Breadcrumbs and Bombs

by Susan Finlay

  “Why do you look so glum?” Tom asked when they got outside and stood among the guests, everyone still offering their congratulations and taking photographs.

  “You know why,” she whispered. “In two days you’ll be gone. How else should I feel but glum?”

  He wrapped her arm through his. “I’m sorry, Christa. I wish I could go see my father, briefly, make sure he recovers, and then come back here and be with you. I would give anything for that, but I can’t.”

  “I know.”

  Mutti walked over to them and hugged them both outside the church.

  Christa fought back tears. A few days after Ilse’s confession, Ilse had taken Christa, Petr, and Tom to Biberach to meet Aunt Karolina and Julian. Tom had cried briefly as he hugged the little boy, whom he said reminded him of his brother, Ron.

  “What faith is he being raised in?” Tom had asked Karolina when the boy left to go upstairs and play. “Do you know that his family is Jewish?”

  “Ja, I know. I am teaching him about both the Jewish and the Protestant faiths,” she’d said. “When his is old enough, he can decide for himself.”

  “Does he know who is biological parents are?”

  “He does. I want him to know the truth. No secrets. No lies. No judgments. His surname is Wagner because I have legally adopted him, but he knows who he is and where he came from.”

  The following day, Christa had known what she had to do. She had taken Tom to her family in Memmingen and told them about their relationship. She didn’t know if she would ever see Tom again, after he returned to the United States, but she didn’t want to keep secrets from her family. She’d seen how Ilse had suffered, all because of secrets.

  To her amazement, no one had judged them. They didn’t chastise her, say she was foolish or an idiot for dating an older man, an American, to top it off. They had quietly accepted him and made him feel welcome in their home.

  That was Mutti’s doing, Christa felt sure. Over the past few years, Christa had discovered a strength and also a wisdom in her mother she hadn’t known was there. When Christa was a child, Mutti had seemed to her nothing more than a hausfrau, a farm wife, a baby-making machine. Uneducated and simple. The war, the expulsion, and everything done to Mutti and her children, and to friends and neighbors, had forged Mutti into a tough mother, fierce protector, fighter, and morale booster, when that was what was needed. Those traits, Christa suspected, had always been there, hidden from Christa’s naive perspective, or perhaps were just lying dormant until called forth. Though forged in dark times, Mutti’s caring, nurturing, and accepting non-judgmental nature had remained in the forefront throughout, from the earliest time Christa could remember. That kind nature had remained vigilant even after the war and after the expulsion. Where the horrors of the times had wiped the goodness out of many people, Mutti’s innate goodness remained. If anything, Christa noted, those positive personality traits had become even more prominent.

  “We should spend every moment together until you leave,” Christa said to Tom as they strolled down the street, leaving the festivities, which were going to continue and move to a local restaurant. Ilse’s aunt Karolina, such a generous woman, was paying for everything.

  “Where should we go? A picnic along the river, maybe?”

  Christa recalled Ilse telling them about a damaged house where she had hidden Ron.

  “What about the house where your brother stayed? If it’s still standing and vacant, we could spend time there.” Christa paused, turned, and looked into Tom’s eyes. “You could tell me all about your childhood and about your family. I want to hear more, while I still can.”

  He looked deep in thought for a moment. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Ron was killed there and a lot of things happened there.”

  “You think it might be haunted?”

  “No, no, not that.”

  Christa said, “It’s also where Julian was conceived.”

  Tom stared at her. “That’s part of the problem. Don’t you see? I don’t want us to repeat my brother’s history. I don’t want to leave behind a pregnant girlfriend. I don’t want a baby growing up without his or her father.”

  Christa was struck, devastated. He wasn’t planning to come back for her. He didn’t love her. She’d been a distraction, a German girl in a country where he was stationed temporarily. It was never meant to be a long-term relationship.

  She turned and ran, blind with pain and tears. She couldn’t bear to look back.

  That evening at the Robinsons’ house in her bedroom, she tried to read a book to distract herself, but her mind wouldn’t cooperate. Tom’s image and words from earlier kept haunting her. Tom doesn’t want me. No, not my Tom. He’s going home and he’ll never come back. Her stomach ached and she wanted to die.

  Someone knocked at the front door, and she could hear voices trailing up the stairs. Tom? She tiptoed to her door, opened it a crack, and peeked downstairs, straight to the front door.

  Not Tom. Another officer, a friend of Captain Robinson. Her shoulders slumped and her legs wobbled, threatening to drop her body down to the floor. Somehow, she managed to drag herself back into her bedroom and close the door. You fool, she told herself. You let yourself belief you were loveable to someone other than your family.

  After that, she knew Tom was gone. His orders had sent him back to the states. Though broken inside for some time, life must go on, she repeated often in her mind. Eventually she convinced herself.

  She continued her work with little Suzanne, and when Helen Robinson gave birth to a second child, a girl they named Rosie, Christa devoted herself to the little baby and big sister Suzanne, the way she’d seen her own mother do with all her children.

  Christa got to love her parents’ new babies, too. Another little boy who they named Stefan had arrived six months earlier. He was Mutti’s second new baby after Vati returned from the war. The first, a beautiful girl they named Anna, didn’t survive more than a few hours. Each member of the family took their turn holding the tiny doll-like baby before she was placed in a casket. Mutti had been afraid when she found out she was expecting again, six months later. But the healthy boy she’d delivered had thrived, and now Mutti seemed happy and content, being back in the role of making babies. Ilse joined in that role, too, giving birth to a son with Petr.

  Petr was the proudest papa Christa had ever seen, and she loved to tease him about it. She would taunt, “Aww . . . look, at the big bad resistance fighter, changing diapers and playing tickle games with his son,” and he would just smile from ear to ear, loving every minute.

  Time passed. She even dated a boy that Robert, Ilse’s brother, knew. That didn’t last long. He seemed boring and immature. One day, on one of her jaunts into town to visit family, she stopped for lunch at a café with her brother, Ernst.

  “The factory has job openings,” he said. “You will be seventeen next month, old enough to find a real job. I can put in a recommendation for you. I am sure they will hire you.”

  “A real job? I have a real job,” she snapped. “I take care of two children, keep house for an important family, and I get paid real money.”

  “Sorry. I did not meant it as a put-down,” he said. “You can make more money working at the factory. That is all I was saying.”

  “Thanks, but I like what I am doing. At least for now. Maybe someday I will want a change.”

  He gave her an odd look, shrugged, and let the conversation die.

  A week later, as she had just finished putting the kids down for a nap, the doorbell rang. She rushed downstairs, hoping to catch the door before another it rang again. It hadn’t been easy getting the kids to sleep, and the last thing she wanted was to wake them and have to start over again.

  She grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door open, and almost fainted.

  “I was hoping you were still working here,” Tom said, smiling, standing tall and broad shouldered and dressed in civilian clothes.

  “Oh, my God,” she sputte
red, in English. Her English had improved vastly since he’d gone home to the states, studying hard, because Suzanne was getting older and talking up a storm in English and Christa needed to keep ahead of her.

  “Is that a happy greeting, or are you horrified?”

  Shaking, and before thinking, she threw her arms around his shoulders and then restrained herself, kissing him once on the cheek, unsure if a kiss on the lips was appropriate. Was this a dream come true, or a nightmare come to hurt her again?

  “What are you doing back in Germany?” she asked, collecting her wits. “Oh, did you come here to the Robinsons’ house to talk to the Captain? He isn’t home.”

  “No. I came to see you. I hope that’s okay.”

  She felt her face flush, and opened the door wider to let him inside. “You have to be quiet, the children are napping.” She led him into the living room. “Helen is out visiting with friends.”

  “I wasn’t sure if the Captain was still stationed here.”

  “He may not be for much longer. It’s hard to say for sure. I do hope they stay here though. I’ve grown much attached to the children.” She rambled on for several minutes, telling him about the new baby and the things Suzanne was doing.

  “What about your parents and siblings?” he asked. “How are they?”

  “Very well. Vati is working in construction and loves his work. Would you believe I have a new brother? A baby born six months ago. He’s healthy and eats like a horse. Oh, and Ilse and Petr have a son and another baby on the way.”

  “Wow. Seems like I’ve missed a lot,” Tom said, shaking his head.

  “How is your father? I remember he was ill.”

  “Better. He had heart surgery a few months after I got home. He’s tough and hanging in there. My sister, Teresa, got married and she, too, is expecting a baby.”

  “Did you tell your family about Julian?” Christa asked.

  “I did. They were happy and sad at the same time. They have Julian’s photo framed and hanging on the wall in Ron’s old bedroom.”

  Christa smiled, suddenly not sure what to talk about.

  Neither of them spoke.

  The clock on the fireplace mantel ticked and sounded louder than she’d ever heard it.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” Tom asked tentatively.

  Should she be coy, the way some of the girls in town were when they wanted to keep a boy interested? No, she didn’t think she had that ability. Besides, Tom wasn’t a boy. He was a grown man. Twenty-two, or nearly that, now.

  “I’m not. I’ve dated a few boys, but nothing serious. I suppose you have a wife back in the states now.” She looked down at the floor, afraid to meet his eyes.

  “No, I do not. I actually came here in hopes of finding one. That is, if you’re still interested in me.”

  She raised her head and stared at him, feeling shaky again. Had she heard right, or did she hear what she wanted to hear? “What?”

  “Will you marry me?”

  “I . . . I, what? You want to marry me? After all this time? What if I’ve changed?”

  “You are even more beautiful than ever, Christa. You’re taller, more mature-looking, more confident, I think. And I know you. I know your heart. That has not changed. And believe me, Captain Robinson and Helen would not still have you working for them and caring for their children if they didn’t see you as an amazing person. Yes, I want you, if you will have me.”

  She jumped up from her seat on the sofa and ran to him. He stood up too and she fell into his arms.

  A MONTH LATER on Christa’s seventeenth birthday, Christa and Tom stood in front of a justice of the peace in the town hall. Because of their different religions, and because they’d jointly decided not to tell Christa’s family that Tom was Jewish, they’d opted for a simple ceremony, not in a church, but still surrounded by loved ones. After the ceremony Tom called his parents and told them he was married. He’d been afraid they would try to come to the wedding if he’d called them beforehand, and he didn’t want them attempting a long trip that could be difficult with his father’s medical problems.

  Tom had finished his tour-of-duty and left the military before returning to Germany. Having been trained in electronics while in the army, he was able to land a good paying job in a manufacturing company in Biberach. On the down side, the job, meant he and Christa had to move and Christa had to leave her nanny job. She said she didn’t mind. Of course she missed Suzanna and Rosie terribly for a while. It helped that they were close to Karolina and Julian and Ilse and her family. Ilse and Petr had moved to Biberach after the birth of their first child. Ilse and Christa finally had time to get to know each other. A few months after the move, a letter from Helen Robinson indicated that her husband had been reassigned to Austria and they were moving.

  Before long, Christa was also expecting a baby, her very own, finally. Ilse and Christa had grown close and being pregnant with child drew them even closer. Ilse gave her lots of advice on maternity clothes, shopping for cribs, and even the best methods for cleaning spots out of baby clothes.

  Christa finally had her very own family, one that no one could take from her. The war was over and rebuilding was almost complete. She and her loved ones had plenty of food and clothes and heat, they were safe from bombs and soldiers with rifles, and they no longer had to worry about being chased out of their own home and country. They were home in Germany now, not because Germany was where their family had originated. It was home because it was where her family was. The bad times were behind her; behind them all. She was at peace and she couldn’t be happier. If she and Tom and their children someday moved to the states to be closer to Tom’s family, she believed she would adjust and be just as happy as she was now being close to her parents and siblings. Place didn’t matter one bit. The house they lived in didn’t matter, as long as they were safe and together.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Lucas Landry, Nov.-Dec. 2017, Sacramento, California—

  OVER THE LAST couple months both of Lucas’s aunts finished reading all the historical material. The aunts had visited Lucas and Tawny at their house several times and the four of them always enjoyed talking about Germany and the relatives. His aunts would get all animated and laugh and act more like teenagers than seniors, talking about ‘the good old days’. Lucas loved it. Bianca also enjoyed their visits, because the aunts always brought her a special presents and cookies, which Tawny said helped her get over her feelings of being ‘the second child’ to her new baby brother.

  The only thing still bothering Lucas now was not hearing from Seth. “Should I call Seth, or maybe stop by his house after work tomorrow? What do you think, Tawny? Am I getting too impatient?”

  She looked up from the book she was reading in bed. “Patience. It hasn’t been all that long. Give him some space. If he was ready to talk, he would have called you.”

  “Is that what you would say to your patients?”

  “Well, no, but this is different. You dumped a lot of heavy stuff at his doorstep all at once. He needs time to digest it all. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Lucas nodded, but still worried. What if Seth hadn’t even read any of what Lucas had given him? He might have tossed it all into the fire, like way Hanna had tossed the parachute her children had found into the fireplace. He’d promised to read it, some of it, anyway. But Seth may have just said that to get rid of his brother. If he actually had started reading it, wouldn’t he continue, could he have stopped reading it?

  Lucas sat on the edge of the bed, stretched his arms over his head, exercising his shoulders a few times to get the kinks out before getting under the covers. At work he’d led a support group with ten members, two of whom got into a shouting match he finally had to step in and break up. Not his best day.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said, pushing thoughts about work out of his head. “But how is it that two old ladies can get through it quickly, while a young guy like Seth is taking forever?”

  Tawn
y, looking incredulous, laughed. “You’re forgetting something, dear hubby, those two ‘old ladies’, as you are labeling your poor aunts, don’t have jobs. They don’t have a spouse, and they don’t have little kids to look after.”

  “Right, like my brother is too busy being a dad. I find that hard to believe.”

  She set down her book for a moment and looked at him. “You don’t really know what’s going on in his life right now, do you?”

  “Well, no.” He turned off the light on his nightstand. “You’re right, goodnight, sweetie,” he said, leaning over and kissing Tawny, then rolling over, facing away from Tawny, who was still reading.

  Part of him accepted she was right about giving his brother all the time he needed. Another part figured sometimes people needed to be pushed. If he’d really pushed his father and made him understand he needed help, maybe his father would have gone into drug addiction treatment and maybe, just maybe, he’d still be alive.

  He smacked his pillow in an effort to make it more comfortable, and closed his eyes, trying to go to sleep. But he couldn’t get comfortable and his mind kept going. What if I go over to Seth’s house tomorrow and just ask him how he is doing? No pressure. Then again, his brother could go into a rage and attack him if he had read the stuff and knew that he wasn’t entirely Aryan. That could happen, right? Maybe I should leave it alone for now. Damned pillow. He lifted his head and reformed it. What if I just left him a message? Darn it, go to sleep!

  “What’s wrong, Lucas?”

  “Huh, what do you mean?”

  “You’ve been ranging around over there. Something still bothering you?”