From Dust and Ashes: A Story of Liberation

by Tricia Goyer

Peter raised his hands in mock defense.

  “Well, you certainly do need some time away. And I’d love to help. Now, where’s that precious little girl of yours? I brought her a book I think she’ll like.”

  Anika squealed with delight when Rhonda brought the brightly colored picture book out from behind her back.

  Helene knew she couldn’t say no to Rhonda. So she kissed her children good-bye, slipped on her scarf and sunglasses, and jumped into the jeep.

  Peter grinned as he started the motor. “Here we go.”

  Helene settled in for a breathtaking ride. As they drove through the Alps, she was awed by the sharp peaks that jutted into the sky. They drove through tunnels drilled through the mountains and emerged to find quaint villages nestled between the folds of ridges, overlooking deep valleys.

  “Want to hear some good news?” Peter asked after they’d been driving for a short time.

  Helene nodded eagerly.

  “Japan started peace negotiations with the U.S. yesterday. It sounds like the end is near.”

  “So you won’t be going away?”

  “Not anytime soon. Not that I know of, anyway.”

  Helene lifted her face to the sun, soaking in its warmth. She was sure this was one of the most beautiful days she’d ever experienced. “I’ve never been to this part of Austria before,” she said, changing the subject.

  Peter steered with one hand and shot her a carefree glance. “Just wait, baby. I’m gonna show you the world.”

  Helene chuckled, but inside she questioned if there was some truth in the jesting. She had come to enjoy her time with Peter, but could he ever care for her as he had for Michaela? And if he could love her like that, would developing a relationship with him get in the way of her newfound commitment to God? As the wind whipped through her hair and scarf, hopeless questions spun through her mind.

  It was too much to consider. So Helene decided simply to enjoy the conversation, the scenery, and her day with this wonderful man.

  When they arrived at the town of Hallstatt that afternoon, they stepped out of the jeep, and Helene did a full circle, taking in the view around them. It was as if the small town rested in a bowl, with mountains all around and a lake in the middle. The houses clung to the side of the mountain and appeared as if a strong wind could blow them into the lake.

  Peter guided her to a small building surrounded by army jeeps. Music drifted out through the doors.

  Helene laughed. “You drove me all this way to go dancing?” She glanced down at her wrinkled dress that Peter had already seen her in three times that week.

  “Actually, we passed about a dozen dance halls on the way, but I figured this was as far as I could come and still get you home before midnight. After all,” he added, grabbing her hand, “don’t you think the conversation and scenery were worth it?”

  “Of course,” Helene said, following behind as he pulled her inside. Jazz music filled her ears. Helene didn’t understand the lyrics, but the tempo was intoxicating.

  Young soldiers danced with nurses and local girls. But all Helene could focus on was Peter. She didn’t want to weigh her options anymore. Her heart told her what her mind was still trying to figure out. As Peter pulled her into his arms for a slow tune, she refused to second-guess herself any longer. When she snuggled her face into Peter’s neck, he held her even closer.

  The time passed much too quickly. When each song was finished, they promised themselves just one more.

  Finally, near midnight, they forced themselves to leave the dance floor, Peter’s hand engulfing hers. “The children will be missing you,” he said, kissing her forehead.

  “Children?” she said dreamily. “What children?”

  Peter laughed. “Stay here. I’ll get the jeep.”

  Helene pouted as he released her hand. “Don’t take too long.”

  He bounded a few steps, then stopped. He looked up at the stars for a moment, then walked back to Helene. “This has been one of the best weeks of my life.” He caressed her hair, then let a finger trail down her neck. “I’d like to talk to you about something on the way home. About my crazy, mixed-up feelings.” His face drew closer. “And about how I think I’ve finally figured them out. You’re amazing, Helene. Your strength inspires me.”

  “I can’t wait to hear what you have to say,” Helene said, soaking in his words.

  Peter kissed her lips. Then, before she could respond, he started jogging to the far side of the parking lot where the jeep was parked.

  Helene sat on the bench outside the dance hall. The streetlamp that illuminated the sidewalk seemed dim compared to the star-filled night. Her chest felt so full she didn’t think it could contain all the happiness. Peter was in love with her. Even before he said the words, Helene knew it. She could see it in his eyes.

  She’d told herself over the past few months that her attraction to him was because of his help during the dark days surrounding liberation. Now she realized that she had cared for him from the beginning. Cared in a way a woman shouldn’t care for a man unless he was her intended.

  Helene sent a heartfelt thanks up to her Father in heaven. Everything really is going to be all right. I know You’re taking care of me.

  She let her finger trace the pattern on the roughhewn wooden bench. Then she stretched her legs out in front of her, remembering the soft kiss that still tingled on her lips. As soft as peaches, she thought.

  Across the parking lot Peter started up the jeep. Helene gazed into the night sky and wished she knew the name of the constellations. Maybe she’d ask Peter about them on the way home—after their talk, that is.

  The music started again, and Helene felt the vibration through the wall. The wind blew slightly, as if joining in. An empty cigarette pack and a newspaper ruffled on the bench beside her. The newspaper was printed in English. The front page flapped in the breeze. She couldn’t understand the words, but the pictures caught her attention.

  Helene peered at a center-page photo of a group of men. And in an instant, her warm, tender feelings washed away in a flood of fear and disbelief.

  No, it can’t be.

  There in black and white was a photograph of ten camp guards. The second one on the right was Friedrich.

  Helene grabbed the paper and stood to inspect the image under the dim lighting. Her husband was thinner than she remembered. A worried expression lined his face. He wore strange clothes. And his arms were pulled behind his back as if he was restrained.

  Where did this picture come from? It was current, she knew. Taken within the last year. She noticed the faint white line of a scar across his cheek, caused by a bar brawl the previous winter.

  Did the Allies take this photo upon his capture? Did they snap it as a record of the men they were planning to slaughter?

  The approaching jeep honked. Helene jumped, pulling the paper to her chest.

  Peter hopped from the jeep and dashed toward her. His feet barely touched the ground, and in the glow of the headlights she noticed a childish grin on his handsome face.

  “Ready? It’s still a four-hour drive back, but if we leave now, we’ll beat the dawn.” Peter’s smile faded as his gaze met hers. “Are you okay? You’re white as a ghost. I was only gone a minute.”

  Helene pushed the crumbled paper into his hands. Her voice quivered. “Tell me about those men.”

  Peter stared at her a moment, then read the article. “It says they’re ex-Nazis who were captured on the German border. Some as early as April. Others only recently. They’re being held by the Americans in Landsberg, where they will face charges for—” He looked up, as if finally making the connection. “Helene, do you know these men?”

  She nodded. Her stomach ached. “I don’t understand. They were captured? And they’re still alive?”

  “That’s what it says here.”

  “The date.” Helene pointed to the masthead, her voice cracking. “What’s the date?”

  “August fourth. Last week.”

  S
he sank back onto the bench. “It’s a mistake. It has to be.”

  Peter sat beside her. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” He lifted her chin with his finger. “Is one of these men … your husband?” His eyes pleaded with her to say no.

  “The tall blond one. Second from the right.” She covered her face with her hands.

  Peter’s leg pressed against hers. She felt the warmth of his skin through their clothes. Only minutes ago that touch would have made her soul soar. But now, her soul felt paralyzed.

  “But Friedrich is dead. That’s what I was told.”

  Peter stood and started toward the jeep.

  Helene rose and stopped him. “Peter, you have to take me there. I need to see him. I just won’t believe it until I do.”

  “Are you crazy? They’re not going to let us in. Besides, it’s a full day’s drive … in the opposite direction of Gmunden.”

  Helene squared her shoulders. “He’s my husband. I need to see him.” Her voice rose. “Don’t you understand? I have to know for sure.”

  For the longest time Peter didn’t move. Helene watched his resolve languish away.

  “I’ll have to call the captain to get permission.” He wiped away something on his sleeve cuff that didn’t exist, refusing to look at her. “And see if Rhonda can stay with the kids a while longer.”

  “There’s a pay phone by the bench.”

  “It’ll take a few minutes.” His voice was quiet. “Will you be okay waiting here in the jeep?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Helene said, climbing into the passenger side. Or will I?

  Peter strode to the phone booth. Helene noticed the paper still on the bench where Peter had left it. For a moment she considered retrieving it, but changed her mind. She didn’t need the photo.

  Friedrich’s scarred and weary face was already burned into her mind.

  PART THREE

  But your dead will live;

  their bodies will rise.

  You who dwell in the dust,

  wake up and shout for joy.

  Isaiah 26:19 (NIV)

  IN THE SHADOW

  In the shadow of the tower,

  I felt oppression, fear.

  In the shadow I longed for escape.

  Escape has now come—

  Or has it?

  Why do chains still bind?

  Why do memories

  Again draw tears?

  I seek God, and He answers,

  “Forgive him.”

  But if I forgive, will wrongs become right?

  If I forgive, will I then forget?

  So I cling to my pain

  Until the heaviness grows too great

  And I give it to my Lord.

  As He lifts the burden off my shoulders,

  I look into my Savior’s eyes

  And see my enemy reflected in Christ’s gaze.

  He sits in darkness, hurting, alone.

  “Now, go to him,” Jesus whispers. “Go to him.”

  Thirty-Three

  AUGUST 12, 1945

  Dark shadows melded with the night sky, making it difficult to tell where the land met the heavens. Even in the blackness Helene could feel they were moving into unknown territory, far away from all she knew.

  The ribbon of the road wound upward, and the jeep followed as if on rails. Gnarled tree limbs waved in the wind. A sliver of moon illuminated Peter’s face. His strong hands gripped the steering wheel like those of a drowning man clinging to a life preserver.

  The drive had been silent except when Peter offered her a blanket from the backseat. Helene had accepted, wrapping it around her trembling legs. She’d wanted to say something, and her mind tried out numerous combinations.

  “Please, Peter, try to understand.”

  “I’m sorry, Peter, there’s no way I could have known.”

  “This is something I must do.”

  But how could she verbalize her own jumbled emotions?

  She considered asking him to turn around, to take her back to Gmunden, to pretend she had never seen the photo. But it was too late for that.

  She needed to find Friedrich, to ask him why he’d deserted her, endangering the lives of their children. She had to look into his eyes to find out what had become of the man she loved, then hated, then mourned.

  The jeep skidded around an especially sharp corner, and Helene gripped her seat to keep from sliding into Peter.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, slowing.

  “It’s all right,” Helene answered.

  Around the next corner, the mountains opened up before them. Below, a gigantic lake glimmered like a sea of broken glass.

  Peter cleared his throat. “I need to tell you that I won’t be around anymore. My work is done. I told the captain we have the information we needed. And because of the circumstances—well, things have changed.”

  Helene didn’t know how to respond. While she should have felt relief at not having to revisit that place and those people again in her mind, she didn’t. And, even worse, how could she admit to herself that she would miss being with Peter, when that was no longer an option? Instead of trying to put words to her mixed-up sentiments, she remained silent.

  “We’re almost to Germany,” Peter said.

  “This will be my first time there,” Helene admitted. How many nights had she sat at SS banquets listening to the Nazis brag about the glory of the Third Reich? Now she would enter, not to see its renown, but to witness its ruin.

  “Peter?” She studied his profile.

  His eyelid twitched slightly but he made no other indication he’d heard her.

  Helene faced the road again, rubbing the scratchy woolen blanket between her fingertips. Helene thought of her children. Thankfully Rhonda had agreed to watch Anika and Petar for a few more days. Still her arms ached to hold them, to be near them.

  She thought of Friedrich. It was nearly four months ago that she’d last seen him. He had promised to come back to them. Now she knew the real reason he hadn’t.

  Helene had finally broken free from his influence … or had she? Could she ever be free from the man who’d haunted her life so completely?

  The sun was high in the sky as Arno watched through the filthy kitchen window. An army jeep approached with two occupants: the familiar GI and Helene. Arno snickered as he let the drapes fall.

  He’d had enough gold to buy both this little shack near Landsberg and the clunker parked outside. The Audi DKW rattled when it ran, and its imitation leather seats were worn through in several places, but it would work for his purposes.

  Arno had been foolish for allowing Friedrich’s wife to get away from him in Linz. He hadn’t known Henri would have such good aim with the brick. He’d merely wanted to scare her out of talking. He had no idea she’d leave town.

  But as soon as he’d seen Friedrich’s face on the front page of that American paper, he knew she’d go to him. And he wasn’t surprised when it was the American who brought her. Arno wished he could see Friedrich’s face when he spotted Helene with her new “friend.”

  “Henri,” Arno called. The boy sidled up to him from a shadowy corner of the room. “Watch the window while I pack the car. I don’t expect them to come back this way for a couple of hours. They might even stay a day, though I doubt it. Still, don’t let her get past you, no matter what. She can’t escape again.”

  Peter’s jeep drove into Landsberg about noon. During the war the town had been one of Hitler’s top three command posts. Helene remembered Friedrich traveling here before, returning with stories of parade grounds and extravagant feasts in honor of der Führer. Hitler had once been imprisoned at Landsberg, before his rise to power. And his men are here now, Helene thought. Only this time they did not march through the streets as a well-designed war machine. Instead, each waited behind bars, separate, alone.

  Peter parked near the prison and led Helene inside. Captain Standart had called ahead. A guard waited, offering to take Helene to her husband. Helene looked to Peter. “Do
n’t leave me,” she wanted to say. Yet did she really want him to be there when she saw her husband again?

  Peter stepped back. “I have to move the jeep. I’ll follow shortly.”

  Helene knew it was an excuse, but she didn’t argue. A guard led her down a long hall. Helene’s heels clicked and echoed in the silence. As they exited through the back door, the tall fencing loomed before them. Guard towers were stationed on each corner of the yard. Men mulled around, filthy and thin. They looked a lot like the prisoners they had once ruled over.

  The guard called out Friedrich’s name. Many men turned around. In a far corner one man rose. Helene recognized his stride. His footsteps quickened when he saw her. Like a man lost in the desert, he ran to her as if she were an oasis.

  “Helene, darling!” Friedrich’s filthy, hungry hands reached through the fence and caressed her hair.

  Helene fought a strong urge to pull back.

  “You found me.” His lips trembled.

  Helene studied his face. He’d aged. Thick lines stretched from the corners of his eyes and mouth, and his hairline had receded. “I thought you were dead. Arno’s wife brought me a letter. She said you’d been killed.”

  “I did that for your safety. Please forgive me.” He reached through the fencing and wrapped a blonde curl around his finger. “I believed if they thought I was dead, they would leave you alone.” The explanation tumbled from his lips, almost as if rehearsed.

  “You did it for me?” she repeated.

  Now, just when she thought she might have a good man in Peter, a love based not on childhood fancy but on triumph over hardships and sorrows, Friedrich was back, a humiliated and humble man, stealing her future. How could he say it was all for her?

  His hands grappled for her through the fence. “You have to get me out,” he begged. “Please.” He pulled her into the metal meshing and kissed her lips, the wire pressing against her cheek.

  “No, Friedrich, stop.” She pushed back from the fence.

  The guard behind her cleared his throat. Helene spun around to find Peter standing there. As she beheld his face, Helene was sure she’d never seen more pain in a person’s eyes. Their green depths were clouded with a fog of unshed tears.