishes and putting away food, she turned her attention back to the living room and the fireplace. She felt the frock to be sure she’d sufficiently warmed it, and when it met her approval, she brought it to the bathroom.

  Siegland knocked softly at the bathroom door, “There is no rush, take as long as you would like. I just want to tell you that I have hung your dress up on the doorknob.”

  “Thank you so much.” For a long time Petra languished in the tub, and she found herself reluctant to leave even when the water had grown cool.

  For the moment she was safe. As Petra stretched out in the bath, her thoughts turned to Hans. She missed him terribly. The anger and isolation suddenly robbed her of any pleasure she might have felt from the warm water as she remembered his death. Why had this happened? Why could we not be together? Resolving not to cry, she fought the empty feeling that brought on the weakness and tears. After all, weeping would do her no good. Instead, she got up and wrapped her swollen body in the thick white bath towel Siegland had given her.

  Petra reached around the door, took her dress and put it on. Then she went back into the living room. Her stockings had been shredded when she fell and now she wondered how she would continue her journey home without any stockings.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Wonderful,” Petra said. Golden ringlets formed around her head like a halo as her long hair dried.

  “Sit, please. I have something to ask of you.” As she dried her hands on her apron, and sat across from Petra, Siegland carefully approached the delicate subject, “Do you have somewhere to go?”

  The question, combined with the kindness and the tender look in the older woman’s eyes, caused Petra to break down. She could bear the cruelty and stand up to it with her jaw set in determination, but the kindness touched her deeply. Tears flooded her face, and her lips quivered as she bent her head, “No, I have nowhere. I mean, yes, I could go home, I suppose, but I’m not sure I would be welcomed, and I don’t even know how I would get there.” Against her will, Petra found she could no longer control the sobbing.

  Siegland went to her, wrapping the girl in her thick, fleshy arms as Petra wept into the older woman’s bosom. Siegland did not want to ask where the girl came from. She did not want to scare her off in any way. “Stay here, please. We have a guest room and plenty of food. You would be comfortable and safe here, at least until the weather gets a little bit warmer, and even maybe until your baby is born, eh?”

  “Oh, ma’am, I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t impose that way.”

  “You would not be imposing. We have no children; it will light up our home to have you here. Stay, please?”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Very sure.”

  “Yes, then. Yes, I would love to stay.”

  “It’s good. Come, I will show you the room, and I will get you lots of extra blankets, eh?”

  Chapter 6

  W

  ith the suitcase heavy in her weary hand, Petra followed Siegland to a small room. Upon entering, she looked at the white bedspread, the sparkling clean wood floor, and the white curtains with prints of blooming red roses on them, and felt her throat tighten again. Tears touched the back of her eyes. She turned to Siegland, and without reserve, hugged her. Clumsy, but content, Siegland hugged Petra back. Daisy stood at the doorway, her kind old eyes smiling in the way that only a devoted dog can do. Her tail wagged merrily as she watched Siegland make Petra comfortable.

  “Sleep, take a rest. I will come for you later for dinner, eh?”

  “I know I keep thanking you, but again, thank you so very much. I am really tired. Maybe the baby is making me feel this way. I don’t know,” Petra said.

  Siegland nodded, “Don’t you worry about anything. You just sleep and I will take care of everything.”

  Petra slept for the rest of the day, and the Bruchmeiers found themselves reluctant to waken her, even later that evening. But with a soft knock at the door, Siegland announced supper. Petra stretched, opening her eyes, “I’ll be right there.”

  When she had eaten, Petra grew tired again. Siegland watched as Petra’s eyes began to grow heavy, and insisted that she go back to bed.

  “Because you’re going to have a baby, you’re going to be needing lots of rest. Don’t feel bad. You don’t need to stay up for me or Klaus. We understand.”

  After dinner, sitting comfortably by the fire, with Petra sleeping soundly in her room, Klaus and his wife discussed their new guest.

  “I am so happy that she’s made this choice to stay with us,” Siegland said.

  “I know that you are, but what do you think that she did? Do you think she’s a criminal of some kind?”

  “No, Klaus, I think she got herself into trouble. She’s probably not married, and her parents maybe got mad and kicked her out. Maybe she even ran away.”

  “You really think that’s all it is?”

  “I do. She is a sweet child, in trouble and alone. Here she will be safe. When the baby comes, she can decide what she wants to do.”

  “Yes, all right. You are going to have your way anyway, and I can’t argue with a beautiful woman.” He smiled at his wife warmly, “Did you make a strudel for dessert?” Although he was worried, Klaus would try not to put a damper on his wife’s happiness.

  “Of course, my sweetheart, I know how much you like it.”

  “I do.”

  “Then you just sit there by the fire and get comfortable. I will bring you a nice big piece. It’s cheese strudel tonight; I made it fresh this afternoon.” As Siegland grew older, it had become an effort to get up and down from the chair, but she did in order to find the blanket that she had knitted the previous year, so she could drape it across Klaus’ legs.

  “Some tea, as well, please, my love? With sugar and cream?” Klaus patted her hand as she tucked the blanket in on either side of him.

  “Of course,” Siegland smiled.

  At almost three in the afternoon the following day, Petra awakened. Siegland had looked in on her several times and found Petra sleeping so soundly that she took a moment just to watch and smile with contentment.

  Pleased that the house contained no stairs, and that she had access to the main rooms and the bathrooms by walking just a few feet from her quarters, Petra went into the kitchen. Climbing the stairs at Heim Hockland had become tricky as she’d grown larger.

  The afternoon sun filtered through the kitchen window. With skilled hands, Siegland rolled out dough for cookies. Upon hearing the girl enter, she turned to face the door.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Oh yes, very well, thank you,” Petra said.

  “Would you like something to eat?”

  “Yes, please, if it is not any trouble to you.”

  “Of course it is no trouble. Sit and keep me company.”

  “May I help you?”

  “Do you know how to cut cookies?”

  “No, I have never done it, but I would love to learn.”

  “It’s settled then. I will make it a project to teach you. I will show you how to make all kinds of things. Would you like that?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I would.”

  D
aisy got up from her place beneath the table to greet Petra, who patted her head.

  “Call me Siegland, eh?”

  “I don’t think I ever told you my last name. It’s Jorgensen.”

  “Good to meet you, and to know your whole name,” Siegland laughed as she motioned Petra to take a seat. Petra Jorgensen - a Scandinavian name for certain, Siegland thought. However, rather than alarm the girl, she would ask no questions. In reality, it didn’t matter to Siegland where this precious child had come from. God had sent her to the Bruchmeiers, and Siegland intended to take care of His precious gift.

  After they finished eating, the women spent the remainder of the afternoon cooking and baking. Siegland showed Petra how to stuff sausages and make strudel. Familiar with the job, Siegland’s practiced hands pounded and rolled the dough as the flour flew about the kitchen.

  As they worked together, the older woman shared some of her memories with Petra. “Oh, my mother, she could sure bake,” Siegland said, nodding her head as she worked the mass of flour. “When I was small, just a little girl, I used to sit on this wooden box, you see, like that one over on the side of the kitchen. My family had a strawberry farm, so we used to have these boxes to take the fruit to the market. You like strawberries?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  “Oh, wait till you taste ‘em fresh off the vine. We have a patch here and when they come in season, you and me, we will go out and pick some, and bring ‘em back and make a pie, eh?”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  “Oh, yes, it will be. We will make a strudel too. I like to bake because the smell in the house reminds me of my mother. I miss her so. She died of the influenza. When it happened I thought that maybe I would die too, but Klaus, he’s a good man, and he helped me through my time of need, you know? And I never could have children of my own, so I guess maybe I miss her even more. Well, anyway, soon we’ll have a baby here and that will be nice, eh? I mean of course, if you should decide to say…”