Simple Faith

by Anna Schmidt

  “There’s a convent here,” Mikel said, pointing to a small sign as they slogged their way through the sodden grass that filled a roadside ditch and climbed out of it.

  “Let’s go there,” she said. “Let’s go to the convent, Daniel.”

  “The sisters?” Daniel said, and his bright, feverish eyes widened with delight.

  “The sisters,” she repeated, caressing his cheek and realizing that his fever was worse. But her prayers had been answered. The nuns would take them in. They would give them shelter and share what food they had. And most of all, they would be able to get the medicine that Daniel would need. Surely no one would question a nun—not even the Nazis.

  Peter had persuaded the others to let Roger act as their spokesman. When the guard unlocked the door and another soldier stood waiting with a bucket of watery potato soup and a ladle, he greeted the two of them in German as if they were old friends. “Guten Morgen! It is so good to see you again.”

  The young soldiers glanced at each other, clearly suspecting some trick. “As you may imagine, my colleagues and I have had some time to consider the error of our ways. We would like a meeting with your commanding officer as soon as possible. And perhaps it would be a kindness to him if we were allowed to wash ourselves before that meeting?” He took the soup bucket from the soldier and handed it to Peter. “Thank you for this,” he added, indicating the soup. “It’s been some time since we’ve had a decent meal.”

  The two soldiers sneered at his sarcasm, but Peter believed that a connection had been made—at least with these two. Then one guard straightened to his full height and ordered Roger to step back inside. A moment later, the door closed, the key turned, and they were once again in the dark.

  Hours passed. Then days interrupted only by the erratic delivery of another pot of the watery soup. Because their cell was without windows, they lost track of the hours. But they endured them by singing songs, telling stories in voices loud enough to be heard through the locked door, and pretending to exercise with Roger counting out the drills. If their captors were listening, they had to be either amused or curious or both. Finally, they heard voices outside their little cell, and a few minutes later the key turned and the door opened. “Follow me,” a guard ordered.

  He marched them down the exterior stairway and around the side of the building to a barracks. He handed each of them a piece of toweling the size of a man’s handkerchief and a piece of soap the size of a nickel and ordered them to undress and shower. When they emerged from the icy cold showers, they found their clothing gone and identical sets of underwear, trousers, a long-sleeved, collarless knit shirt, and a heavy sweater waiting for them. “You will be allowed to keep your coats, head coverings, and gloves,” the soldier informed them.

  “This way,” a soldier they had never seen before ordered as soon as they were dressed. He led them down a corridor toward a closed door at the far end. He knocked and then opened the door and stood aside.

  Peter followed the others into the room—a small office furnished with cast-off and scarred wooden furniture. The officer in charge, who had berated the men for allowing the fire, sat behind the desk, picking at his fingernails. He did not look at them but left them standing before him for several minutes. Finally, he sighed heavily. “You wished to speak with me,” he said in heavily accented English.

  Roger stepped forward, close enough to the desk that he could easily have leaned on it, and forced the man to look at him. “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting. Let us not pretend we do not know what is to happen to us.”

  The officer glanced up and straightened slightly in his chair, prepared to protest, but Roger held up a restraining hand. “You have been given the very difficult but important task of making sure that we do not attempt to escape until we can be handed over to the authorities who are no doubt on their way here from either Munich or Berlin.” He motioned to the mounds of paperwork covering the officer’s desk. “Clearly you have been given a great deal of responsibility. What if we could make your life easier?”

  The officer actually chuckled. “And how will you accomplish this?”

  “We will cooperate—in exchange for certain privileges for the days it takes for your superiors to arrive.”

  “Privileges?” The smirk was a permanent expression for this man. “You are not in a position to demand—”

  “No demands. We are very grateful for the opportunity you gave us to shower and put on clean and dry clothing. For us to return to the cell where we have spent the last several days would be counterproductive, don’t you think? Your superiors will probably not like it if you present them with four foul and possibly ill prisoners. They will be angry with you, not us, for they will understand that we had no power.”

  Ian coughed as he had through much of the day already.

  “This man is already ill,” Peter said, stepping forward to press the point. “If he is put back in that room with no heat or air circulation, he will only get sicker—and perhaps contaminate the rest of us. I mean, think of it. What will you say to your superiors if one of us dies? If we are all too sick to be of any use to them? If …”

  “Be quiet,” the officer growled as he came to his feet and began pacing back and forth behind the desk.

  For a moment, Peter thought perhaps they had gone too far. But he’d been acting strictly on instinct. “Look,” he continued, ignoring the man’s command to stay silent, “it’s clear to us that you are intelligent and that you have the full respect of your men. The truth is you should be the one deciding what happens to us, not some guy who spends his days sitting in an office in some mansion in Berlin and spends his nights attending fancy parties with the big shots.” He waited a bit then moved a step closer to the man and lowered his voice. “Yet here you sit in this outpost away from the real war—the real power. You are a true patriot, but they treat you as if you were little more than some ordinary citizen.”

  The officer stopped and gazed out the small, barred window for some time, his hands clasped behind his back. Peter and the others exchanged looks, trying to decipher the German’s mood and likely response. Peter felt his pulse throb in his neck and head.

  “You will help me with my accent,” the officer muttered. “For the time you are here. You will teach me.”

  “Of course,” Roger blurted.

  “Not you. Him.” He pointed at Peter. “I want an American accent.”

  The light dawned. Peter and apparently Roger understood that this man was already planning what his life would be after the war, and suddenly Peter was pretty sure that he had not yet let his superiors know that he had captured four evaders. First he would make sure he had gotten what he needed from them. He would find his way to America, no doubt change his identity and start fresh. It was as good an admission that the war was going badly for the Germans as anyone could have given them.

  Peter grinned. “My pleasure. Now what do we get in return?”

  “I will see that you are moved to more comfortable quarters. I will have your friend with the cough checked by our unit’s medic. You have clothing and—”

  “I assume the food will also improve,” Peter said.

  “You will eat what my men and I eat,” the officer growled. “Believe me when I tell you that it is not much more than you have had already.” He walked to the office door and opened it. He mumbled some instructions to the guard stationed outside. The guard’s face registered surprise, but he did as he was told. “This way,” he instructed. “Schnell,” he added, perhaps to impress his commander.

  Roger, Ian, and Colin filed out, but when Peter went to follow them, the officer blocked his way. “You will stay.”

  The convent was a small cluster of badly rundown buildings, and it appeared to be deserted. The bell outside the rusted gate hung lopsided from its metal hook that was missing at least one screw. The cobblestone walkway that led up to the gate was missing several stones, making walking over it that much more difficult.

  “
I don’t like this,” Mikel muttered as he peered in at the gate. “It’s too quiet.”

  “It’s a convent,” Anja reminded him.

  “It was once a convent,” he corrected her. “Now it could be anything but. It could be headquarters for the Nazis. It could be abandoned. It could—”

  Daniel launched into a fit of coughing—gagging and twisting in Mikel’s strong arms as he struggled to get his breath. Anja reached up and rang the bell, then tugged on Mikel’s sleeve, leading him under an archway so that they were out of sight. Daniel settled back into a semi-sleep against Mikel’s shoulder. They waited so long that Anja thought the place must indeed be deserted, but just as she was about to step out from their hiding place, she heard the rustle of fabric and knew that one of the nuns had come at last.

  She clung to Mikel’s forearm as they waited. After a moment, they heard a key turn in the lock of the gate, and a female voice murmured in French, “It is safe, and you are welcome.”

  Anja glanced at Mikel and saw that he was still suspicious, but when Daniel shifted and moaned, she stepped forward. “Merci,” she said as she opened the gate and waited for Mikel to carry Daniel inside. A tiny figure in black stepped forward, locked the gate, and motioned for them to follow her. She glided slowly down an arched corridor past several closed doors until she reached the last one. She knocked softly, and a voice from inside called, “Entrez.”

  The room was small and sparsely furnished, exactly what Anja would have expected. A woman dressed in what Anja recognized as the garb of the convent’s mother superior came forward to greet them. “The boy is ill?” she asked.

  Anja nodded. “I am his mother and a nurse, but we have been—”

  “Sister Marie Francine will show you to your quarters. You are the father?” she asked Mikel.

  “He is our friend. My husband is dead. We are not of your faith,” she added, uncertain of why she felt that necessary.

  “We are all children of one God, my child.” She turned to Sister Marie and gave instructions for two rooms, dry clothing, a hot bath for the boy first and then Anja and Mikel, trays prepared and delivered, and whatever medication Anja felt necessary to order. Finally, she placed her hand on Anja’s shoulder. “We also run a small hospital ward for treating the wounded. We will see to your needs. You have only to ask.”

  Sister Marie brought a wheelchair that had seen decades of use for Daniel, and Anja let the tears of sheer relief and exhaustion flow freely as they followed the nun to their rooms. Mikel wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she was thankful for the support. Now that they were safe—at least for the moment—her legs seemed to have turned to water.

  She slept for hours, her exhaustion pulling her under like an outgoing tide whenever she tried to rouse herself to check on Daniel. Each time she opened her eyes, she saw one of the nuns sitting next to the cot where Daniel slept. Once she saw Sister Marie bending over him, testing his fever with the back of her hand and then straightening his blanket before she sat down again and opened her prayer book. When she saw Anja watching her, she smiled, and Anja closed her eyes, letting sleep take her once more.

  She dreamed of Peter. They were together holding hands as they walked through a field of flowers. Daniel was not part of the dream, but her sense was that he was nearby and all was well. The sun was shining, and she felt such a sense of joy and peace that she knew the war must finally be over and they had all survived and would now be together.

  But then the dream changed. She heard the sound of marching boots coming closer. She turned to look and saw hundreds of German soldiers coming toward her across the field led by the Gestapo agent Schwarz who had his gaze fixed on her. She turned to warn Peter and urge him to hurry, but he had walked on and was now so far in the distance that she had no hope of catching up to him. The flowers had thorns that clung to her bare legs and thin dress as she tried to reach him. He turned and held out his hand to her, but she was trapped and the army was gaining on her from behind. “Please,” she cried out in the dream, her voice cracking even as the tears so clouded her vision that Peter was no more than a shadow. “No! Wait!”

  She woke with a start and sat up. Sister Marie was sitting on the cot next to her, her usually placid features fighting a frown of concern. “Shhh,” she whispered as she eased Anja back onto the flat pillow and covered her with the rough blanket. “It was just a bad dream. Everything is all right. God is with us.”

  But was He? The one certainty that had sustained Anja through the years since the war began had been that there was some plan in all of the struggle and fear and uncertainty they had faced. Always she had been able to go to that quiet place inside and find comfort in the Inner Light of God’s love within. But lately …

  Listen to the promptings of love and truth and trust them as the leadings of God.

  Listen.

  Trust.

  As the days passed, Peter grew so concerned about Ian’s racking cough and the possibility that he and the others would be infected that he had failed to notice Roger’s waning strength and sallow complexion. But when the Brit collapsed one day, Ian admitted that Roger suffered from a weak heart—a condition he had hidden well in his zeal to serve his country. Peter sent their guard to find his commanding officer and then demanded that Roger receive medical care.

  “There is no hospital or doctor in this village, and I have no authority to move you until my superiors come to take you …”

  You haven’t sent for your superiors, Peter wanted to shout at him, but this was no time to rile the guy. “Then get me a nurse or the owner of the local drugstore or a midwife—anyone with some experience. This man needs immediate care, or he is going to die.”

  “You are hardly in a position to make demands,” the officer said with an imperious sneer.

  “Oh really? What if when the authorities—your superiors—arrive I just happen to mention that we’ve been here for some time now and that during that time you seemed inordinately interested in improving your English? I wonder what they would think of that.” It gave him some pleasure to see the man blush and glance nervously around to see who else might have overheard the threat. Peter did not like this man, but he had done his part coaching him for hours. Now it was payback time.

  The officer went to the door and muttered something to the guard posted outside. Moments later two other soldiers arrived and helped a nearly delirious Roger down the stairs and onto a stretcher they placed in the rear of a military truck. “Wherever you’re taking him, I’m going with him,” Peter announced and climbed into the rear of the truck before the officer could object. The officer threw up his hands and got into the passenger’s seat, ordering the driver to go quickly.

  The two soldiers riding with Roger and Peter in the rear of the truck carried rifles, and suddenly Peter feared that the officer had not objected to his going along because, instead of taking Roger to get medical help, they were taking both of them into the woods to be shot. He edged closer to the opening at the back of the truck, assessing his chances should he decide to jump and make a run for it.

  The truck was traveling fast on a winding dirt road across a landscape of forest and fields. The wind was chilly but not as cold as it had been. He noticed that it was measurably warmer than when they had first arrived. The wind was out of the south.

  Focus.

  He mentally counted the days since he had left Paris. The early days were easy, for each had been distinct in its events. But ever since he’d struck his bargain to teach the German in exchange for better conditions, the days had taken on a mind-numbing sameness that made every sunrise and sunset seem merely a repeat of the one that had come before.

  He studied the foliage for signs of spring buds and saw them, still closed like fists but undeniably there. He felt a stirring of hope. “Where are we going?” he asked one of the soldiers.

  “The convent,” the man replied. He seemed eager to give information, or maybe he was just bored and liked to talk.

  �
��There’s a doctor there?”

  “Sometimes. Mostly the nuns care for anyone who is sick.”

  Peter relaxed slightly. It could all still be a trick to keep him thinking they were headed for help when in fact … Nacht und Nebel.

  “Not far now,” the soldier added as he gazed out the back of the truck. He tightened his grip on his rifle and sat up a little straighter.

  So he’d been right after all. They were moving now through dense forest. They would shoot Roger and him and leave their bodies to rot where no one would find them for a very long time. They would simply disappear.

  Peter thought about the letters he’d written to his parents before setting out on his first mission. By now those letters would have been delivered along with the news that he was missing in action and presumed dead. He wished he’d taken the time over these last weeks to leave a letter for Anja. There was so much he wanted to tell her—how she had changed his life with her quiet faith and incredible courage; how he had thought that in time they would find each other again once the war was over. But the thing he would regret most of all was never having told her how he had come to love her and how all that had kept him going these endless days and nights since his capture was the hope that one day they would be reunited and start a life together.

  As the truck cleared the woods and the road ran through open fields on either side, Peter breathed easier. He also noticed something he had failed to see before. In the distance, he could see a mountain range. It could only be the Pyrenees, and if that were true, then he and the others were closer to freedom than he had imagined. As they pulled up to a gate and waited for a nun to open it, the officer turned in his seat and stared at Peter through the small opening that separated them.