All God's Children

by Anna Schmidt

  “Beth, that’s too much mustard,” Liesl said testily.

  “I thought you like lots of mustard,” Beth replied as she scraped off part of the condiment, added a slice of sausage, and handed the half sandwich to the girl. Josef could not help but notice that Beth attended to the child’s constant needs as if she—not her aunt—were the parent.

  “It’s too much,” Liesl fumed. “Papa?” She turned to the professor for support.

  “Liesl, we have company,” he said quietly.

  Liesl’s face got very red, and Josef feared she might be about to cry—or worse, launch into a tantrum. From the look of Frau Schneider, Josef believed that she was anticipating the same thing.

  “What did you learn in school today, Fräulein Liesl?” Josef asked, wanting to do his part to ease the situation and spare his hostess any embarrassment.

  It worked. The child gave him her full attention, her voice filled with the excitement of her report. “Oh, our teacher told us all about der Führer and what a great and good man he is. He came to Munich last spring, you know. He passed right by our house here.”

  It was evident that the child’s comment had not eased the strained atmosphere around the table but rather worsened it. “Did you see him then?” Josef concentrated on his food even as his curiosity overruled his reason. Speaking of Hitler would certainly do little to ease Frau Schneider’s anxiety.

  Liesl frowned and toyed with her food. “Nein. Some soldiers came that morning and made us all stay in the kitchen, and then some other people came into our house. They had little flags, and they were all dressed up and everything.”

  Josef looked to the professor for an explanation, as he had never heard of such a thing. But it was Beth who provided the answer.

  “Because we are Quakers, the authorities have some doubts about our enthusiasm for the Reich,” she said, obviously measuring each word. “Apparently they felt that occupying the apartment with cheering strangers for the occasion was preferable since they felt they could not rely on us to be quite so—enthusiastic.”

  “Liesl, drink your milk,” Frau Schneider said. She reached for the glass of cider beside her plate, and her hand shook so badly that she nearly spilt the amber liquid. Josef noticed her send her husband a pleading look—one that clearly begged him to change the subject.

  Josef cast about for a way he might help and turned his attention to Beth. “Professor Schneider tells me you came to Munich to learn our language while you helped Frau Schneider with Liesl’s care,” Josef said.

  “Ja. My mother was born and raised here in Munich but moved to the United States when she and my father married. Once they moved to the United States, she insisted that only English be spoken in our home. As a girl I became fairly adept at reading and understanding the written words, but my spoken German needed work.” Her eyes met his, challenging him to question her presence in a country that was at war with hers.

  “I must say that after eight years with us our Beth speaks like a native,” Professor Schneider added with a wink at his niece. “She’s even managed to pick up much of our Bavarian dialect. Net woar, Beth?”

  “Of course, because her mother is a native,” Ilse added, “some would agree that this gives Beth the right to…to…” She looked at her husband.

  “To live here as well,” he finished quietly. “And certainly after eight years…well, she’s become a treasured member of this family—like a daughter to Ilse and me and a sister for Liesl.”

  Josef focused on cutting his sausage into bite-sized pieces. Perhaps it would be best if he allowed the professor to guide the conversation. Certainly his attempts to ease the strained atmosphere that surrounded the meal had failed. He glanced up and was surprised to see that Beth was smiling at him. It was a sad smile but lovely nevertheless.

  “My brothers do that,” she said, nodding toward the way he held his knife and fork in a position that Americans would consider the reverse of how it should be. Her tone was soft and wistful, and Josef felt a flicker of pleasure at having given her some reminder of home.

  “Your mother brought some of her ways to you and your brothers then?”

  “She has. I never really thought about it, but yes.”

  Josef set his knife on the edge of his plate and took a bite of the meat. “Your brothers are younger?”

  “By two years. Twins, although they look nothing alike. Fred is married. He and his wife are expecting their first child in the spring. Theo is a farmer in Wisconsin like my father.”

  He took a bite of his supper and then turned his attention to Frau Schneider. “This is the best meal I have had in some time,” he said. “Thank you for inviting me to dine with you and your family.”

  “It is our pleasure,” she replied without meeting his gaze. “The professor tells me that you were one of his best students.”

  Every word was measured before she uttered it. The woman was definitely a bundle of nerves.

  “I am flattered to hear that he thought as much. Your husband had many gifted students. He was one of—”

  “Herr Doktor,” Liesl said, tapping her fork against her plate to gain his attention, “do you know what else my teacher told us today?”

  “What?”

  The girl lowered her voice and leaned toward him as if about to share a secret. “She told us that there could be some of us whose parents might not follow all the new rules so we needed to be sure that if we saw them doing something that wasn’t right, we should tell them about the rules. And if that didn’t make them do right, then we needed to tell our teacher or the Blockwart.”

  “Liesl!” Frau Schneider hissed. “The doctor was speaking. Do not interrupt.”

  The girl frowned, slouched back onto the bench, and took a bite of her sandwich. Josef glanced at Beth, who was looking down at her barely touched plate of food.

  “They are in the military—your brothers?” It was an impertinent question, and Josef regretted it the moment he heard the shocked intake of Ilse Schneider’s breath.

  “We are Quakers, Doctor,” Beth said, reverting to English.

  Silence pervaded the room, making the scratch of forks on crockery all the more pronounced. Josef felt compelled to say something that might ease the tension. “I have always wondered why the name Quakers.”

  “Members of the Religious Society of Friends—Freunde,” the professor explained, clearly relieved to have moved on to this topic. “Our faith is rooted in the tenets of silent prayer and individual inner searching rather than those of ceremony and sermon. As for being called—”

  “We’re different,” Liesl announced. “My teacher says being different is not a good thing.”

  Professor Schneider cleared his throat, and the child gave a shrug and drank her milk.

  “But why Quaker?” Josef asked.

  “In the past, some early worshippers were said to have developed a habit of being so overcome by the spirit within that they were said to ‘quake.’”

  Josef had to hide a smile as he recognized the voice his mentor used when he lectured.

  “For some time it was a term of contempt, as people of our faith were persecuted for their beliefs,” Franz continued. “These days…”

  Ilse Schneider’s fork clattered to her plate, and Josef saw that she had suddenly gone quite pale. Her husband ducked his head and continued eating without completing his sentence.

  Beth stood up and began gathering the serving dishes. “To answer your original question, Herr Doktor, my brothers are required to register for military service, but they have the option to refuse to serve for religious reasons. We do not believe that war is an answer,” she explained without looking at him. But then she paused in her clearing of the table and met his eyes defiantly. “We will not do battle either for the kingdom of God or the kingdoms of men.”

  In spite of the charged atmosphere around the table, Josef could not seem to control his curiosity or his tongue. “Your government allows such a thing?” It was well known that i
n Germany refusal to serve on any grounds was punishable by imprisonment—or worse.

  “Dessert?” Ilse Schneider’s voice was high-pitched with a warning that they should cease this dangerous discussion at once. “Why don’t you take our guest into the sitting room, Franz? We can have dessert in there.”

  But Beth ignored her. “My country was founded on the very principle of religious freedom.”

  “I baked an apple kuchen,” Ilse persisted, her voice every bit as shaky as her hands were.

  “So that’s what smells so wonderful,” the professor said as he stood and indicated that Josef should follow him to the other room. But Josef was aware that just before closing the connecting door between the kitchen and sitting room, the professor laid his hand on his niece’s arm.

  “Sorry,” she murmured, blushing at her uncle’s silent rebuke.

  “Josef, I expect that you are wondering why Beth is still here,” the professor said as soon as they were seated in two overstuffed chairs positioned at either end of a worn sofa. “No doubt she should have gone home to America some time ago—certainly once Germany declared war on the United States. But she chose to stay and help us. As I mentioned earlier, after the birth of our daughter, my wife’s health deteriorated. I’m afraid that it has only worsened in the years since. Surely you observed that she is not at all well, and as you may also have noticed, our daughter can be quite challenging.”

  “But in these times, Professor…I would think that your niece would wish to be with her parents. Furthermore I would have thought that the authorities…”

  Franz sighed. “So far the authorities have elected to overlook her presence. Perhaps over eight years she has become so ingrained in the community that everyone thinks of her as one of our own. Nevertheless, as you may well imagine, her presence here draws attention. My wife worries about that.”

  “Have you been harassed?”

  Franz shrugged. “Who hasn’t these days? You’ve been away serving with your unit. On the surface things probably appear the same as before. But beneath that surface? Well, Liesl was right in saying that being different is not something the authorities encourage.” At the sound of female voices, he went to open the door for his wife and niece.

  “Ah, a delectable treat to celebrate your moving in with us, Josef,” Franz said in a voice that was too loud. “Just smell that cinnamon.”

  Josef could not help noticing that Franz’s smile was forced. His true expression—concern for his wife, apprehension about the state of things in his household—could be read in the sadness and strain that lined the rest of his face.

  They ate the apple kuchen and sipped cups of ersatz coffee in silence interrupted only occasionally by Liesl’s whining plea for a second helping of the rich vanilla cream that topped the dessert and Ilse’s repeated refusal. Finally the child started to blubber, prompting Franz to take her on his lap and suggest that they sing a song for their guest.

  To Liesl’s delight Josef joined in the singing, even going so far as to add some of the hand movements associated with a Bavarian folk dance. Before the song was finished, Beth had joined in. Even Ilse was humming and lightly clapping her hands in time to the music.

  “I like you, Herr Doktor,” Liesl announced, her tears forgotten.

  “Enough that we can be on a first-name basis, Fräulein?”

  Liesl looked to Beth for a translation.

  “He means he would call you by your first name,” she explained.

  “I am Liesl, and you are…?”

  “Josef,” he said, grinning at her. He stuck out his hand for her to shake. “Friends?”

  She giggled and pumped his hand up and down several times. This time there was no mention of showing proper allegiance to Hitler with a salute.

  After Josef and Franz had climbed the narrow enclosed stairway from the kitchen to the attic to finish getting Josef settled into his new space, Beth sent Liesl off to change into her nightgown and prepare for story time.

  Over the years that she had lived with her aunt and uncle, she had learned to read her aunt’s frequent mood shifts almost as well as she knew how to calm her cousin’s tantrums. As the two women washed the dishes, Beth was well aware that something beyond the conversation at dinner had caused her to become so upset—perhaps something that had occurred while she was out shopping earlier. Whatever the reason, Beth had learned that it was best to address the situation directly rather than allow it to fester overnight.

  “I apologize for upsetting you earlier,” she said, taking a freshly washed serving dish from her aunt and wiping it dry. “I know that sometimes I say things that—”

  Aunt Ilse wheeled around and glared at her. “You must mind your tongue, Beth. These are troubling times—dangerous times. We know nothing of this man—this Josef Buch.”

  “I thought he studied with Uncle Franz.”

  “As have any number of such young men, but is that enough? Is that all we need to know to take him in, to have him living here, taking meals with us, engaging us in conversations that might ultimately be reported?”

  Ilse was whispering, although she and Beth were alone in the kitchen. They could hear the men walking around the bare boards of the attic above them. “Reported?” Beth asked.

  Her aunt heaved a sigh laden with frustration. “Sometimes you are as distracted and dense as Liesl is. This man’s father works for the government—has quite a high position in the Gestapo right here in Munich. His mother entertains regularly, and word has it that some of the highest ranking politicians have sat at her table—perhaps even Herr Hitler himself.”

  “Uncle Franz explained his reasons. I don’t understand….”

  Ilse shut off the water and wiped her hands on her apron. “Of course you don’t understand. What do you know of the way things are here? The way everything has changed?”

  Beth struggled to control her bent toward impatience when it came to her aunt’s hysterics. Sometimes Ilse still treated her as if she were the newly arrived teenager instead of a twenty-five-year-old woman. “I understand more than you may realize. I’ve lived in this country for eight years, after all, and in that time—”

  “Ha! ‘My country was founded on the principle of religious freedom,’” Aunt Ilse mocked, practically hissing the words. “Well, I must remind you that you are not living in your country. You are living in this country, where things are very different. And as an American living in the very birthplace of the Nazi Party, you bring all of us under scrutiny. There are things that you—” She bit her lip as if to stop her tirade and turned her attention to scrubbing a pot.

  “Auntie Ilse,” Beth pleaded, “tell me what has upset you so.”

  The scrubbing slowed and finally stopped as Ilse let the pot sink into the suds. “This morning I was on the telephone with Gudren Heinz and heard a clicking sound on the line. She professed not to hear it, but she certainly got off the line quickly. What if the government has tapped our telephone? What if they have taken notice of the meetings for worship we host and these so-called literary soirees? What if they have decided to watch us because we are harboring an enemy—an American? What if that young man’s father sent him here to spy on the professor—on you?”

  “Surely Uncle Franz—”

  “Your uncle is a good and decent man who believes in the goodness and decency of all men. He is, in these times, a fool.” Ilse pressed her fist to her lips as if she would take back those harsh words. “And I can’t protect him—or Liesl,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she turned away. “And you…”

  Beth folded her dishtowel into precise thirds and then folded it in half and in half again while she considered her next words. “Shall I move out?”

  “Of course not,” Ilse snapped. “You are the daughter of my husband’s beloved sister. Liesl adores you. You are family.”

  “Then what do you want of me?”

  “I want you to keep your distance from this doctor—this Josef Buch. I want you to keep your thoughts and
comments to yourself whenever he tries to engage you in conversation. I want you to be as invisible as possible to this man. Can you do that?” Aunt Ilse’s previously sarcastic tone had settled into a plea.

  “Yes. You have my word.”

  Her aunt surprised her by cradling Beth’s face in her still-wet hands and kissing her on both cheeks.

  “Danke,” she whispered as she turned away and wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron.

  CHAPTER 3

  Later that night after making sure that the front door was secured and the blackout shades properly in place, Franz trudged down the corridor that led to the bedrooms after stopping briefly in the kitchen for a glass of water. The truth was that he needed some time to consider how best to ease Ilse’s fears about the presence of Josef in their home.

  Earlier after Josef assured him that he had everything he could possibly want to be comfortable in the attic space, Franz had insisted that the young doctor join him in the study to share a cup of hot cocoa made with the chocolate that Josef had given them. They were listening to a recording of Schubert’s “Trout Quintet” when Beth tapped lightly on the door and entered the room.

  Franz had been glad to see her as he patted a place on the sofa, inviting her to sit. But she did not stay as she normally would have, and Franz accepted her excuse that she wanted to answer the letter from her parents. He had not missed the way that she had barely glanced at Josef as she paused at the door and bid them both good night.

  Now after glancing up the attic stairs and seeing that Josef’s light was out, Franz headed for the bedroom he and Ilse had shared for over thirty years. He had expected to find her curled on her side, her breathing deep and even. Instead she was sitting at her dressing table, her hair—still golden in spite of streaks of gray that seemed to have appeared almost overnight—loose from the austere bun she wore it in these days.

  “Ilse?” There was something about her posture that raised an alarm for him. Her shoulders were rigid under the thin fabric of her satin robe, and she was so still that she might have been a statue. A prelude to one of her nervous attacks, he thought and sighed heavily as he closed the bedroom door and moved to stand near her, their images reflected in the mirror.