Safe Haven

by Anna Schmidt

  But Ilse’s mind was on another matter. Ever since Theo had told her that Detlef Buch was a prisoner of war and living in the area, she had been unable to get the man off her mind. Her first reaction had been a kind of kneejerk fear and anxiety—the same feelings that had overwhelmed her whenever the man was around back in Munich. But then she would remind herself that this was different. He was a prisoner—not someone in authority. He could no longer bring harm to her or Liesl.

  Once she had worked through that, her thoughts went to Beth and Josef. Shouldn’t Josef be told that his father was in America? And what of his mother? Where was she? More and more she felt the need to contact Josef and Beth.

  So when she saw Suzanne Randolph sitting on the steps of the administration building with Gisele one afternoon just after President Roosevelt’s body had been carried by train to his home in Hyde Park, New York, for burial, she crossed the parade ground to speak with the reporter.

  Suzanne and Gisele sat with their faces turned to the sun, their eyes closed, soaking in the warmth of spring. Ilse hesitated to disturb them but did not wish to lose her nerve.

  “Hello,” she called as she reached the walkway that ran around the camp connecting all the public buildings.

  Both women blinked and squinted and then smiled. “Come join us,” Gisele invited. “I can finally believe that the horrid winter is at long last behind us.”

  Suzanne scooted to one side, making room for Ilse to sit between them.

  “I would like to speak with you,” Ilse said, turning her attention to Suzanne. “About Detlef Buch.”

  Suzanne sat up straight and gave Ilse her full attention. “Theo told you? Look, I know that he thinks I am making a mistake but—”

  “I told Theo who this man was—is. I have known for some time now that you have been writing down his story in the same manner that you have been writing stories about the people here in the fort. That is your privilege, and I do not judge your motives. The truth is that I wish to speak with him myself.”

  Surprise registered in Suzanne’s eyes, and Gisele gasped behind her.

  “Why?” Suzanne asked. “What possible good could—”

  Ilse smiled. “I do not judge you, and you will do me the courtesy of not questioning my reasons. Will you arrange a meeting?”

  “You know him?”

  “We have family in common. Theo did not tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Herr Buch’s son is married to my niece—to Theo’s sister, Beth. When we were in Munich, he came to our home on at least two occasions.” She saw that Suzanne knew none of this. “So Theo is perhaps correct,” Ilse said softly.

  Surprise had disintegrated to confusion and irritation. “I don’t understand. What is it Theo is correct about?”

  “That Herr Buch is telling you his story but that may not be the whole story. Theo has worried that you are being taken advantage of and he tells me it would not be the first such experience for you.”

  Gisele leaned forward, her eyes probing Suzanne’s eyes. “Why on earth would you agree to consort with this criminal—this man who with a stroke of his pen sent perhaps hundreds or even thousands to their deaths?” She stood up. “I—we have trusted you, and you have gone behind our backs to—”

  “To get the other side of the story,” Suzanne protested.

  “There is no other side to this story,” Gisele growled as she stalked away.

  Ilse and Suzanne sat on the step without speaking for several minutes. Finally, Ilse could stand it no more. “Will you arrange for me to meet with Herr Buch?”

  “Does Theo know you plan to do this?”

  “Theo is not my keeper. I am a grown woman, and if I have decided to do this, I hardly need Theo’s permission—or yours. But I could use your help in arranging the meeting.”

  “I’ll ask Mr. Buch when I see him at work tonight at the cannery. If he’s willing—”

  “No! He is not to know of my presence here. I do not wish to give him the choice of whether he wishes to see me. If you will arrange a time for him to meet you—perhaps again at the library?”

  “We are to meet there on Saturday at three.”

  “Then I will get a pass and be there in your place.” Ilse got to her feet. “Thank you, Suzanne.” And as she walked back toward the barracks, she was already planning exactly what she would say to Detlef Buch.

  But on Saturday morning she began to have second thoughts. Gisele had made it clear that she thought Ilse was out of her mind to have anything to do with the Nazi POW. “How can you even think of being in the same room with him, much less sitting civilly across a table from him?” Gisele actually shuddered.

  “It feels like something I need to do,” Ilse replied as she checked her hair in a hand mirror she had rescued from one of the donation boxes. “I should wear a hat,” she murmured and went to the bedroom to get one.

  “Do you want me to take Liesl to supper when she finishes practicing the piano?”

  “I should be back by then.”

  “Good. I’m not sure what I would tell her—how I would explain.”

  Ilse felt a flicker of annoyance as she pulled on white cotton gloves and picked up her purse. “There is nothing you need to explain, Gisele. Not to Liesl or anyone else.”

  “I apologize, Ilse. I am just worried.”

  “I know, and thank you for caring. But I feel led to do this and in our faith we do follow those leadings.” She opened the door. “Will you walk with me to the gate?”

  The two friends linked arms and headed across the parade ground to the tunnel that led out to the street and the town. “What will you say to him?” Gisele asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Perhaps ‘Fancy meeting you here’? Or maybe, ‘Why, Detlef Buch, isn’t it a small world?”’

  Ilse laughed. She knew that Gisele was trying to ease her nerves, and she was grateful. At the gate they greeted the staff member on duty, and Ilse showed her pass. Gisele waved to her, and Ilse was aware of the click of her high heels on the pavement as she walked through the tunnel and out to the street. She was reminded of all the times she had been walking on a street in Munich and had heard the click of leather heels behind her—all the times she had looked over her shoulder to see a German soldier and been certain that he was following her, about to stop her, demand to see her papers, perhaps even take her in for questioning.

  Those days seemed like another lifetime to her now, yet the memories were so very precise, so very fresh.

  At the library she paused in the dim lobby to straighten her hat and calm her breathing. Beyond the open doors leading into the reading room she could see a man seated at one of the long wooden tables toward the back of the room. His back was to her as he read a newspaper, but he was also the only man in the room who came close to being the right age.

  She moved toward him, her heels now silenced by the carpeted floor. He was about to turn a page when she was within six inches of him. He paused and waited.

  “Hello, Herr Buch,” she said softly and took some satisfaction in seeing his fingers tremble slightly as he let the page fall back into place. At that moment, she knew exactly why she had wanted to speak with him.

  CHAPTER 14

  You let her meet with him alone?” Theo could not believe what Gisele was telling him. He had come to the barracks to find his aunt and instead run into Gisele.

  “I did not let her do anything. Ilse is a grown woman and perfectly capable of making the choices that seem right to her.”

  “But do you not understand who this man is? Who he was when Ilse knew him back in Munich?”

  “He was—how do you Americans say it—the ‘boogeyman’? He is here now as a prisoner and hardly a threat to Ilse or anyone else for that matter. He has been stripped of all authority and that means he no longer has the power to—”

  “My aunt is not a strong woman, Gisele. Back in Munich she suffered from—”

  “That was the past. These
days she is a very strong woman because perhaps she is no longer in Munich and because I am sure she has faced the fact that she must be strong for Liesl’s sake.” Gisele blew out a ring of cigarette smoke. “Besides, is this Buch person not your sister’s father-in-law, and as such is he not family to both you and to Ilse?”

  Theo put on his hat. “They were to meet at the library?”

  “That was the plan. They were to meet at three, although Buch thought it would be Suzanne coming.” She took hold of his wrist and checked the time on his watch. “It’s nearly five. I did not realize she had been gone so long.” Her tone betrayed her concern. “Perhaps it would be best if you went to the library to see if they … if Ilse is all right.”

  Theo did not bother to answer. He walked away quickly across the parade ground and down the path through the tunnel. He nodded to the gatekeeper and then headed for town. He had gone only two blocks when he saw Ilse coming toward him. He quickened his pace, practically running the last few yards.

  “Are you all right?”

  She blinked at him as if she did not immediately recognize him then drew in a deep shuddering breath. “Oh, Theo, it’s you. No, I am not all right.”

  “Did Buch—”

  “He told me that my sister’s husband, Lucas, was working undercover as a double agent. He was hanged even as the Allies drew close to Munich. He thinks that my sister was arrested but admits that he does not know what happened to her or their children.”

  Her skin went pale, and she stumbled slightly. Theo took hold of her arm to steady her as he led her to a nearby bench at the bus stop. “Sit down. You’ve had quite a shock, Ilse.” He glanced around and saw a woman sweeping her porch across the street. “Excuse me,” he called. “My aunt is not feeling well. Could I trouble you for a glass of water?” The woman dropped the broom and ran inside. Seconds later she emerged holding a large glass filled with ice water and made her way across the street, dodging traffic as she hurried to them.

  “Here, honey,” she said, and Theo realized that it was the woman who sold tickets at the movie theater at the same time the woman also made the connection. “Why, you’re Liesl’s mom, aren’t you?”

  Ilse accepted the glass of water with a half smile and nodded as she took a sip. “There’s really no need to fuss,” she said. “I just …” She started to stand.

  “Sit there,” Theo instructed as he took the glass and handed it back to the woman. “Thank you, Mrs. Driver. Sorry to have troubled you.”

  “No trouble at all. Would you like to come inside? I could send my daughter, Nancy, to the fort to bring Liesl—we could all have supper together. No reason to upset the child by you being delayed.”

  Somewhere a block or so away a clock chimed five thirty.

  “A friend is with Liesl. We’ll just sit here a minute until my aunt catches her breath. Thank you.”

  Mrs. Driver was not anything like Hilda Cutter, who would have lingered until her curiosity about what had caused Ilse’s bout of weakness was satisfied. Instead she touched Ilse’s shoulder and murmured, “You and your daughter have a standing invitation, Mrs. Schneider. It would be our honor to have you come for supper anytime.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Driver. You are so kind.”

  “It’s Mildred, dear. Our children are friends, and I see no reason why we should not be friends as well.”

  Theo thought Ilse might burst into tears, but she clasped the Driver woman’s hand between both of hers. “I would like that,” she said. “And I am Ilse.”

  “Come for Sunday dinner after church this coming Sunday, then.” She turned her attention to Theo. “You come, too, and bring that good-looking woman I’ve seen you squiring around town.” She grinned, and to Theo’s surprise his aunt actually chuckled. He also must have looked more than a little surprised because Mrs. Driver patted his cheek and added, “Oswego is a small town, honey. Not much happens around here that someone doesn’t notice.” She started back to her house, turned and waved, and called. “Sunday at one, then.”

  Ilse nodded and waved back.

  She stood up and brushed off her coat before taking hold of Theo’s arm. “Come on. Liesl and Gisele will be worried.”

  He was worried about her. She had visibly aged since he’d last seen her. Clearly the news from Buch had shocked her. “Maybe I can ask Joseph Smart to use his contacts to help you find out what has happened to your sister and the children, Ilse.”

  “And perhaps Herr Buch is lying,” she replied as they reached the gate. “After all, he is a desperate man.”

  “Then he has admitted his responsibility? He ordered the deaths of others?”

  “Not to me, but that is hardly the real issue. His true crime is that he knew about the camps and where the trains were going and all those senseless deaths. Whether or not he pulled a trigger is irrelevant. His crime is that he knew and he did nothing to stop them.” She looked toward the dining hall and knelt down with her arms open as Liesl came running to meet her.

  The following evening Suzanne sat across from Theo at supper, but he barely glanced at her and he certainly had nothing to say to her. Instead he ate as if this might be his last meal and then excused himself. She heard the front screen door open and shut and his footsteps fade away.

  “Excuse me,” she murmured, wiping her mouth with her napkin as she left the table.

  “Lovers’ quarrel,” she heard Hilda say knowingly.

  Theo was halfway down the block when she caught up to him. “Hey,” she said, falling into step beside him. “You seem a little upset. Has something happened to Ilse or Liesl?”

  “Not to worry, Suzanne. Nothing that would interfere with your precious story.”

  She had never heard him sound so sarcastic or bitter. The unfairness of his attitude made her bristle. She was practically running to keep up with his long strides. “Look, I don’t know what you think is—”

  He stopped and wheeled toward her. “You’re right. I don’t know what you are doing or why. I don’t know why Gordon Langford is sending you letters and calling you several times a week. But I do know one thing—I want you and the congressman to leave my family alone, Suzanne. They have been through enough, and Ilse hardly needs to have to deal with an ex-Gestapo agent at this stage of her life.”

  “That’s what this is about? Well for your information, Theo, it was Ilse who came to me about speaking with Detlef Buch. I tried to dissuade her, but she was adamant. What exactly did you expect me to do?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe talk it over with me before you set up a meeting?” He was glaring at her now.

  “I’m sorry,” she stammered as she became fully aware that his anger at her was based in his fear for his aunt. “The man is a prisoner. He can’t hurt them now. From what Ilse told me, he actually helped them once, and besides, he is your sister’s father-in-law. Surely he can be trusted not to—”

  Theo’s laugh was devoid of any real humor. “How can you consider yourself a journalist and be so gullible?” He threw up his hands in exasperation.

  That stung. She had told him all about the story that had destroyed her career, the trust she had had for Gordon Langford. Now he was turning her words against her. Once again she had placed her trust in another human being, and once again that person had turned away. Was it any wonder she instinctively kept people at arm’s length? But if Ilse had been upset by her meeting with Buch, even if she had been the one to insist on that meeting as well as the secrecy …

  “Will you please tell me what happened when Ilse met with Buch? Perhaps I can—”

  “Fix it? I don’t think so. The man might be a shirttail relative to my aunt and to me, but he is no less than the monster he was back in Germany. He was in the business of hunting people, Suzanne, and my guess is that he takes a certain pleasure in doing so.”

  He started to walk away, but Suzanne grabbed his shirtsleeve to stop him. “Please tell me what happened. I’ll go to Ilse and—”

  Theo turned to face h
er, this time taking hold of her shoulders the way he had the night he had kissed her. But his passion this time was anger, not desire. “Stay away from my family, Suzanne,” he growled, and then he released her and stalked away.

  She started after him but had gone no more than a couple of steps before realizing that it was fruitless. She considered going to the fort and finding Ilse, but it was already past six. She had to get to the cannery, and if she didn’t hurry she would miss the bus. Her wages paid the rent at the boardinghouse and allowed her the time she needed to gather information for her book.

  Driven by her realization that at the cannery she would be able to talk to Detlef, she hurried back to the boardinghouse to collect her things. Detlef would tell her what had happened in his meeting with Ilse—of course, he would provide only his version of that meeting. At some point she would need to find a way to get the other side of the story from Ilse.

  Buch was already at his station when she arrived. The foreman glanced up and frowned as she hurried to her place on the line. She was sure to get a warning for her tardiness. She fell into the rhythm of the work and waited for Detlef to say something. But he simply nodded as he continued the repetition of the work. It occurred to her that in the few times they had met once she had agreed to hear his story, he had never been the one to instigate the conversation. He always waited for her questions. He would give nothing away. He watched her and waited, like a cat toying with a mouse.

  She shuddered as she imagined this man sitting in his office in Germany—a person his men had arrested seated before him, unsure of the crime. In her interviews with others in the fort, she had heard such meetings described—had heard how in many cases the Gestapo agent was unfailingly polite—sometimes even kind, offering water or tea.

  Is that how Detlef Buch saw her? Was she just a person he needed to break? She felt a sudden chill and with it the unmistakable need to escape.

  Her anxiety built as she launched into the repetitive tasks that were the mainstay of any assembly line. It upset her to suspect that Theo might be right—that once again she had trusted someone and been duped. At least this time the story and her name weren’t spread all over the front page of a major newspaper. But would she ever learn her lesson? What if she wasn’t the gifted journalist that Edwin had said she was? What if he was wrong and she just wasn’t that good? And if that was the case and she could no longer find a place for her writing, who was she?