Breadcrumbs and Bombs

by Susan Finlay

  “My goodness. That’s a lot for someone so young.” The line went quiet and Christa worried she might have hung up the phone. “I was hoping for someone a few years older,” the woman added, “but I’m willing to meet you and see if you’ll do. Can you come by the house this afternoon? My husband will be at work at the air base, but he’s allowing me to choose the nanny.”

  “I can come now, if you would like.”

  “Wunderbar. Where are you now?”

  “At the base,” Christa said. “I found your advertisement on a bulletin board.”

  “Very good. Our house is not far from there.”

  Christa pulled out her pencil again and jotted down the address and directions.

  Soon she stood on the street straddling her bicycle and staring at a pretty two-story half-timbered house. She walked her bicycle to the front door, left it slightly hidden behind a bush, and rang the bell.

  “You must be Christa,” a tall brunette woman said, standing at the screen door. “I’m Helen Robinson. Come in.” She held the door open.

  Christa stepped inside and wondered how the Americans could afford such luxurious furnishings.

  “Please sit. Tell me about yourself. Help yourself to refreshments.” She pointed to a tray on the coffee table, a tray holding a teapot, fine china cups and saucers, cookies. “Why do you want to be a nanny?”

  Christa took a deep breath, trying to pull together her thoughts and words. This interview was too important to mess up.

  She thought back to when she ten. All she’d wanted was to not have to deal with all her brothers and sisters. Changing diapers, wiping runny noses, breaking up fights. How could she have changed so much in a few years?

  She licked sandpaper lips and folded her sweat-covered hands together, as she began.

  “My family,” she said, “like most Germans, suffered greatly during the war. We were luckier than many, although we certainly did not feel lucky at times.” Her thoughts felt jumbled, and she shook her head to try to straighten them. She didn’t want to go into details, didn’t want to tell this stranger about the Sudetenland and their expulsion. Not unless she had to. “I mean, we all survived. I think because we pulled together, protected each other. Bombs dropped around us, soldiers shot at us, we almost starved, and we feared what would happen next. But none of that could break us. We were together, a family, and that made us strong. We are rebuilding our lives now, as the country is rebuilding its cities and towns.” She paused.

  She’d been staring at the floor without realizing it, and looked up now at the woman.

  The woman, Helen, was dabbing tears from her eyes. “Where is your family now?”

  “Living in Memmingen with my grandparents, aunt, and cousins. It is a very full house.”

  “They won’t be upset if you live here, with us?”

  “It will be an adjustment,” Christa said. “We have never been apart. But they really need me to get a job to help with the bills. I expect they will be happy with extra space in the house, too. I will be close enough to visit on my days off. Would I get days off?”

  “Of course. Would you like to meet Suzanne? She’s our baby girl. Five and a half months old.”

  Christa nodded and followed Helen up the stairs.

  In a beautiful nursery, Helen tiptoed over to the white crib and looked down. “She’s awake.” She picked up the baby and smiled, then handed her to Christa.

  “Does she understand German?” Christa asked.

  “No. We speak English in our household. I gather you don’t speak English.”

  “Not yet. I . . . ,” she almost said she spoke some Czech, but caught herself, “I am a fast learner and will study hard. English will be good for me to learn.”

  Helen smiled and nodded.

  Christa smiled at the baby, and the baby made adorable cooing sounds. “She is beautiful. I think we will get along well together.”

  “When can you start?” Helen asked.

  “In two days? I just need to pack a few things and finish things at home.”

  “Wonderful. See you in two days.”

  Christa rode her bicycle home and made her announcement over dinner. Mutti started to object, but Aunt Maria cut her off, saying, “It is perfect.”

  OVER THE NEXT few months, Christa made good progress with her English. She listened to English broadcasts on the radio, read English newspapers, and joined in conversations with Helen and her husband, Charles, and sometimes even with their dinner guests.

  One day in early November, Charles invited several soldiers from his unit. As their commanding officer, he wanted to get to know his young American soldiers better.

  That’s when she met Tom, a handsome, dark-haired American soldier. She fell in love with him the moment she saw him. Beautiful blue eyes and perfect features. An Adonis, like she’d read about in one of her library books. She and Tom began seeing each other on her days off. At first, she didn’t tell him her age, hoping he would fall in love with her before he discovered how young she was. But he found out at Christmastime, when he came over to the house with the soldiers from his unit for a Christmas celebration. The men were all homesick and couldn’t be with their families. That night, in the kitchen he was talking with Helen.

  Later that evening, he caught Christa when no one was around. He led her outside onto the front porch.

  “We can’t see each other anymore,” he said, holding her hands in his. “Helen told me you’re only fourteen. Why didn’t you tell me how young you are?”

  “I . . . I was afraid. I’m young in years, but I’ve been through much because of the war. That makes me older.”

  “I’m afraid no one will see it that way,” he said. “The age difference between us matters.”

  “How can five years difference between us matter?” she said, staring up at him, pleading.

  “If we were in our twenties or thirties, five years wouldn’t matter. You’re still a child, and that does matter. To me.”

  She put her hand over her mouth and ran away, into the house and up the stairs to her room, throwing herself onto her bed.

  A week later, the beginning of the New Year, they bumped into each other at a café. Looking around to make sure no one they knew was around, they sat together and talked over lunch. Tom finally relented and agreed to see each other again, only he swore her to secrecy, because he was afraid it would get back to his commanding officer and cause trouble for both of them, if she told anyone.

  TWO MONTHS LATER, when Christa arrived home to see her family for a weekend, the household was in chaos.

  “What is going on?” she asked Fritz.

  “Vati. He is home. Got home a few hours ago. Can you believe it?”

  Christa said, “Where is he?”

  Fritz took her by the arm and led her to the kitchen.

  She released a scream of joy and ran into her father’s arms.

  He told her about his capture by the Red Army, his years in a prisoner of war camp, his eventual release, and his search through the former Sudetenland and Germany for his family.

  When it was time to go back to her new home, she reluctantly said goodbye to Vati, but the tears she shed were happy tears.

  As she rode her bicycle, she thought about Vati’s story and wondered how much Mutti would tell him about their ordeal. She also thought about Ernst. He’d moved out of the house a month ago, which was probably a good thing, now that Vati was back. Petr Jaroslav had helped Ernst get a job at the factory where he worked. A low paying, apprentice job, but a job nonetheless. His flat mate had moved out shortly afterward, so Petr had offered him a room in his apartment. Ernst told her his job was going well and he was happy to have the luxury of a home with only two people in it. He was more excited than she’d ever seen him about anything.

  What a wonderful day it had been all around.

  As she entered the house, Helen was pacing in the living room, holding Suzanne.

  “What’s wrong?” Christa asked.


  “She’s sick. Her temperature is high and we can’t reach the doctor.”

  “Did you try putting her in a bathtub with cold water?” Christa asked. “Mutti does that when we have high fevers. It helps bring the temperature down.”

  Helen looked at her husband.

  He said, “Let’s try it.”

  The bathtub worked, and by morning Suzanne was feeling much better.

  Two days later, while Christa was out grocery shopping for the Robinsons, she bumped into Tom.

  “Hey, I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “Can we talk for a few minutes? Do you have time?”

  “I guess. Something wrong?”

  “I need to tell you something. Your cousin, Ilse, saw us together. She confronted me and told me to stay away from you. I told her to mind her own business, but I thought you should know, in case she tries to make it her business.”

  “Thank you for telling me. I’ll talk to her. I should go.”

  He touched her elbow as she turned to go. “There’s something else. I know I should have told you sooner. At least at Christmas time.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m Jewish. No one in my unit knows. Not even Captain Robinson. As far as I know, no one knows. It might not matter now that the war is over, but I don’t want to advertise it, just in case it does matter.”

  Christa had wondered why he seemed uncomfortable at the Christmas party but had assumed it was because of their relationship. She’d never suspected this.

  “It doesn’t matter to me. Not one bit. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

  Ilse Seidel, June-July 1948, Memmingen, Germany—

  PETR AND ILSE stepped out the French doors at the back of Ilse’s family’s townhouse and walked along the paved walkway to the edge of the Stadtbach, or town brook. It remained Ilse’s favorite spot in all of Memmingen. Tonight was no exception. The brook shimmered, reflecting a partial moon off its rippling waters, and stars twinkled overhead like diamonds. A most romantic setting, she decided. Petr suddenly stopped, kneeling down in front of Ilse on the sidewalk. Before she could figure out what he was doing, he looked up at her and said, “Ilse Seidel, will you marry me? I know I do not have much to offer, but I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  Ilse stifled a gasp and her eyes became watery with emotion. How long she had waited to hear those few words from his lips, words she had almost given up on. In hindsight, she realized that part of his delay could well have been her failure to really open up to him. He’d asked her many times about her past, about her fears and her dreams and her regrets. He’d told her about his efforts during the war, the men he’d killed, and his work in the internment camp. He’d given her ample opportunity to open up to him and share her secrets.

  Now, here she was, hearing those words, finally, and she couldn’t say yes. She hadn’t told him about Ron and the baby. Good women, the kind of women men wanted to marry, wouldn’t behave the way she had with Ron. Would Petr turn away from her if she told him, especially now, after all this time they’d spent together? Would he take back his marriage proposal?

  She hesitated, blinking back tears.

  After a few moments of silence, he said, “Do you need time to think about it? I don’t want to pressure you?”

  “Thank you, Petr. I do need to think.”

  His face drooped, and she wanted to take her words back, toss them into the river and let them float away, but it was too late. “Oh. Well, I guess I should leave now and give you some quiet time to consider.”

  She reached out to stop him, but he was gone in an instant, quickly walking along the riverway, then turning and disappearing between two buildings out toward the main road. Distraught, Ilse cried for a time before dragging herself back home, then throwing herself onto her bed, crying again into her pillow.

  Over the next several days, she tried to call him, deciding to tell him about Ron and the baby, hoping he would understand, only Petr didn’t answer his phone. She worried that he’d changed his mind.

  As a last resort, she tried contacting him at his workplace, but one of his coworkers told her he hadn’t been to work for a few days. Now she was frantic. Had he left town? Gone back to Czechoslovakia?

  “What about his friend, Ernst Nagel?” she asked his coworker.

  “Nein, he is not here, either.” Ernst gone, too? Then she remembered that Ernst and his father, Ilse’s Uncle Franz, had gone on a trip together, a quick trip to search for Uncle Franz’s parents before Franz began his new job as a construction worker. His parents had possibly emigrated from the Sudetenland, as well; if they were still living, that is. Could Petr have gone with them? As soon as she thought it, she dismissed that notion. They had left the day before Petr proposed.

  Ilse knew Christa and Petr had a close relationship, sort of like brother and sister, after their time in Theresienstadt. She would talk to Christa. Maybe Petr had confided in her about the proposal. Maybe Christa knew where he was or what was going on.

  After work, she talked to Aunt Hanna and got Christa’s address, then rode her bicycle to the next town over and knocked on her door.

  The woman who answered the door, Christa’s employer, told her that Christa was in the back yard with some friends.

  Ilse walked around the garden path to the backyard. There was Petr, Christa, and the man Christa had been dating.

  “Ilse,” Petr said, standing up when he saw her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have been trying to reach you. I could not think where else to look.”

  Christa said, “We had a long talk. Will you come and join us.”

  Ilse licked her lips, stalling for time. She wanted to talk to Petr alone, not with Christa and her friend there. Slowly, she walked toward them, stopping near Petr, placing her hands on the back of an old wooden patio chair.

  Petr said, “Christa’s friend here, Tom Landry, is being recalled to the states. It seems his father has taken ill and asked for Tom to be sent home. The airbase where they are sending him is close to his parents’ house. Both Christa and Tom are devastated, both for news of his father, and because they will not be able to see each other again.”

  Mein Gott! Tom Landry! Brother of Ron! She froze, her emotions exploding, keeping her from breathing. Her insides felt like all the bright lights on the night of the air attack over Memmingen going off all at once. She leaned forward, afraid she might be sick to her stomach.

  “Are you all right, Ilse?” Christa said.

  “I . . . no, no I am not.” She turned and looked straight at Petr. “I have a confession,” she said, barely able to stay on her feet. “I did not give you my answer the other night when you proposed. I wanted to say yes, yes, yes, and shout with joy.” She stopped talking, wiping tears now streaming down her face.

  “I could not say yes to you, because I have not told you my secret.”

  Tom stood up and said, “I think Christa and I should leave you two alone.”

  “No,” Ilse said. “You need to hear this, too. It affects you, as well.”

  He sat back down and took hold of Christa’s hand.

  Petr pulled a chair over and said, “Come sit.”

  She sat down in the chair beside Petr. “I . . . met Tom Landry’s brother, Ron, back in July of 1944. His airplane had been shot down near Memmingen. He parachuted down, survived, but was wounded. I tended to him for weeks, helping his wound heal, but then he developed pneumonia. It took months for him to fully recover.”

  “You helped my brother?” Tom said. “He’s alive? Where is he? Why didn’t he ever contact the family?”

  “He was alive and stayed hidden in a damaged house in the countryside. Over the months we grew close, eventually we became lovers. I am sorry, Tom, but he died. Petr, I am sorry I didn’t tell you. I was afraid.”

  Tom didn’t respond. He sat quietly, still holding Christa’s hand.

  “It is all right, Ilse,” Petr
said, glancing momentarily at Tom. “What happened to the American? How did he die?”

  “My brother, Johann, was a soldier in the German army. One day he saw and followed me and confronted us. He promised he would not turn us in as long as Ron left in a few days.”

  Tom gasped.

  “Ron and I said our goodbyes that night, and he planned to leave first thing in the morning. But I had to see him one last time so early, before dawn, I went back to see him. Before I got there, I saw my brother and several other soldiers, so I hid. They had Ron and dragged him out of the house. Outside, my brother shot and killed Ron. There was nothing I could do.”

  “Oh, Ilse, how horrible,” Christa said. “I am so sorry for you and for Ron’s death. The war has taken too much from everyone.”

  Petr said, “Ilse, you should have told me. I have told you worse things about what I have seen and had to do. Please do not ever feel you cannot talk to me. I love you.”

  “Nein.” Ilse sucked in her breath and stifled a sob. “You have not heard everything. I gave birth to Ron’s baby.” She looked over at Tom. “A boy. My aunt Karolina adopted him. I still see him and he is a sweet child.”

  Petr smiled and squeezed her hand. “I would love to meet him, and your aunt Karolina,”

  “My brother has a child? A living child? I need to see him too. He belongs with his grandparents.”

  “He belongs with his adoptive mother and his birth mother,” Ilse said. “I will not have you take him away, where I cannot watch him grow up. I will not have you take him from my aunt, who lost her husband, both her sons, her brother, and her parents in the war. Julian is her lifeline.”

  “My parents lost their son,” Tom said. “That boy is the only thing left of their son.”

  “They still have you. You have a sister, too, ja?”

  “I do.” He didn’t say anything else for a moment. “I would at least like to see the boy and take a photo to show my parents.”

  “I can arrange that, if you promise you will not try to take him away from us.”

  “You have my word.”

  Petr got up and turned to Ilse. Stooping down, he said, “I think we need to go for a walk, you and I, and discuss our future. Do you agree?”