Breadcrumbs and Bombs

by Susan Finlay

  Irmgard paused a few feet away, looked at Mutti, and shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

  Mutti rushed to her and hugged her, then said, “What did they say?”

  “Germans are forbidden from taking the trains. No public transportation for us.” She walked away, sniffling, carrying a suitcase and holding her youngest son’s hand, heading back to their home.

  Mutti stood frozen in place, watching them fade into the distance.

  “We are doomed,” Christa proclaimed heavily. “I cannot believe we are stuck here. We should have left last week.” But last week, Giselle and Andreas had been sick with bad coughs and fever. They wouldn’t have been allowed on the train. Before that, Mutti had cramping and bleeding and was afraid she was going to lose the baby. It was always something.

  “Do not talk that way,” Mutti said. “We must keep hope, for the children’s sakes. They are counting on us to keep their spirits up.”

  “Sorry, Mutti. You are right. But what are we to do?”

  “We stock up on firewood and kindling. Then we board up our windows and doors, and make it look like the house is abandoned, that’s what. We prepare a room in the house for the chickens and bring them inside. They’ll continue laying eggs for us. We won’t starve. You’ll see.”

  Chickens in the house? Had Mutti gone mad? A month ago she’d wanted to kill all the chickens and eat them. She was scratching for grains of hope that didn’t exist.

  As they walked along the cobblestone streets, Christa tried to keep her eyes on the road in front of her, but they were drawn to the hillside to the east. She didn’t need binoculars to see the soldiers, the tanks and the rising smoke from their campfires.

  “Mutti, the soldiers will see the smoke coming out of our chimney. They will know someone lives there, will they not?”

  Mutti didn’t answer right away.

  “We must keep the fire burning low,” she said, finally. “We all sleep in the living room together, near the fire for warmth.”

  Christa considered her words. “If people think the house is empty, might they try to break in and steal our things, or try to move in?”

  “Why must you always think of the worst?” she snapped.

  “I am sorry, Mutti. I will do better. I promise.” Christa still worried, but kept it to herself.

  As they turned the corner onto their street,” Christa changed the subject. “What will we do when it’s time for the baby to come?”

  “I found someone who will help with the delivery. She lives near here, close to the train station. Frau Bauermann.”

  “I know her. She is my friend, Claudia’s, mother.”

  “Ja. Frau Bauermann is expecting a baby, too. When her time comes, I will go to her home and help her deliver. We help each other and won’t cost either of us anything.”

  Christa felt a weight lift off her shoulders. She’d been worried that Mutti might be on her own and might need her to help. She wanted to help, but feared she would fail and would end in catastrophe.

  “When it is time, I will find her Frau Bauermann and bring her to our house,” Christa said. “I know which house she lives in.”

  Mutti patted her shoulder. “Thank you, Christa. I knew I could count on you.”

  At home, Mutti plopped onto the sofa and lifted her swollen legs, resting them on the coffee table. “I need to get this swelling down before I can work.”

  “Is there anything I can do to get started on the work?” Christa asked.

  “What work?” Ernst asked, standing in the center of the room, holding three year old Andreas.

  “You and Fritz chop more wood and bring it into this room. Stack up as much as you can beside the fireplace.

  “Can I help?” Julia asked. Christa hadn’t noticed her sitting in the chair in the corner of the room.

  “Ja. You can gather up small kindling and put it in another pile in here.

  “Do you want me to begin preparing a place for the chickens?” Christa asked.

  “Ja. Start bringing in some straw and the nesting boxes and set them in the attic. I will help you in a few minutes.”

  “We are going to have chickens in the attic?” Giselle asked, her eyes bright.

  “For a while,” Mutti said, closing her eyes. Her face looked far too pale. Christa had noticed her mother slowing down on their walk home. What if the cramping and bleeding started again?

  By evening, Christa, the boys, and Mutti had nailed boards across the windows from the inside, since they didn’t have a ladder tall enough to reach the upper windows and working inside was easier, anyway. They’d taken down the blackout curtains now that they didn’t need them and set them in a corner of the room.

  Mutti had started to nail shut the back door, but Christa stopped her, saying they needed one not nailed. How could she run to the Bauermann’s house when the time came to deliver the baby? What’s more, how else would they get to the outhouse in the backyard or to town to get their rations? Mutti smacked herself on her forehead and then told them to leave the back door un-nailed, but locked.

  They’d eaten eggs for dinner, again, along with hard bread, and fried potatoes. Afterwards, they brought all of their bedding downstairs and created a giant bed of pillows to sleep on, covering it with all the blankets they owned. With a low fire going in the fireplace, and the bed on the floor, it felt as if they were camping out in the woods. It reminded her of Vati, who used to take them on hiking trips up the hills into the highest part where they could look across the whole area and see their town and the people, looking like ants in an ant farm. They would build a campfire from scratch, roast their dinner, and sit around singing folk songs until they fell asleep in their makeshift beds.

  Tonight, with the soft glow from the fire, one small lamp lit, and no drafts from the windows, the house felt cozier and warmer than ever. Why hadn’t they done this sooner?

  “Can I sleep in the attic with the chickens?” Fritz asked.

  “Me too,” Giselle chimed in.

  “Nein. We stay together, here,” Mutti said.

  “But the chickens are probably scared in their new surroundings,” Fritz said. “We can keep them calm.”

  “Those chickens are probably thrilled to be inside where it is warmer. You can check on them first thing in the morning.”

  Throughout the night, the older kids had taken turns adding pieces of wood to the fire. Before they’d gone to sleep, Mutti handed each of the older kids a flashlight with fresh batteries. That way, they wouldn’t have to turn on the lamp and wake everyone up, if they needed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night or add wood to the fire.

  Christa rolled over and bumped into someone. She couldn’t remember who was sleeping beside her and it was too dark to see unless she flipped on her flashlight. And why bother?

  She rolled back over and heard snoring. Someone passed gas, too, and she waved her hand to chase away the smell. Mein Gott, she was wide awake now and couldn’t get back sleep. Was it morning yet? How were they supposed to tell what time of day it was? Usually, even with blackout curtains, slivers of light would find their way through, around the edges or where two pieces of fabric didn’t meet exactly. With the wood blocking the windows, nothing got through.

  Other family members were ranging around. It wasn’t only her. That must mean it is morning, right? She eased her way out of the jumble of bodies, careful not to step on anyone. As she neared the staircase, feeling her way in the dark, someone knocked into her and she almost fell.

  Who the heck was that? Then she heard footsteps running up the stairs. Fritz, she assumed. She took off running. At the top of the main staircase, they squeezed into the same space, tightly rubbing shoulder against shoulder.

  “Me first,” Fritz cried out.

  “Nein. Getting the eggs is my job.”

  “All right.” He conceded, stepped aside, letting Christa go past first.

  She rushed up the smaller staircase to the attic and opened the door. Startled
, the chickens squawked and clucked and the sound of flapping wings filled the air. She couldn’t see much in the darkness, but could certainly smell them. Light from outside peeked through in a couple spots, through spaces between the boards, but it was still dark. She certainly couldn’t hunt for eggs. Where was the string to turn on the overhead light? She tried to move forward and reach up for the string, and almost stepped on a chicken. It let out a loud screech and went crazy flapping its wings.

  “The chickens are loose in here, and I forgot my flashlight downstairs.”

  Fritz didn’t say anything. A minute or two later, Christa heard a loud thunk sound and then Fritz yelled out in pain. Oh no! He must have fallen on the stairs.

  She left the attic, closing the door behind her so the chickens couldn’t get out. Then she rushed down the stairs.

  Half way down the second flight, she bumped into Fritz, half sitting on the stairs. “Are you all right?”

  “I . . . I think so. I twisted my ankle.”

  “Can you stand?”

  She grabbed his shoulder and pulled him upright.

  “Ouch!” he yelled.

  “What happened?”

  “I tried to put my weight on my sore foot.”

  “You are too big for me to carry, but I will help you down the stairs. Lean on me.”

  Mutti made Fritz lie down and the sofa and then bandaged his ankle. Once Fritz was comfortable, Christa carried her flashlight back upstairs and quickly found the string, turning on the light. Better. She checked on the chickens, fed them, and then looked for eggs. Finding only two this morning, she decided that was because their routine had been disrupted and the chickens weren’t even sure of what time of day it was. She would talk to Mutti about removing the boards from the attic window.

  By the end of the week, Fritz was feeling better and was able to hobble around, but Mutti insisted he rest to give his ankle a chance to heal.

  That night, while the family listened to the radio and the younger kids played with toys on the floor, Mutti complained again of cramps and ferocious pain, unlike when she’d been pregnant with her other babies. She kept holding one hand behind her, firmly pressed to her back, and she couldn’t get comfortable no matter what position she was in.

  Julia brought in a wet towel and put it on Mutti’s forehead the way Mutti always did when someone was sick.

  “Should I get Frau Bauermann?” Christa asked, standing over the chair where Mutti sat moaning in pain and holding her belly.

  “Ja. Something is wrong. It is too early for the baby.”

  Andreas and Giselle started to cry, and Julia comforted them as best she could.

  Christa grabbed her flashlight and made her way through the semi-dark house to the backdoor. As she opened the door, Ernst held it open and went out with her.

  “You should stay home with, Mutti,” she said. “If something happens, the others will be scared and will not know what to do.”

  “And you think I would be better? The sight of blood makes me dizzy. I would be useless. At least out here I might be able to help you get through town without being accosted. Girls should not walk around the town alone in the dark.”

  He made a good point. They’d heard stories of girls and women being attacked or questioned by the gestapo or soldiers—sometimes it was hard to tell which—here and in surrounding towns. Not so much during daylight, but after dark, anything could happen.

  They hurried along the cobblestone street, guided by their flashlights and the moon.

  At the Bauermanns’s house, Christa knocked, bent over slightly, trying to catch her breath. The cold night air and their brisk pace had made it difficult to breathe for a moment.

  Claudia answered the door, a look of surprise on her face when she saw her old friend. Since school had ended, they rarely saw each other.

  “Christa! Hello. I have missed you. Why is it we never get to visit with each other, when we have nothing else to do?” Her eyes widened suddenly and she stopped talking.

  Christa, wondering why, turned her head. Of course. Claudia had noticed Ernst standing on the porch behind her and apparently realized this wasn’t a social visit.

  “Sorry to come here so late,” Christa said.

  “What is wrong? It is not safe to be out after dark,” she said, her eyes darting into the darkness. “The curfew. Have you heard something on the news? Is that why you are here with your brother?”

  Claudia’s mother came into view behind her daughter, drying her hands on a dish towel. “Christa, what happened? Is it your mother?”

  “It is Mutti. She is in labor, maybe. We do not know for sure. There might be something wrong with the baby. She is in pain.”

  “I will get some supplies. Come inside and warm up a minute while I get ready.” As she dropped the dish towel, Christa saw Frau Bauermann’s belly and remembered she was pregnant, too, obviously not as far along as Mutti, but maybe four or five months. Claudia’s father hadn’t come back from the war. He’d gone away the same time as Vati.

  The walk back to their farmhouse was slower paced, because Frau Bauermann couldn’t keep up. Christa and Ernst walked slightly ahead, each carrying some supplies, both watching for gestapo and any signs of danger. Christa looked over her shoulder periodically to make sure Frau Bauermann was still coming. A few times, Christa slowed down, allowing the frau to catch up.

  As Christa and Ernst led her around toward the back of the house, she asked, “Why are your windows boarded up and why are we going into the backyard?”

  Ernst explained what Mutti had insisted on. The frau made a clicking sound with her mouth. What it meant, Christa didn’t know, but she suspected the frau didn’t agree with that action.

  They found Mutti lying on the sofa, with all the kids leaning over her, worried looks in their eyes, and Mutti moaning.

  Frau Bauermann shooed the kids away.

  Ernst, white faced, said, “Come with me. We will go upstairs and visit with the chickens. How does that sound?”

  “But Mutti . . . is she going to be all right?” Giselle said.

  “She is in good hands now. Frau Bauermann has promised to help her.”

  Ernst pick up three year old Andreas and then took hold of Giselle’s hand. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “Will somebody hold my flashlight? It’s in my back pocket.”

  “I will get it,” Fritz said.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Frau Bauermann examined Mutti. “Well, I can already see the baby’s head.” She glanced around the room. “What are those pieces of cloth? Over there, near the window?”

  Christa said, “Our old blackout curtains.”

  “Good. Bring them over and set them on the floor next to the sofa. We will move your mother onto those.”

  Christa did as instructed.

  “All right, now help me. Get hold of her feet. I’ll take her arms.”

  Once they moved Mutti, Frau Bauermann had Mutti spread her legs wide. Then the frau used the wet towel Julia had used earlier and wiped Mutti’s brow. She began talking Mutti through the delivery process, telling her when to push, cautioning her when not to push, and then when to push again. Mutti kept groaning and crying out with each push, making Christa hold her breath, worrying.

  “Get me a large bowl,” the frau said. “I must break the sack when the baby comes out. The bowl will capture the amniotic fluid and keep it from getting over everything. After it fills the bowl, you must dump the water and bring the bowl back. I’ll need it for the after-birth.”

  Christa didn’t know what that meant, but she sensed she need to hurry. She dashed to the kitchen and searched the cabinets. Finally, she found the bowl she was looking for. The giant bowl they used for potatoes.

  When she returned to the living room, the frau said, “Ja, good. You will help me. Hold your mother’s hands while she gives a big push.”

  Christa rushed forward and set the bowl down beside the frau. Then she grabbed her mother’s hands and felt the pressure of her
mother’s exertion.

  After several minutes, the frau was pulling out the baby. “Almost there,” she said, smiling at Christa and Mutti. “Keep pushing. Oh, Hanna,” the frau suddenly proclaimed, “it looks like you have another son.” Seconds later, the baby let out a loud cry.

  Christa released her mother’s hands and leaned over toward Frau Bauermann and the baby.

  Mutti wiped tears from her eyes. “Is he all right? Nothing wrong? He is early. Does he need to go to the hospital?”

  “I am not a doctor,” the frau said, “but he looks normal to me, and I have had my share of babies. He is small and thin. But he will grow. I will clean him up and then we take care of the after-birth.”

  “Oh, thank Gott. I do not know what I would have done without you, Hilda. You saved my life and probably my baby’s life. I owe you.”

  Color already seemed to be returning to Mutti’s face as Christa looked on, feeling relief wash over her for her mother and her new brother.

  “Nein. Do not worry one bit. You will get to repay me when it is my turn.”

  “I will be happy to help you deliver your child. Let us hope the war is over by then and our children can play together and become the best of friends.

  “Ja. We will make sure they do.”

  Frau Bauermann got to work and finished what she needed to do, then cleaned the baby and wrapped him in a baby blanket she had brought with her. She turned to Christa and said, “You may bring your brothers and sisters down now to meet their new brother.”

  Christa darted up the stairs and burst into the attic. “The baby is here! Come see.”

  The children all rushed down to the living room and then stopped a few feet away from the sofa, where their mother was now resting, holding the baby lying on her chest.

  “It is all right,” Mutti said, smiling. “Come meet your new brother.”

  The children rushed over and crowded around mother and baby.

  Christa looked around and saw that while she’d been upstairs, Frau Bauermann had straightened up the room, removing evidence of what had occurred. But Christa would never forget the fear and excitement of witnessing the birth right there in their own house.