Safe Haven

by Anna Schmidt

  Suzanne looked up. Ilse was smiling. “You mean together?”

  “Well, of course. He is quite fond of you, and I believe you return those feelings, although it does seem to me that you struggle with that.”

  “I … we … perhaps if Theo wins election to Congress and comes to Washington …”

  “Oh, Suzanne, dear child, you cannot build a future on perhaps.”

  Suzanne leaned back against the red vinyl cushioning of the booth they shared. “He has a career—perhaps in politics or perhaps in farming. I also have a career.”

  “And you would not forgo that career for love?”

  Put that way, Suzanne was left speechless. Of course she had once dreamed of finding true love, of marrying and having a family, but ever since that summer when Natalie had killed herself, Suzanne had weighed everything in terms of certainty. Only once had she allowed herself to throw that caution to the wind. That had been when she had allowed herself to believe that Gordon Langford loved her—truly loved her.

  “You know,” Ilse said, “there was a time when I was overly cautious. I was afraid of everything and everyone. Theo’s sister, Beth, terrified me. She seemed so reckless and idealistic. Her certainty about what was the right thing to do was overwhelming for me, yet now I see that her faith was so strong.”

  “Ilse, I have my reasons for moving away from my faith.”

  “But you must believe in something.”

  Unnerved by Ilse’s probing, Suzanne searched for some way she might change the direction of their conversation without being rude. “I believe that I could use a refill on this coffee,” she said and turned to get the attention of the waitress. After the waitress had come and gone, the two women finished eating their pie in silence. As they sipped their coffee, they took turns looking out the window at the steady rain.

  “I thought it was April showers that brought the May flowers, and yet the rain has come in May and there are no flowers,” Suzanne mused, hoping to relieve the tension between them.

  Ilse glanced at the clock over the exit. “I should go. Liesl will be home from school soon, and I promised to help her with her piano practice. Ivo has asked her to play a piece at the variety show he’s putting together.” She slid her arms into her coat sleeves and then tied a scarf around her hair. She stood up and removed a change purse from her pocket.

  “My treat,” Suzanne said. “Theo told me that tomorrow is your birthday. I suspect he will want to treat you himself when he returns from Syracuse.”

  Ilse’s smile was sad. “I do not have much to celebrate, do I?” Her eyes brimmed with tears as she clasped Suzanne’s forearm. “Do not be too afraid to take a risk, my dear. True love is worth it.”

  She hurried from the restaurant.

  After a day trip to Syracuse to meet with leaders of various religious groups willing to voice their support for allowing the residents of the fort to remain in America, Theo stepped off the train and turned up the collar of his coat against the drizzle. The platform was mostly deserted as he would expect at such a late hour. Inside the station, one lone figure moved back and forth behind the window of the waiting room as Theo made a dash for cover. He reached for the door, hoping there might be a taxi still waiting on the street side of the station.

  “You’re finally back,” he heard a woman say, her voice laced with relief.

  He glanced behind him, thinking someone else must have also left the train that was even now pulling out of the station. But then he stopped and turned. “Suzanne? What on earth are you doing here? It must be …” He looked at the clock over the ticket seller’s cage. “It’s past midnight.”

  “It’s also raining cats and dogs, and there are no taxis.” She was wearing a rain slicker that he recognized as the one Selma kept hanging by the back door. Her hair was a mass of damp, unruly curls. She was carrying a large black umbrella that she handed over to him as she took his arm. “You must be famished,” she said, and he noticed that she seemed a little nervous.

  “What’s going on?” Who are you was more the question he wanted to ask, for Suzanne had never acted this way before. She was—well, the truth was that she was acting as if they were sweethearts. Not that he had any objection to that. He’d been trying to take things slowly over the last few weeks but always in the hope that eventually she would see him as more than a friend—as more than a contact who could help her ferret out the information she needed to tell Ilse’s story.

  That was the agreement she and Ilse had reached. It had been his aunt’s idea. One afternoon as he walked with her back to the fort, she had told him of her plan to tell Suzanne that she had her permission to tell the story of Franz and Ilse Schneider—how they met, fell in love, married, longed for a child, had that child, and found themselves caught up in a war that was not of their making but that was being orchestrated from the very country they had each loved as much as any American had ever loved the United States. Ilse’s only requirement was that Liesl was to be left out of the story at least by name and Franz’s name as well as her own were to be changed for Liesl’s protection.

  Theo had tried without success to dissuade her. “You do not need to do this,” he had said. “Suzanne will—”

  “Suzanne is a woman who is dedicated—far too dedicated—to her career and her ambition for that career. She will work doubly hard if she sees a—how do you Americans say it—a payoff?”

  Now as he walked outside with Suzanne and raised the umbrella, holding it high to cover both of them, he wondered what could have happened in his absence to bring on this change in Suzanne. “Did you get something from Buch—some information that may help in finding Marta and the children?”

  “No. There’s been no change there. I met with Ilse today, and we went over everything, but that only took a few minutes because there is nothing new to share.”

  “So what did you talk about?”

  She shrugged. “Your aunt is a very perceptive woman, Theo. And increasingly she is not afraid to state her opinions—on any topic.”

  “And today’s topic was?”

  “Topics, actually. For one, she seemed inordinately interested in my lack of faith. At first I thought perhaps you had told her the story of Natalie and the rest.”

  “I would never do that.”

  “That was exactly what she said. Then I realized that her questions grew out of her concern for us—you and me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She believes that we are … fond of one another.”

  “Can’t speak for you but yeah, I like you.”

  “I think she is looking at our relationship as having moved beyond that stage.” She put her hand on his and tilted the umbrella so that his features were exposed to the streetlight they were passing. “Are you in love with me, Theo?”

  He would not have been surprised if his reaction had been a feeling of being cornered, trapped. But instead he felt relief. It was finally out in the open. Never mind that he had not been the one to choose the timing or the wording.

  “Yes. Yes, I am. Are you in love with me?”

  She twisted her mouth to one side as she stared up at him. “I’m thinking about it.”

  “I’ll take that,” he said and folded his arms around her, oblivious to the umbrella now dangling upside down.

  On the eighth of May, Ilse awoke to the sounds of shouting and cheers from the parade ground. Liesl awoke at the same time and stumbled over to Ilse’s bed.

  “Is it a party for your birthday, Mom? I’ll bet Gisele planned it to surprise you.”

  But even Gisele was not likely to have created such a stir for Ilse’s birthday, especially not her first birthday without Franz there to celebrate with her.

  “Get dressed,” she told Liesl as she threw back the covers and began putting on her clothes. “It must be news—good news.”

  The hallway of the barracks was filled with sleepy-eyed people coming out of their apartments to investigate the chaos outside. Ilse shielded her eyes
from the sun as she tried to make sense of what people were saying.

  “It’s over!

  “Hitler’s dead!”

  “We won.”

  Someone was holding up a newspaper with a headline set in type large and bold enough to be read from yards away. The headline was one word: SURRENDER!

  “Oh Mama!” Liesl cried, using the term of address she had always used back in Munich. “This is the best birthday present ever. Everyone will celebrate.” She ran off to join her friends, who were dancing in a circle and shrieking with pure joy.

  Many of the Jewish residents had begun dancing a folk dance that Ilse had learned was called the Hora. It was a lively dance also performed in a circle to music that someone was playing on an accordion and violin. As the circle whirled past her, Gisele spotted her and broke hands with the person next to her, leaving a hole.

  “Come on,” she urged. “Ilse, it is finally over.” Gisele grabbed her hand and pulled her into the circle, and before she knew it, she was dancing with the others, moving with them to the center of the circle with their arms raised high and then back again. She had no idea what the words meant, but she caught onto them quickly and sang and laughed and stumbled round and round with the others until all she saw was the blur of their surroundings racing by as they danced.

  Oh, if only Franz might have lived to see this day! The war finally over and the dictators all dead—Hitler by his own hand. She looked at the faces of the people dancing and remembered their stories—so many horrors they had suffered, so many people lost to them forever. By contrast she counted Liesl and herself very fortunate indeed. They had Franz’s family, and perhaps now that the war was over in Europe, Marta would come out of hiding or be freed from one of those wretched camps or prisons. The only birthday present that Ilse truly wanted was to be reunited with her sister.

  Gradually the dancing slowed and stopped, and although people were still laughing and shouting for the pure joy of it, they had begun to wander away, forming small clusters gathered around a copy of the newspaper or talking in low voices about what this news truly meant for them.

  Liesl and her friends were still dancing—a silly little dance called the “Hokey Pokey” that they had learned from their British liberators back in Italy. Ilse moved closer to watch, her arm linked in Gisele’s.

  Beyond the fence they could hear car horns blaring and people in town celebrating as well. Someone was setting off firecrackers, and somewhere a band was playing. Ilse looked toward the fence and saw a lone figure watching the celebration inside the chain link.

  She knew at once that it was Detlef Buch. And she remembered how when they first arrived Liesl had thought those standing outside the fence were the ones imprisoned while she and all the other refugees were free.

  Of course they weren’t free. The United States government would decide their fate—might already have done so. There had already been a good deal of activity inside the fort, readying things for the day the shelter would be closed for good and they would be held to that promise they had signed nine months earlier.

  PART 3

  SUMMER-FALL 1945

  VE–DAY—HOORAY! BUT WHAT NEXT FOR FT. ONTARIO?

  OSWEGO N.Y.—Perhaps no single group of people was more delighted to hear the news of the unconditional surrender in Europe than the residents of Fort Ontario in upstate New York. There nearly a thousand refugees have resided for nine long months, awaiting the end of the war.

  They danced, they cheered, they studied newspapers in their native languages to be sure the story was the same. And when they finally came to the full understanding that indeed their war was over, they were faced with a new dilemma: Now What?

  There should really be no question. After all, part of the cost of coming here last August was that they promise—in writing—to return to their homes once the war ended. But a lot has changed in those nine months.

  For many if not most of them, home no longer exists. The dwellings they once occupied have been either destroyed or given to someone else—perhaps as a reward for turning in the refugee. In many cases their villages and towns have been bombed beyond recognition. Beyond housing, they have no jobs waiting, and with the tens—perhaps hundreds—of thousands of displaced people wandering through Europe, they will have to get in line for housing, for food, for the basics of everyday life.

  And there is another line these residents of Fort Ontario will need to join—the line to apply for the chance to legally return to the United States. That’s right—these same men, women and children who have lived here for the last nine months, who have proven their willingness to play by the rules, who have made the best of their situation and shown nothing but gratitude for the opportunity given as guests of the president.

  They have earned the respect and support of civic leaders in the town of Oswego. Several national charities and nonprofit agencies have also sent letters in support of allowing the refugees to now enter the United States legally as part of the normal immigration quotas.

  But the president who extended the original invitation (and set the guidelines for coming and refused to change those rules during his tenure) is dead. His successor has remained silent on the fate of these guests, and for now the original terms stand. They are expected to return to their country of origin.

  Put yourself in the shoes of any one of them—people who before they were forced to run or were taken prisoner were talented performers, professionals, heads of businesses. Imagine you are a mother and that your baby was born last month in the fort. Is that child an American by birthright? And if so must the mother and child still go back?

  The future for the residents of Fort Ontario is not a case of black and white. It is—for now—a palette of murky grays.

  The answers remain with the powers that be in Washington. It is certain that the Fort Ontario Emergency Relief Shelter will close. It is certain that the community created behind that fence will disperse. What is not yet certain is where nearly a thousand displaced people will go to begin yet again.

  CHAPTER 17

  Joseph Smart resigned at the end of May as director of the shelter and set up the agency Friends of the Fort Ontario Guest Refugees, but he and his family continued to live in one of the officers’ brick houses inside the fort. To avoid any accusation of conflict of interest, he made it clear to Theo that until his replacement arrived and was settled Theo was to handle anything that came up.

  At the boardinghouse, conversation turned to the war in the Pacific and when that might end, as well. Certainly Selma was focused on when her son might be coming home.

  But for Theo and Suzanne and all the residents of the fort, the focus had to be on Washington and what would happen now that the war in Europe had ended. Theo did not miss the irony that on June 6, 1945—exactly one year to the day after the Normandy invasion that had changed the course of the war—Truman transferred responsibility for the shelter and its occupants to the Department of the Interior. Secretary Harold Ickes was known to be sympathetic to the plight of the refugees. He had been the one pushing the sponsored-leave idea. Might this be a turning point for Ilse and the others as Normandy had turned the tide of the war?

  Since VE-day Theo had spent most of his time traveling between Oswego and New York where Joseph Smart had an office for his advocacy group. He tried to get back to the boardinghouse every weekend so that he could have time with Suzanne. They went for rides along the shores of Lake Ontario, sometimes stopping for a picnic or to have supper at a local restaurant in one of the towns situated among the farms and orchards of that part of the state. Sometimes they took Liesl, Ilse, and Gisele along on these excursions, but Theo liked being alone with Suzanne most of all.

  They did not discuss the future. For now what they both wanted—needed—was to live in the present. He was surprised to learn that she was an avid baseball fan. She loved listening to him make up silly songs as they sped along on the back roads. But all the while, Theo had an underlying feeling that this c
ould not last.

  One June day when he returned to the boardinghouse from a meeting in New York, he saw a note taped to the door of his room. Call James Sawyer—collect. URGENT! He stood studying the phone number scrawled on the back of the paper for a long moment.

  “Oh, you’re back,” Hilda Cutter said as she heaved herself up the stairs. “That man has called every single day for the last week.” She lifted her eyebrows, clearly expecting an explanation. She had become even more curious than usual about the other boarders ever since Hugh had accepted a new job and moved to Ohio.

  “I’ll give him a call,” he assured her and then went into his room and closed the door.

  “Sounds important,” Hilda shouted. “Maybe somebody’s sick?”

  Theo ignored her and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard her door slam. He would call from the fort. The new director would let him make a collect call from there, and that would give him the privacy he needed. Taking off the business suit he wore for travel and for his appointments while in New York, he put on jeans and a long-sleeved white cotton shirt and exchanged his dress wingtips for the tennis shoes that Liesl had talked him into buying when he’d taken her shopping for new shoes.

  He did not exactly tiptoe past Hilda’s closed door, but he was careful to close the door to his room softly and to walk on the outer edge of each stair so they did not squeak. Downstairs he knocked on Suzanne’s door, but there was no answer. So he headed out the back way, picked up the bike resting in the grass, and pedaled off toward the fort.

  As he walked the bike through the tunnel and out into the sunlight again, he was taken as he always was by the feeling that he had left one world behind and entered something totally different. He paused for a minute, trying to imagine the fort vacant and unoccupied.