From Dust and Ashes: A Story of Liberation

by Tricia Goyer

  Just as they passed, Helene noticed a hunched figure in the backseat, facing the opposite direction.

  “Peter?” she whispered as the moonlight caught his reddish-blond hair. She felt a need to call to him, to invite him over for coffee. They could talk about the coming changes and exchange a formal farewell.

  But the jeep passed by too quickly. “Good-bye, Peter,” she murmured.

  He didn’t even glance at the yellow house.

  Helene’s heart went out to him, riding away alone, running from the pain. “Godspeed,” she called softly into the night. “Come back soon.”

  Then she remembered. The Russians would be taking over shortly. And when that happened there would be no returning.

  The jeep turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Helene continued homeward.

  What did he do to deserve this heartache? she wanted to cry to the heavens. She would be alone soon, she knew. She would lose her friends, lose Peter. But she deserved this punishment. She deserved this for every time she ignored the horror.

  But Peter? He’d only helped. Only provided.

  It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense. Helene moved through the front gate and up the steps.

  Within minutes, her children were tucked into bed. Helene kicked off her shoes. She collapsed onto her bed, too tired to undress.

  She decided to pray for Peter. She’d been finding much comfort in prayer lately. And as she considered her words to God, Michaela’s prayers came to mind. Even now she could hear their gentle cadence in her mind. The prayers were like a soothing balm. Yet she still didn’t understand how Michaela could have such faith. She’d barely escaped a death camp. She’d turned her back on a relationship with a wonderful man in order to return to the place of her betrayal. And yet, she was not bitter.

  It’s hard to make sense of it all, Helene thought, fighting sleep. Unless … unless the balance of good and evil doesn’t depend on what we’ve done or what happens to us. Perhaps it really does depend on the life and death of Jesus.

  Could that be part of the answer?

  Helene thought of her mother, and of the story Michaela had told her just a few nights before.

  When I felt near suffocation in that cattle car, I knew this was not natural, Michaela had said. “Evil is wrong. A person being slain like an animal is horrible. But then I thought of Christ’s life. His service. His love. The way He laid down His life for His friends. My heart tells me that’s how life was meant to be lived.”

  The words replayed in Helene’s mind, and they made more sense each time she considered them.

  That’s the reason I felt so guilty, Helene realized as she rolled over onto her side. If a God of love is the truth, He’s the reason hurting others feels wrong, no matter what the popular belief. And why helping others, although difficult at the moment, feels so right in the end.

  Helene flipped over onto her back. She felt weary, but good. Difficult concepts—truth, faith, hope—were beginning to make sense. She pulled the blanket over her body, still dressed in wedding attire.

  More than anything, she realized, she wanted what her heart cried was natural. She longed for what her soul told her was right. She needed what she’d been missing all these years.

  If Christ is truth, then I either have to accept Him or reject Him. If she had learned one thing during the war, it was that there was no middle ground.

  So before Helene surrendered to sleep that night, she embraced the One who was her hope after so many years of hopelessness. She prayed to Michaela’s Savior and made Him her own. And in doing so, she found the gate to freedom. As a prisoner once chained by sin, the doors were now opened through a new life in Christ.

  For the first time in years, Helene drifted off to sleep in sweet, sweet peace.

  Helene woke with morning’s first rays. Her eyelids felt heavy, but her heart was light.

  Petar had awakened numerous times to nurse. Instead of becoming frustrated, Helene had kissed his soft baby head and prayed the prayers she had been storing deep inside for so many years.

  Sometime during the night, her father and Michaela, Marek and Kasia had returned from the wedding. Michaela had tried to muffle her prayers, but in the quiet of the night Helene could not mistake them. Days before she had wondered why Michaela had made the decision she had. Now she understood a little better. Michaela’s greatest joy was to please the Lord. Helene had sensed that joy herself last night, and she still did now.

  As she sat up, the scent of lilacs drifting in through the window reminded her of an old Austrian tale. As she thought about it, she realized it made a perfect illustration of God’s love.

  Helene stretched her arms, then flipped the covers back from the bed. Her bare feet touched the cold wooden floor. As much as she wanted to tell Michaela about her decision, there was one person she wanted to share it with even more.

  She pulled stationery and a fountain pen from the bottom drawer of her dresser. The image of Friedrich’s smiling face flashed before her as she spotted the photos that lay there. It was too much to try to rationalize his part in the evil schemes. Today she must concentrate on the good.

  Sitting in the chair, she used a book for a table and began to write.

  July 29, 1945

  Dear Peter,

  Guten Morgen, my friend. I cannot help but wonder where you are waking up this morning. Only a few hours have passed since you left our town, but so much has happened that I can’t wait to share. For without your help I would not be experiencing the joy I feel now.

  Oh, dear Peter, where do I begin? First, I will go back a bit and share a story that is popular with all young Austrian girls. It is a story about true love. You see, up in the highest peaks of the Austrian Alps a simple flower grows. It is small and white, but it’s the spirit of the flower that matters even more than its beauty. In order to grow, the edelweiss must survive the harshest conditions and bloom in the most challenging weather.

  When I was young, every year there would be reports of young men who scaled the Alps and died in their attempt to pick a bunch of edelweiss for their true loves. It was a sign of ultimate devotion. As silly as it was, I would always dream of a man being so in love with me that he would risk his life to bring me a flower. Imagine that! But for many years that was my fantasy.

  Then the war came, and romantic thoughts disappeared. Until you came. That is when I first realized that perhaps good does still exist in this world. You risked your life. You went out of your way to save lives, and you helped me, your enemy. Why, if it wasn’t for you bringing Michaela, I would never know the love I now have.

  By your example, and Michaela’s prayers, I have finally discovered the truth behind the edelweiss. I was no foolish girl. Each of us wants to be loved like that. Although I’ve never had a man hand me such flowers, I feel that same type of love at this moment.

  Michaela often speaks of a God who loves us so much He gave His life for ours. This morning I discovered this truth: Like a lover wanting the best for his true love, God not only sought a way to prove His love, but He did so knowing full well He would die on that mountain. Last night, I finally realized He died for me.

  I have accepted Christ, Peter. Do you know what that means? Like America, Austria has been known as a Christian country. But I’ve lived many years not knowing what that could mean to me personally.

  Now I do.

  I hadn’t meant to write three pages, but I had to tell you first. I wanted to tell you about the freedom in my soul. Thank you. Thank you for bringing Michaela here. And thank you for showing me that heroes still exist.

  My little Petar is waking. I will write again. I hope to hear from you soon.

  With friendship in my heart,

  Helene

  Helene put down the pen and let out a sigh. She folded the letter in thirds and sealed it in an envelope before she could change her mind.

  “Shh, little one.” She lifted Petar from his cradle. She struggled to put on her robe with one
hand and balance Petar with the other, already missing Lelia’s helpful pair of hands.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she cooed to the baby. “But I had a very important letter to write.”

  Anika awoke and blew a kiss to Helene. Helene started to return the gesture when a pounding on the bedroom door startled her. Before she could respond, the door flew open. Marek stood there, his face drained of color.

  Helene pulled her robe tighter around her chin.

  Marek’s panicked expression quickly transformed to one of embarrassment. He took a step back. “So sorry.”

  “It’s all right. What’s going on?”

  “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said in broken German, “but I need Michaela. We must leave at once. The Russians—”

  “They’re here?”

  “Tak, yes,” Marek said. “They closed down borders sooner than expected. The Americans have moved out.”

  Helene thought back to Friedrich’s rantings about the Russians. “They are animals,” he had said with a vile curse. “Hardly men.”

  “Does my father know?” Helene asked.

  “Oh, yes. He is meeting with the town council right now.”

  Helene stared out the window. A robin bounced from branch to branch on the large tree outside, seemingly without a care in the world.

  She turned back to Marek. “I’ll start packing for Michaela. She’s been enjoying walks by the river lately. Perhaps that’s where she is now.”

  “I’ll go check.” Marek spun on his heels.

  The baby now asleep on her shoulder, Helene sank onto the bed. Anika climbed onto her lap.

  “Are bad men coming?” Anika asked.

  Helene didn’t know how to respond. “They are the Allies, here to protect us,” she said, wishing she believed her own words.

  “Will Michaela leave?” Anika leaned her head on Helene’s shoulder. “I no want her to go.”

  “She’s going back to her home. It will be good for her. Everyone needs a home.”

  “But I be sad.”

  “So will I.” She stroked Anika’s cheek. “We must be brave.”

  Anika nodded, but her shoulders sagged.

  Helene pulled Anika closer. “We will see her again. Someday, when the world settles, we will visit her. Would you like that?”

  Anika smiled weakly.

  “Good. Come, help me pack for her.”

  Rising slowly, Helene placed the baby into his cradle. Be brave, she told herself. She remembered Peter’s quiet acceptance, and it gave her strength.

  Helene drifted to Michaela’s bedroom. Kasia sat on the bed with her face in her hands.

  “I just thought of something,” Kasia said in broken German. “I am going home. But it will not be the same. Nothing will ever be the same. How will I do it?”

  Helene wrapped her arm around the girl’s slender waist. “God will help you. And Michaela will too. Her faith is strong.”

  Trucks rumbled outside, making the back of Helene’s neck tingle. But she had confidence in her words.

  Faith would make the difference. For Michaela. For her. For them all.

  Twenty-Five

  AUGUST 1, 1945

  The sky had just begun to lighten when the train chugged in. Like a dragon with smoke puffing from its nostrils, it roared closer, heaving to a stop with a drawn-out sigh.

  Tickets had been issued for three to Hamburg, Germany. From there Michaela, Marek, and Kasia would receive new papers before moving on to Poland.

  The Red Cross had provided traveling clothes, but they were much too large for the thin frames. Helene straightened the collar on Michaela’s dress, thinking that the travelers resembled children playing dress-up.

  Anika clung to Helene’s skirt. Kasia rocked Petar in her arms as Helene pulled Michaela into her embrace, wrapping her arms around the woman’s sharp shoulder blades. The train whistle blew, and a cry caught in Helene’s throat. As they tearfully rocked in each other’s arms, the sky seemed to open up and a misty rainfall filled the air.

  “Heaven is crying with us,” Michaela said.

  Helene didn’t even attempt to answer.

  Michaela finally pulled back, and the two examined each other at arm’s length. Helene stood tall over Michaela. Her shoulder-length blonde curls couldn’t be more different than Michaela’s cropped dark hair. Still, Helene knew Michaela was the beautiful one where it mattered most.

  Helene gazed into Michaela’s face, trying to imprint the memory of it into her mind. Her eyes were red-rimmed and weary. Still, Helene never wanted to forget the love she saw there. The love that had made such a difference.

  A man stepped from the train and hurried past them. Then a couple with a small child. Soon it would be time for Michaela to board.

  Helene bit her lip. Kasia handed her the baby and said a word of thanks. Then, as if sensing the two women needed to be alone, the brother and sister boarded.

  “Thank you for the shoes.” Michaela studied the sturdy brown boots on her feet.

  “I told you I would find some,” Helene said with a tilt of her chin. “I’m sorry my father couldn’t come,” she added, refusing to believe this was really good-bye.

  “We said our farewells at the house. I will miss him greatly.” Michaela squeezed Helene’s hand. “Even more, I’ll miss you. You saved my life. I can never repay you.”

  Helene tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. She tried again. “I thought I was the one helping you. But I was the one saved. I only offered bread. But what you gave me—” Helene placed her hand over her chest. “What you gave me, I can never repay. The life you showed me lives here. I have found a new life. Your work here is complete.”

  Michaela stood on her tiptoes and kissed Helene’s cheek. “That is the only reason I can let you go,” Helene continued. “God has called you to share this good news with others as you did with me.”

  The train whistle blew again, and Helene took a step back. Michaela crouched before Anika. The young girl released her mother’s skirt and flew into Michaela’s arms. Helene glanced at those on the platform around her. After years of knowing her every move was being watched, she couldn’t help but wonder who at the station was observing this scene. What did they think of an SS child in the arms of a former prisoner?

  Michaela’s lips moved, and Helene knew her friend was saying a prayer over Anika. Michaela stood and placed a hand upon Petar’s head and did the same for him.

  “As soon as I arrive, I will write,” Michaela promised.

  Helene nodded, pulling Anika toward her. “Go now. Before you miss your train.”

  Michaela stepped through the train doors. Helene waved to Marek and Kasia in the window and caught a glimpse of Michaela’s face before the train rolled forward and disappeared down the tracks.

  The platform still buzzed with the motion of dozens of bodies—serviceman, displaced persons, and villagers. Yet Helene felt more alone than ever.

  She took Anika’s hand and hurried toward the house. The rain continued to fall, and by the time they reached the front door they were soaked.

  She would bathe the children, dress them, feed them, and play with them. Perhaps she’d prepare a tea party with Anika and bounce her son upon her knee.

  Still, Helene knew that her heart would not be there. Through the rest of the day and into the night, her thoughts would be with the train as it increased the distance between them.

  That night, after her children were tucked into their beds, Helene lay awake, unable to sleep. She heard a train’s whistle and wished it signaled her friend’s return. She imagined the Red Army’s heavy-booted footsteps and willed them to stay away.

  Austria had been carved like a side of beef, with the four Allied powers choosing their own cuts. St. Georgen rested north of the Danube—the border of the Russian zone. Only a river crossing away, Helene knew, dwelt the symbols of those carefree months after the war. Peter, Coca-Cola, bubble gum, and jazz music had receded to the opposite bank
.

  But God is with me, whichever side of the river I’m on, she reminded herself. And in Him I will trust.

  Later, during the darkest point of the night, a clamoring outside stirred Helene from her bed. She heard a woman’s scream, then men’s laughter.

  Wrapping a blanket around her shaking frame, Helene approached the front window. On the small street that ran alongside their house, a Russian jeep was parked with its headlights off. The men’s shouts were directed at a helpless young woman. They pulled her into the jeep, then sped away.

  Where are they taking her? What will they do? Helene stepped back from the window. She jumped when a hand touched her shoulder.

  “It’s just me,” her father said. He tucked her under his left arm. A rifle rested in his right hand. “This is a gift from Peter,” he said. “Liberated from the Germans.”

  Helene understood. “You warned me they were coming.”

  Her father stepped to the window. “Thirty thousand of their comrades were killed in that compound on the hill. They’re here for revenge.”

  “But the guards are gone. All those involved have left.” Even as the words spilled from Helene’s mouth, she knew it wasn’t true. She remained. And her father, who’d kept supplies for the Nazis, had stayed. Even the priest who once housed a dozen men was still there. Although most of these people had no choice at the time, they could still be considered sympathetic toward the Nazis.

  A new oppression had come to their town. Helene snuggled deeper into her father’s arms.

  The next morning, Helene’s father was gone when she awoke. She peered at the spot where the woman had been taken the previous night. The memory of her screams caused Helene to jump at the slightest noise. The streets were quiet now. But she knew, out there somewhere, the Russians lurked.