by Tricia Goyer
The baby rooted his head toward his mother’s breast and settled as she brought him close to nurse. Helene studied him in the dim light, noticing how his miniature earlobe perfectly matched his sister’s.
At a gentle tap on the door, Helene lifted her head. “Come in,” she said just above a whisper.
Lelia, still in her nightdress, poked her head around the doorframe. A few black curls peeked out from under a scarf. “I can take him when he’s through,” she said shyly.
“I’d like that.” Helene yawned. “I promised Anika we’d bake a cake to celebrate Petar’s birth. A few more hours of sleep would be nice before I have to start the day.”
Lelia padded into the room and sat down in the chair.
“I just can’t believe he’s here.” Helene wrapped her son’s fingers around her own. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Lelia stared at her hands in her lap. “I did what I could.”
“No, really, you have a gift, Lelia. I nearly fainted when I saw all the blood, but it didn’t even faze you. Perhaps you should consider becoming a nurse.”
Lelia beamed. “I will think about that.”
When Petar finished nursing, Helene lifted him to her shoulder and burped him, then passed him to Lelia. She pulled him close, kissing his button nose.
Helene snuggled back under her quilt. “I hope he didn’t wake you.” She yawned again.
Lelia wrapped a blanket around the baby. “He did wake me, but not in the way you think.” She paused and stared at him a moment. “When I came here I couldn’t think. I didn’t want to be alive.” Her eyes looked past Petar and far away. “So many people were gone. My family—”
Helene leaned up on one arm. Petar opened his eyes as if he too were listening.
“Then he came. You needed me. I felt alive again.” Her voice faded. She patted Helene’s arm. “Now, you get some sleep, and don’t worry about him.” She caressed Petar’s cheek, then carried him out of the room, letting the door close softly behind her.
Helene wanted to say something more than thank you, but words didn’t seem to be enough. So Helene just lay there, in awe of the miracles taking place around her.
After a few minutes, she closed her eyes. Thank you, God, for giving me Petar. And for giving us Lelia back too.
And as she considered what else to pray, it seemed that her words to God never said quite enough either.
Helene felt better after a few hours of sleep. She was busy helping Anika with the cake when a loud knock at the door startled her. She handed the wooden spoon to Anika and wiped her hands on her apron. “Keep scooping batter into the pan.”
“I keep going.” Anika licked the spoon once before sticking it back into the batter. Helene chuckled quietly.
The knocking sounded again, and Lelia and Michaela approached the door as well.
Upon opening the front screen, Helene saw a huge bunch of wildflowers and a package wrapped in glossy blue paper, tied with a white satin bow. The face behind them wasn’t distinguishable, but she could make out an American army uniform. She moved her hand to her chest and was about to call out Peter’s name when a face moved from behind the flowers. It was a face she recognized—one of Peter’s friends. But not Peter.
“Please come in,” Helene said, willing her heart to cease its wild beating. She hoped her smile hid her disappointment.
“I come bearing gifts from Peter,” the GI said. “He’s sorry he can’t be here himself.”
Helene stepped out of the way so he could enter. After taking a long sniff of the flowers, she placed them on a side table. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember …”
“My name?” He grinned. “Clifton. Corporal Dan Clifton, at your service.” He bowed, then looked around. “Well, where’s that new baby? I have direct orders to check out the little guy.”
They all tiptoed to Helene’s room and peeked into the cradle. Petar was asleep, his tiny fist curled next to his cheek.
“What did you name him?” Clifton asked when they returned to the living room.
“Petar,” Anika announced.
Clifton folded his arms across his chest and grinned. “Now, that’s something I’d love to report.” He pointed at the gift. “Well, are you going to open it?”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Helene smelled the flowers one more time, then picked up the rectangular box.
“The flowers are from several of us guys.” Clifton ran a finger around his belt buckle. “We sure got plenty of ribbing for picking wildflowers.”
Helene sat on the sofa and untied the white satin bow. Then she worked on the shiny blue paper.
“That’s from Peter,” Clifton said. “I have no idea what it is, but it was quite a task transporting it from Germany without mussing it up.”
“Is Peter doing well?” Michaela asked.
“Oh, yeah. I only got to see him for a few minutes, but he did seem to have a spring in his step.”
“I wanna help!” Anika grabbed one end of the paper and pulled. With a swift jerk, the lid came open, revealing a wooden train set.
“Wundervoll! Wonderful!” Anika cried, grabbing the caboose.
“Anika,” Helene said sternly, “that’s for your brother.”
“But I tell him to share,” Anika answered in a serious tone.
The four adults couldn’t help but laugh.
“Okay,” Helene conceded. “He can share.”
Within minutes, Michaela and Anika had the train put together and were pulling it around the room by its long yellow string.
“What a special gift.” Helene folded the wrapping paper and placed it on the table. “I’ll have to write Peter a thank-you note.”
“Or tell him yourself. He should be here within the week.”
Baby Petar cried from the other room. Lelia started to rise, but Helene waved her away. “No, you sit and visit. I’ll attend to him.”
A week, Helene thought as she hurried to the bedroom. What will it be like to see Peter again? And what will happen between him and Michaela?
“Let’s just take one day at a time,” she whispered to Petar as she picked him up from his cradle.
After Petar finished nursing, Helene returned to the living room, where she found Clifton on the floor with Anika. The girl pulled the train around the room and quietly hummed a tune. Michaela and Lelia watched from the couch.
Clifton looked up as Helene entered, then cocked his head. “Anika, that’s a lovely song you’re humming. Can you hum it a little louder?”
Anika stood straight and tall and did as she was asked. Helene’s eyebrows furrowed as she sank into a chair. It was the tune Friedrich had taught her.
“Do you know what that is?” Clifton asked.
Anika shook her head.
“It’s ‘The Bridal Chorus’ by Richard Wagner. It comes from one of his operas.” Clifton sat up straighter. “Haven’t you heard of it? It’s very popular in the States. There we call it ‘Here Comes the Bride.’ I’m partial to Wagner’s title myself.”
“I’m familiar with Wagner,” Helene said.
“How do you know so much about music?” Michaela asked their visitor.
Clifton tried to hide a grin. “In my prewar days I majored in music at Chico State University. I actually joined the service hoping to visit the countries of some of my favorite musicians.” He laughed.
“So have you seen anything memorable?” Michaela asked.
“I saw Wagner’s Concert Hall in Bayreuth. The guys gave me a hard time for that, Wagner being Hitler’s favorite composer and all.”
Helene smiled, but her mind hardly comprehended what Clifton was saying. Instead, she patted her baby’s back and wondered why Friedrich had chosen to teach Anika that tune. She knew Friedrich liked Wagner, but why “The Bridal Chorus,” of all things? Then Clifton said something that caught her attention.
“I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” Helene asked.
“I was just saying that soon I’m going to be transferred
to Füssen, Germany. While I’m there I hope to see—”
“Füssen?” Helene asked, recognizing the name of her husband’s hometown. “Someone I once knew was raised in Füssen.”
“Really?” Clifton sat a little straighter. “Then you must know about Neuschwanstein and Hohenschwangau, King Ludwig’s castles. You can see both from Füssen. That crazy king was devoted to Wagner’s work. So much, in fact, that the rooms of Neuschwanstein were built to be stages for Wagner’s operas.”
Clifton continued on, giving Michaela and Lelia a music history lesson. But Helene’s thoughts drifted. She handed the baby to Lelia and excused herself. Slipping into her bedroom, Helene shuffled through the papers and photos she’d taken from her home.
“Here we are,” Helene said, finding the photo she was looking for. She tilted the black-and-white picture toward the light coming in through the window. She studied the image of the small boy and the cottage, then examined the rolling hills and the castle huddled into the folds of the mountain behind. Was that one of the castles Clifton spoke of?
Helene took the photo into the other room and handed it to Clifton. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but can you take a look at this?”
Clifton took the photo. “It’s Neuschwanstein. Amazing. You can’t see it from this view, but just a few kilometers away is Hohenschwangau.” He studied the photo more closely. “Who is the boy?”
“That was my husband when he was a boy,” Helene said, sitting back in the chair. “His mother still lives there. Interesting … I never realized the connection between Wagner and those castles.”
Clifton handed the photo back and stood. “I’m afraid I need to be going now. But it certainly was a pleasure meeting you ladies.”
After Clifton left, Anika started softly humming the tune again.
“Anika,” Helene asked, “why did your father teach you that song? Is there a story behind it?”
The cord to the train she’d been pulling dropped to the ground. “I not tell.” She placed a finger over her lips. “I promised.”
Later that day, Michaela sat at the table in her room, fidgeting with the piece of writing paper as she tried to think of how to sign the letter.
“‘With love’ would be good,” Lelia urged from her place on the bed.
“I don’t know. It sounds too forward.” Michaela bit her lip and twirled a strand of hair in her fingers. She felt twelve again, awkward and uncertain.
Helene entered the room with the baby in her arms. “Lelia, would you mind changing him? Clouds are building, and I’m afraid it will rain on the laundry if I don’t bring it in right away.”
Lelia stood and took the baby. Helene started for the door, then stopped when she noticed Michaela brooding. “What are you writing?”
She sighed. “A letter to Peter.”
Helene sat in a chair beside the desk. “What did you say?”
Michaela shrugged. “I just told him about daily life around here. How your father is always busy helping the townspeople. Anika’s humorous antics. About you and baby Petar, and Josef’s dates with Lelia.”
Lelia swatted Michaela’s arm as she juggled the baby. “They’re not dates.”
Michaela grinned. “Well, if you don’t call three walks in three days dates, I don’t know what they are.” She looked at Helene. “I’m just not sure how to end the letter.”
Helene scooted closer, craning her neck to get a better view of the paper. “How you end it depends on how you feel. How do you feel?”
Michaela sensed warmth spreading through her. “Strange. I mean, I don’t even know if Peter’s interested in me.”
Helene and Lelia both gave vigorous nods.
“Well, then, I do care for him.” She lowered her head. “Not the way I did for Georg, though. With him, it seemed our lives were entwined into a single cord. I thought of him every minute of the day. I never could understand why God would take him when we had so much love between us.”
“Would you marry Peter if he asked?” Helene questioned.
Michaela thought for a minute. “Oh, I don’t know. Well, maybe I would. It’s really too soon to even think about that. I suppose the feelings I have for him could grow into love. But get married? Move to America? That seems too much to think about.”
Lelia patted the baby’s back. “I think about it.”
Helene raised one eyebrow, then placed a hand on Michaela’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that now. Just sign the letter and be done with it. What about ‘With care’?”
“I like it.” Michaela moved the fountain pen across the paper.
Lelia leaned back on the bed and hummed to the baby. The sound of raindrops tapped against the window.
“Oh, the laundry!” Helene rushed from the room.
“I’ll help,” Michaela called after her. She placed the letter on the table and followed.
The rain fell on their heads in fat drops as they scurried outside. Too many questions. Too many changes, Michaela thought as they worked quickly to get the clothes off the line. It was true that many romances had blossomed immediately after the liberation. Numerous weddings took place at the displaced person’s camp and around town every day. Still, it seemed too soon. Michaela had concerns as countless as the falling raindrops. And serious questions that couldn’t help but dampen her spirit.
Michaela yanked the last of the laundry off the line, then noticed Helene. Her friend’s face was tilted to the sky, her eyes closed. Raindrops fell over her cheeks like tears. Michaela tugged on Helen’s shirtsleeve, and the two hurried into the house.
“What were you doing?” Michaela asked, squeezing the moisture out of her hair.
“Looking for answers,” Helene said flatly.
“Pardon?”
“Oh, Michaela, I’m so confused. Maybe it’s just my mixed-up emotions after just having a baby, but that thing about Wagner and the castle keeps bothering me.” She took a half-wet towel from the pile of laundry and patted her damp head. “What was Friedrich doing when he taught Anika that chorus? I mean, he hardly spent any time with his daughter, and that’s the one thing he chose to teach her?”
Michaela wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders. Helene smelled like baby and wet hair. “Why don’t we pray? God has all the answers, and it seems we both could use some about now.”
Helene nodded and knelt next to the kitchen table. Michaela joined her. Real tears wet their already-damp cheeks.
Twenty
JULY 20, 1945
Helene knew the time had come for her to tell Anika about Friedrich’s death. Her father had gone into town. Michaela was already in bed. And Josef sat with Lelia on the front porch, his interest in the girl having won out over his disgust of Helene.
After Helene tucked the blankets around Anika, she kissed her soft cheek. “My lamb, I need to tell you something, but first I have a question. And I need you to answer Mutti truthfully, all right?”
Anika nodded.
“What did your father make you promise not to tell me?”
The little girl pressed her lips into a thin line.
Helene took a deep breath. “Sweetheart, your father …” She blinked away the tears that threatened to flow. “Your father has died, my dear. Do you know what that means?”
“It means he’s not coming back. His body isn’t alive anymore. People buried it.”
“Who told you that?”
“Opa. He say Papi still loves me. Even if he’s gone. He always love me.”
Helene tried to swallow, but her throat felt thick. Her father never ceased to surprise her. “Your opa is right. Your papi loved you very much.” She stroked her daughter’s silky hair. “But now that he’s gone, it’s all right for you to tell me his secret. In fact, it could help me a great deal.” She looked into her daughter’s innocent blue eyes. “Does it have to do with the song?”
“Ja.” Anika kicked her feet under the blanket. “Papi say he going away. He say when he come back, we live in a house big li
ke a castle. I be a princess, and he buy me pretty clothes. And we listen to music together.”
Helene stroked her daughter’s head. Why should that be a secret? Didn’t all fathers like to imagine such things with their daughters?
Perhaps there was some hidden truth behind his words, and Friedrich had resources she didn’t know about. Helene hated to think of where he could have obtained such riches. No, maybe Anika had just been confused.
“That’s everything?”
“Ja,” Anika said simply. “He say you didn’t know about surprise.” She yawned. “Now you sing to me? Sing me one of your songs?”
Helene knew which songs Anika meant. Songs from her own childhood. Songs she had sung to Anika from birth.
“Sing ‘Stille Nacht?’” Anika asked.
“But ‘Silent Night’ is a Christmas carol.”
“I know.” Anika snuggled deeper under her blanket. “But I like it.”
Helene sighed. “If that’s what you want.”
Anika clapped her little hands.
“Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,” Helene sang. “Alles schläft, einsam wacht. Nur das traute, hochheilige Paar. Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar. Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh’. Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh’.”
Before the last line was sung, Anika was sound asleep. Helene sang the song again, this time for herself.
Heavenly peace. That’s what she needed. Peace from all the questions. From all the uncertainty surrounding Friedrich.
As she sang the chorus a third time, Helene prayed for exactly that.
Michaela stood in front of the full-length mirror as Helene fretted about. Her body was fuller now, but only slightly. Her hair longer, but not long enough. It curled behind her ears in an easy wave.
She smiled at her image, then frowned. She was alive. She had friends and an admirer. She should be excited. Why wasn’t she?
Perhaps it is because of Georg. She thought of all the days she had dressed and primped solely for the look of admiration in his eyes.