From Dust and Ashes: A Story of Liberation

by Tricia Goyer

  Two old friends, Pawel and Rozalia, waited until last to approach her. Rozalia held in her arms a small girl with light brown hair and creamy ivory skin.

  Michaela gazed at the little girl. “Is this…”

  Pawel nodded. “Jacek and Lidia’s daughter, Sabine. She’ll be three next month.”

  Michaela placed her hand over her mouth, realizing how much the girl resembled the friends she would never see again. She opened her arms to the girl. Amazingly, Sabine reached for her in return.

  Michaela took the child into her embrace, pressing her face into the girl’s neck. Tears flowed freely as an amazing grief filled her again. Only this time it wasn’t those from Bielsko she cried for. But those in Austria she’d left behind. As she held Sabine she thought of Anika and the baby. She thought of Peter and Helene. She thought of Peter’s short note to her, saying that Helene planned to leave St. Georgen with her children.

  Michaela knew Peter would help Helene and the children as he was able. At least, she thought, they have each other.

  Twenty-Nine

  AUGUST 3, 1945

  Helene’s stomach knotted as she entered the dimly lit office. She clasped her hands, hoping to hide their trembling. A lone window in the far corner gave scant light. The room was sparse except for the large metal desk in the center. The gray walls seemed to absorb color.

  That morning, Rhonda had arrived as promised. Anika was excited about staying with the perky American nurse … especially when she saw the floppy, red-haired Raggedy Ann doll Rhonda had brought for her. Yet Helene’s arms felt empty without her baby and her daughter.

  The man sitting at the desk wore a white uniform that seemed unnaturally bright in contrast to the room. His hair was gray at the temples. His face showed no emotion. Beside him stood a young soldier in the familiar olive-drab uniform.

  “Mrs. Völkner, I presume.” The young soldier spoke German in a monotone voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Have a seat.”

  She did, sliding into the cold metal chair, tucking her skirt around her legs.

  The young soldier introduced the officer behind the desk as Captain Standart. The officer said something in English, and the young soldier translated. “It says here you are the wife of a former SS guard, Friedrich Völkner?”

  “Yes,” she stammered. “That is correct.”

  “And what has become of your husband, Mrs. Völkner?” the translator asked as Captain Standart tapped his pen on the desk.

  Helene’s voice shook slightly. “He was killed … when he attempted to escape the country.”

  “I see. It also says you wish to divulge names of other guards from the Gusen compound?”

  “Ja. It is the only way.”

  “The only way?” The translator’s eyebrows raised.

  “For my safety. I have two children. I must protect them.”

  “And how will Captain Standart know you are telling the truth?” the translator asked. “How do we know you won’t lead our investigation team on a wild-goose chase?”

  She gawked at the translator. Captain Standart adjusted his black-rimmed glasses.

  “I will speak with honesty.” Helene stumbled over her words. “I have no reason to lie.”

  She stared at the translator’s fidgeting hands. They don’t trust me. What will I do now?

  “I will vouch for her honesty, sir.” The German words came from behind Helene. She turned. A man emerged from the shadows. It was Peter. His face looked weary, his eyes tired. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Her chin quivered, and she held back the urge to run to him.

  “Sergeant Scott. You say this woman can be trusted?” Captain Standart’s voice held a hint of amusement as he spoke in German.

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “And how do you know this woman? There is a law against fraternization with Austrian and German citizens.”

  Peter approached the captain’s desk. “I first saw Mrs. Völkner when she brought food to the liberated prisoners of the Gusen camp, sir. She was not forced to do so, yet she risked her life to help.”

  Helene’s attention bounced from one man to the other as they spoke. The young soldier stood at attention and stared into space, his translation services no longer required.

  “Can others validate your statement?” Captain Standart questioned.

  Peter spread a half dozen sheets of paper on the captain’s desk. “I have signed statements here from Private Josef Wottitzky and his wife, Lelia. Mrs. Wottitzky is a liberated prisoner who was helped by Mrs. Völkner. And she’s doing well.” Peter glanced at Helene and showed the slightest hint of a grin. “Private Wottitzky often visited Mrs. Völkner’s home during his courtship.”

  The captain readjusted the glasses on his nose and studied the letters, tilting each one toward the lamp on his desk.

  “There are also letters from Miss Michaela Perl of Poland and others who were aware of Mrs. Völkner’s work in the camps,” Peter continued. “Miss Perl was another ex-prisoner Mrs. Völkner helped. She too is doing well.”

  Helene impatiently awaited Captain Standart’s response. To her surprise the officer cracked a stiff smile. “I see you’ve done your homework, soldier.”

  “Only trying to help someone who helped the troops and DPs while the war was going on, sir.”

  As Captain Standart finished reading, Helene felt Peter’s gaze, but she was too timid to look his way. Doing so, she knew, would break open the dam of emotions churning inside.

  The captain removed his glasses. “Everything looks in order. She can stay here for now and take her meals in the chow hall.”

  Captain Standart reached across the table and gave Helene a firm handshake. “We appreciate your help.”

  Helene sighed. “I’ll do my best.”

  “You will report to me at 0800 hours,” he stated. His voice softened. “That’s eight o’clock in the morning.”

  “And my children?”

  “They will be well cared for.” His eyes twinkled. “Until we can find a better arrangement, one of the nurses can watch them for a few days.” He laughed. “Compared to their regular duties, I’m sure any one of them would jump at the chance to play with a couple of kiddies.”

  Peter joined in the captain’s laughter, and Helene felt the tension melt from her shoulders like a chain-mail cape falling to the ground. She considered requesting her new friend Rhonda, but she wasn’t sure if that would be appropriate.

  “What do you call the little tykes?” Captain Standart asked.

  Helene looked to Peter, unsure of the question.

  “Your children. He wants to know their names.”

  “Anika and Petar.”

  The captain raised an eyebrow. “I see. I’ll tell the head nurse to send someone to your room first thing in the morning.”

  Peter placed his hand on the small of Helene’s back. His touch felt warm and protective.

  Helene took a few steps toward the door, then turned back to the captain. “Uh, sir.”

  He glanced up from his paperwork.

  “I’m sorry, but I … I don’t have any way to tell the time, and I don’t want to be late.”

  “Sergeant Scott,” Captain Standart said with an amused lilt in his voice, “could you find this lady a watch?”

  “Will do, sir.” As Peter escorted Helene from the room, she could hear the captain chuckling.

  The long hall was empty, and as soon as the door was shut Helene fell into Peter’s arms. Her shoulders shook as the realization of what she’d faced over the past forty-eight hours hit her again.

  “Everything will be okay.” Peter stroked her hair. “They called me back from Landsberg. I’m here. I’m here.” His breath felt warm against her ear.

  “What would I do without you?” She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. Peter’s arms closed around her.

  Helene pulled back. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  Peter took her face in his hands. With his thumb he wi
ped a tear that had managed to break free. “You’ve been through a lot. Why don’t we get you back to those children? I can’t wait to see them.”

  They proceeded down the hall and out the door, then headed across the compound. Peter’s easy swagger reminded Helene of a lanky adolescent boy—slightly slouched over, arms swaying gently.

  The morning sun was at half-mast and golden light crept over the distant mountains. High Alps towered in the distance. Behind Helene and Peter loomed another set of hills. And beyond that, a small town where Helene knew her father was thinking of her.

  “Peter,” she asked as they stepped through the door of the barracks, “do you think you can get word to my father? Let him know we’re well?”

  “I don’t know. The full occupational forces have arrived. No one is allowed in or out. It’s a miracle you made it.”

  Helene thought of her prayers. She sensed Michaela was praying too. Yes, a miracle.

  “Even a simple telegram?”

  Peter ran his fingers through his hair, then glanced at her. “I just don’t think it would be safe. It would draw too much attention. The lower the profile he keeps, the better.”

  “Of course,” she answered. “It was too much to ask.”

  Peter looked up and down the hall, then spoke in a low voice. “You don’t know, do you? You still don’t realize who he is.”

  “He’s an innkeeper. His property was used to keep military supplies, and—”

  The look Peter gave her indicated that wasn’t what he meant.

  “What do you know that I don’t?”

  He led her to a corner of the hall farthest away from the doors. He leaned close, his voice scarcely audible. “I wish I could tell you more. But just know your father is a great man. His assistance saved many prisoners’ lives. And his work is not finished.”

  Helene thought back to the last time she’d seen her father. “Trust me,” he had said. But obviously, from the secrecy Peter and her father maintained, it was she who could not be trusted.

  Thirty

  AUGUST 3, 1945

  Peter couldn’t comprehend what was happening. He understood Mr. Katz’s reasons for convincing Helene to leave the Russian zone. And Captain Standart’s eagerness to receive her statements made perfect sense. But the fact that the sight of her made Peter’s palms sweat and his mouth dry out—that was the mystery. Wasn’t it Michaela he had longed to be with? Wasn’t it the petite Polish girl he cared so much for?

  When they returned to Helene’s room, Peter was greeted with a huge hug from Anika. He squatted and pulled her into his arms.

  “Why, Scotty, is that you?” a female voice asked.

  Peter looked up, recognizing the pretty nurse from one of the hospitals he’d visited while picking up German prisoners. “Well, hello, Rhonda. What are you doing here?”

  She juggled little Petar in her arms. “One of Captain Standart’s more enjoyable orders.” She laid the baby on the cot and smirked at Peter. “So, why are you here?”

  Peter stood, holding Anika in the crook of his arm. He patted Helene’s shoulder. “I’m helping a friend.”

  Rhonda regarded them with amusement. “A friend, huh? Baby Petar indeed.” She cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. “Well, have fun … but not too much fun.”

  Peter noticed Helene’s cheeks flush. She thanked Rhonda for her help, and the nurse winked at Peter on her way out.

  Swinging Anika to the floor, Peter sat on the cot and leaned over the month-old baby. “Look at you. You’re so big.” He tickled Petar’s feet and the baby squirmed. “You don’t look like a little blob anymore, no, you don’t.”

  Helene laughed. She sat down next to them on the cot and folded her hands in her lap. Peter longed to weave his fingers through hers, but resisted the urge. “I’m glad you made it.”

  “It wasn’t easy. I’ll tell you all about it sometime.”

  He studied her face. “I’d like that.”

  Anika introduced Peter to Raggedy Ann. Then she twirled the doll in a wild dance, her dress poufing out like a bell around her legs. Peter laughed. Encouraged by his attention Anika danced about the room, humming a lively melody.

  “You remind me of Carmen Miranda,” he said.

  “Who?” Anika asked, her feet still bebopping.

  “A Brazilian lady who dances with fruit on her head.”

  “Carmen Miranda, Carmen Miranda,” Anika chanted as she continued dancing.

  “Thank you for the letter you wrote to Captain Standart for me,” Helene said. “We’d still be stuck in the Russian zone if it wasn’t for you.”

  “No problem,” he answered.

  “So you’ve heard from Michaela? And Lelia?”

  “They both sent the letters I needed to convince Captain Standart of your validity.” He pulled two slips of paper from his pocket. “And they each sent a note for you.”

  “You were able to get notes to them so quickly?”

  Peter smiled. “It’s amazing what buddies crisscrossing the continent are able to accomplish for you.”

  Helene opened the one from Lelia first. “Would you like me to read them out loud?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  Helene cleared her throat. “Dear Helene. It has not been long, but I miss you already. I am in France at a camp for military wives. Josef is finishing his duty. I would be lonely here except for the other women. Most of us get along well. I will try to write more later. Give the kids a hug for me. Love, Lelia.” Helene laughed. “She never was one for many words.”

  Peter smiled. “No, I would never accuse her of that.”

  Next she opened the note from Michaela. “Greetings, my friend! Peter wrote and said you might have to leave St. Georgen. I understand, although it must be hard to leave your father. Is there any chance he could join you? My country is also occupied by our friends from the North. First the Nazis, then … But I really shouldn’t write too much. I also shouldn’t complain. We found a place to stay, and I have a job sewing for a woman in town. She has a personality that is almost as bland as the soup at the camps.”

  Helene chuckled, then continued reading. “At least I can work for a little food. Our ‘church’ will be meeting under a large oak in the park until we can find a building. I just have to remind myself that my Savior’s favorite place to worship was in the open fields and hills of Galilee. I’d better say good-bye. Tell Anika I miss her giggles, and give baby Petar a peck on the tip of his nose for me. Also tell Peter I think of him often. Not an hour goes by when I don’t ponder your friendship. Sending all my love, Michaela.”

  Peter suddenly felt the room growing warm. The mention of Michaela, the closeness of Helene. He had to admit it felt good to have her beside him. Helene had always fascinated him. He remembered her determination as she’d carried that first pot of milk into the camp. Her tender concern for the weak and dying. He thought of the time he had caught her watching him from the window of the big yellow house.

  “Thank you for sharing the letters,” he said. “But I should get going.”

  Helene rose. “I understand.” She rubbed her hands along her skirt, attempting to press out the wrinkles. “You have work to do.”

  Peter didn’t tell her he had the day off. “It’s a nice walk around town if you want to get out,” he suggested. “Who knows? Maybe I can meet you for dinner at the chow hall.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “See you then?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Helene said as she closed the door behind him.

  Peter drifted into the hallway. He leaned against the wall and rubbed his chin as he seared another one of Helene’s expressions into his memory. This one said “I miss you” before he even had a chance to leave.

  A letter was waiting for Peter when he arrived back in his room. He recognized his sister’s loopy script.

  Sinking onto his bed, he tore the end off the envelope and shook it. Three folded sheets fell out. One was a newspaper clipping from the New York Tim
es, May 8, 1945. The headlines read:

  THE WAR IN EUROPE IS ENDED!

  SURRENDER IS UNCONDITIONAL.

  V-E WILL BE PROCLAIMED TODAY.

  OUR TROOPS ON OKINAWA GAIN.

  The center-page photo showed a wild crowd. The caption read, “Thousands fill Times Square in spontaneous celebration.”

  Peter ran his hand over the photo and tried to imagine what it would be like to be on American soil. It was all his men talked about. He couldn’t bear the thought that most of them would likely set foot in Japan before the United States. Rumors circulated that some of the Eleventh’s equipment was already being transported in that direction.

  Peter unfolded the other two pages.

  July 17, 1945

  Dear Big Bro,

  I thought you would enjoy seeing the clipping from V-E Day. Quite a celebration, don’t you think? Things were not as wild here, but a few of my friends and I went out for a night on the town. Dinner and the cinema! I’m sure things are different where you are. (Just where are you? Ha, ha!)

  One of the things I’m most excited about is the thought of some of our boys coming home. We’ve heard through the grapevine that some may return home for leave, or even for good. Who knows? Perhaps by the time you receive this letter the war in the Pacific will also be over. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

  Around here all people talk about is transports in and transports out. Remember the Italian internees who were being held in Fort Missoula? Well, word is they’ll be returning to Italy now. My friend Jeanie is trying to talk me into driving down to the fort with her to wish them farewell. I told her, “No way.” It’s not worth a two-hour drive.

  Although we try to keep merry attitudes for the sake of those returning, every soldier who comes home stirs memories of those lost. I try to keep a happy face, but I feel I can tell you the truth. I’ve attended enough memorials for a lifetime.