Breadcrumbs and Bombs

by Susan Finlay

  “Well, I am no longer needed here,” the frau stated, smiling. “I should be getting home to my family.”

  “We will walk you home,” Ernst said. “Right, Christa?”

  “Of course,” Christa said. “You will be all right while we are gone, Mutti?”

  “Ja, ja, I am fine. Be careful.”

  “We will,” Christa and Ernst said in unison.

  The following day, Mutti sent Christa to the Bauermanns’ house to deliver a basket of eggs, as a thank you. The family was delighted to get the extra food and, as they didn’t live on a farm or own chickens, they rarely ate fresh eggs.

  “Tell your mother thank you from us,” Frau Bauermann said, as Christa and Ernst were leaving. “She did not need to send those. She will be helping me soon enough with my delivery.” She smiled and waved and added, “See you again in a few months. Or sooner. I will try to stop by next week to see how your mother and the new baby are doing.”

  A week later Christa couldn’t stop sobbing, a waterfall of tears from falling from her face. Mutti, too, was crying and shaking. Their whole family sat in the Catholic Church’s pews, listening to the priest talk about the Bauermann family. Poor Claudia. That poor unborn baby, too. What did they—or any of them—do to deserve this? A bomb had dropped on their house five days after Mutti’s baby boy was born, killing everyone.

  Why Gott? Why did you take them? Christa wasn’t sure she wanted to ever step foot in a church again.

  Ilse Seidel, March 1945, Memmingen, Germany—

  ILSE AWOKE IN a sweat. Not from warmth in the cold house. She’d had the same nightmare again. Why did she keep reliving the day she’d watched her brother shoot and kill Ron? Month after month. And reliving that following morning when she’d walked into the market square to get the family’s rations and saw Ron’s body hanging from rafters in the middle of the square. She’d struggled not to scream and run to him. Was it any wonder she kept having the horrid nightmare? Night after night. Each morning at the breakfast table, Mutter stared at her, asking why she had dark shadows under her eyes. She had told her she was having trouble sleeping, blaming it on the bombing and the war ruining their lives. At first Mutter seemed to believe her, but Ilse knew she suspected something else. Ilse had suddenly stopped going to the woods and meadows searching for food. She stayed home most days, sitting on the edge of the wall behind their townhouse, her feet dangling over the edge above the river below, never reaching the water because the wall was too high.

  She climbed out of bed and donned her loosest fitting dress, which now fit snuggly around the waist. How much longer could she hide the bulge that looked so odd on her rail-thin body? It was only a matter of time before Mutter took her aside and questioned her, not about the shadows under her eyes, but about the baby growing inside her.

  Ilse had thought about her situation for months; ever since she’d realized a life was growing inside her. It was doubtful Mutter—her ever so proper mother—would forgive her for getting herself into this predicament: becoming an unwed mother and bringing disgrace to the family. She sighed. How disappointed Mutter would be if she ever found out.

  Of course, her situation was much more complicated and precarious than worrying about what her mother would think. Ilse had helped the enemy—an American, no less. People got executed for that. To top it off, there was another equally if not more frightening factor. Her baby would be half-Jewish. If anyone found out who the father was, she and the baby could be taken to a concentration camp, unless the war ended now.

  She pulled on her father’s sweater, which she’d taken to wearing this winter, when the family could no longer get fuel for heating the house. At least the bulky sweater helped hide her secret. For now.

  Ilse strode down the stairs and found the family already gathered around the kitchen table, eating bread and drinking water. She took her seat, avoiding their eyes, and chewed her bread slowly, savoring every bite and every crumb. She’d thought before that she was starving, but now, with two humans to feed, she couldn’t get enough.

  “I saw Johann yesterday,” Ursula said. “He dropped off a package of uniforms that need mending.”

  Ilse stared down at her empty plate. Don’t say his name in my presence, she wanted to scream, but how could she without explaining why she hated him. The day after he’d killed Ron, he had come to the house to let the family know he was temporarily stationed at the air base near Memmingen. She’d greeted him, as required, then made an excuse to go to the market. That, of course, was when she first saw the body hanging there for everyone to see. Someone in the square had said the Nazis put it there as a reminder to the locals. From that day onward, Ilse felt eyes on her, and on everyone walking the streets in their town. The Nazis were trying to figure out who had helped the airman. At least Johann had kept his word that he wouldn’t betray her. Small consolation.

  Mutter said, “Oma and I will get started on the mending this morning. Ursula, I need you to work on our laundry. Robert, please see what you can do about the pipes in the kitchen. We seem to have another leak.” Robert had been learning about plumbing by interning with a local plumber. Although he was young, Robert had shown an interest at the right time, when he was in the repair shop to pick up parts for another project a few months ago. He’d apparently asked the right questions, and the owner of the shop had been impressed.

  “I will get to work on it right away, Mutter,” he said.

  “Ilse, you are not looking well this morning,” Mutter said. “You should go back upstairs and rest today. I worry about you.”

  “I am fine. Today is market day and I need to get our rations. I might even go to the woods to look for mushrooms. The fresh air and exercise would be good for me, ja?”

  “I suppose, but I do not like the idea of you going alone. Not these days.”

  “I will be fine.”

  A loud pounding on the front door drew everyone’s attention.

  “I do not like the sound of that,” Opa said. He pushed his chair back and stood up, then strode into the foyer.

  He let out a loud moan sound, and everyone jumped up from their seats.

  Mutter and Oma were first to reach him.

  “What happened?” Oma said.

  “An officer gave me this.” He held out an envelope, which he’d opened, and the short letter that he’d removed.

  Oma read it and covered her mouth with her free hand, and gave Mutter the items.

  “Mein Gott! Oh, my Bernhard.” Mutter shrieked. “Nein! Nein. It cannot be true.” Mutter crumpled to the floor.

  Ilse’s heart dropped as if a lead weight were pulling it to the ocean floor, knowing without words what the letter was about.

  “What is it?” Ursula said, seemingly not understanding, but how could she not? Robert’s face was ashen. He knew.

  Opa said, “Your father. He was killed in action in Russia. The army does not know when or even if his body will be returned to us.”

  Over the next hour many tears were shed, everyone hugging and comforting each other in the way that only a loving family could. Many memories and recollections were spoken, others, unspoken, but felt.

  After a time, Oma said, “Someone needs to get word to his sister in Biberach.”

  “I will go,” Ilse volunteered.

  “How? How will you get there? The trains are off-limits now.”

  “The same way cousin Hermann did when Vater’s mother was killed. Remember, he rode his bicycle here. I can ride Vater’s bicycle. I will be back in a few days.”

  “I do not like that. It is too dangerous, especially for a young woman,” Mutter said. “I just lost your father, I am not going to lose you, too.”

  “I am going. I need to get away and have a change in scenery. Do you not you see? It has been too much, seeing all the destruction. Now Vater is gone, and we are all grieving. I need to get away for a few days to think and to grieve in my own way. And Aunt Karolina needs to know about her brother.”

  Mutter sta
red as if she thought Ilse had lost her mind. Her mouth a tight, straight line.

  Opa said, “Let her go, Maria. It will be good for her. The fresh air. The exercise. Like she said earlier.”

  Ilse could tell Mutter was going to object to Opa, then paused, seemed to calm herself, then replied, “All right. Fine. But take a knife with you, for protection.”

  Ilse nodded, turned and walked away to collect a few things.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Lucas Landry, August 2017, Sacramento, California—

  AT HIS AUNTS’ house, Lucas parked his Jeep and picked up the zippered folder he’d set on the front passenger seat. He’d brought a few documents from the attic, as well as the family tree drawings and a list of questions he’d prepared. The aunts were expecting him. He wasn’t sure, though, if they knew what they were getting themselves into when they’d agreed to talk to him about family history. For that matter, he wasn’t sure what he was getting himself into, but the diaries from both girls were tearing at his heart, making him eager to know how they were connected to him, and know what had happened to the girls and their families. They all had lived in such awful times. Had any of them survived?

  He strode to the front door, looking at the enormous door a moment, then pushed the doorbell.

  After what seemed like several minutes, making him wonder if they had changed their minds about seeing him, the door opened.

  Aunt Anna smiled, clapped her hands together, and said, “Ah, my dear Lucas. We were so delighted when you called and wanted to get together. Come in, come in. Elsa has baked a scrumptious coffee cake and has a fresh pot of coffee made. She’s waiting for us in the sitting room.”

  Lucas hugged Anna, then followed her in. Seeing Aunt Elsa already seated on a leather recliner in the sitting room, he walked over, bent down, and gave her a hug as well. “You look great, Aunt Elsa.”

  “Thank you.” She beamed up at him. “It’s been a long road to recovery, but I’m too tough of an old bird to let a hip replacement and stroke keep me down. Well, guess I’ve been lucky, too. The stroke wasn’t near as bad as it could have been.”

  Lucas smiled, not sure what to say next, sitting down on the sofa across from her.

  “I made us some coffee cake. You do eat sweets, don’t you?”

  He nodded and smiled, patting the small bulge in his mid-section.

  “You never know these days, with all the new-fangled diets people are always trying,” she said.

  Lucas said, “Don’t have to worry about me. I’ll eat anything someone puts on my plate. Well, almost anything. I draw the line at Brussels sprouts.”

  Anna laughed. “I can’t stand those disgusting things, either.” She sat down next to Lucas.

  “Shame on you both for not wanting to eat your vegetables,” Elsa said, but she was smiling as she sat forward and cut pieces of the cake sitting on the coffee table and handed each of them the plates.

  The cake smelled delicious, making Lucas’s mouth water. If this tastes as good as it smells, I may just move in.

  Anna poured three cups of coffee from a silver urn, and handed them out. “Help yourself to milk and sugar. If there’s anything else you need, let me know and I’ll get it.”

  Lucas added a spoonful of sugar to his coffee, stirred it, and set the cup on a coaster next to the cake on a side table before reseating himself. The room quieted as they sipped coffee and ate cake. When Lucas finished his, he said, “Aunt Elsa, that was the best coffee cake I’ve ever eaten.”

  “I used an old German recipe,” Elsa said, beaming. “You would not believe the amazing cakes and torts and pastries they make over there, in Germany. Austria and France, too.”

  “Oh, yes, and Italy,” Anna said. “My late husband and I spent a couple weeks in Italy every year during his retirement. We stayed in lovely places and ate the most scrumptious desserts you can imagine.”

  “Well, I’ve never been to Italy. Not so far, anyway. But I’ve been all over other parts of Europe,” Elsa said.

  Lucas saw an opportunity and jumped on it. “Have either of you ever been to the former Sudetenland?”

  Anna and Elsa exchanged looks.

  Elsa said, “I went there with my husband once. We were actually in Prague, Czechoslovakia on a business trip. My husband’s business. I just tagged along.”

  “It’s Czech Republic,” Anna said.

  “I know that,” Elsa snapped. “But back then it was Czechoslovakia. Are you going to let me finish my story?”

  “Go ahead.” Anna stared down at her coffee, adding more sugar and stirring it, and continuing to stir it.

  What was that about? Lucas wondered.

  “As I was saying, I was tagging along and sightseeing on my own in Prague, but then I got to thinking about stories I’d read in the diary up in the attic. Do you remember, Anna?”

  “Yes. When we were little, we would sometimes go up there and dig around in the boxes and trunks. One day, we found a diary written by a girl around our ages and we started reading. Back then, we still remembered enough of the German language.”

  “Papa found out and banned us from going up there anymore,” Elsa said. “I don’t know why. We weren’t doing anything bad.”

  “Well, we did kind of make a mess, sister.”

  Lucas said, “Did my father know about the attic and the diaries?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Anna said. “He was outside every time he got a chance. Baseball, football, fishing, anything that he could do outside.”

  “Hmm, this may sound strange. Was it just that he liked being outdoors and doing sporting things, or did he want to be away from the house and the family?”

  Again the sisters glanced at each other.

  “I don’t really know,” Elsa said, looking somber. “I never did understand Joe. He was a loner, and yet he liked team sports. Never made any sense to me.”

  Lucas thought about that. Maybe his father felt like an outsider, and his wanting to be on a team stemmed from his desire to be a part of something, to belong.

  “So, you remember the diaries about the girl in the Sudetenland, Aunt Elsa?”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot what we were talking about. Getting old is no fun, I tell you. Well, anyway, I asked my husband, Howard, if we could make a day trip to the town mentioned in that diary. He couldn’t because he had more meetings and wouldn’t have any free time before we had to go back to the states, but he told me I could take a train there and look around on my own.”

  “So did you?”

  “Yes, it took me a day to figure out the Czech name for the town. They—the Czechs—had changed the town names from German to Czech after the war ended, you know. Well, anyway, I found a train that would take me to the train station in that little town. Oh dear, I can’t remember the name now. I got off and spent a few hours walking around, trying to talk to people, but most of them didn’t speak English. It was sad that the town had lost at least a third of its population after the expulsion, and it never really recovered.”

  “Wow, that’s interesting,” Lucas said. “Maybe someday I can visit there, too.”

  Anna said, “Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could all travel to Europe together? Maybe when Elsa is completely healed.”

  “Maybe. My wife’s pregnant and, like Aunt Elsa, won’t be able to travel for a while.”

  No one spoke for a few moments.

  Elsa cut three more slices of cake and placed them on each of their plates.

  Lucas took a bite, then asked, “Why do we have Christa’s and Ilse’s diaries in the attic? Are we related to either of those girls?”

  “Ilse? Who is she? We didn’t see any of her diaries,” Anna said, glancing over at Elsa. “We didn’t, did we?”

  “I don’t remember them.”

  “Oh, sorry, you mentioned Christa’s diaries, so I assumed you’d also read one of Ilse’s. I found the first ones in the same box.”

  “The first ones? You mean there were more?” Elsa said.


  “Yeah. I found numerous diaries in different places, different boxes. I’ve read most of them. Still have a few more to read.”

  “Well, now you’ve got me interested,” Elsa said.

  “I can bring you some, if you want to read them.”

  “That would be just lovely,” Elsa said. “Oh, I’m afraid we don’t remember much of our German, but I suppose we could brush up on the language first. I’m sure it will come back.”

  “Both girls, I think, were Catholic. I was wondering if there might be church records showing the family names, birth dates, that sort of thing.”

  “Oh, I seem to remember in Christa’s diary, the one we read, it mentioned a Catholic church and school,” Anna said. “Hmm.”

  “What?” Lucas said. “Why ‘hmm’?”

  Anna said, “Interesting that she was Catholic.”

  Lucas leaned forward. “Why?”

  Elsa chimed in, “Well, if she’s related to us—and we don’t really know if she is or isn’t—that would be unusual.”

  Anna said, “You see, we’re Jewish.”

  Lucas’s mouth dropped open, his mind struggling to grasp this revelation. How long he sat there dumbfounded, he couldn’t say.

  “Are you all right?” Anna said. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Oh . . . uh, yeah. I guess just surprised. I mean, my father never took us to Temple or a church of any kind. Mom’s funeral was held in a protestant church, but she never went to church, either, that I remember. He never even talked about religion. I had no idea he was raised Jewish.”

  “That is odd,” Elsa said. “One of our grandfathers was a Rabbi.”

  With that announcement, his mind was truly blown away.

  “Lucas, you look pale. Are you all right?”

  Lucas couldn’t speak. Holy cow! My brother, a neo-Nazi who wants to rid the world of Jews, has Jewish ancestry. He’s not Aryan, like he believes he is. He’s gonna flip out if he finds out. Now that’s true karma. He shook his head, trying to clear it.