Safe Haven

by Anna Schmidt

  “The usual.” She sighed. “Actually think about Hilda and Hugh and you can pretty much know what the negative callers are saying. One caller even said St. John must be a Jew himself. People can be so …” She fumbled for the right word.

  Theo was glad to hear her so excited. This was the kind of thing she lived for—a good story. “Hey, the good news is that overwhelmingly people want to do the right thing. But the best news is that it sounds like things are coming together for you. You’ve got the stories of the people at the fort plus Buch’s story and now this.”

  “Plus Edwin has hinted that there might soon be a permanent opening on the political beat in the newsroom.” She sounded happier than he had ever heard her sound before.

  “That’s terrific. As my dad might say, ‘You are cooking with gas, lady.’”

  “I take it that’s a compliment?”

  “Yep.”

  She laughed. “And what’s happening on the campaign trail?”

  Because he didn’t want to rain on her good news, he downplayed his situation. “Moving along,” he said. “Wish you could be here with me.”

  “I miss you, too, but just think, Theo. We’ll be able to start the New Year together right here in Washington. You’ll be sworn into the new Congress, and I’ll be back at the paper doing real reporting, and Ilse and Liesl …” She paused. “Where do you think they’ll be?”

  “No clue. My folks are trying to persuade Ilse to stay if they get that option. She can always travel to Europe if there is word of Marta, but if she stays somewhere in America Liesl will be happier.”

  “Still so many unknowns,” Suzanne said softly.

  “Well, here’s something you can count on,” Theo said. “I love you.”

  There was a pause that went on long enough to scream her doubt. “Do you mean that?” she said finally.

  He felt a prickle of irritation. Of course he meant it. Hadn’t he been the one saying it? She was the one. … He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Hey, here’s another of Dad’s favorite sayings: you can take that to the bank.”

  Another pause. How he wished they were face-to-face!

  “Hey, Theo?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever said this out loud.”

  Is this it? Finally?

  “What’s that?” He realized he was holding his breath, clenching his fist the way he did when he really wanted something.

  “I am really, really glad you came into my life.” She blew a kiss into the receiver. “Sleep tight,” she whispered and hung up.

  Ever since the Fourth of July parade, Ilse had not been able to get Detlef Buch out of her mind. The way he had watched her from his position across the street as the parade units marched by, she had been certain he wanted to speak with her. But Gisele had also spotted him, and she had steered Ilse away.

  “I do not trust that man, and neither should you,” she had lectured Ilse as they walked back to the fort together after Mrs. Driver had invited Liesl to come to her house for supper.

  “A real American holiday supper, Mom,” Liesl had announced. “Please?”

  Ilse had given her permission against her better judgment. The more enthralled Liesl became with all things American, the harder it was going to be when the day came that they had to return to Europe. And if by some miracle the United States government changed its mind and permitted them to stay, then she could not argue with the logic presented by Theo and his parents that she and Liesl would move to Wisconsin to be close to family—Franz’s family. Liesl’s family. But not hers. Franz’s sister and her husband were good, caring people, and Ilse knew they wanted only the best for her and Liesl. But she missed her sister. Other than Franz, she had always turned to Marta whenever life’s challenges threatened to overwhelm her.

  Weeks had passed since the parade, and she still had not been able to find a way to see Herr Buch. If Suzanne were here, Ilse could ask her to arrange a meeting, but Suzanne had returned to Washington right after visiting the farm with Theo. Theo was occupied with his campaign for a seat in Congress. Gisele disapproved of her having any contact with the Gestapo agent, and Ilse did not have an address or telephone number to contact him. So whatever she may have thought about the way he kept watching her at the parade, apparently she had been mistaken. Because although she had no way of contacting him, he knew how to get a message to her. It was certainly no mystery where he might find her.

  After she finished her shift in the children’s center, she walked slowly across the parade ground toward the barracks. It was hot and humid without the usual breeze off the lake. Her hair clung to her neck, and her dress was damp with perspiration. She was so very tired. She was tired of living in uncertainty, tired of the tiny apartment with its thin walls. She was tired of trying to make what few decisions she had control of without Franz, tired of the meals in the dining hall where even what they had to eat was decided for them. Most of all, she was tired of having to request a pass just to visit her husband’s grave. That more than anything made her realize that they were still as far from real freedom as they had been the day they arrived.

  They had been here a year, and how her life had changed in that time. She missed Franz so much—missed the companionship of talking things through with him at the end of the day, missed him holding her at night and the certainty that came with his love—the one thing she had always been able to count on no matter what happened.

  “Mrs. Schneider?” One of the boys who lived down the hall from her ran across the parade ground, calling her name. She stopped and waited for him to catch up.

  “Hello, Rudy,” she said.

  He held out an envelope to her. “That man at the fence asked me to give you this.” He jerked a thumb toward the fence behind them, but no one was there. “I guess he must have left, but he gave me a whole quarter to make the delivery.”

  After Rudy ran off to continue his soccer game with his friends, Ilse slid her thumbnail under the glued flap of the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of onionskin paper with the following message:

  Dear Frau Schneider,

  I have been able to learn that your sister and the children were not taken into custody with your brother-in-law as I had first thought. Lucas had made arrangements for their safe passage out of the country. That is all I know or can discern from my limited contacts. I have written to Josef to see what he can find out. I am certain that he will be in touch with you once he has learned further information.

  Also I must thank you, for it was through my search for your sister that I learned that my wife is in South America—Argentina. As you may imagine, I long to be reunited with her in much the same way that you wish to see your sister again.

  I wish you and your daughter well as you leave your accommodations here in Oswego and begin a new—and hopefully more peaceful—phase of your life together. Your husband was a man of strength and honor, and it has been my great privilege to know you both.

  Sincerely,

  Detlef Buch

  Ilse turned the page over, but the other side was blank. She read through the message again, her heart racing. If Marta and the children had escaped, then perhaps they were safe. A third reading gave her one more piece of news—Detlef Buch was saying good-bye.

  She scanned the landscape outside the fence but saw nothing other than the usual activity of cars and trucks passing on the streets that ran past the fort, children riding their bicycles, and neighbors calling out to one another from their porches or front walks. There was no sign of Detlef. How odd that she had come to think of him by his given name rather than as Herr Buch. It was almost as if she had begun to count him among those few people she considered to be her friends.

  But of course now that the war was over, he and the other POWs would be sent back to Europe as well. He would be charged and would stand trial. He would be sentenced to prison, perhaps to die. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to come to terms with what this man had done for her and for Franz. S
he needed to understand how a monster that knowingly sent hundreds—perhaps thousands—to suffer a certain death could open his heart to warn her husband of his impending arrest and offer her the solace that her beloved sister might be safe.

  After supper that evening, she showed the letter to Gisele. “Do you believe him?” her friend asked skeptically.

  “Why would he lie?”

  Gisele smiled. “Because such men take pleasure in raising hopes and then destroying them. Such men enjoy playing with fragile emotions.”

  Ilse felt a flicker of irritation. “You do not know him.”

  “And neither do you, Ilse. He is your niece’s father-in-law, but that is pure circumstance—it does not make him family and it does not mean that you must defend him.”

  Gisele was right, of course. Ilse knew nothing of this man—not really. “I will write to my niece tonight and ask her and Herr Buch’s son to see if they can find Marta. Then we will know if the monster deep down still has genuine kindness to offer.”

  “You amaze me. Your determination to find the good in everyone is touching and even inspiring. But Ilse, have you not suffered enough? Just please be careful, all right?”

  “I am not in any danger, Gisele.” Ilse could not help but think that sometimes Gisele’s inclination toward the dramatic and dark side of life could cloud her willingness to see hope and light.

  Gisele shrugged and lit a fresh cigarette. “Your heart is in danger, ma chérie. This man has offered you hope, and he knows it may be false hope.”

  “But if they escaped, they might have used one of the routes you talked about—the very one that you helped others travel.”

  “Yes, and it was an escape route well known to the Nazis, to the Gestapo.”

  “But—”

  Gisele placed her arm around Ilse’s shoulder, her features softening as she said, “I hope that I am wrong, Ilse. I hope that somehow this man has found some common decency and that he is genuinely trying to help, but experience is a strict taskmaster, and experience tells me that you should prepare yourself for disappointment.”

  “Still I will write to my niece,” Ilse said stubbornly.

  Gisele smiled. “And to think you told me that once you were so weak and fearful that at times you could not leave your bed. Look at you now.”

  The two women stood outside the barracks. The night before them promised to be another in a weeklong siege of sticky and hot August nights, and everyone was reluctant to go inside.

  “Have you decided where you will go, Gisele?”

  The actress laughed. “I haven’t yet decided who I am anymore. Actress? I’m getting a bit old for the roles I once played, and besides, who knows the state of French theater these days? Resistance worker? There is not much call for that now that the war has ended.” Again she lifted one shoulder in her trademark shrug as she blew out a long stream of smoke. “For the first time in my life I can see no options, Ilse, and frankly that terrifies me.”

  Ilse had never once thought of her friend as anything other than self-reliant and confident. Of all the residents in the fort, everyone thought the one who was sure to make a success of the experience would be Gisele. Ilse had never seen this vulnerable side of her friend. She took hold of Gisele’s hand.

  “We will find our way,” she assured her. “You and I.” And when she saw tears glisten on Gisele’s lashes, she understood that sometimes the people who appear to be strongest need the reassurance and the strength that comes with friendship. “Let’s go to town for supper,” Ilse suggested and saw by the widening of Gisele’s eyes that she had taken her friend by surprise.

  “It’s not like you to be so …”

  “Spontaneous?” Ilse laughed. “No, I suppose it isn’t. But Liesl is at her friend’s house, and we have to eat, so why not?”

  Gisele took her time drawing in a last puff of her cigarette before dropping it and crushing out the embers with her shoe. “This would not be your way of perhaps running into Buch, would it?”

  “I am not thinking of Herr Buch, Gisele. I am thinking of you and your need to turn your mind from worries about the future.”

  But when they reached town and took a booth at the café across from the movie theater, they could not help but overhear the chatter between the owner and the patrons at the counter.

  “He just walked away, that one. I always said they gave those POWs far too much leeway,” one man said.

  “I heard that this particular POW was special,” another added, waiting for everyone’s attention to turn his way. “I heard this one was a high-ranking officer in Hitler’s secret police.”

  Ilse looked at Gisele. “Do you think …?”

  Gisele nodded. “No doubt he’s been biding his time.” She clasped Ilse’s hand in both of hers. “Do you understand why you cannot trust anything this man has told you? Written in that note to you?”

  “One thing has nothing to do with the other,” Ilse protested.

  Gisele slumped back. “You are a hopeless romantic, Ilse. At least the man is gone and out of your life finally.”

  The conversation at the counter had switched to crops, as the men recalled how the POWs had helped with the previous season’s harvest. “Won’t be needing their help this season,” one man commented. “This season our boys will be home to help with the harvest.”

  “And we will be who knows where?” Gisele muttered.

  They ate their supper in silence and walked back to the Drivers’ house to pick up Liesl before returning to the fort.

  “I’m glad he’s gone,” Gisele said as they parted ways to go to their respective barracks. “You should probably burn that note. If they are looking for him and realize you—”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Ilse said and gave her friend a hug.

  That night once Liesl was in bed, Ilse sat down at the kitchen table to write to Beth and Josef in England. Josef deserved to know what his father had done, for surely he would have no word of him for some time to come—if ever again. Just before she sealed the envelope, she slipped the note that Detlef had written inside with a note of her own asking Josef to see what he might learn about the fate of Marta and the children.

  CHAPTER 20

  By October Theo had no doubt that he had made a huge mistake when he agreed to run for Congress. His disappointment with the way things worked—or more to the point, did not work—in Washington grew daily as the fate of his aunt and cousin and the hundreds of others caught in the limbo of red tape at Fort Ontario slogged on and on.

  In September the government had taken yet another survey, asking the residents of the shelter where they would prefer to go if given a choice—back to their country of origin, to some other country outside the United States, or to some community in America where they had contacts or the residents were willing to help them establish a life there. At the time of the survey two relatively small groups of refugees from Yugoslavia had already asked to be repatriated to their homeland. Theo was well aware that of all the refugee groups the Slavs had always been the most interested in returning home—even if there were no home there. But of those who still called the fort home, overwhelmingly the vast majority had indicated their preference was to remain in America. It made Theo wonder what it would take before the powers in Washington began to consider the reality of the situation. It seemed they preferred to engage in turf wars between various departments—Interior versus State and Justice, and the Congress versus the White House. Clearly no one was willing to take responsibility for making a decision. Was this really the way Theo wanted to spend his days? Two tiny steps forward followed by three giant steps back?

  What difference could he possibly make? Surely there was another way. He had been far more effective in his limited role helping Joseph Smart than he could ever be in Congress. There had to be another plan.

  He tried not to show his frustration in his nightly talks with Suzanne. Her career had never been on more solid ground or more successful. She had achieved her first
byline with her interview of Robert St. John, and a publisher was interested in her book. Edwin Bonner had offered her a full-time position on the national news desk at the paper.

  Theo had always understood the importance that Suzanne’s work held for her. She trusted in the work—in digging through facts and innuendo and finding a truth that she could put down on paper. She had become especially diligent about checking her facts and finding at least three sources to back them up before writing a single word. The fiasco with Gordon Langford had taught her well. The reality was that she had far more trust in her work than she did in most people.

  Of course there had also been those life-changing episodes—first the death of her sister, followed by her parents’ divorce and her father’s death, and most recently her belief that Langford truly loved her when in fact he was simply using her. Theo had to admit that she had plenty of reason not to trust others. He was still not entirely sure that she trusted him, although he had not given her a single reason why she shouldn’t. He could only hope that in time she would come around. He knew she cared for him, but was she even capable of love? Love required two people believing in each other unquestionably. One might disappoint the other, but even then there had to be that rock-solid belief that the disappointment had not been premeditated or intentional.

  Suzanne talked a lot in their nightly chats about her vision for their future—a future that involved them both living and working in Washington. Theo was increasingly uncertain that such a future would ever come to be. Every time he sat in on a meeting for worship, he tried hard to open his heart and mind to God’s plan for his life. Why would he have been led to run for public office in the first place if he wasn’t supposed to do it? Was there some other message in that choice—some lesson he needed to heed? Or just maybe God’s plan for Theo was exactly what he had thought it was before Jim Sawyer and Suzanne came into his life—one day he would take over the farm that had been in his family for three generations.