All God's Children

by Anna Schmidt

  “We’ll go now,” Josef told her and felt the inadequacy of his words even as he spoke them.

  Anja—never one to wallow in her fears—brightened. “When that woman took Daniel, I gave her my grandparents’ address. Perhaps she was able to get Daniel to them—or at least she wrote to let them know he was all right. Do you think so, Josef?”

  He would not offer false hope—there had been too much of that. “We’ll have to wait and see, but the good news is that, unless the train gets sidetracked, I heard two of the railroad workers say at our last stop that we should reach Danzig later today.”

  Beth was well aware that the infection had returned. Her leg was swollen and tender, and whenever Josef removed the bandages to examine the wound, she could see the pus. The slightest touch was so painful that she had to bite hard on her lower lip to keep from crying out. The bedding that the chemist had lined the cart with and that Josef had wrapped around her when he was carrying her across the muddy field toward the train was useful now as the most sterile bandaging available.

  She and Anja had torn the fabric into strips, which they had carefully rolled into balls and placed inside the knapsack. Whenever Josef changed her dressing, he discarded the old soiled bandage in favor of one of the clean ones. But Beth was well aware that they were almost at the end of their supply.

  She could no longer stand or walk even by leaning on Josef and Anja without the pain feeling like a fire in her leg. So whenever she needed to move—away from the doorway of the cattle car to the shadows while they were stopped—she crawled, or Josef carried her. She was beginning to think that she might actually lose the leg altogether. But even if that happened, it seemed a small price to pay for freedom when so many others had paid with their lives.

  Most of the time she slept—or pretended to sleep—so that Josef and Anja could concentrate on keeping watch. She discovered that if she used the time for silent worship, she was able to forget about the pain and discomfort. She gave herself over to the rhythm of the train rocking side to side as it sped through villages and past farm fields and thought only about the future she and Josef would build together once they reached their destination.

  “Bornholm is not free,” Josef reminded her one night as they sat together while Anja slept and Beth—weaker than she’d ever been with fever and hunger and pain—talked about the life they would have there.

  Once while they were in Sobibor, she had begged him to promise her that he would always tell her the truth. Even in her state of near delirium, she knew that it would have been so much easier for him to assure her that all her dreams for them would come true. “Josef, will I ever see Bornholm?”

  He was quiet for so long that, if it were not for the sudden tensing of his body, she would have thought he’d perhaps dozed off. “Josef? The truth?”

  “If you are asking me if you are dying, Beth, then my answer is this—I will do everything in my power to make sure you not only live to see the island but fully recover once you are there.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Now get some rest.”

  Beth curled closer to him, and when he wrapped his arms around her, she knew that no matter where life took them, this was home.

  Josef had worried for much of the train ride that he was making a mistake. The train was headed for Danzig, Poland’s largest seaport and as such a place of supreme importance to the Nazis. The port was the gateway to the Baltic Sea with access to Denmark, Norway, Finland, Sweden—and Russia. With the defeat at Stalingrad and the subsequent turning of the tide of war against Germany, he suspected that Danzig had taken on even more significance, and he was not surprised to see a strong presence of men in uniform as the train approached the station.

  Anja had prepared everything for their departure from the train— packing up whatever they had left of the supplies they’d brought from the chemist and leaving no trace that they had been there. Beth was weak but determined to do her part. The plan was for them to jump as the train slowed down for the final approach to the station.

  “Ready?” he asked the two women as the three of them crouched next to the open door, the cold damp wind whipping at their clothing.

  “The fog is a blessing,” Beth said as she waited for Josef’s signal.

  She was right. The heavy fog rolling in off the sea would give them cover in an area they did not know and where they might be seen. “Let’s go,” he said and made his leap.

  Anja threw him the knapsack and Beth’s crutch, and then she and Beth held hands and made the jump together.

  Beth fought hard to hide the shot of pain she felt with the hard landing, but she could not keep the tears from welling. “I’m all right,” she assured them. “Give me the crutch, and let’s go.”

  Josef shouldered the knapsack, and the three of them started walking. With Beth setting the pace, it was slow going. Every step she took was obviously excruciating, yet she kept going.

  “This way,” Anja said when they came to a corner. “My grandfather would sometimes bring me with him when he came to sell his smoked herring here. The docks are this way; I’m sure of it.”

  Josef hoped she was right. He’d already seen soldiers stopping people on the street and demanding to review their identity papers. As escaped prisoners, they had no identity and no money with which to bribe a soldier willing to look the other way. If they were stopped, they might as well surrender.

  “If we are stopped,” Beth said as if her mind and his had been on the same topic, “I will pretend to faint into the arms of the soldiers. You and Anja must run.”

  “There will be at least two of them,” Anja said.

  Beth appeared to consider this and then smiled. “So I will fall on the one and use my crutch to trip the other.”

  “No one is going to fall on anyone,” Josef grumbled. “And should we be stopped, I will handle things. Are we clear?”

  He did not miss the way the two women rolled their eyes at each other before meekly nodding and trudging on through the fog and misty rain.

  As they approached the docks, Josef saw several boats preparing to head out to sea for the day—some were larger ships loaded with goods and probably bound for some larger city. It seemed unlikely that any of those would stop at a small island. That was too bad because stowing away on one of those larger ships and making it to their destination without being discovered held more potential for success than taking a smaller craft.

  Anja tugged on his sleeve. “I know that man,” she whispered, pointing to a grizzled old fisherman who was readying a small boat that looked as if it might not make it across a small creek, much less across a sea that could turn rough at any time. “Wait here.”

  Before Josef could stop her, Anja called out to the man. The two of them carried on an animated conversation, with Anja doing most of the talking. But then the fisherman broke into a smile and began hugging Anja and babbling away in what Josef could only assume was Danish.

  “Come on,” Beth said when Anja motioned for them to step forward.

  “It could be a trap,” Josef muttered, holding Beth’s arm to keep her from going.

  “And it could be a blessing,” she reminded him. “Either way we have no choice.” She hobbled toward the fishing boat.

  “This is Edvard Larsen,” Anja said. “He is a friend of my grandparents.”

  Beth extended her hand to the man. “Elizabeth, and this is my husband, Herr Doktor Josef Buch.” Anja translated.

  Edvard stared hard at Beth’s leg with its bloody bandage. He frowned, said something to Anja, and started walking away from them toward a cluster of buildings.

  “He’s been gone a long time,” Josef said as they continued to wait for the fisherman’s return.

  Anja shrugged, but she looked worried. “He said something about getting help.”

  “It’s too dangerous to just sit here waiting,” Josef said, glancing around for possible escape routes. He had allowed himself to hope that their journey was at last coming to an end, but could t
hey trust the fisherman? He didn’t think so. They would have to keep moving in spite of a hint of snow in the air. In spite of the fact that they were all exhausted and hungry and Beth especially could not go on much longer. “Come on.”

  “No wait,” Beth said, pointing toward the building Edvard had entered. The fisherman was coming out. He was carrying two satchels filled to overflowing.

  “Now we can go,” Anja translated as Edvard muttered the words to her and placed the satchels in his boat. He turned and offered his hand to Beth, helping her as if she might break, fussing over her comfort as he settled her inside the small galley area and handed her a lap robe to tuck around her knees. Then he did the same for Anja. Finally he turned to Josef and nodded.

  Apparently Josef was on his own if he wanted to get in and out of the vessel. He left the seat closest to an ancient outboard motor free for Edvard and took a position on deck but close to the open galley door and Beth. He noticed that she was perspiring in spite of the chill and knew that her fever had returned.

  Moments later they were on their way, floating slowly past the larger cargo ships, some tugboats, and several other fishing boats. The fog was still thick, and Josef wondered how the old man could be sure of where he was going. But as they cleared the busy harbor, they broke through the fog and faced a sea of gray that matched the gray skies so perfectly it was hard to find a horizon.

  At Edvard’s instructions Anja unpacked the satchels. One was filled with food—bread, cheese, smoked herring, and beer. The other contained medical supplies—medicines and salves and clean bandages. Edvard gestured to Josef as if to say, “You’re the doctor—do something.”

  While Anja assembled their meal, Josef got to work. He unwrapped the soiled bandages and used the alcohol and gauze pads that Edvard had gotten to clean the wound. As he had feared, the infection was back. But to his surprise, as he probed the wound he realized that the bullet had worked free and moved closer to the surface. He pulled the tweezers the Polish chemist had given him from the knapsack. He handed them to Anja.

  “Boil some water and sterilize this,” he instructed. He was aware that in addition to navigating the boat, Edvard was keeping a close watch on their activities. He scowled at Josef whenever Beth grimaced or moaned. Eventually they would need to tell the fisherman the story of their escape. But right now the important thing was to let the medicine do its job, get some nourishment, and then try to remove the bullet.

  While Anja sterilized the tweezers, Josef gave Beth some of the medications for pain and fever. He hoped he was reading the labels accurately. Finally she drifted off to sleep.

  “I’ll stay with her,” Anja said, handing him a plate of food for himself and one for Edvard. “You go on.” She nodded toward the fisherman.

  To Josef’s surprise, Edvard spoke enough German so that they could converse as Edvard guided the small craft through waters he obviously knew as well as another man would have known the road home. Josef gave him the story of their escape, and Edvard’s eyes grew wide with disbelief and then respect at what they had overcome to make it this far.

  “And what will happen when you reach Bornholm?” Edvard asked.

  It was a question that had plagued Josef for hours now. The island was occupied by the Nazis. On the other hand, here was Edvard—a lifelong resident who must know exactly what dangers they might face. “What do you suggest?”

  The older man rubbed his hand over his beard and stared at the horizon for several minutes. “Anja’s grandparents live on the north side of the island—it’s steeper there and more remote. The Nazis aren’t as concerned about it as they are the south side around Ronne.”

  “But we can’t do anything that might put Anja and her grandparents in further danger. We’ll need to keep moving—get to Sweden maybe.”

  Edvard shrugged. “Your wife is in no shape to keep running, Josef. Give her time to heal while you put together a plan. I’ve got a little cottage I only use over the winter when I can’t get out to fish. But my sister is always after me to come stay with her—she worries that I don’t take care of myself. You and your wife can stay there in the cottage—it’s isolated, and the Germans are not likely to bother you. By spring…” His voice trailed off.

  Josef was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. What would they be doing right now if this man had not decided to come to Danzig? If Anja had not recognized him? If he had refused to help them?

  “Thank you,” he said softly. “You have…I don’t know what we would…” After days of worry over Beth and the constant need to stay one step ahead of the Nazis, Josef broke down.

  He felt the strong grip of Edvard’s hand clasp his shoulder. “You’ll be all right,” the old man said. “You’re safe now.”

  But as the rocky shores of Bornholm came into view on the distant horizon, Josef could not help but wonder if they would ever be safe again. “I have to treat my wife,” he said.

  As they approached the island, the sea began to roil, and the little boat rocked from side to side, making it impossible for Josef to risk trying to operate, especially with nothing more than a pair of tweezers.

  CHAPTER 24

  Beth opened her eyes at the sound of voices. She blinked several times as it dawned on her that for the first time in days her leg was not throbbing and she felt stronger. She pushed aside a blanket as she tried to get her bearings. Where was she? Where was Josef? And Anja?

  She sat up and promptly bumped her head. Across from her was a compact kitchen area, and her immediate thought was that she was hungry—more than just hungry. She was ravenous. She saw a partial loaf of thick bread on the counter next to the sink and reached for it.

  “Not too fast,” Anja advised as she ducked through the low doorway and joined Beth. “Josef?” she called. “Come see.”

  In seconds Josef was by Beth’s side, holding her as he peered into her eyes and then felt her forehead like a mother testing for fever. “Lie back,” he instructed.

  “I’ve slept long enough,” she protested.

  “I want to examine your wound.”

  She did as he asked.

  “The infection is under control,” he muttered, and then he grinned. “I think the patient will make a full recovery.”

  “Thanks be to God,” Anja said.

  Above them, Beth heard a great deal of commotion—men shouting out orders to each other in a language she did not understand, heavy objects being moved, and the smell of the sea. “Where are we?” she asked.

  “Home—at least for now,” Josef told her. “Do you think you’re feeling well enough to get up?”

  “Stop fussing over me. I’m fine.”

  But the minute she tried standing, she realized how weak she really was.

  “Lean on me,” Josef instructed.

  Together they climbed the short stairway to the deck of the fishing boat. It was all coming back to her now: the train, Anja leading them up and down streets until they reached the dock, the kindly old fisherman—a friend of Anja’s grandparents. But after that everything was a blank.

  “Welcome to Bornholm,” Anja announced, having followed them on deck.

  Beth thought the sight before her must be a dream. The sky was a cloudless blue, and the water surrounding them was calm. Both were rare occurrences once the temperatures dropped and the first snow set in, according to Anja. The boat was tied to a wooden dock, and men were busy unloading large wooden barrels. Up a steep cobblestone path sat a cluster of houses and shops with tiled or thatched roofs, their half timbered stucco walls sometimes painted a cheerful yellow. Surely after the gloom of Sobibor, this could not be real. When they’d left Danzig, it had been foggy with snow flurries.

  “My leg feels better.”

  “That’s because you are married to a surgical genius,” Anja told her with a grin. “We had to ride out a storm last night, but as soon as the winds died and things settled, he went to work. The man has not slept a wink.”

  “He removed the bullet?”

&
nbsp; “He did indeed.”

  Beth examined the clean bandages wrapped around her calf and noticed that the swelling had also gone down. She turned her face to the sun and took a long look at her surroundings. “Where are we?”

  “Gudhjem on the island of Bornholm—welcome to Denmark,” Anja said as Edvard walked down the dock toward them.

  He spoke to Anja in Danish, all the while flicking his eyes toward Beth and smiling.

  “Edvard has arranged for transportation to take us to my grandparents’ farm,” Anja explained. “The closest doctor is miles away, but the local midwife will bring whatever Josef needs to continue treating your wound.”

  Beth saw a couple of soldiers wearing German uniforms climbing the steep hill to the village. “We don’t want to put your grandparents or the midwife in danger,” she told Anja. “Perhaps…”

  Josef pulled her closer against his side. “It’s all arranged, Liebchen. Edvard has even offered us his cottage for the time it takes for you to regain your strength.”

  “And then what?” She had not meant to voice the question aloud, but there it was. “The island is occupied, and if anyone becomes aware of how we…”

  “We’re safe here for now, Beth. Let’s just take the time we have to rest and get you well. Then we can think about what to do next.”

  A fresh wave of exhaustion washed over Beth, dampening her uplifted spirits. The reality was that in spite of the idyllic scene before her, they were not yet free from the fear that had dogged them for months.

  As if sensing the change in her mood, Josef wrapped his arm around her and helped her cross the deck to the dock. “Come, let’s go bring Anja’s grandparents the good news that their granddaughter is not only safe—she has come home to them.”

  As it turned out, Anja’s grandparents—Olaf and Ailsa—were the ones to bring the best news of all. Once introductions had been made and Anja had briefly told them what had happened to them—and to her late husband and daughter—Olaf handed Anja a letter.