by Maureen Lang
“It’s true we’re being careful with our money,” Frau Düray said as she sipped her tea. “America will be expensive if Manfred cannot work for a while, even with help from our friends there. We’ve had to be frugal for the time we have left here. Fewer workers means higher wages.”
“You still intend to sail, then?”
“Of course. We can’t stay here. I won’t live a prisoner in my own home. Another ship sails next week, and we plan to be on it now that Manfred is walking again.”
Christophe said nothing, wondering if America would be more forgiving than Germany itself for the results of the war.
“You must tell us everything about Annaliese and how you came to lose track of her. She’s safe? Are you sure?”
He nodded because he’d been able to convince himself of that by the grace of God. So he told them everything, in the hope of convincing them that Annaliese was safe.
And praying he was right.
30
For the first time in her life, Annaliese wished she could wear trousers and carry a gun. Clearly that was the only way to wander through the streets of Munich these days. A city she hardly recognized.
The train hadn’t even entered the center of the city and she’d been forced to walk, starting in one of the more fashionable neighborhoods she hadn’t seen the likes of since visiting Munich with her parents years ago. Once she reached the interior of the city, she saw only men with guns. The few civilians visible wore working-class clothing, as she herself wore. A woman in peasant dress, a scarf holding down her hair, went into one of the most elegant homes on the block—not even bothering to use the service entrance. She walked up to the front door, looked over her shoulder at Annaliese as if in defiance of a challenge, then went inside without even knocking. As if she owned the place!
Annaliese hurried through the neighborhood. She felt as if she were the last woman on any street of the city, and though no one seemed to take note of her—except, perhaps, from behind curtains at their windows—tension followed every step. She wanted only to find Christophe and then leave as quickly as she’d come.
It wouldn’t be long before she came to Leo’s house. She walked briskly, praying all the way. Her heart pounded heavily, in stark contrast to her feet, which fairly sailed along.
These were the very streets she’d walked with Christophe, so safe at his side. The thought made her wish he were here right now. Made her hurry her steps even more.
She rounded the corner of the street where Leo lived and saw another group of men, each armed, laughing and patrolling as if they were still at war. How is it that men are still at war—within Germany?
Annaliese slipped quickly onto the nearest porch to wait until the men passed. She crouched into the corner behind an old flower box, praying they moved along without stopping.
The voices neared, along with the clop of their boots, the rattle of their rifles.
Then they moved away.
She peered out to be sure they were well down the street, then resumed her pace toward Leo’s. It wasn’t far now.
“Hey, hey!” The voice pitched her heart in a lurch. She quickened her step.
“Look there.”
“You walk too fast,” another voice called.
She kept walking, sparing only a quick glance over her shoulder. She should have waited until they’d turned the block. Why hadn’t she? How foolish!
The whole bunch of them was turned around, heading now in her direction. Stinging fear shot from her soul outward, ending in sharp prickles at her fingertips. She didn’t know how many there were—she wouldn’t spare another glance—but guessed there to be at least a half dozen. A small crowd indeed, but a crowd just the same. She knew the danger of such a thing, when all one had to do was incite the wrong action. One became all in a crowd, none to blame for whatever they chose to do together, or so they might think.
“What is your name?” another called.
She kept her eyes focused ahead, never slowing her pace. Lord . . . please . . .
“Stop, comrade Fräulein! We’re all comrades!”
One of them trotted around her to stand in her path. She skirted past.
“Stay with us a little while, Fräulein,” said another.
“Yes, it’s lonely in the streets these days.”
One of them pulled the hat from her head.
Her brain screamed to run, and her feet would have followed. But there were too many. One woman fettered by a skirt couldn’t escape a half-dozen armed men.
Her heart hammered her chest so loudly she was certain they could hear it. Oh, Lord . . . please . . .
“Give me my hat,” she said, astonished at the assurance in her own voice. Surely God was with her.
The one with the hat laughed. “For a kiss.”
Another stepped forward between Annaliese and the man who’d whipped the hat from her head. “Hey! Do you know who she is?”
“Of course I know who she is. A pretty Fräulein. What more do I need to know?”
The one who’d stepped between them turned in a flash, grabbing her hat so quickly from the other that he instantly lost his grip.
He faced Annaliese, handing the hat to her. “You’re Annaliese, aren’t you? You used to speak on the corners with Jurgen? And in the beer halls, too!”
From behind her, someone repeated Jurgen’s name, and she thought a couple of them took a step backward, away from her.
“Yes, I’m Annaliese.” She put her hat on again. “I’m going to see Jurgen right now.”
“Then you’re going the wrong direction. Don’t you know where he is?”
She pointed down the street, in the direction of the house he’d shared with Leo.
But the man in front of her shook his head. “No, he’s at the barracks with us now. It’s safer.” He bowed, then tipped his hat at her as if they stood in the parlor of any polite home in the city. “My name is Odovacar Schmidt.”
Someone laughed again, this time louder than before. “No, Fräulein, his name is Popoff.”
Suddenly, where they had been a menace a moment ago, they were all just boys not any older than she. “I know where the barracks are, Odovacar,” she said, “but it’s far from here. Ten blocks, at least. Is anyone still at the house down the street? Huey? Bertita? Christophe?”
“I think Huey still lives there with Bertita, along with a lot of others now. They live with the people, ja? But someone tried to kill Jurgen on this very street. It was bourgeoisie, certainly. Tried to shoot him outside his home!”
Her breath caught in her throat. Christophe could easily have been with Jurgen. He still lived there as far as she knew. “Were bodyguards with him? Was anyone hurt?”
“No, no one was hurt.”
More laughter. “The bourgeoisie can’t shoot!”
Odovacar extended an arm toward Annaliese. “I’ll take you to him. Jurgen has been living with the men ever since, for protection. Until things settle down, at least.”
“And the others? Ivo? Christophe?”
“They’ve left the barracks, both of them. A shame to lose Christophe; he was the best I’ve seen with a gun. He taught me everything I know about this one.”
With his free hand he held up the gun from his shoulder as if it were a toy. She wished it were.
They started walking and Odovacar, or Popoff to his comrades, set a leisurely pace.
“Wait until you see the barracks, Fräulein! There are enough of us now, between our men and Leviné’s, to keep the whole city safe—even from the free corps, should they be foolish enough to try getting rid of us. Any more men and we’ll burst through the walls.”
He smiled then, such an innocent, friendly smile, in utter contrast to what she feared only moments ago. She could almost smile back. For the first time since leaving Meika’s, Annaliese felt a measure of safety. Maybe it was relief that the men wouldn’t harm her, or maybe her senses were right—she was closer to Christophe than ever. He might not be at the barracks, but he was here . . .
somewhere. And she meant to find him.
The air was cool but not cold, the sky blue, the trees beginning to bud. Birds sang from the branches. With six armed guards around her now, Annaliese noticed that spring had arrived in Munich.
* * *
Christophe closed the cover of his haversack, the clothes Vera had washed for him now neatly tucked away. Wrinkled, since it appeared Frau Düray only used the hot press for Herr Düray’s clothing, but clean. After an extra day at their crowded mansion, it was time to return to Munich. Annaliese had to be there somewhere; either that or he would find someone who knew where she’d gone.
He would stop at his home to retrieve a set of his old clothes, those he’d worn before he went off to war. Without a doubt bourgeoisie-class clothing. And he would ask Frau Düray to provide something for Annaliese. Just asking made him feel hopeful; he would prepare as if he was certain to find her.
He looked around the near-empty room he’d used. It was the one spot they’d kept empty, in hope of Annaliese coming home. It was as sparsely furnished as the rest of the house, offering only a bed. Still, Christophe left the bedroom with a touch of regret. Somehow, knowing it had been her room, her bed, had been enough to keep the nightmares away. Last night he’d enjoyed the first uninterrupted sleep in months. Years.
He found his way downstairs, hearing young voices along the way. Children laughed from one of the rooms, evidently enjoying living conditions that provided ample playmates. The women, too, hadn’t seemed all that inconvenienced. He’d seen a half dozen chatting over a sewing project last night. The men, however, had mostly been absent.
He found Frau Düray in the parlor with two other women, but when he neared, she stood to greet him.
“I wonder if I may talk to you alone, Frau Düray?” he asked.
She agreed, then led him from the room to a small door opposite the parlor. She withdrew a key from her pocket, unlocked the door, then led him inside.
The room was a small office, with only a desk and one chair left and a landscape painting of the Bavarian Alps on the wall that seemed conspicuous under the circumstances. It likely hid a wall safe.
“You said yesterday that you still plan to sail. You still have the means to do that, then?”
She nodded and looked at the painting as if to confirm what he’d guessed. Their resources were tucked away.
“Do the others living here know?”
“No, Manfred and I thought it best to keep our circumstances to ourselves.”
“Good, that’s very good.”
She smiled. “But I trust them. And God, too. It’s Manfred who worries about what might happen, even though he’s starting to trust God again.”
“It does no harm to be cautious.”
“Christophe, do you think we should wait to sail? Do you think there’s hope she might come home?”
He wanted to tell them yes, that surely she would be home soon. But they would be better off away from here, away from Communist troops eager to conquer, away from the hunger, away from the fighting that somehow, even after the last four years, their fellow Germans couldn’t give up.
“No, Frau Düray. Don’t wait. You should go. I’ll bring her to America if I can.”
She smiled, then went to the desk and withdrew paper and pencil from one of the drawers. “This is the name of the ship we’re sailing on. And this is where we’ll be staying in America. Although Annaliese would know, I think. We’re with our old friends the Kemp family in Baltimore.”
Christophe accepted the information but made no effort to quit the room. He shuffled his feet. “Frau Düray . . . there is something I want to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“It’s . . . about Annaliese.” He wanted to add Giselle’s name, but at the last moment his courage failed him. “I wanted to ask if you could supply me with a change of clothing for her. Her clothes were gone from her room.”
“Yes, we’ve packed her clothing in trunks. They’re kept next to the ones we’ve packed for ourselves. When we leave . . . if she isn’t with us, we’ll entrust everything to Vera, who will be the only caretaker left until our friends can go home. Things are bound to settle down, aren’t they?” She sighed, not waiting for an answer. “It is much to ask of an employee, and one so young as Vera. She is smart, though, and when things improve, she’ll work with our lawyer to see about the sale—of the factory, too.”
He had no doubt they would compensate the maid for such a task—and probably generously, too. But the wrinkle on Frau Düray’s forehead proved she wasn’t entirely convinced Vera was the best liaison between them and their lawyer.
“Even if it takes me longer than I expect to bring Annaliese home, I’ll see that Vera isn’t overwhelmed with the responsibility. Don’t worry.”
Frau Düray seemed as near a smile as to tears just then, and he wished he knew how to rid her of every worry, especially those about Annaliese. But he couldn’t imagine how to make such real worries disappear; he could only think to bring her attention back to his questions.
“When I find Annaliese, I don’t know who will be in power anymore. We both fit into the working class now, and that’s safest for the moment. But if government troops take over, not a working-class person—man or woman—will dare be seen if a White army gathers here in Bavaria. Red troops won’t have a chance, and a government army might assume anyone in the working class would be sympathetic to Red troops, if not fighting for them. So she needs to be able to dress to either class, depending on which army is in power. I’ll stop at home for a change of clothes, but I hoped you’d have something for Annaliese.”
“Of course! Anything to keep her safe.” She started toward the door and he knew his chance to ask something else would be lost if he let her go.
“And there is one more thing.”
She stopped, turning to him. “Yes?”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, readjusted the gun hanging from his shoulder. He knew if he was to be at the train in time, he must speak now or hold his tongue—maybe forever. If Annaliese’s parents sailed next week, this could be his last chance to find out the truth.
“Did you know that Giselle was receiving letters from a soldier who wanted to desert the army? that she stored those letters inside envelopes belonging to letters from me?”
Frau Düray folded her arms. Her brows dipped and the corners of her mouth went tight. “I burned those letters, every one of them. How did you know about them?”
“Annaliese saw the letters. She thought I’d written them.”
“Oh! I’m sorry, Christophe. If she’s been under the impression that you had any part in what Giselle did . . .”
“I was able to explain it to her. But you knew they weren’t from me? How?”
Frau Düray looked from Christophe to the door, as if deciding whether or not to talk about a subject she clearly did not wish to address. Then she unfolded her arms and faced Christophe again.
“Two years after the war began, Giselle joined the German Red Cross. I wouldn’t let Annaliese, insisting she was too young. Giselle went off on her own, and there wasn’t a day that passed that we didn’t worry over her. And then last spring she came home. She’d been sick, and they sent her home because she couldn’t meet the demands of her duty.”
She looked ahead as she spoke, no longer at Christophe. “But she’d changed, our Giselle. I suppose seeing so much death, so much suffering, was bound to change her. And . . . she was in love.”
She folded her arms again as if she were chilled. “I found one of the letters from the man she fell in love with. It explained why she’d changed. He was full of hate for the war, for those he blamed for keeping it going. The Kaiser, of course. Hindenburg. I hadn’t meant to read it. Vera had found it, folded, inside the pocket of a dress she was laundering. Once she read it, Vera thought I should know what it said. I confronted Giselle about the letter, asked her to stop corresponding with him, even to stop thinking of him.”
; Frau Düray hesitated, still staring ahead. “For a while I thought she’d agreed. But she received more letters. At first I thought them from you. I know that’s what Annaliese believed.” She smiled, but it was a sad smile, without a trace of happiness in her eyes. “Annaliese always did have a special place in her heart for you. I think she was jealous of Giselle, being closer in age to you. Having your friendship.”
How different their lives would have been if he’d noticed Annaliese’s interest in him, if their friendship had been able to bud through the years of the war. By the time he came home, they would already have known each other . . . and she would have been all grown up.
“Giselle picked up the mail in town and must have begun switching the envelopes so none of us would know. The last letter she received from him said if she really loved him—”
“She would do something to help end the war, to bring him home.”
“Yes, that’s right. And then, when Giselle did what she did—starting that fire . . .” Frau Düray brushed away a tear rolling down her cheek. “Manfred didn’t know she would go back inside. He saw her, you know. It haunts him to this day. He saw her run from the factory; then he saw the flames. When Giselle spotted him, she tried to hide from him. She ran the other direction—too close to the factory. She was hit by debris from the explosion.”
She raised unsteady fingertips to her forehead. “Here. She was hit here. You wouldn’t have thought it had even hurt her, if you’d seen her face. She was lovely, right up to the moment they closed the casket.”
Then she looked at Christophe again, as if she’d been away for a moment but was back now. “Manfred has forbidden me to talk about it, even to Annaliese. He blames himself for what happened; he didn’t want Annaliese to blame him too.”
“And yet she left home anyway.”
Frau Düray nodded slowly. “I thought she would come home. I didn’t know she’d read those letters or that they had anything to do with the reason she left. They must have made her hate her father too, the way they made Giselle hate him. And me, too, a little, I think.”