From Dust and Ashes: A Story of Liberation

by Tricia Goyer

  Friedrich cursed in German and spat at him.

  “Friedrich, stop.” She glared at him. “Peter has been a great help to me. And to my children.”

  “You mean our children,” Friedrich sneered. “We need no help from an American!”

  “Peter is a friend,” Helene insisted.

  Friedrich’s face calmed for a moment as he stared at Peter. Helene knew well how his mind worked. She could tell he was considering how to use her friendship with Peter to gain his freedom.

  “You’re right, of course,” Friedrich said, instantly changing his tone. “Forgive me.” He gave Peter an American salute. “Thank you for bringing my wife to me.”

  “So it’s true.” Peter crossed his arms over his chest as if trying to hold in his emotions. “Your husband is alive.” Without another word, he walked away.

  Helene longed to follow, but should she? As she stepped toward Peter, Friedrich exclaimed, “Helene, you’re no longer pregnant.”

  She placed her hands over her flat stomach. “You have a son.”

  Friedrich’s face exploded into a grin. “What is his name?”

  Helene swallowed hard. “Petar.”

  Friedrich’s grin transformed into a sneer. “You named my son after the American?”

  Helene stood her ground. “I named him after my friend.”

  Vulgar curses flowed from his lips. Helene started to leave.

  “Wait,” Friedrich called. “I need your help. There is something very important you must do for me. Something that can save us.”

  Ignoring his plea, she ran to the building. She had to put some distance between her and that man. She raced back through the long hall. “Where is Sergeant Scott?” she asked the man at the front desk.

  The soldier pointed to the doors. “He’s outside, ma’am. He said he would wait.”

  Helene blasted through the door. Peter’s back was to her. “Peter?”

  “Yes?” he said without turning.

  “I’m so sorry. Could you take me back now? I need to leave this place.” She struggled to hold back her tears.

  His shoulders straightened. “Are you sure? We just got here.”

  “Please. I have to go home. My children need me.” What she didn’t admit was how desperately she needed them.

  An hour later, as Arno finished packing, Henri shouted that the jeep was returning. The GI and the woman were already leaving Landsberg.

  Arno jumped into the Audi and leaned out the window. “I’ll be back in a couple of days. Have everything ready.”

  “Sure thing,” Henri said.

  Arno placed a cap on his head and yanked it down to his brows. He started the sputtering engine, then pulled onto the road behind the army jeep.

  “Now, little lady,” he said, changing gears and speeding up, “where have you been hiding?”

  Thirty-Four

  AUGUST 13, 1945

  In a little over forty-eight hours, Peter and Helene arrived back in Gmunden. Rhonda met them at the jeep, and after a quick thank-you Helene stumbled into the house, aching to get out of her limp, dirty dress.

  “Mutti,” Anika called, running to her mother.

  Petar reached a chubby hand toward Helene, and she scooped up both children before collapsing onto the sofa. She rocked them back and forth, gazing into their faces—realizing how much they resembled their father.

  “I can stay if you like,” Rhonda offered. “Peter just left. He asked me to tell you good-bye. He said you might need some help for a while.”

  “I’m fine, really. It’s bedtime for all of us. But thank you for all you’ve done.”

  “No problem,” Rhonda said with a wave of her hand. “It beats wiping the rears of injured soldiers any day.” She tried to appear lighthearted, but Helene saw concern on her new friend’s face as she left.

  Helene remained on the sofa with her children snuggled against her chest. Anika placed little kisses on her cheek as she soaked up their closeness.

  The growing shadows painted patterns on the wall. Outside, crickets began their serenade to the rising moon. In the distance, gentle waves lapped against the concrete shoreline.

  Hours later, Helene woke. She still lay on the sofa, her children nestled against her. Her neck kinked in an awkward angle, but she dared not move for fear of waking them. Their peaceful sleep contrasted sharply with the wild thoughts whirling inside her head.

  Where to go? What to do? Helene thought of the lists of SS officers penned by her own hand. She had felt safe relaying that information with Peter by her side, but what about now? She knew he wouldn’t stay around. And the United States Army couldn’t protect her forever.

  Helene wondered how many of the SS men she’d exposed had been captured. Not enough, she knew. Even one would pose a threat.

  Most of all, Helene thought about Friedrich. Her husband lived. Her children still had a father. A man who might one day gain his freedom.

  Helene sat in the darkness, her mind spinning with possibilities. The sound of a flowerpot crashing from the window box beside the front door burst through the silence.

  They’ve found me!

  Anika stirred. Helene slipped first one child and then the other out of her arms. Afraid even to breathe, she tiptoed to the kitchen. A scraping sound against the side of the house startled her. Helene pulled a knife from a drawer and raised it high over her head.

  A shadow moved in front of the kitchen window. Helene screamed. A head bobbed up from below the sill and let out a bark. The knife clanged to the ground as Helene placed a hand over her racing heart.

  “It’s just a stray dog,” Helene muttered with relief.

  “Mutti!” Anika called from the couch.

  Helene lit the lamp in the kitchen and slid the knife back into the drawer. “I’m right here, darling.” She scurried to her daughter’s side.

  Within minutes, she’d coaxed Anika back to sleep. Helene slumped to the floor and rested her hands on her knees, her heart still racing. After a few brief moments of prayer, she noticed something.

  On a small side table near her sat a book. Helene hadn’t remembered seeing it there before. She picked it up. It was a Bible translated in German. Did Rhonda leave it? Helene opened the front cover, and her breath caught at the sight of her name printed inside. And under her name a note.

  To Helene,

  To help you on your journey of faith.

  Love,

  Peter Scott

  “Peter.” Helene ran her fingers over his name. When did he leave this? Perhaps he’d given it to Rhonda to bring into the house.

  She flipped the page. There, written on a folded slip of white paper, she found the answer.

  Helene,

  I had planned to give this to you when I dropped you off after our night of dancing. Of course, my plans changed. I wish I could say I’m happy your family is once again intact, but I’m not. I also wish I could say all your hard questions could be answered within the pages of this Book, but mine haven’t been. I just hope the words here will somehow ease the pain and worries you’ll face in life.

  Helene, Helene. It seems everything associated with the war in Europe has become a curse to me. I’m going to try to make the next transport home.

  Wish me luck.

  Peter

  P.S. If you do find this Book holds all the answers, let me know. I have a thousand questions that torment me like hounds from hell.

  Helene read the letter three times before tucking it back between the thin pages. The book smelled of dust and mildew, but to Helene it was beautiful.

  “Thank you, Peter,” she whispered into the night. No matter what his note said, to her this Book was a glimmer of hope after a day of terror.

  Helene flipped through the pages. Inside, she knew, were many stories she had heard Michaela recite from memory. Even now she could picture Anika at Michaela’s feet as she told the tales of David and Goliath, Noah and the ark, Joshua and the walls of Jericho.

  Turning page afte
r page, Helene stopped at a section where small black print was scribbled in the margin. When we get to our lowest points, it is there when we truly see God, someone had penned. The passage beside it, Job 42:5–6, was underlined in black ink.

  “I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear: but now mine eye seeth thee. Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.”

  At first Helene was taken aback. Repent in dust and ashes? She’d had her share of both. The dust of the dead, the ash of the camp.

  An owl hooted outside. The wind played on the branches of an old tree. Petar breathed a contented baby sigh. Helene flipped the pages backward. She had to know what Job’s message could mean, and why she felt a stirring in her heart as she read those words.

  The morning sun caught Helene by surprise. She had never been much of a reader, but through the night she had visited Job and his so-called friends as they attempted to explain good and evil and why the innocent suffer.

  Helene stretched from her place on the floor where she’d stayed through the night. Outwardly she felt useless, but inwardly she was renewed. She had hope.

  Picking up the Bible, she read the verse again. “‘I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear: but now mine eye seeth thee,’” she read out loud. “‘Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.’”

  As she read the words, something burned inside her. And as she prayed, a fog of confusion began to lift. She had heard of God many times through the years. Her mother had believed in Him. Her father too in his own way. The Third Reich had created their own image of God. Still, it wasn’t until recently that she saw Him as Lord. Her Lord.

  Helene had witnessed for herself what one man with limited sovereignty and control had accomplished for the side of evil. She had seen nations conform to his madness.

  But God’s way was different. Through Michaela’s example she had seen that sometimes God didn’t lead His people in triumphant victories, but rather with simple, quiet comfort. Like the comfort that had come to her that night through the reading of His Word. The comfort she felt even now, despite the uncertainties surrounding Friedrich.

  Helene heard another noise outside. Rustling near the front door. She glanced to the children, still sleeping on the couch.

  There it was again. She groaned and bustled to the door. Stupid dog.

  “Scat!” she yelled, opening the door. “Get out of here!”

  “Is that any way to treat an old friend?” The words rolled off Arno’s tongue. “Really now, Helene.”

  “No!” Helene attempted to shut the door, but she wasn’t fast enough. Arno pushed through, slamming the door behind him. Helene ran to the kitchen, diving for the knife. She pulled it from the drawer and spun around.

  Arno held Anika in a tight grip. The girl’s arms extended toward Helene. “Mutti,” she wailed. Petar awoke, his scream joining his sister’s.

  “Put down the knife, and no one will get hurt,” Arno said calmly. His fingers caressed Anika’s cheek. “We’re going for a little ride.”

  Thirty-Five

  AUGUST 14, 1945

  The Audi rattled down the road. Though Arno refused to tell Helene where they were going, or for what purpose, she knew. She recognized the road to Landsberg from the day before.

  Helene let out a low moan. She had needed some space between herself and her husband. Needed time to think, to pray. But apparently that wasn’t going to happen.

  “I wondered how long it would take you to find out about Friedrich,” Arno said. “It was sooner than I expected.”

  “If you knew all along,” Helene asked, holding Petar secularly in her arms, “why did you have Edda tell me he was dead?”

  “I believed him to be dead. For a while anyway.” Arno focused on the road. “Until I saw him listed as a captured Nazi. Of course I was thrilled he was alive. Your husband has information I need. And you’re the one who can get it for me.”

  Helene glanced at her daughter, sleeping in the back seat. “What happened to your wife and children? Where did you leave them?”

  A smirk crossed Arno’s face. “Thanks for caring,” he said sarcastically. “They’re safe at her mother’s.”

  “In Vienna?” Helene questioned, remembering a conversation from long ago.

  “Ja,” he grunted. “They didn’t need to be entangled in this.”

  “So why do we have to be involved? How could we possibly help you?”

  “You’ve already helped.” He held up a piece of paper.

  The map. He must have found it when he was packing her things. So that’s why he dumped everything out of the satchel before he filled it up again.

  “You lied to me,” Arno feigned offense. “You said you didn’t have any information.”

  Helene refused to face him. “How was I supposed to know it meant anything?”

  “You kept it, didn’t you? You had to pack light, but one of the few things you held on to was this.” Arno drove in silence for a moment, then started in again. “So, do you know what it is?”

  “Nein, and I don’t care. I just want to start a new life.”

  Arno clicked his tongue. “And do you really think you can? My father used to tell me, ‘If you play with darkness, you’ll end up married to evil.’” He laughed. “Too bad I didn’t listen. Too bad for you too.”

  Helene rubbed her finger against her son’s cheek. Arno was wrong. She’d found a new life. One that could only come from discovering a God who loved her despite her past mistakes and poor judgment. She shot up a silent prayer as the car sputtered on.

  Long after nightfall, Arno pulled over in front of a small, dilapidated house off the main road. Helene spotted the lights of Landsberg in the distance. If she could only get away—escape to the U.S. Army base. But how could she flee with two small children?

  “Home, sweet home,” Arno said, opening the car door.

  Helene shuddered. A cobweb filled the outside window and a spider the size of her baby’s fist waited in the center of it for its evening prey. “I’m not taking my children in there.”

  Arno pulled her from the car. “As if you have a choice.”

  She held Petar close and watched Arno lift Anika into his arms. The sleeping girl snuggled into his shoulder, not realizing who carried her.

  Arno opened the front door, motioning Helene inside. She entered the room. A lantern burned on the table. Filthy blackout curtains hung in the windows. Helene jumped when she noticed movement from one corner. Her breathing calmed when she realized it was merely a young boy.

  “My lady.” Arno pointed to a jumble of blankets in the corner. Helene kneeled onto them. They smelled of soured milk and decay.

  “This will never do.” She held Petar close. “Can you please get my things?”

  “Henri, do as she says,” Arno said, seemingly amused.

  The boy quickly brought in the satchel. With one hand, Helene stacked their clothes and extra food into a neat pile. Then she slipped the baby inside the satchel, setting him on the blanket.

  “What about the girl?” Arno asked impatiently.

  Helene spread out her extra dress next to the satchel. “At least it’s clean,” she murmured.

  Arno handed Anika to Helene. The girl moaned once as Helene laid her on the dress. Then she nuzzled against her brother without waking.

  Helene stood. “Now, will you tell me what’s going on? Why do I need to see Friedrich? What could he possibly have that you want? You have the map, whatever that means.”

  The boy, Henri, sat up straighter.

  “Your husband promised wealth beyond my imagination, then promptly managed to get shot and captured. I’m only after what he pledged.”

  “And you think he’ll tell me?”

  “First of all, you’re the only one able to see him. Second, you can use those pretty little eyes of yours, that charming smile. Cry. Talk about your future. Tell him the lives of your children are at stake. And if he no longer cares about those things, tell him I’ll fi
nd witnesses for his trial. Witnesses that will get him a date with the hangman’s noose.”

  Helene crossed her arms in front of her. “Are my children’s lives at stake?”

  “Only if it’ll help me get what I want.”

  Helene sat down next to her daughter. “You won’t hurt them,” she stated bluntly.

  “Then you’ll do what I ask.” Arno strode toward the door. “I’ll be outside for a minute. I don’t want to hear a sound from in here, you understand?”

  Arno lit a cigarette and motioned to the boy. Henri followed him outside. They argued, but Helene couldn’t make out the words.

  Who is that boy? Helene guessed he was no more than twelve or thirteen. She thought she’d detected a hint of compassion in his gaze when she entered. How did he get involved with Arno? And why?

  Just then Petar woke up with a hungry squall. Henri charged into the house. “Quiet that baby, now!”

  Helene clasped Petar to her breast. No, no compassion there.

  How am I going to get out of here? Helene spent the night waiting and praying for a way to escape. None came.

  AUGUST 15, 1945

  Helene lowered her sunglasses as she approached the prison. Getting past the guard at the main entrance hadn’t been a problem. He remembered her from a few days before. But would she be able to make it all the way to Friedrich?

  She paused, knowing she could turn Arno in. He was a wanted man, a camp guard. But Arno knew this too. That’s why her children had become hostages, guaranteeing her compliance.

  She thought of Anika’s and Petar’s frightened cries as she drove away that morning. “Mutti will be back shortly,” she’d promised Anika. The girl struggled in Henri’s arms. Instead of getting angry, the boy stroked her head, trying to calm the girl. That made Helene feel a bit less uncomfortable about trusting him with her babies.