by Tricia Goyer
What fools we were, Peter thought. They’d been young and idealistic about the world around them. Even training for war, they’d imagined themselves put in this position because of God’s larger plan for their lives.
But as they faced a baptism of fire on those first battlefields, nothing was as they’d imagined. And when Goldie disappeared, Peter’s faith seemed to vanish with him.
Peter wondered how much Andrea knew about her husband’s status. Last he’d heard, Goldie’s tank had been found disabled, with no sign of him or the rest of the crew. A puddle of blood was their only clue that at least one of the men was in serious trouble.
Is Goldie alive? Or has his body been found? Although Peter longed to know, he couldn’t force himself to tear open the envelope. As long as the letter remained sealed, he could still imagine his friend as a prisoner of war—hurt and mistreated, but still alive.
Nine
MAY 7, 1945
Helene ladled warm milk into two mugs and set them aside. She wiped her hands on her apron and watched through the window as the town awoke.
American GIs milled around the general store. They were far enough away that she couldn’t distinguish their faces but close enough to make out their playful gestures. The sight of the men caused a stir in her chest. Years before, another group of young men had done the same. At that time, little was known about the Nazi SS. And at this distance, the similarity between the two groups of soldiers was greater than their differences. Echoes of laughter and bright conversation carried down the street.
One soldier left the group and sauntered in her direction. From the easy swing of his arms and his distinctive strawberry hair, Helene recognized him as the one who’d assisted her with the two women from camp. She remembered his strong heart and dedication. Perhaps he’d be interested in helping her feed the women.
Helene gathered the two mugs and prepared to carry them into the back guest room when a glimpse through her bedroom doorway made her stop. Anika sat on the floor surrounded by papers. Upon closer inspection Helene noticed they were photographs.
“Papi!” Anika called, holding up a photo and smiling at Helene.
Helene set down the mugs and hurried to her daughter’s side. She recognized the photos immediately. They were of Friedrich and her when they’d first met. She hadn’t seen them in years.
She scooped the pictures into a tidy pile on the floor. As she did, she studied the shots. Some were serious, others humorous. There was one with Friedrich in his uniform, and another with Helene posing beside an SS motorcycle. Anyone glancing at them could see this was a young couple in love.
“Where did you get these?”
Anika pointed to the tall dresser in the corner. Helene moved to the dresser and opened the top drawer.
“It’s all here.” Her hands quivered as she moved on to the next drawer. There were her clothes, her childhood trinkets. Even her diary, just as she had left it. “He didn’t touch a thing.”
Helene sank onto the bed near Anika. She twisted the wedding ring on her finger and thought back to that night so long ago when she’d left with only the clothes on her back.
“No daughter of mine is going to marry a Nazi!” her father had shouted when he first saw Friedrich’s engagement ring on her finger.
“Well, then, from this moment I am no longer your daughter!” she’d countered, grabbing her coat and hat and running out the door.
Days later, when the impact of their argument sank in, Helene had wanted to mend their differences. But Friedrich had convinced her that he would be her family now, and a clean break was best. Why had she listened to him?
Helene pulled at her ring, struggling to remove it from her swollen finger. When it finally came off, she flung it across the room. Anika watched in stunned silence.
Helene stooped to pick up the pile of photos on the floor. What a fool I was. Everything’s still here, untouched. Waiting for me to return.
A quick knock sounded at the front door. Helene shoved the photos back into the bottom drawer. “Those stay there. Do you understand?”
Anika nodded.
“Papi is gone.” Helene’s voice softened as she held her daughter’s hand. “He’s our secret, between you and me.” She released Anika’s hand and moved to the door. She straightened her apron, hoping it still covered her round stomach. “Can you keep this secret for me?”
Anika nodded again.
“Run along now. Opa is in the yard. Maybe he’ll push you on the swing.”
Anika did as she was told, letting the back door slam. Helene heard chattering between the two outside. Satisfied, she opened the door, expecting the American soldier. Instead Katharina stood there. Parked in front of the house was a black convertible with two men in the front seat and Katharina’s three boys in the back.
“I’m sorry,” Helene mumbled. “I should have sent word.”
Katharina’s face fell. “You’re not coming?”
“No.” She pulled her friend into an embrace. “But thank you.” From over her friend’s shoulder, she saw the American GI coming up the steps.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked. In Peter’s hand were daffodils and mums she recognized from the neighbor’s garden. Frau Chek waved from over the fence, a bar of chocolate in her hand.
Katharina’s eyebrows raised at the sight of Peter. Then, with a final good-bye, she gave a quick wave and left. And with her, Helene’s final chance for escape.
“She going somewhere?” Peter asked.
“Somewhere safe, I hope.” Helene watched the car disappear. When it was finally out of view, she turned to Peter. “Well, come in.” Helene felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Let me get a vase for those. They’re beautiful.”
“I thought the women would enjoy them,” Peter said in German. “They’re okay this morning, aren’t they?”
Helene stared into his deep green eyes as they rested on hers. “Oh, ja, ja, the women.” She tore herself from his gaze. “They’re fine. Come see for yourself, Officer—”
“Please, call me Peter.”
“Thank you … Peter.” She poured water from a ceramic jug into a blue glass vase and carried it to the guest room. Peter followed. She placed the vase on the table next to Michaela’s bed.
Peter chuckled, pointing at the hollyhocks already arranged there. “It seems we had the same idea.”
“I just wanted to bring a little beauty into the room,” Helene said.
Peter sat in the chair beside the bed and held Michaela’s small hand in his large one. “Beauty for the beauty.”
“You are kind.” Michaela’s lips tilted up gently. “Too kind.”
Leaving her hand in Peter’s grasp, Michaela asked, “How are the others from the camp? Have you heard anything?”
“They’re getting help. The 131st Evacuation Unit is setting up a hospital near here. You should visit it once it’s ready.”
“No need,” Michaela said. “I have the best caretaker in town.”
Peter glanced in Helene’s direction, and she shrugged.
“Still, I mustn’t be too much of a bother.” Michaela’s voice faded. “Helene must be careful with that new babe on the way.”
Helene’s hands covered her stomach. Of course the woman noticed; how could she not? Especially last night when Helene’s dress had stretched tight over her midsection as she bathed Michaela.
Peter lifted one eyebrow.
Helene waved a hand in the air, as if he should have realized it all along. “Work is good for me. I can’t get soft and lazy, can I?”
Both of them stared at her stomach. Helene began to exit the room, her mind searching for a good excuse. “Oh, your milk.” She hurried through the door.
I should tell them who I am, she thought as she picked up the mugs. They’re going to find out sooner or later. Her body felt hot and tense, and her heart fluttered like a nervous moth.
When she returned, she was sure the visitors could read the secret all over her face. But they were
focused on Lelia, who’d just awakened. Peter lifted the young lady back into the bed. Helene placed the cups of warm milk on the table between the beds, then pulled the white sheets over Lelia’s sore-covered legs. Concern clouded Peter’s eyes.
After tucking Lelia in, Peter returned to the wooden chair beside Michaela’s bed and guided the cup to her lips. Helene did the same with Lelia. Milk dribbled from the corner of the girl’s chin, and Helene wiped it with a clean cloth.
“Last night,” Peter said, “I heard about a man who tried to get some food from the Red Cross. They sent him away because they said he’d been through the line earlier. When the man insisted he hadn’t, they searched their records and discovered it was his brother they’d seen. The twins were reunited yesterday afternoon.” Peter’s voice caught in his throat. “They were the only survivors of a family of six.”
Lelia raised her hand as Helene lifted the cup, indicating she’d had enough to drink.
“The Red Cross is setting up a system for keeping track of those liberated from the camps,” Peter continued. “I’ve been asked to take your names and add them to the list. The sooner we get the word out, the sooner we can exchange news.”
Peter pulled a small piece of white paper and a pencil out of his shirt pocket. “Could I have your full name and hometown?” he said. He attempted to act official, but Helene could tell it wasn’t easy.
“Michaela Perl,” the woman answered. “P-e-r-l. And Lelia Kubale. K-u-b-a-l-e. I’m from Bielsko, Poland. And Lelia is from somewhere in Germany. I don’t know where exactly. I’m sure she’ll tell you in her time.”
Peter wrote down the names and slipped the paper back into his pocket.
Lelia stared at the ceiling and her lips moved slightly, but no sound came forth.
Peter rose from the chair. “I’d better get back. I told my men I had a quick errand. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” He nodded good-bye and left the room. Helene followed.
In the living room, he leaned close and spoke in hushed tones. “I wanted to let you know that a medic conducted an examination on Lelia yesterday morning at the camp, before you arrived. He tested for typhus since Michaela found the girl in the typhus barracks. But as far as he could tell, she doesn’t have the disease. She must have just been using that building as a hiding place.”
“She’s so frail, I’m afraid to touch her for fear of hurting her.”
Peter opened the front door and it squeaked loudly. At the same time, the back door opened and Anika scurried in, her cheeks flushed. She ran to her mother, clinging to her legs. Then she peered around Helene’s hips and giggled at Peter.
“You’re doing a fine job,” Peter said to Helene. “You’re giving them what they need most: food and tender care. And a family,” he added, ruffling the girl’s flyaway hair.
Peter moved onto the front porch.
Anika released the grip on her mother and rushed to Peter. “Don’t go.” She wrapped her arms around his legs and positioned her small feet on top of one black boot.
A tight knot formed in Helene’s throat as she watched her little girl interact with the American soldier. “Anika, that’s not polite.” Helene pulled her back.
Anika shrieked and stretched her arms toward Peter.
Helene felt heat creeping into her cheeks. “I don’t understand. She’s never like this.” Anika pulled harder, and Helene’s grip tightened. “Anika, that’s enough. He has to go.”
Anika dropped to the floor and sat with her arms folded.
“You know what?” Peter bent down and ruffled her hair again. “I have a sister named Annie. Do you think I can call you little Annie?”
Anika nodded.
“Well, I’m sorry, little Annie, but I have to get back to work right now.” He held her shoulders gently. “But I can come back. I might even bring you a treat if you obey your mother. Sound good?”
“Good.” Anika’s pout transformed into a smile.
Helene breathed a sigh of relief. She took Anika into her arms, said good-bye to Peter, then shut the door. “If you act that way, he won’t come back.” Helene plopped her daughter onto the couch. “And we don’t want that, now, do we?”
Anika shook her head heartily, her hair flying about in wisps.
Helene gave a wry smile, letting her daughter know she was forgiven. “Now, go play. I think you left your doll in the bedroom.”
Helene returned to the kitchen and stood by the window. She watched Peter head back toward town. She hoped the next time he visited, he’d have news for the two women. Perhaps they had family searching for them. Maybe even a boyfriend or husband?
And how many were there like them? Over the years Friedrich had mentioned several camps scattered across Austria, and she was sure there were others in Germany.
Helene washed the dishes and considered what it would be like to be so ill and completely dependent on the goodness of a stranger. Yes, she’d lost her husband and her home. But she still had her father and her daughter. And as long as she had them, Helene knew she’d be able to face the future, no matter how uncertain it was.
Even during the day, Michaela watched Lelia sleep. She couldn’t help it. Each rise and fall of the girl’s chest brought a sigh of relief. Lelia had made it. Despite all odds, she was still alive.
Michaela sat up in bed and lifted a hand to her mouth as a small cough racked her body. With each cough her stomach contracted, and Michaela willed the food to stay down. Though she had only eaten a few spoonfuls of soup for lunch, her stomach seemed determined to rid itself of the nourishment she so desperately needed.
Michaela heard Anika in the other room, sharing lighthearted banter with her grandfather—“Papa Katz,” as he asked to be called. Yet their interaction was odd. Even in playfulness they seemed like strangers.
“Did you know there is a fun attic to play in upstairs?” Papa Katz asked as the two paraded past the door.
Michaela thought of her own family. For so long they had felt far removed from the war in Germany. Then the refugees started arriving—people just like them, who were suddenly homeless. Her father’s church had become a haven. Parishioners provided blankets and food. Even when the German army advanced into Poland, their home remained a safe place. Since he was a minister of the state, her father was left alone. And being non-Jewish, their family was able to remain in the area they loved while many others were shipped away.
Then Lelia entered my life, Michaela thought, lying back down. She’d arrived with her father, mother, and sister. From that moment, Michaela had been drawn to Lelia. Only thirteen at the time, Lelia had shiny black hair, thick and curly, hanging to her waist. Her heart-shaped face reflected innocent beauty. Now, four years later, the poor child was only a dim shadow of her former self.
And what about me? What would Georg think if he could see me now?
Georg. The name alone was enough to stir a thousand yearnings. As the war progressed, Michaela had seen him less and less, but even in his absence their love had grown stronger by the day.
Georg. She had been seventeen when she’d confessed to her closest friends the attraction she felt for him. He was twenty and quite serious about his trade as a printer. She watched him every day from afar for two years before he noticed her in the same way. By that time, she had blossomed into a woman. And he became her true prince.
Michaela rubbed her cracked fingernails across the stiff white sheet that covered her and traced Georg’s name with her finger.
In the beginning, the war had seemed so distant to the two in love. Then, over time, they found themselves helping as they could. Georg started printing news for the Resistance, and she assisted in the care of refugees.
Michaela stared out the window to the backyard and distant fields. A break in the tree line gave evidence of the Danube River just beyond.
Georg. An image of the last time she’d seen him stirred her thoughts. They had traveled to the countryside on borrowed bicycles with wooden wheels. His mission had been
to deliver news reports to a contact in another town. She had joined his journey as part of the disguise. They were to act the part of two young lovers away for a day in the country. It was an easy role to play.
Michaela closed her eyes and could see the wind tugging Georg’s light brown hair away from his face. She heard his bright laughter at the silly little songs she made up about their future—their children, their dog, and their house on the edge of the woods. “Happy, happy children three. Children born of you and me. Happy, happy children four. Oops, one scampered out the door.”
She knew now their dreams had been foolishness, considering the circumstances surrounding them. But for that day, the songs seemed far more real than their reality. They were in love, making plans for their future. But that future ended two days later, when Georg was captured at his shop and taken into the woods by SS guards for a quick execution. She remembered finding his body, along with two others, in the back of a wagon.
Michaela’s shoulders shook. That’s enough, she told herself. You’re a fool for living in the past, and a coward for not facing up to the future.
But what of the future? Michaela could not escape the question. Where would she and Lelia go? What could they do? They had both been silly young girls before the war. What type of employment or homes could they possibly find now? They could not depend on Helene and Papa Katz’s good graces forever.
She should’ve told Peter that posting their names would be of no use. Their families, both hers and Lelia’s, were dead. She had witnessed it with her own eyes. If it weren’t for her promise to protect Lelia—to leave, when everything inside told her to stay with her family—neither of them would be here.
Michaela’s eyes closed, yet she refused to allow her body to submit to sleep. As bad as the memories were, at least she could limit them. But she couldn’t escape the dreams. The ones where she was home with her family, happy and healthy. Ones where she helped her mother make strudel or worshiped at her father’s church. Ones where Georg rode beside her, his cheerful voice carrying on the wind.