by Anna Schmidt
She took her coat and scarf down from the hook by the door, preparing to make the trek across the edge of the parade ground to the single-women’s barracks. She hated to ask Gisele to come out in this weather—it was so raw and damp and the wind off the lake was persistent. But the neighbor down the way had children of her own, and Ilse also did not like adding to her burden.
Someone knocked on the door. Was the transport here already? She opened the door ready to explain that they should take Franz and she would follow once she made arrangements for the care of her child, but instead of the orderlies she expected, standing before her was the reporter, Suzanne Randolph, and she was holding a large pot.
When she saw Ilse’s face, Suzanne nearly dropped the pot she was holding. Theo’s aunt looked absolutely drained as if she could not deal with one more thing. She was wearing her coat and scarf and pulling on her gloves.
“I came … I’m leaving for Washington tomorrow, and I came to say good-bye and to see how Professor Schneider is doing.”
Ilse motioned toward the pot. “What is this?”
“Mrs. Velo made chicken soup, and there was far too much and she … is something wrong?” Behind the distressed woman, she could see Liesl sitting on the side of the bed. She had heard from Gisele that Franz had come down with a terrible cold after the funeral and the lengthy graveside service for the woman who had committed suicide.
She walked past Ilse and set the soup on the table. “What can I do to help you, Ilse?” She had rarely called the older woman by her given name, but this seemed the right time.
Ilse’s eyes filled with tears, and she started shaking her head, and then she started to tremble. Suzanne did the only thing she could think to do—she wrapped her arms around Theo’s aunt. She was surprised when instead of stiffening Ilse collapsed against her, surrendering completely to her embrace as if it were the one thing she had needed for a very long time. Suzanne pulled out one of the wooden kitchen chairs with the toe of her shoe and eased Ilse onto the seat then knelt beside her.
“Tell me what to do, Ilse.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, mindful of Liesl in the next room.
“They are coming to take Franz to the hospital. They are allowing me to go with him and stay until … I was on my way to ask Gisele to stay with Liesl. Could you …?”
“I can stay,” Suzanne assured her.
“No. You have a train to catch tomorrow, and I don’t know when I might return. Please go for Gisele.”
“I will stay,” Suzanne repeated. “There will be other trains.”
“Just until I can send for Gisele.”
“I’ll just stay. You should be with your husband.” She did not add the thought that sprang to mind: while you still can.
From the hallway came the voices of men headed toward them. “Mrs. Schneider?” Two men carrying a stretcher stood at the door that had been left open on Suzanne’s arrival.
“Yes. My husband is in there.” She motioned toward the bedroom and followed the men. Taking Liesl’s hand, she guided her back into the front room. “You remember Theo’s friend, Miss Randolph?”
Suzanne was stunned by the woman’s calm. Now that she was speaking with her daughter, there was no trace of the trembling or tears that she had displayed before. Meanwhile Liesl glanced at Suzanne and then back at the men lifting her father onto the stretcher. Suzanne used her gloves as hot pads and picked up the pot of soup.
“Liesl, what shall I do with this soup? Perhaps I could set it on the hot plate and keep it warm until …”
Liesl’s gaze was riveted on her father, her small hand searching blindly for her mother’s. Suzanne’s feeble attempt at distraction had clearly not worked. She moved the soup to the hot plate and set the burner on low heat. Perhaps she could get the child to have some once her parents left.
The men carried the stretcher past them and down the hall. Ilse hesitated then bent down to hug her daughter. “Be very brave,” Suzanne heard her whisper and saw the child nod. “I’ll be home as soon as I can, but it will be tomorrow. So finish your homework and then to bed with you.” She straightened and tweaked Liesl’s nose before pulling her coat closed and hurrying away.
Liesl stood in the doorway, watching her go, and then she remained standing there as if she might stay until her parents returned. Suzanne was uncertain what she should do. “Liesl?” She placed her hands lightly on the girl’s shoulders and gently turned her away from the deserted hallway.
As soon as the outer door clicked shut, Liesl turned to her and buried her face in Suzanne’s skirt, her tears and sobs coming with heartbreaking gasps as she wrapped her arms around Suzanne’s legs and clung to her as she might have clung to a lifeline.
“Come on now,” Suzanne murmured as she stroked the girl’s fine, wispy hair. She would not tell Liesl that everything would be all right. Having seen Franz’s gray, haggard face, she wondered if he could possibly recover. “Your mother mentioned homework. Show me what you are studying, okay?”
With a shuddering sigh, Liesl released her grip on Suzanne and sat down at the table. Listlessly she opened a book and pulled it toward her and then took out a sheet of lined paper and a stub of a pencil. “I’m supposed to practice my handwriting,” she said, resting her head on one hand as she began to mimic the letters in the book. “My teacher says that most people are right-handed and that I will be at a disadvantage if I continue to use my left.”
Suzanne sat across from her, occasionally offering words of praise even though she really wanted to tell Liesl’s teacher that there was nothing wrong with being left-handed and by making such an issue of it she was branding the child as different—again. Her mind drifted to Franz on that stretcher and the image of Ilse sitting alone in a sterile waiting room while the doctors tried to save Franz’s life.
“Will Papa die?” Liesl asked without looking up from her work. “Lots of people we knew in Munich died, and we saw dead people when we were hiding from the men who wanted to take Papa back to the prison.”
All of this information was delivered in a quiet voice that the girl might have used if she had been telling Suzanne about her day at school. Suzanne thought of all the children across Europe forced to witness the horrid realities of war played out on the streets of their hometowns. It occurred to her that regardless of which side the adults in their lives might be on, children living in war zones paid an enormous price—they paid with their innocence and their childhoods.
“My friend Ruthie was in what they call a concentration camp,” Liesl continued, still not looking up from her work. “She told me that they had whole days when they had nothing to eat at all and the guards were really mean to her even if she was nice to them. She is Jewish, and the government hated the Jews. I don’t know why. Do the American government people hate the Jews?”
Some of them do, and I don’t know why, either, Suzanne was tempted to reply. “Unfortunately, Liesl, there are people in every country who don’t like people who have a different way about them or look different or come from a different place.”
Liesl nodded and leaned back in her chair. “At first some of the other boys and girls in my class were mean to me. They said because I was German that I was their enemy. They called me names, and one boy threw my books in the snow. It happened here at the fort, too—some of the Jewish children would not play with me at first.”
Unexpectedly she grinned. “But I set them straight. Cousin Theo told me to tell them that I was a Quaker—a Friend.” Her eyes twinkled at the memory. “And then one day Theo came to my school, and he explained all about being Quaker, and after that …” She shrugged as if the outcome was evident.
“After that?” Suzanne prompted.
“They played with me. Theo told me that sometimes you just have to explain things so people’s questions get answered and then they’ll be fine.” She went back to her work. “Done,” she announced as she closed the book and carefully laid the paper inside a folder.
“Would you like so
me soup?” There didn’t seem to be anything else to offer the girl, and Suzanne realized that the refugees kept little food in their rooms or apartments. They went to the dining hall to eat their meals.
“No, thank you.” She glanced at the clock above the table and frowned. “Usually Papa, Mama, and I meet for worship at this time before I go to sleep. Back in Munich there were a whole bunch of people who believed like we do, but they all went away, and here at the fort we’re the only Quakers. There are a lot of Jews, and they have their meeting place right here—they call it a synagogue. My friends who are Catholic and others like them can go to services in the churches in town or use their part of the chapel here in the fort. But there’s nobody else like us, and we don’t have a meetinghouse so we meet here.”
“I’m like you,” Suzanne found herself admitting. “My family is Quaker, too.”
Liesl’s eyes widened in surprise. “Theo never told me that. He said that when we could leave here and go back with him to Wisconsin to live on the farm we would be with lots of Quakers but he never said—”
“Well, here I am,” Suzanne said.
“Then you know all about sitting in silence and the Light inside us and how that’s how we figure out what to do next. So we can hold meeting for worship, after all. Mama says that Jesus used to say all you needed was two or three gathered together, and here we are.” She wriggled to an upright position in her chair and closed her eyes as she rested her hands palms up on her knees.
It had been years since Suzanne had sat in silence and supposedly waited for the Light to come her way. But when she saw Liesl squint one eye open, she had no option but to close her eyes and sit perfectly still until Liesl was satisfied.
“We don’t have to do a long time,” Liesl whispered as if to reassure her.
“Okay,” Suzanne whispered back. Other than sounds from the neighboring apartments above and next to them and the wind, the room was silent.
CHAPTER 10
As soon as the call came that Franz had died, Theo and his parents drove through the night to reach the shelter and be with Ilse. Suzanne had made that call, assuring them that Selma Velo had open rooms and would be glad to have them stay at the boardinghouse for as long as necessary. Theo had taken the call. His parents had gone into town, and he was alone in the farmhouse. The moment he had heard Suzanne’s voice on the line, he realized how he had missed her.
“Theo? It’s Suzanne.”
“Hi. How are you? Where are you?” His need for information about her was suddenly voracious.
“I’m back in Oswego. Theo, I’m afraid I have some terrible news.”
“Uncle Franz?” They knew he had been ill, but Ilse had assured them that it was just a cold and chest congestion.
“I’m so sorry,” Suzanne said, confirming his fear. “It was pneumonia. He was taken to the shelter’s hospital last evening but by then …” Her voice trailed off. “Your aunt was with him.”
“That’s good. Liesl?”
“I stayed the night with her in the apartment. Theo, it’s a wonder half the people in the camp aren’t ill. There is no insulation, and the wind and cold just seep into this place. I spent the night with my coat and gloves on.”
Her irritation made him smile. If he knew her at all, he was quite certain that there would soon be an essay about conditions at the fort.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “You don’t need to hear me ranting just now. Ilse said that she would delay the funeral until your mother can get here. Everyone is being incredibly supportive—the staff, Mr. Smart, the other residents.”
“How’s Ilse holding up?”
“She’s amazing. I mean, it all happened so fast. One minute he’s fighting a terrible cold, and the next …”
“And Liesl?”
Suzanne hesitated. “She’s very quiet—too quiet. And I don’t think she has cried. I don’t think it’s hit her yet that her father is gone.”
At that moment Theo had heard the crunch of his father’s truck tires on the packed snow. “My folks just got back from town. Tell Ilse we’ll be there as soon as we can. We’ll leave tonight.”
“You’re coming, too?”
“Yes. Matthew and his wife can move in here for a few days and take care of things on the farm. Dad will need help with the driving and …” I want to see you, he almost added.
“Ilse will be so glad. Be safe,” she said softly and hung up.
The funeral service for Franz was held in the former service club turned recreation and community hall, and he was buried in the Riverside Cemetery outside the fort—the same place where Karoline Bleier had been laid to rest a couple of weeks earlier. Free at last was all Ilse could think as she sat in silence with their neighbors from the shelter and Franz’s family from Wisconsin.
She held tight to Liesl’s small hand. It worried her how stoically the little girl had taken the news of her father’s death.
“Papa is at peace now?” she had asked when Ilse returned from the hospital the day after Franz had been taken there. Suzanne had stayed through the night as she had promised, and her hands rested lightly on Liesl’s thin shoulders.
“Yes, Liebchen.”
Liesl had run to Ilse and hugged her, but instead of the wails of grief that Ilse might have expected, Liesl said, “We will be all right, Mama.”
Her daughter comforting her had been more than Ilse could endure, and she had broken down in sobs. Suzanne had stepped forward then and embraced both Ilse and Liesl. “Come and rest,” she said softly. “I’ll make you some tea. Liesl, will you help?”
All through the following days as arrangements were made, Liesl had remained stoic. Even now seated beside Ilse at the funeral, she remained dry eyed.
Theo introduced the service, describing the usual ritual for the many people there who had never attended a Quaker funeral. “A funeral in our faith is called ‘Meeting for Worship in Thanksgiving for the Grace of God,’ and it focuses on two things: honoring the life of the deceased and experiencing the presence of God’s spirit in this hour.” He glanced at the closed pine casket in the center of several circles of chairs and added, “Everyone who is so inspired may speak regardless of age, gender, or religious beliefs. In our faith all are equal in the sight of God. We ask only that you allow time for silence between each spoken ministry.”
Theo took his seat next to his parents, and the silent worship began. After several minutes, Franz’s sister, Ellie, stood and spoke of her memories of her brother when the two of them had been children in Germany. Her memorial was followed by more silence.
All Ilse could think about was that Ellie was talking about a stranger. Ilse and Franz had both been nearly thirty when they met at a reception at the university. He had been awarded a prize for his research, and the reception had been in his honor. Ilse’s friend who worked at the university had invited her to attend, and the moment she had seen Franz she had felt her heart leap.
In those days he had been so handsome and his eyes—always filled with kindness and curiosity—had met hers when her friend introduced them. He had invited the two of them to join him for a beer at the local Gasthaus following the event. Her friend had begged off, citing a headache, but she had insisted that Franz and Ilse go without her. He had walked her home and asked if he could call on her the following evening. Six months later, they had married.
She closed her eyes, remembering their wedding day, remembering the day—years later—when they had learned she was pregnant just when they had given up all hope of ever having a child and how Franz’s eyes had filled with tears of joy. She thought of the war years—the first war before she’d known him and then this one. She thought of the times she had wasted wallowing in fear and depression and regretted the worry and pain she knew that she had caused him.
Forgive me, my love.
Breaking the silence, Joseph Smart talked about how Franz had embraced life within the fort despite the challenges. “He was a wonderful teacher and for many of you the key to
learning our American ways and language. I believe he was happiest in the hours he spent organizing our little library. I know he preferred that to some of his other chores—shoveling coal in the barracks, for example.”
Ilse saw several people smile and nod.
“Franz Schneider was a gentle man and a quiet leader, and he will be missed,” Mr. Smart said and sat down.
More silence and then Gisele stood and recounted the time that Franz had told her of his involvement with the White Rose resistance group back in Germany. “I looked at this mild-mannered professor and could not believe what he was telling me, yet I knew of that group, and he was telling me things only a member would know. Franz Schneider was a hero for Germany who was hunted and imprisoned by the Nazis but who never forgot his native roots. There was a time when I—like many others—hated all Germans. Professor Schneider taught me the lessons of forgiveness and discernment.”
Ilse thought of how frightened she had been in the days back in Munich when Franz would leave for a “meeting,” and she knew that he was not speaking of a faculty meeting or meeting with other Quakers. How angry she had been at him sometimes for risking his life—risking her life and Liesl’s. But now she felt such a sense of pride that Franz had never surrendered to the terror and intimidation of Hitler’s thugs. In his view they had occupied his country as surely as they had marched into Austria or Poland or France.
After a long silence and as she had requested, her brother-in-law Paul was the last to stand. He removed a paper from his coat pocket and unfolded it then adjusted his reading glasses and cleared his throat.
“In 1693, William Penn—a devout Quaker and founder of the colony of Pennsylvania—wrote these words: ‘And this is the comfort of the Good that the grave cannot hold them, and that they live as soon as they die. For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity.’”
He refolded the paper, sat in silence for a moment longer, and then turned to Joseph Smart and offered him a firm handshake, signaling the end of the service. Director Smart walked over to where Ilse and Liesl sat. He murmured words of sympathy and consolation meant only for them. He was a good man—a man who had made it his business to attend every event that involved the refugees, regardless of their faith or traditions. Ilse thanked him for his help. “Franz so enjoyed his work with the library,” she said.