Safe Haven

by Anna Schmidt

  They sat side by side on the swing. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “You don’t have to tell me the rest,” he said, afraid that remembering what had happened was causing her pain. He was sorry that he had pushed her.

  “No. I want you to understand.” She settled herself more securely in the curve of his arm. “My parents tried to press charges but were told there was some evidence that in fact Natalie had been driving the car.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Yeah, well, one day my dad received an envelope and inside was a check from the boy’s father for a great deal of money. Blood money, Dad called it, and he tore up the check. After that I transferred to a smaller college so I could live at home and help out at the store. Mom took in sewing and mending so she could stay home with Natalie, and Dad took a second job as a night watchman. I don’t know how we managed, but we did. And gradually Natalie improved.”

  Theo felt her stiffen as the memory of what came next hit her. “It’s okay. Stop if you don’t want to remember.”

  “Natalie improved so much that she was able to go back to school, and in spite of her appearance—the lolling head she could not hold up, the drooling that required constant attention, and the inability to speak—she made her mark. She was able to move herself through the halls in her wheelchair and to write answers to questions on a small slate she carried everywhere. When she was a sophomore, she was elected to the homecoming court.”

  “But?” Theo’s mouth had gone dry.

  “I wasn’t at the dance and my parents could never really talk about it, but apparently everything was going great. And then Natalie saw the boy she’d been with that night. He had come as the date for one of the senior girls. Natalie had always defended him—she had been so taken with him.”

  “How could she …”

  “At night in the room we now shared so I would be there if she needed me, I would see her staring at the photograph that had been taken of the two of them before the accident. One night I couldn’t stand it, and I grabbed it and ripped it in half. We had a terrible fight—me screaming at her and her furiously writing notes back to me. The last note shut me up—it said: ‘He is a good person, and I still love him.’ And then she started to cry, and so did I. So I taped the photo back together and put it back on her mirror.”

  “So then he shows up at the dance.”

  “Yeah. Natalie made a beeline for him as soon as she saw him. My mom said her smile was beaming. He was getting punch for his date. Natalie grabbed at his arm and he spilled the punch on his shirt. He said something to Natalie and walked away. After that Natalie told my parents she wanted to go home.”

  Theo waited. It was her decision whether or not she would—could—tell the rest. He would not push her.

  In a voice dead and emotionless she continued.” She didn’t speak to any of us for days. She wouldn’t eat, and she refused to go to school or leave the house. She put the photo away in her diary, and I thought that at last she had moved on. She even agreed to let Dad carry her downstairs and put her in her wheelchair so she could eat breakfast. The meeting for worship was to be at our house that morning. After breakfast Natalie said she wanted to sit outside during the meeting—she wanted to sit in the grove of birch trees and sketch. We thought this was a good sign,” she whispered. She shuddered, and he pulled her closer.

  “That’s enough for tonight, Suzanne.”

  “No. Let me finish. The meeting for worship was followed by a meeting with a concern for business, so for two hours we were gathered in that circle. And all the while outside in the birch grove, Natalie was bleeding to death. She had taken a knife from the kitchen while she was at breakfast and once she was alone …”

  “But I thought—”

  “So did we. When I opened her diary after the funeral I found that photograph and along with it her last entry. It read, ‘He didn’t even know me. His last words to me were, Get away from me, you freak.’ We were all sitting there—praying and waiting for guidance. Where was the guidance for one of us to go and check on my sister? That boy took my sister’s life—not once but twice—and he didn’t care. How is that possible, Theo? For a person to feel no remorse at all? Where is the Light in that?”

  She said nothing more for several minutes, and he allowed the silence, thinking that he had heard enough to have a better understanding of why she had abandoned her faith.

  “That was the first of it,” she said, her voice raspy with emotion. “That next summer I went back to the camp as a counselor. I hoped to find that boy—to confront him with what he had done to my sister—to our family. My parents got divorced after Natalie’s death, and a few years later my dad died of a massive heart attack.”

  “Did you confront the boy?”

  “No. His family had moved to California. I finished out the summer and then went back to school. A few years later, Mom married again. He’s a nice guy and she seems happy. They travel a lot. By that time the war had started—Hitler and—”

  She sat up suddenly, pulling free of Theo’s embrace. “Is it really so difficult to understand how I might find it hard to believe that people are born with good inside? Some people simply don’t stop to think about how their actions might impact others and some—like that boy who decided to drink and then drive my sister—are just pure evil. And the more I got out into the world and began covering stories like those—stories where if just one person had dared to stand up and speak out and refuse to take part …”

  “Kids think they are invincible. They do stupid things.” Theo knew that words he meant as consoling only served to inflame her fury.

  “That’s an excuse? So the lie is that we are not born with good in us after all? You want to let the children and teenagers off the hook? Okay, then answer me this: How do you explain what happened to any one of the adults cooped up in the fort? They are as innocent as Natalie was, and yet their lives were destroyed by people—grown-ups who should know better—who are malevolent to their very core.” She clenched her fists and pounded them against her knees. “There is no Light in such monsters, not so much as a flicker.” She pushed the swing into a jarring motion. “After Natalie died, I finally understood that we are all nothing more than the accident of our birth. Sitting in silence and waiting for some divine inner spirit is meaningless.”

  Her anger and certainty was like a physical wall that surrounded her, like the fence that enclosed the shelter complete with its barbed wire barrier designed to keep people out. But Theo refused to be restrained. He reached for her, and when she resisted, he pulled her closer, folding his arms around her like a blanket until he felt her body shake with sobs.

  No wonder she had elected to focus all of her life on her career. He imagined that she had gone through college just as dedicated to her studies. These things had become her shield.

  “You are half right, Suzanne,” he said, his lips against her soft hair. “Sitting in silence without eventually finding a way to bring light to the darkness would be meaningless. But you do that in spite of yourself. You have been given the gift of telling stories that make people see what is going on whether or not they want to know. You inspire people, Suzanne. That is your purpose—to move others to action. That and the fact that you never give up. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to help.”

  He set the swing to a calmer rhythm, and they stayed like that until the first rays of dawn lightened the sky.

  Ilse was certain that Detlef Buch knew more than he had told her about Lucas and the fate of Marta and the children. After all, they had all left the mountains in the night presumably together. She stopped kneading the dough she was working as she realized her mistake. She and Franz had always assumed the whole family had left together, but what if they hadn’t gone to the same place? What if Lucas had sent Marta and the children elsewhere for safety?

  At supper she sat with Gisele as she usually did these days. As always the actress was the center of a lively discussion, and finding a
quiet moment with her was impossible. But when the meal was over, Ilse sent Liesl to practice the piano and waited for her friend to leave the mess hall.

  She told Gisele her theory about her sister. “She could be alive,” she said breathlessly as she finished.

  “Perhaps but, Ilse, how would you go about finding her?”

  “I thought perhaps—with your connections—you might be able to help me.”

  “My connections are either dead or on the run, Ilse. I cannot help you. Perhaps if I return to Paris when this is all over—certainly then …”

  “But that could be months from now.”

  Gisele hesitated then took Ilse’s arm. “I know you do not wish to do this, but I think you should speak with Suzanne. From everything you’ve told me, she and Theo have settled their differences, and you would not be going against Theo’s concern about Buch. Suzanne knows people in Washington—perhaps people who are in the government agencies that could help you find your sister and her children.”

  “Yes, if we work together—combine our forces …” She grasped Gisele’s hands. “Thank you, dear friend.”

  That afternoon Ilse obtained a pass and walked into town. First she stopped by the boardinghouse where she left a message for Suzanne. She had no idea how to get in touch with Detlef Buch but hoped Suzanne might help. Then as she headed back to the fort, she decided instead to see if he might be at the library. In fact, he was sitting on a bench in a nearby park that she passed as she climbed the hill on her way to find him. When he saw her, he stood and raised his hand in greeting almost as if he had been waiting for her.

  As when they had met that time before, they conducted their conversation in German. “Guten Tag, Frau Schneider.”

  “Herr Buch,” she replied when she reached the bench.

  He indicated that she should sit and waited for her to do so, ever the gentleman who would not presume to sit down again until she had.

  “I will stand,” she said.

  “Then perhaps we could walk a bit?”

  She considered the attention they might draw standing face-to-face against that of walking with him. She glanced around. It was midafternoon on a weekday, and most people were at work. No one else was in the park. “Very well,” she said.

  He walked with his hands clasped behind his back. She walked with her handbag clutched firmly in both gloved hands in front of her. She was aware of his height and breadth—so much larger than Franz. His was the physique of a powerful and assertive man, while Franz had carried himself with meekness and deference. She shook off the comparison.

  “Were you able to contact your son?” she asked.

  “I was. I have had a letter from him just yesterday.”

  “I am glad for you and for him. And your wife?” The words were out before she could censor them.

  “My wife is for the time being safe in another country,” he said. “We are not in direct contact, but I was able to send word and presumably she knows of our son’s circumstances.”

  I was able to send word. … So he did have contacts. This was why she had come to find him.

  “And these contacts through whom you were able to send her that message, might they not be able to help me in finding my sister?”

  He sighed heavily, glanced up at the blue sky and then back to the flower bed they were passing. He paused and fingered the petals of a daffodil. “Have you ever considered the true power of resilience, Frau Schneider?”

  She had little patience for any lectures he might offer. She was on a limited pass, and she had a great deal she wished to accomplish before returning to the fort. “I do not wish to be rude, Herr Buch, but while you may have the freedom to ruminate about the resilience of nature’s wonders, I am afraid I do not. Can you or can you not help me find my sister?”

  She saw a flicker of something that she realized was respect cross his features. “I will see what I can do, but you need to understand that in spite of outward appearances of my having the kind of freedom to come and go that you do not at present enjoy, I am closely watched and certainly by this time next year I doubt that I will be walking through a park in the company of a beautiful woman. However, it was my pleasure to help you and your family in the past, and if I can …”

  She stopped walking beside him and turned down a walkway that led back to the street. “Do not presume to use whatever tactics you have used in the past to win favor with me, Herr Buch. If you can help find my sister, I will be grateful, but I will never be in your debt. My family and I owe nothing to anyone who refused to stand up to wrong when they saw it before them. Good day, Herr Buch.”

  Suzanne had agreed to meet Ilse and Theo in the coffee shop across from the movie theater at three. She checked her watch as she hurried across the bridge. She had been delayed by a telephone call from Gordon.

  “How are things in Oswego?” he had asked as if they had been in constant contact in the weeks since they’d met for dinner at the hotel.

  “Fine. How are things in DC?”

  “Heating up. Looks like the war will be over in a matter of weeks—at least in Europe.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “It’s also why I’m calling, Suze.” He cleared his throat, and she realized that as usual he wanted something—something from her. The idea gave her a flicker of disgust.

  “What can I do for you, Congressman Langford?”

  He chuckled. “Sharp as ever, aren’t you? So the thing is, once the war in Europe ends, the Nazis will be sent back to face the music, and we will lose our opportunity to gather what information he has and redeem ourselves.” Before Suzanne could respond, he continued. “You would not believe what’s going on down here behind the scenes. State and Justice are adamant that the refugees go back period. Interior wants to offer a thing they’re calling ‘sponsored leave’ and let those who can go off to other places in this country and see if they can settle there. The good news is that no one seems to be interested in the Nazi.”

  “And the president? Where does he stand on the refugee issue?”

  “Staying out of it for now, but don’t sell Truman short. If you ask me, he’s smart enough to let the others fight it out and then he’ll step in. But that’s not why I’m calling.”

  “So back to our original question: What do you want from me?”

  “I hear through the grapevine that you’ve taken a factory job. Excellent move.”

  Suzanne mentally ran through all of her contacts both in Oswego and in Washington, and she could not imagine how Gordon had gleaned this bit of information. “I have to pay the rent,” she said.

  “And interview the Gestapo guy who apparently also works in the same factory—I get that.”

  “I’ve dropped that part of my story,” she told him.

  “Really? That’s too bad.”

  She decided to ignore this. “I have to get to an appointment, so if we could—”

  “Get to the point? Okay, get on board, dollface. The clock is ticking.”

  So once again he needed her.

  “And I am going to need to know what you know,” she added as if he had not spoken.

  “You’ll have what I can give you. You know that this town runs on rumor and gossip so don’t expect a lot. Gotta run. They’re calling for a vote on the floor.” The line went dead.

  CHAPTER 16

  At Ilse’s request Suzanne had renewed her contact with Detlef Buch. “I believe that you can be far more objective than I could ever be. I cannot discount his kindness to our family when he really did not have to help us.”

  “Maybe Gisele could—”

  “I really don’t want to involve her,” Ilse said. “She has her own life to rebuild.”

  “Fair enough,” Suzanne said. So she had continued her work at the cannery and resumed her habit of riding the bus with Detlef. So what if her coworkers thought they must have patched up their lovers’ quarrel? In fact, that was better than them thinking that she was trying to get him to give her informati
on that could help Ilse find Marta.

  “New rules,” she had told him that first night after her meeting with Ilse. “I will continue to write your story—and find a market for it—in exchange for your help in finding Ilse’s sister.”

  “And if I can deliver nothing that is of use to you or Frau Schneider?”

  “You will do everything you can possibly do. I am not naive, Detlef. Ilse told me you were able to get word to your wife that Josef is safe. If you could do that …”

  “I will try.”

  For her part Ilse let it be known throughout the shelter that she was searching for her sister. A notice was published in the shelter’s newspaper, the Ontario Chronicle. Of course, Ilse was hardly the only resident of the fort seeking family and friends. But the article helped. Half a dozen people that she had never met left messages for her or sought her out at mealtime to give her information. One man had known Lucas, Marta’s husband, and another had worked with the underground in the area of the ski resort where both families had stayed after leaving Munich.

  But in spite of everything, Ilse was no closer to finding Marta and the children than she had been the day she began the search in earnest. Suzanne was losing hope, and she could not imagine what Ilse must be feeling. It amazed her to see how the older woman remained steadfast for Liesl’s sake.

  “How do you do it day in and day out?” she asked one afternoon when she and Ilse sat across from each other at the coffee shop.

  “My faith is strong,” Ilse said. “I accept that there is a plan in all of this.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Liesl told me that you are also of the Friends’ faith.”

  “It was how I was brought up,” Suzanne admitted.

  “But you have moved away from those teachings?”

  Suzanne eyed Ilse with suspicion, her senses on alert as always for possible betrayal. “Has Theo told you—”

  Isle placed her hand on Suzanne’s. “My nephew and I do not discuss you.” She patted her arm and then cut a bite of her cherry pie. Just before inserting the fork into her mouth, she added, “But since you have raised the subject, how do you see the future for you and Theo?”