Daisies Are Forever

by Liz Tolsma

  Kurt had a difficult time making his legs obey the commands his brain sent them. He didn’t want to see that sight. Men, traitors, strung up as banners to all.

  Men who didn’t want to fight. He didn’t understand them. He fought. He gave an arm for his country. His dream to Hitler.

  He just wanted it to end. Wanted it to be over. The nightmares. The panic. The terror. The memories. If only he could forget. All of that drowned out the sweet music.

  If only he could hear the melodies again.

  Renate squirmed in his arms. He set her down and let her walk for a while.

  Gisela strode ahead of him, her swaying hips the rhythm he missed in his life. It began with that. Rhythm led to notes and notes led to music. He needed to be close to her so he could recapture even a small part of what he had lost.

  Audra walked next to him, Bettina and Katya trailing her. She said something to him, but he couldn’t make sense of the words. Couldn’t get the noise of whistling bombs and ricocheting bullets out of his head.

  He would never purge the sight of those men hanging from the lampposts from his memory. He knew, just knew, they would haunt him forever.

  They robbed him of the few notes dancing in his head.

  They arrived at the cross street and turned into the familiar neighborhood. The bakery still stood, the line of housewives stretching down the block as they waited for their bread ration. The café where Gisela sat with her girlfriends on a carefree summer’s afternoon and drank coffee sat silent, its bright awning rolled away. The butcher sported a line almost as long as the baker’s. Inside the dress shop, its dirty display window bare, the seamstress bent over a ragged pair of men’s pants.

  The neighborhood became more residential, rows of old apartment buildings lining the narrow road. Before she moved, Greta had lived in the one across the street, one side of it now ripped away, the rooms exposed to the public.

  On her left rose the most familiar of all the buildings. Red bricks covered the outside. Arched windows, framed by cream-colored stone, looked over the scene below.

  Gisela couldn’t contain the tears that began to flow. “This is it. We have made it home.”

  Mitch saw the joy and the sorrow mingled in the tears coursing down Gisela’s heart-shaped face. “You are home.” How wonderful it would be to walk through your own front door. He set Annelies down.

  Audra rubbed Bettina’s hand in hers. “You have a very nice house.”

  “Ja. Mutti plants flowers in the garden in the summer. Now vegetables too.” Gisela climbed the three steps to the front door and entered, the rest of the band straggling behind her.

  The interior was lit by a single, bare light bulb. The green Oriental rug covering the hardwood floors in the entrance bore the signs of many years of footsteps crossing it. One door was on their right and a stairway on their left, its banister worn down by many hands.

  Gisela bounced up the steps, dragging Annelies along with her. Up two flights they went before they arrived on the landing at the top. Gisela stopped short, hesitated a moment, then knocked.

  Her timid rap brought no response. She banged louder. “Mutti? Mutti?”

  The door opened a tiny crack. “Who is there?”

  “It’s Gisela.”

  The woman flung the door open so it banged against the wall. “Oh, Gisela, my daughter, my daughter.” She gathered her child in her arms. “You have come home, my daughter. You are alive.”

  Mitch bit back his own emotions as homesickness caused his arms to ache. He imagined his own homecoming, when he would see his parents for the first time in more than five years. Would he get this warm of a welcome? Would Father be happy to see him?

  “And who is this with you? You brought a caravan.” Frau Cramer released Gisela and stroked Annelies’s cheek.

  “This is Annelies, Mutti, and Renate here. Ella’s girls. She stayed in Heiligenbeil with Opa.”

  Frau Cramer nodded, her long brown hair caught in braids in a crown on top of her head. Tears filled her eyes. “My vater, my vater.”

  Gisela drew her mum to her and for a while held her while they both cried.

  Then Gisela turned to him and touched his arm. The heat of it radiated to his fingers. “This is Josep Cramer. My husband.”

  “Your husband? Truly?”

  “Ja, Mutti. It was a whirlwind romance and we were married not much before we left Heiligenbeil.”

  “But he has our last name.”

  “There are Cramers all over Germany. It is a happy coincidence.”

  Though he knew Gisela didn’t want to lie to her mum, she did a good job of thinking on her feet. He had never considered the last name business.

  Frau Cramer embraced him. “Welcome to the family. My husband would say you need to treat our daughter well.”

  “I will.” And he realized he wanted to.

  Gisela continued her introductions as her mother drew the group into the tiny apartment. Plants hung in pots in front of the sunny window. A comfortable-looking red three-seater couch sat against one white wall, two matching armchairs flanking it. All were fashioned with scrolled wood arms and lovely carved wood bottoms and legs. A Volksempfänger—people’s radio—occupied the space between them, its polished walnut cabinet gleaming, the plaque visible on the knob warning against listening to enemy stations.

  Gisela shed her coat and flung it on the sofa. She began unbuttoning Annelies’s. “What have you heard from Vater?”

  “Nothing. Not a word since he was called up by the Volkssturm. His beloved Reich is crumbling. He is trying to stave off the bleeding with a handkerchief.”

  What Mitch suspected. This family was loyal to the Nazis.

  Gisela stopped mid-button. “But not a word in all these months? I was sure when I got home you would have a stack of letters from him.”

  Frau Cramer worried the hem of her pale green apron. “Things are chaotic. It’s not surprising that no letter has come. We will wait until the war is over to hear from him.”

  Gisela swayed. Mitch reached out and caught her halfway on her descent to the floor. The lack of food had caught up with her. With all of them. “Frau Cramer, she hasn’t had a meal in more than twenty-four hours. Could you fetch some, bitte?”

  “Oh, the shock of seeing my daughter and I forgot my manners. Are you all that hungry?”

  Annelies nodded, her golden curls bouncing. “Ja. I could eat a whole knockwurst by myself.”

  Frau Cramer laughed, a sound of pure music, much like his mum’s chuckle. On one hand, a nurturer; on the other, a Nazi. “You are a hungry girl, then. Shall we find what we can to feed this crowd? Knockwurst I don’t have.”

  “Do you have bratwurst?”

  Their voices faded as they left for the adjoining kitchen.

  Audra struggled to shrug off her coat, her arms caught in the sleeves. Mitch helped her pull it off.

  “Danke.” She blinked several times.

  “Do you have something in your eye? Let me take a look.”

  Her face flooded with red. “Nein. It is nothing.” She swiped her finger across her eyelid.

  Katya nudged Bettina. “Sister, you have done it again. What a charming flat for us, right on the Champs-Élysées. A remarkable find.”

  Mitch shook his head. The women prattled about the fine weather and admired the lovely view of the Louvre.

  He studied the pictures on the far wall, between the two narrow windows overlooking the street. He stopped short. In many of the images, there were two faces staring at him. Two little ones in a pram, two little girls on a tire swing, two children with their knapsacks on the way to school.

  Suddenly, there was only one girl.

  Gisela had a sister.

  One who must have died.

  Audra settled on the couch. She didn’t know if she had ever seen such a nice home. It was small, much smaller than her family’s cottage, but so lovely inside. Colorful rugs covered the wood floors. What a blessing in the winter. She longed to remove
her shoes and dig her toes into the pile.

  And when she became as famous as Marlene, she would have an even nicer home. Just think of it. Some of those movie stars had swimming pools in their yards. Imagine that.

  A coal stove warmed the room. Such a pleasure not to be cold, not to be jostled, not to be moving. A picture of a little girl in front of the strangest-looking house Audra had ever seen sat on the polished round table beside the couch. There was no mistaking the girl was Gisela. She stood under a kind of tree Audra had never seen before.

  Kurt sat beside her on the couch and she felt him relax. “Interesting. Josep speaks both English and German. Gisela’s mutti knew nothing of their marriage.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That I question everything they have said.”

  “And why would it matter to you?”

  He hesitated, chewing his lower lip.

  “Never mind.”

  But the question plagued Audra.

  “Keep talking to Josep. See what you can find out.”

  Audra shrugged. Her stomach rumbled as she smelled sausage and potatoes. Her mouth watered.

  A short time later, Annelies bounded into the room. “Oma says essen kommen. It is time to eat.”

  Bettina was the first to shuffle to the kitchen. “If the food here is half as good as the apartment itself, we shall have ourselves a fine stay, Sister, a fine stay.”

  Frau Cramer showed Audra her chair, one of several mismatched pieces crowding the small table. A narrow stove and oven and a small counter with a shelf above it took up much of one wall. “Danke for having us.”

  A smile lit the woman’s lined face, marred by the hardships of the years. “It has been quiet in this house far too long. And to what other place would you go? It is a miracle we have no others living here. With so many losing their homes to the Allied bombs, families upon families squeeze in together.”

  While not a huge meal, it was better than any they had since leaving Heiligenbeil. Even while growing up, Audra would have been happy with a meal with meat like this. And she would have many more like this to come.

  The two old ladies dug in even before grace had been said. “Sister, what a wonderful meal.” Bettina pulled Frau Cramer to her level. “Waitress, please give our compliments to the chef. Excellent in every way. You French have a way with food. Don’t they, Sister?”

  Confusion filled Frau Cramer’s eyes until Gisela explained. The women had still been in their right minds the last time she visited her vater. She played along with them. “Danke, I shall tell the chef you are pleased.” She choked back a laugh.

  The ravenous crew devoured the meal in short order. No one, not even the girls, said much.

  No sooner had Audra drained the last of her ersatz coffee from her cup when yet another air-raid siren sounded. Her heart leapt like a pole vaulter as the sirens screeched once more. “Another one, Frau Cramer? There was one a mere few hours ago.”

  The creases around the woman’s eyes deepened. “The raids are almost constant now. Many don’t bother to go to the shelters anymore. What good would it do? If you take a direct hit, there is nothing to be done for you. You saw the damage.”

  Audra could only nod. The war was lost. How many more innocent civilians would Hitler sacrifice to his pride?

  Josep threw his napkin on his plate. “I am going.”

  Gisela pushed her plate back. “Come on, girls and ladies. Time to go downstairs.”

  Frau Cramer shook her head. “These dishes need to be washed. I will stay.”

  TWENTY

  Nein. That’s foolish. You have to go.” Gisela scraped back her kitchen chair and stood, unable to believe that Mutti said she wouldn’t come to the air-raid shelter.

  “Now that you are married, you think you can tell your mutti what to do? We have time until the bombers get here. You go now and when I finish the dishes, I’ll come.”

  Gisela picked up the frayed dish towel. “Josep, take the girls and everyone else. I’ll help Mutti.”

  A stern glint lit his dark eyes. He didn’t have to say a word—she sensed his disapproval. “I promise to come.”

  He huffed.

  Annelies tugged on her arm. “Tante Gisela, you have to come with us. I don’t want to go down there. I might see a spider.”

  “Josep will be there. He can kill the spiders for you. My mutti and I will come very soon.”

  Her gray eyes filled with tears. Mitch bent down beside her. “You can ride the horse downstairs.”

  Gisela questioned his sanity, carrying a child down three flights, but Annelies didn’t hesitate.

  “Hold my neck,” Mitch said as she adjusted her grip. “What do you say to make the horse go?”

  “Giddyup,” she shouted and Mitch galloped out of the apartment, Renate holding on to Audra’s hand.

  Katya clapped. “Off to the Louvre, Sister. The sights we will see. Isn’t this exciting?” Her blue eyes shone. Then the door shut behind them. For a moment, Annelies’s giggles hung in the air.

  Gisela returned to the kitchen. Mutti had a few plates washed already. She picked up the gold-rimmed china and wiped the first dish.

  “Why won’t you go to the shelter?”

  “I never said I wouldn’t go to the shelter.” Mutti scrubbed the dish harder than necessary.

  “You are being stubborn.”

  “Don’t upset this day. You are home, safe and sound, and a married woman. Can we celebrate that?”

  “You are concerned about Vater.”

  Mutti scrubbed so hard Gisela worried she would break the plate. “Shouldn’t I be?”

  “Of course. I am too.”

  “You call me stubborn, but I am no match for your vater. Off he goes to fight as soon as they say they need him. Like he has no care in the world. And me, alone.” She stopped her scrubbing. “I am so happy you are here. One of my own has returned. At least I have you.”

  How many times had Gisela heard those words?

  “Vater is at work. At least I have you.”

  “I miss my sister in the States. At least I have you.”

  “Margot is gone. At least I have you.”

  They worked in silence for a little while. The sirens fell silent. The first warning had sounded. They would wait until the fighters were a certain distance away until the hurry-up-you-must-take-shelter-now alarm blasted.

  Gisela set a tin cup in the cabinet. She remembered drinking milk fresh from the farm in that cup when they lived in America. “Do you miss home?”

  “This is my home. Why would I miss it?”

  “California, I mean. Do you miss it?”

  Mutti stood and stared straight ahead for a moment. “Ja. We breathed free air and lived without constant fear.” She paused, swallowing. “And we had Margot.”

  “Why did we leave the States, then?”

  “Your vater wanted to come back to Germany. The Great Depression was hard on him, and he heard from your onkle that things were good here. Hitler had turned the economy around. Germany again would be the power God intended for it to be. The Allies had hamstrung the country after the Great War, but Germany would rise to be a glorious state once more.”

  “But you didn’t want to come?” Vater took her away from the place where she had been happy. If only he hadn’t . . .

  “Nein. But I love my husband. God would have me obey him, so I followed him here.” She handed Gisela a glass. “That is what you do when you are married. My first lesson to you as a married woman.”

  Should she tell Mutti the truth? She wouldn’t turn in Mitch. There was no one in the apartment to overhear.

  Mutti wiped the counters. “God wants you to honor your husband even when you may not agree with him. But never did I think things would get this bad. The shelling doesn’t stop, day or night. You are lucky if you wake up in the morning in one piece.”

  Gisela wrung the dish towel in her hand. She shouldn’t lie to her mutti.

  “You are home. I am happy ab
out that. I didn’t know where you were or what had become of you.”

  “I am safe.” She didn’t want to think about the Russian planes or the cruel woman or the overzealous German soldier. She didn’t share with Mutti how they slept on filthy straw or how the girls hung out of the back of the truck to use the bathroom. Those all were experiences she would rather forget.

  “And you are fine? No one hurt you?”

  “Nein, no one did.”

  “Tell me about Josep, your husband.”

  She couldn’t keep up the charade. Not with her mutti. “He isn’t my husband.”

  Mutti stopped mid-wipe. “Not your husband?”

  “Nein. I met him on the trip here. Mutti, he’s English. An escaped POW without papers. A woman was badgering him about who he was, so I stepped in and told her he was my husband. Too many people heard and we’ve had to keep up the cover.”

  Mutti wrung the dish towel in her hand. “That is dangerous. Why would you do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know. Because I didn’t want her to turn him in to the authorities. I didn’t want to see him hurt.”

  “And so now, what will you do?”

  The floor behind them creaked. She froze, but heard nothing more. Most likely the old building creaking with the cold.

  Gisela lowered her voice. “With Kurt and Audra along, we have to continue acting like we are married. At least until Mitch is out of danger.”

  “That is his name?”

  “Ja. Mitch Edwards. But call him Josep. That is the name we told the others.”

  Mutti shook her head. “I don’t like it. Not one bit. How long were you going to wait to tell me?”

  “I didn’t wait long. We needed to be alone so none of the others would overhear.”

  “You have changed since you’ve been gone.” Mutti patted her cheek. “You aren’t the shy little thing I sent away.”

  “Things have happened that have changed me.”

  “What kind of things? Don’t tell me those Russians in Goldap hurt you after all.”

  “Nein. But I’ve had to be on my own. Had to struggle to survive and to get all of these people here in one piece.”