From Dust and Ashes: A Story of Liberation

by Tricia Goyer

  Michaela didn’t ask where the items had come from, but she’d made herself useful by taking down hems on Anika’s colorful frocks and adding side panels to Helene’s clothes in an effort to keep her expanding waistline from popping buttons.

  A few white petals blew through the open window, and Michaela thought of her mother’s practical summertime favorite, Karpatka cake. She rehearsed the recipe in her mind.

  “Butter, flour, baking powder, water, eggs. Yes, four eggs,” she mumbled. Remembering little things like that had helped during the dark days in the camp. For some prisoners, remembering the past hurt too much. For her, it helped to think of life before the pain. The Germans had dragged her from her homeland, stripped her bare, even replaced her name with a number, but they couldn’t disrobe her faith or her memories. She’d kept them concealed deep inside. They were her inward smiles hidden beneath salty tears.

  After one dress was done, Michaela moved on to a second. Anika’s voice called from the other room.

  When Helene didn’t respond, Michaela quickly tied off her stitches, then laid the garment on her bed. Lelia stirred slightly, pushing a strand of hair from her face. Though Michaela guessed she was awake, the girl didn’t bother opening her eyes.

  Leaning on the small table for support, Michaela pulled herself from the chair and eased across the room. Helene’s hand-me-down dress swung loosely on her frame as she moved to Anika’s bedroom and opened the curtains. Sunshine drizzled into the room. Anika wrinkled her button nose and reached out, playfully grabbing a handful of Michaela’s dress in her fist.

  Michaela perched on Anika’s bed and allowed the girl to climb onto her bony lap. The child’s touch felt wonderful, warming her even more than the sunshine.

  “Can we go for walk?” Anika asked, stroking Michaela’s arm.

  Michaela laughed. “Is that all you think about?”

  “Ja.” Anika blinked. “And chocolate.”

  “Well, at least you’re honest.” Michaela noticed how thick and foreign her words sounded compared to the young girl’s native German tongue. “Perhaps there will be no chocolate today.”

  Anika grinned, obviously not believing this could be true. Peter had left, but many of his friends still worked around town. They delivered bread, transported displaced persons, cared for the sick. A few even took time to check on the occupants in the large yellow house.

  “Ja, we can go for a short stroll. If it’s okay with your mother. But not too far.”

  Anika tumbled from Michaela’s lap. “Choc-o-late,” she called as she ran down the hall.

  Michaela mentally prepared herself for the vision of town. While Anika focused easily on the clean, neatly pressed GI uniforms, Michaela couldn’t get past the former prisoners. In small groups or alone, they clumsily staggered from place to place with white-wrapped Red Cross packages tucked under their arms.

  The survivors’ thin arms dangled at their sides and their jerky movements seemed unnatural. They reminded Michaela of the marionettes that had performed in the theater near her home. The worst part was, Michaela knew she looked the same.

  When she got to the kitchen, Michaela found Helene buckling Anika’s shoes. A bright yellow handkerchief was coiled around Helene’s head and a few blonde curls peeked from underneath. A mop bucket sat next to her. The kitchen smelled fresh.

  “I hope you’re up to this.” Helene gingerly rose from her crouched position and rubbed her side. “If you’re at all too tired—”

  Michaela squared her shoulders, trying to appear strong. “I can make it down the street and back, certainly.” She held out her hand for the young girl.

  Helene put her hands on her hips. “I’m sure of that. But I would feel better if you had some decent shoes.”

  Michaela examined the old brown loafers Helene had found for her. The soles were nearly worn through and offered little protection from the pebble-covered asphalt streets.

  “Remind me to trace your foot later.” Helene reclaimed the mop with a flourish. “I’m sure I can find a better pair somewhere.” Michaela knew better than to argue.

  Anika tugged on her hand. “Walk, walk.”

  “Ja, ja, I’m coming.” A knowing smile passed between Helene and Michaela as the mop swooshed across the floor.

  Not long after Michaela stepped into the street, she knew something was wrong. The town crawled with frantic movement as trucks, soldiers, nurses, and ex-prisoners jostled toward the camp.

  She stood on her toes but could not see what was drawing the people. Maybe I don’t want to know. Her fingers tightened around Anika’s hand as they walked. The young girl protested and she loosened them slightly.

  Toward the end of the block, near the camp, a group of men shoved past her. She recognized their uniforms. Former SS guards. It appeared they hadn’t bathed in weeks.

  GIs corralled the motley group like shepherds herding scraggly sheep. Only these men weren’t sheep. They were wolves. Even as prisoners their presence was frightening. Michaela had to get away.

  As she turned back toward home, a group of townspeople and dozens of former prisoners surged past her.

  “Ziereis,” a man in the crowd called. Michaela halted. Commandant Ziereis had been the head officer over Gusen and Mauthausen. His name had been greatly feared among the prisoners.

  Michaela could still picture his piercing stare as he inspected the fearful, bedraggled prisoners, daring anyone to confront him. Michaela had glanced into those eyes for only a fraction of a second, but even now, in freedom, the remembrance was enough to make her knees grow weak.

  Michaela heard the name again as a man shouted and pointed. A few blocks away, the stream of people grew as they swarmed from the evacuation hospital to the gates of Gusen.

  Michaela picked up her pace. She had to get back to the safety of Helene’s house. She had to get some space between her and that name.

  Anika tugged at her hand. “Let go!”

  Before Michaela could understand what was happening, Anika pulled free. Michaela spun around, as if in slow motion, and watched the girl’s small leather shoes pound down the street toward the camp.

  “Anika, no! Stop!” Michaela’s heartbeat quickened as the young girl lunged toward the crowd. “No!”

  Chocolate. She must be going after the Americans’ chocolate. Michaela willed her body forward. The girl’s blonde tresses bounced as she ran. Please, God, make her stop.

  Forcing her feet to move as fast as they were able, Michaela followed Anika as she skipped off the sidewalk onto the road. An army jeep screeched to a stop within inches of her. The girl paused for a second, then took off again.

  “Anika!” Michaela pressed forward. She stumbled slightly, then caught her balance, hobbling on, ignoring the ache in her limbs and the shooting pain of her feet on the pavement.

  “Anika, stop!”

  Anika continued to run, calling out something Michaela couldn’t comprehend. The distance between them grew.

  “Stop her,” Michaela called in German as Anika ran past two GIs. But the men didn’t respond.

  People continued to swarm the gates, and now Anika was among them. Rocks dug into Michaela’s feet with every step. Her chest burned.

  Anika was about to cross the threshold when a soldier grabbed her arm. “Let me go!”

  Wheezing, Michaela approached them just as the GI lifted Anika into his arms. Michaela noticed concern on the man’s face. Then she recognized Peter’s friend. Josef.

  His eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said over Anika’s cries. The girl in his arms squirmed to get loose.

  Something hanging in the air to her right caught Michaela’s attention. She turned, then gasped. Just inside the camp gates, a man’s body swung between two poles. His bloated chest showed evidence of a bullet wound. His neck was stretched to an unnatural length. He was naked and rigid. Michaela quickly averted her eyes.

  “Franz Ziereis.” Michaela’s trembling hands covered her mouth.

 
“Take the child and leave here.” Josef tried to put Anika into Michaela’s arms, but she didn’t have the strength to carry herself, let alone the child.

  Michaela reached for Josef’s arm to keep from collapsing. Anika lunged, escaping their hold, and bolted away. Josef ran after the girl, weaving through the crowd.

  “Papi!” Anika cried.

  No. Helene’s husband can’t be here, can he? Michaela had overheard he was dead.

  Anika ran past an armed guard and darted through the slats of a temporary fence that surrounded a group of Nazi prisoners.

  Josef was just about to grab Anika when the young girl flung her arms around the waist of a tall man inside the fencing. His blond hair was overgrown and ragged. An SS uniform hung from his wide shoulders.

  Even over the noise of the crowd, Michaela could hear the girl’s cry, “Papi!”

  The man scowled down at Anika from beneath bushy eyebrows. She shrank back. Josef pulled her into his arms as Michaela neared. Anika clung to Josef’s neck.

  “Are you her father?” Josef asked the man in German.

  “Nein,” the prisoner growled.

  “That’s all I needed to know.” Josef wrapped his free arm around Michaela to hold her up and led her to the shade of a nearby building.

  Michaela collapsed onto the ground, unsure of what to think, uncertain of what to do. The familiar odors of the camp pressed down around her, and she longed for a fresh breeze.

  “How did this happen?” Josef knelt beside Michaela. Anika’s arms remained tightly wrapped around his neck.

  Michaela tried to catch her breath. “We were walking and she slipped away. I tried to stop her—”

  Josef shook his head. “Nein. Not that. How did she pull it off? An SS wife, pretending to be a helpful citizen?”

  “Helene?”

  Josef leaned close. “Don’t you see? This little girl thought that prisoner was her father. His uniform is that of an SS camp guard. Has Helene mentioned anything about her husband?”

  “Not really.”

  Though she hated to admit it, it made sense. The missing husband, the fine clothing, awkwardness at her father’s house. Helene was an SS wife.

  Michaela curled her legs up to her chest and tightened her arms around them.

  Josef patted Anika’s trembling back. “She must have thought she would be above suspicion,” he whispered. “She fooled us all.”

  “No,” Michaela blurted out. “It can’t be.” She thought of Helene’s kind eyes and cheery attitude. It wasn’t an act. “Helene is a caring woman. She may be an SS wife, but entering that camp was a sincere act of compassion. She cares.” Tears stung Michaela’s eyes.

  Josef shook his head. “Think of the bodies we’re burying. Helene’s husband was a part of that. That means she was too.”

  Michaela didn’t know what to say. She knew nothing of Helene’s past, but she was certain of how the woman treated her now.

  “We have to get you out of that house,” Josef muttered.

  “I won’t leave.” Michaela lifted her chin. “She saved my life. I have no one else but her. I will go back to the house and ask her. I will listen to what she has to say.”

  “Fine then.” Josef released Anika. “But she’s done getting help from me. She purposely hid this from us.” Josef’s eyes flickered with hatred. As he stood, Michaela noticed a Jewish star hanging from a chain around his neck.

  Michaela grabbed Anika’s hand. “We need to go back now. Your mother will be worried.” She rose awkwardly and headed toward the road. It was clogged with people coming to view the hanging body.

  Michaela rubbed her aching limbs. Feeling Josef’s arm grab hers, she turned to him. He pointed his chin at Anika. The girl was wiping away tears with the back of her hand. Michaela felt her chest constrict. She wanted to reach out to the girl, to comfort her. Instead, Michaela pulled out of Josef’s grasp and began the long walk home. With every step, she braced herself to face Helene.

  Helene searched the street through the lengthening shadows. Clouds gathered in the distant horizon. Where are they? What could have happened? Why can’t my father find them?

  She realized now how foolish she’d been for giving Michaela so much responsibility. The woman wasn’t well. What if she’d collapsed or lost her way? Would Anika know how to get home? They were only supposed to go to the end of the street, which was within view of the house. That was over an hour ago.

  Helene sank onto the sparse grass in front of the gate. It will be all right. They’ll come walking around the corner any minute.

  Helene’s father had come home thirty minutes earlier and had tried to calm her fears, but it hadn’t worked. Especially after he shared the day’s events. She listened breathlessly as he relayed the death of Franz Ziereis and the hanging of his body just inside the camp gates. Her father had urged her to stay at the house in case they returned. Then he left again to search for the two.

  The commandant’s death had been no surprise to Helene. News had come days ago that Ziereis had been found in the Alps and was shot while trying to escape. Helene had also heard he’d given a confession before his death. Perhaps his confession pointed to other Nazi families still in the area. Maybe that had something to do with Michaela and Anika’s disappearance.

  She was just about to head into the house to get her sweater and pocketbook when four figures appeared in the distance. Michaela was limping, her father and an American GI helping her along. Anika toddled closest to the houses, holding her opa’s hand.

  “Thank God,” Helene cried out. But as she jogged toward them she could tell something was wrong. When she neared, Helene noticed Michaela’s sober expression and Anika’s tearstained face. Her father refused to look at her. The dread of his disapproval fell upon her afresh.

  Helene slowed, partly because of the awkwardnes of jogging and partly because of the look on the GI’s face. A tight knot formed in the pit of her stomach. She felt vulnerable and ashamed. He knew. They all did.

  “Anika,” she cried, ignoring the stares of the others. The girl released her grandfather’s hand and ran to her. Helene bent down and embraced her daughter. Then she looked up at her father, silently pleading for an explanation.

  He continued on to the house without a word. Josef waved to the others, then left. His contemptuous frown as he left stung as sharply as any physical strike could.

  The group shuffled into the house in silence. Anika occupied herself with a slice of buttered bread. Michaela sat on the sofa and took off her tattered shoes.

  Helene’s father pulled her aside and spoke in a low voice. “Your daughter saw an SS officer and thought it was your husband.” His gray eyes searched hers. “You have caused a lot of unnecessary pain, Helene. Did you not tell her he’s dead?”

  “I started to explain, but it was too difficult,” Helene said softly.

  “I’m so sorry.” Michaela’s voice was thick with emotion. “I tried to stop her, but she was too quick for me.” Helene expected to see repulsion and disgust in the woman’s blue eyes. Her expression was questioning but not hateful. A weight seemed to lift from Helene’s chest. Does she really know who I am?

  Helene took a deep breath. She knew she had to tell her. Had to confess what she should have revealed in the beginning. She stepped forward.

  “It’s not your fault. Really. It’s mine. I—” Though she wished more than anything to divert her gaze, to hide her shame, Helene looked into Michaela’s eyes. “I should have told you sooner. You need to understand why Anika thought that man was her father. Her father, my husband Friedrich, was an SS guard.”

  Michaela looked away, but not before Helene caught a glimpse of betrayal. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t say I understand your choices. I don’t know what happened then. But from the first moment I saw you I knew you cared. It makes no sense….”

  Helene knelt before Michaela and placed a hand on her knee. Michaela took it and gave it a gentle squeeze. If only she were the person Michae
la had believed her to be.

  “I’m afraid the Americans won’t be as understanding,” her father said sternly. “I’m sure even now Josef’s trying to locate Peter.”

  Peter. At the mention of his name, heat rose to the base of Helene’s neck. She sat on the sofa. “Will they come after me? Will they punish me for my husband’s actions?”

  “I doubt that.” Her father ran a hand over his mustache. “The Americans usually try to listen first. Now, if it was the Russian army …” His voice trailed off. “Besides,” he added, “you have no crimes to pay for.”

  Deep down Helene felt otherwise.

  Anika straggled in from the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. “Can I have a nap now?” She climbed onto her mother’s lap.

  Helene carried her to the bedroom. She felt her father and Michaela watching her. Now more than ever, she wished she could take it all back.

  Yet, as she tucked Anika under the handmade quilt she had snuggled under as a child, Helene felt freer somehow. The secret was out. They could either accept her or hate her. Either way, she was tired of pretending. Tired of hurting alone.

  Twelve

  MAY 26, 1945

  Peter had enjoyed reminiscing with Goldie again. Once he’d overcome the shock of his friend’s physical appearance, it was easy to connect with the man inside. The man who’d survived while so many other POWs had not.

  Goldie had soberly shared about starvation rations, inadequate living quarters, and the punishments brought on by minor infractions. Peter, in turn, discussed the camps and the survivors, but he didn’t broach the subject of Michaela and Helene. One word about them and Goldie would have him pegged. Peter couldn’t pull off a nonchalant attitude with the person who knew him best. So he didn’t even try.

  Instead, Peter told Goldie about their group of twenty-three men freeing the prisoners of Gusen. He talked about the camp orchestra playing the American anthem as he and his men entered the gates of Mauthausen. The group was made up of the finest musicians in the world, reduced to rags, now living as displaced persons. He related the story of how he found an American prisoner inside the camp. Though frail, the lieutenant had been strong of will and heart.