The Melody of the Soul

by Liz Tolsma

  The car motored down the road. Twice, they pulled to the side to let a convoy of German trucks by. Trucks heading east. Away from the battle. Perhaps they would give up without a fight.

  Suddenly, the car veered to the right and bumped along the road.

  Edvard brought it to a halt. “Sorry. It seems we have a flat tire.”

  Would they never get to Plzeň?

  Georg and Edvard went to work changing the tire. As they jacked the car down, the low hum of approaching trucks reached Anna’s ears.

  “Hurry, hurry.” Georg urged on Edvard.

  “I’m going as fast as I can.”

  The convoy came closer. Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest. One, two, three trucks passed them.

  Her pulse slowed. Perhaps the Nazis, in their haste to get out of the Americans’ way, wouldn’t bother with them.

  But the fourth truck screeched to a halt on the side of the road behind them. The vehicle’s door slammed.

  Anna held Babička’s trembling hand. “We’ve come so close.”

  “We’ll get there. We’ll get home.”

  But Anna didn’t see how.

  Horst sat back in the woods at the edge of the town. The German truck pulled up beside the stranded car. He shivered, and not because of the chilly night air. The soldier stepped from his vehicle and approached the two men working to change a flat tire.

  “What are you doing? Identification.” The soldier peered into the back window. “All of you. Out of the car. Let me see.”

  Two women stepped out. The soft moonlight illuminated them. One was small and thin, the other hunched over.

  Could it be? Had he found them?

  With a flashlight, the soldier examined their papers and handed them back to him. “Where are you going?”

  “We’re on our way to Plzeň.” Horst recognized Georg’s voice.

  “What is your business there?”

  “He’s taking me to my father.” Anna. With the lilt in her words, no mistake it was her. He itched to jump from his spot in the brush and run to her.

  But he had no papers, no identification. He couldn’t risk it.

  “And just who is your father?”

  A man Horst didn’t know entered the conversation. “Herr Obermeister.”

  “Obermeister you say? Boris?”

  “That’s the fellow.” The Czech man stood a head taller than Georg.

  “I didn’t realize he had a daughter.”

  This Czech took over, and probably for the best. “You know how private he is.”

  “Ja, that’s true. Let me take you to him.”

  Georg cleared his throat. “Um, nein—I mean, we have this car. But—um, thank you.”

  “I insist.”

  Did Horst detect a hint of disbelief in the German’s voice?

  “Really, it’s fine. I have permission to use this car.”

  “Come with me.” The German left no option for them to object. He marched the four of them to his truck.

  A transport truck.

  Was he taking them to Plzeň? And then what? Anna was not Herr Obermeister’s daughter. That truth would be uncovered as soon as they arrived.

  He rubbed his arms as he sucked in his breath.

  Dear God, protect them.

  Anna and Babička clasped hands as they made their way from Edvard’s car to the German truck. When would this nightmare end? Freedom proved to be elusive. Impossible, almost.

  “Ladies, you can squeeze into the cab with me. Men, into the back.” The German soldier was kind enough. “Though I don’t see why you want to go to Plzeň. You’d be wise to get to Prague. Though I hear there is unrest there. Maybe staying put is the best decision.”

  Anna’s throat clogged as she helped Babička into the vehicle. “We heard terrible rumors about the Russian soldiers and German women. We hope to reach the Americans.”

  The soldier bought her story and went around the back to make sure Edvard and Georg were in place. For six years, they’d managed to avoid being carted away by the =Germans. With liberty no more than a few days away, their nightmare transformed into reality.

  “All will be well.” Babička relaxed into the seat.

  “I’m trying to trust God for salvation, but it’s difficult.”

  “Yes, to put your life in someone else’s hands is a hard thing to do. We want to be in control. But He will never fail us.”

  Lord, let Babička be right. Please, don’t fail us now. I’m clinging to You. Be with us. Give us a way out of this situation.

  The man jumped into the cab and started the engine. He turned around and drove toward Plzeň. At least he kept that part of their deal.

  “Tell me about your father.”

  Anna paused a moment, almost ready to share her memories of Táta. But no, he asked about Herr Obermeister. A man she’d never met. Her dry tongue stuck to the top of her mouth. “I thought you knew him so well.” Thank goodness for Táta’s time at the university in Austria and his insistence that his children learn perfect German.

  “I thought I did, too. He never told me about a daughter. Or a grandmother. You look nothing like him.”

  “I favor my mother’s side of the family.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen your father?”

  “Not long. I’m anxious to be with him again, though. My husband and I have exciting news to share with him.” She ended with a soft giggle. The perfect touch.

  “What is that?”

  “I can’t tell you until I give it to him. But you can probably guess.”

  “So Boris is to be a grandfather. Congratulations. And will this be your first great-grandchild?”

  “Ja.” Babička’s German wasn’t as polished as Anna’s, despite her spending time in Vienna. A good thing she kept her answers to single syllables.

  “Boris never struck me as the family type.”

  “There is much people keep hidden from others.” If he only knew her secret.

  The soldier fell silent as they bumped along the road. Babička, squished between the man and Anna, dozed.

  Anna gazed out the window into the blackness. Hopefully, Georg and Edvard were back there cooking up a plan to get them out of this trouble.

  So many emotions churned inside her, she couldn’t untangle them all. Would the longing for her family ever go away? Could she control the fear that her end, too, was near? Yet, a bright spot glowed. Her love for Horst. But where was he? The unknown gnawed at her.

  Lord, You’ve brought me this far. You’ve kept me and Babička from danger. You have been watching us and caring for us each step of the way. Thank You. Please, continue to keep Your hand upon us. And be with Horst. Let him be alive. Bring us together again.

  Peace washed over her. She would worry about their next step when the time came.

  She dozed. And dreamed of an empty concert hall. She played Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. But only one man sat in the seats.

  Horst.

  She awoke with a start when the German pulled the truck to a grinding stop in front of a large home in the center of a town.

  This must be Plzeň.

  She straightened and shook Babička awake. “We’re here.”

  Babička squeezed her hand. “God is in control.”

  Yes, but how would they get out of this mess?

  Maybe they wouldn’t.

  She slid from the seat, stood on stiff, shaky knees, and helped Babička down. Georg and Edvard came from the back. The German soldier held tight to his rifle.

  And then . . .

  Only God could have planted this idea. Her own muddled mind would never have produced such a scheme.

  She clutched her middle and doubled over. “Ah! Oh, I’m having such pain. Georg, sweetheart, where are you?”

  Georg came to her side and clasped her hand. “What is it, darling?”

  “The baby. I’m afraid it’s the baby.”

  “Nein, nein.”

  Edvard jumped in, saving Georg
from having to say more in his terrible German. He gestured at the soldier. “Get a doctor. Hurry. There isn’t time to lose.”

  “Let me get your father.”

  “Ne, there isn’t time. The baby. I’m losing the baby. The pain is horrible.”

  If she could but see the German’s face. Would he go? And give them a chance to escape?

  Anna hunched over in the middle of the street, feigning pain, praying for a chance to get out of the German’s clutches. “My baby, my baby.” She wailed and moaned.

  Georg rubbed her back. Edvard turned to the soldier. “Get that doctor. You don’t want to be responsible for Herr Obermeister’s daughter’s life, do you?”

  “Help her in the truck. I’ll take her to the hospital.”

  “Nein. Nein.” She couldn’t allow him to do that. “I can’t move. The pain is too bad. Bring him here. He’ll know what to do. Oh, it’s getting worse.” She tried to imitate Máma’s anguish as she’d brought Lada into the world.

  “Don’t stand there.” Edvard’s words carried a great deal of force. “You’re wasting precious time.”

  The soldier ran to the front door and pounded on it. “Herr Obermeister. It’s your daughter. I’m going to get the doctor.”

  “What is it?” A Czech woman answered the door.

  “I brought Herr Obermeister’s daughter and family. I have to get her help. Tell him.”

  What was her reaction? Anna couldn’t interrupt her act to peek.

  “What are you talking about?” She slammed the door.

  Another door shut. The truck’s, from the clanging, metallic sound of it. Good, the maid’s words didn’t register with the German.

  The engine roared, then grew silent as the soldier sped away.

  “Now, fast, before he returns.”

  Edvard hoisted Babička into his arms. He, Georg, and Anna raced down the street. What would happen if the maid came back? They had to hurry.

  Not many people stirred this early in the morning. Dawn streaked the sky pink above them. A baker unlocked his door, the line for bread already around the corner.

  Edvard, in the lead, slowed his pace and set down Babička. “Act as if nothing is out of the ordinary. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

  Anna and Babička pulled their scarves over their heads. Edvard and Georg tugged their slouchy caps over their ears.

  They melded into the line. The woman in front of them carried a large basket. A clean, white apron covered her pleated, gray skirt. She turned and gave a dimpled smile. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning to you.”

  “They say the Americans are only a few kilometers away. It’s a good idea to stock up while you can. We don’t know what’s coming.”

  Anna nodded. “We have to be prepared.”

  “I haven’t seen you before.” The woman nodded in the direction of the others in line. “We’ve spent so many hours here in the past years, we know almost everyone.”

  Maybe blending in with the crowd wasn’t the best idea.

  Georg joined the conversation. “We just arrived from Prague.”

  “Trying to get away from those mad Soviets?”

  “Something like that.” Anna’s nervous laugh grated on her own ears.

  “I don’t blame you. I am glad it looks like the Americans will be the ones to liberate us. It is a shame the Soviets are going to be in control of the rest of Czechoslovakia. I’m afraid it will mean hard times ahead for our country.”

  More heartache for herself and her countrymen? Ne. They must concentrate on the present.

  Georg scrubbed his face, his eyes clouded. He glanced at Edvard, who nodded. “We’re searching for accommodations. Do you know of a place to stay? Just until liberation.”

  The woman surveyed their crew. Anna drew Babička into a protective embrace. “My grandmother is exhausted. We need somewhere to rest.”

  “I have two spare rooms. We’ll be tight, but the Americans will arrive any day, mark my words.”

  The specter of the German soldier hung over them. At this moment, he might be discovering they’d tricked him. He would launch an all-out search. They had to get tucked away as soon as possible. “I hate to take you away from the line, but my grandmother can’t stand any longer. We will pay you extra if you bring us to your house now.”

  Georg flinched. But he was the one who’d said he had to spend his soon-to-be worthless Reichsmarks.

  “Of course. I can come back later. It’s only a few blocks.”

  She led them around a couple of corners to a small row house, with ornamentation surrounding the windows much like Anna’s home in Prague. Once inside, she put the kettle on for tea and made up a bed for Babička. Anna secured the blanket around her grandmother and kissed her weathered cheek.

  “This is it, beruško. The end of our journey.”

  “I pray you’re right.”

  “God provided, didn’t He? You trusted, and look where He brought you.”

  They may be safe, at least for the time being, but what about Horst? She wouldn’t rest until she knew.

  May 6, 1945

  Horst woke to a windy, chilly, damp morning. Little light filtered into the barn where he’d spent the night. The farmer had no idea Horst took advantage of the warm building. He had to move on before the man came to do the morning chores.

  He stretched his stiff muscles and shook the hay from his hair. His empty stomach cried out to be fed. Though he’d rationed the supplies the man from Žatec had given him, they’d dwindled to nothing. He needed a meal, a bath, and a shave.

  But Plzeň lay on the horizon.

  Freedom.

  At least from the fear of being caught by his fellow Germans.

  And Anna. Was she in the city? Safe somewhere? Even alive? He tried to push the questions aside, but with little luck. She haunted him every moment of every day. The only picture of her he managed to bring to mind included a German soldier herding her into a truck. Later, he would sketch her, fill another page in his book with her face.

  Today’s objective? Get to the city.

  A round of sporadic shooting punctuated the early morning stillness. Not far away. The Americans must be on the edge of town.

  This would be the day he surrendered. The day the war ended for him.

  He stood up and down on his tiptoes. He needed to get there as soon as possible and put this horrible chapter in his life to an end.

  Maybe not the most horrible. Because of the war, he’d met Anna. He would never love another as much as her. And the Lord had worked in his heart. Mutti would be proud of the man God had changed him into.

  With a deep breath, he climbed down the ladder from the hayloft. He’d just reached the main part of the barn when the door slid open. He stopped dead, allowing himself only small breaths.

  A middle-aged farmer entered and took a few steps inside. Like Horst, he halted, stock still, when he spotted the intruder. “You there. What are you doing in my barn?” The farmer grabbed a nearby pitchfork and pointed it in Horst’s direction.

  He raised his hands. Instead of surrendering to the Americans, he surrendered to a Czech farmer. “I mean no harm.”

  “German?”

  “Ja.”

  “I should run you through.”

  “I’m a deserter, a traitor to my country. I’ve been working with the Czech resistance.” Partially true. He didn’t want to mention he hid Jews, too, not knowing the man’s sympathies.

  “You people almost destroyed my farm. Confiscated my cows, stole my crops. Why shouldn’t I exact my revenge on you?”

  Horst’s raised hands shook. “Because you would harm a man who tried to do right in the face of terrible wrong. Alone, I didn’t do much, but I did my part. You have to believe me. I’m on my way to Plzeň to surrender to the Americans.”

  “No need to do that now, is there?” The man stood as tall and as broad as Horst.

  “A compromise, then. Take me to the city yourself and turn me o
ver to the American command. I’m unarmed.” Horst opened his coat and turned his pockets inside out.

  “Fine, fine. You Germans are barbarians. Czechoslovakia is a land of culture. I’ll show you that. Move toward me. Slow. One step at a time. Keep your hands up.”

  Horst inched his way in the farmer’s direction, watching the man the entire time. The farmer did the same.

  “Good. Stop there. Turn around.”

  Horst hated to turn his back to the man. He might yet decide to pierce him with the pitchfork.

  “Fine. Let’s go. I have a couple chickens left to care for. Don’t make any sudden moves, or I promise you, I will not show you mercy.”

  “Understood.” Horst relaxed his shoulders. Maybe this was the better way to turn himself in. If he came alone, the Americans might shoot. Now, he was already in custody.

  The farmer prodded him along, the sharp tines of the pitchfork against his back. They marched at a brisk pace to the city, only a couple of kilometers away.

  A light mist fell, and the wind sneaked under his coat, the bottom of it flapping in the breeze. Yet Horst warmed as they ambled along. Part of him wanted to get there as fast as possible. Part of him didn’t want to face what the Americans might have in mind for him. He’d heard they were kind to their prisoners, but was it true?

  Then, the melody of church bells rang out, filling the air. Was Anna listening to this?

  They arrived in the town packed with beautiful old buildings. His architect’s eye caught the ovular curves in some of the buildings, suggesting Baroque Revival. Someday, perhaps, he would return here and draw them.

  Shouts and cheers joined the bells’ cacophony.

  The Americans must have arrived.

  No sounds of a battle. No gun blasts. No earth-shattering bombing. No screaming.

  Just joy. The purest sort of joy.

  The farmer marched him along until they came to the main road.

  They couldn’t see far, because the citizens of Plzeň clogged the streets. Like at a parade, they stood ten, twenty deep. Horst caught a glance at a tank’s gun, raised high.

  He sank to his knees and wept.