Daisies Are Forever

by Liz Tolsma

  He could hear the pop of the fire on the hearth and smell his father’s cigar. I learned these verses from Psalm 61 when I fought in the Great War.” His large hand caressed the Bible page. “You would do well to remember them, no matter what happens in your life.”

  These words from his father were wise. Whether or not they agreed about the course Mitch’s life should take, his father had Mitch’s best interest at heart. He didn’t want his son to experience the hardships of war. He knew them well enough. All too well.

  Mitch sat on the ground, head in his hands, for a long while, enjoying the feeling of peace and contentment. He had done the best he could under the worst of conditions in Belgium and France. No one knew where to go. No one saw the panzers coming.

  And in the heat of battle, God had kept most of his chums alive. Captured, facing hardship, but breathing. If they had been able to return to England and then back to the battlefield, how many of them would be alive today? Perhaps not any of them.

  An object blocked out the sun, cooling Mitch’s back. He turned and Gisela stood behind him. He hadn’t heard her coming.

  “What are you doing?”

  He stood, his legs cramped. He stretched his muscles. “That is a bomb, no doubt, but it never exploded.”

  “A dud.”

  “Yes, a dud. God sent us a dud.”

  Gisela stared at the rusty-looking metal bomb. “Wow.” That was the only word her tumultuous brain could conjure.

  “That’s a good word for it.”

  “We came so close to dying.” Dying. She should be dead now. A tremor passed through her body.

  “Very close. But God took care of us. He is the one who delivered us.”

  “A poor bomb maker in the Soviet Union delivered us.”

  “No, God did. What could you and I have done to prevent this shell from detonating?”

  She studied the small crater. Mitch had a point. “Nothing. We were helpless.”

  “Don’t you see? God is the one who, as the hymn says, brought us safely thus far.” In the midst of the battle, the heartbreak and sorrow, he lifted his beautiful tenor voice.

  Amazing grace! How sweet the sound

  that saved a wretch like me!

  I once was lost, but now am found;

  was blind, but now I see.

  ’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,

  and grace my fears relieved;

  how precious did that grace appear

  the hour I first believed.

  She joined him, adding her alto harmony.

  Through many dangers, toils, and snares,

  I have already come;

  ’tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,

  and grace will lead me home.

  The Lord has promised good to me,

  his word my hope secures;

  he will my shield and portion be,

  as long as life endures.

  Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,

  and mortal life shall cease,

  I shall possess, within the veil,

  a life of joy and peace.

  They had come a long way. A very long way, through many trials and peril. “He has, hasn’t He?”

  “Do you know this in your head or in your heart?”

  She didn’t have an answer for that question. “We have no guarantee that we will live to see our liberation. No promise that you will ever see England again, or that I will see America. No assurance that you and Audra will get married.”

  He scrunched his dark eyebrows. “What? Married?”

  She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me. I don’t understand what you just said.”

  “You do.”

  “I really don’t.”

  “Listen, we need to let the rest of the people in the cellar know about your discovery. We can finish talking about this later.” Much, much later.

  Although Mitch continued looking puzzled, they went inside together. He stopped her in the front hall. “Think about what I said. You and I have been so busy trying to make up for past wrongs, but we can’t. God forgives. He protects. He gives life and takes it away.”

  It sounded so simple, to absolve herself of her guilt that way.

  But she couldn’t shake the truth that she had abandoned her cousins when they needed her most. And Opa and Ella and Herr Holtzmann. And Mutti. She had failed so many.

  The next three days passed in a haze. The shelling in the nearby suburbs was constant.

  The Soviets had the city surrounded.

  The noose tightened.

  The battle for Berlin raged.

  The basement filled with people grew stuffy and confining. They had moved the couch, the kitchen table and chairs, and another bed downstairs. They lived here, ate here, slept here. Gisela was boxed in. The old women chatted about Paris and London and New York without ceasing. Where in the world they went on holiday changed on any given day. Any given moment.

  Audra clung to Mitch. Kurt continued to sidle up to Gisela. With Mitch ensnared in Audra’s clutches, perhaps she should turn her attention to the German soldier. He had never been unkind to her and had always been attentive.

  Just the thought of Mitch made her heart thrum as if she had run a marathon.

  It didn’t kick up even a notch around Kurt. In time, could she love him, or would she always think of the British soldier with longing?

  She studied Kurt’s angular profile, handsome in a very Aryan way. Then she caught a glimpse of Mitch, his dimples creasing his face. Goose bumps broke out over her arms.

  Renate crawled on her lap and stroked her cheek in the way children have. “Why sad, Tante Gisela?”

  “Oh yes, dearie, you should not be sad when in Copenhagen. This is such a cosmopolitan city.” Bettina waved her hands in front of her face. “And the food is the best in the world. Listen to the band striking up a tune. It makes me want to dance.”

  Mitch caught Bettina’s wrist and kept her in her seat. “That’s not music. For now, you had better stay here. We can dance later.”

  “We can dance here.” Bettina pulled Annelies to her feet. “This dance hall is nice enough. Let me show you how to do the fox-trot.”

  The little girl giggled as she made a clumsy attempt to follow Bettina’s zigzagging steps. Annelies stepped on her partner’s toes more often than not.

  Gisela pinched her nose to keep from crying. Mutti and Vater had waltzed like they were gliding across the floor. It was magical to watch them. Oh, that they might come home.

  Renate bounced on Audra’s lap. “Me too. I want to dance.”

  Katya rose to oblige the child. “I hope you are a better dancer than that other girl.”

  Renate nodded, solemn as could be. “I dance good.”

  “I am glad to hear that.”

  Gisela couldn’t help but laugh as Renate did more hopping than dancing. Her laughter died when she noticed the way Audra stared at Mitch. Without words, she was inviting him to dance.

  Katya paused in the middle of humming a tune. “You do dance very well, even though you could be a bit taller.”

  Across the room, Jorgen slumped in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. She thought that once she rescued him from standing sentry, he would open up and blossom. Instead, he hunkered on the hard bench, face downcast all of the time. He had said not more than two or three words since he arrived.

  Gisela slapped her thighs and went to him, holding out her hand. “Will you dance with me?”

  He shook his head.

  She shifted her weight to her left foot and tapped her right. “Dance with me. A man shouldn’t leave a woman sitting alone during a waltz.”

  Again Jorgen refused.

  She lowered herself on the bench beside him and he scooted over. “Why won’t you join in the fun?”

  The artillery fire picked up in intensity, a brief spurt of machine guns.

  “I don’t want to.”

  �
�That’s not a reason. My mutti never accepted that answer from me.”

  He pivoted to face her, his blue eyes blazing. “You aren’t my mutti.”

  “I know that.”

  “She will be mad that you took me away. Mutti said I had to protect the Fatherland and Herr Hitler.”

  “You didn’t want to sit out there with that gun.”

  “I don’t want to be in trouble. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  Gisela rubbed his back, afraid he would pull away. He didn’t. “The Russians will be here in a day or two. Then it won’t matter. It will be over and you can go home to your mutti. That is a gift I don’t have.”

  His shoulders relaxed and the grimacing mask he wore melted away. The hard soldier persona left and he was a boy again.

  “Now, come and dance and have a little bit of fun.”

  Gisela grabbed him by the hand and led him to the makeshift dance floor. He moved like a wooden toy soldier, but when Annelies and Renate fell to the floor in a puddle of giggles, a smile raced across his face.

  Kurt came to her side and held out his hand. No smile crossed his hard features. “I am afraid I cannot hold you properly, but would you care to dance?”

  And what could she say to that? Turn him down and hurt his feelings? He made the best of his disability and she didn’t care to crush him. No matter how uncomfortable he made her. “I don’t dance well.”

  “Neither do I, so it will matter not if I step on your toes.”

  She acquiesced and he pulled her a little too close to himself for a ballroom dance. They moved across the concrete floor, a cross between gliding and stumbling. Audra and Mitch sailed past them with pro-like grace.

  Gisela shivered. She didn’t glance into Mitch’s chocolate eyes. To see his love for Audra written there would be worse than the pain from her blisters.

  THIRTY-ONE

  April 23

  Frau Mueller bounded down the wood steps to the house’s bunker, no doubt spilling much of the precious water she had risked her life for at the public pump. Her round face was red and she was breathless.

  She set the bucket on the concrete floor and drew in several deep breaths. A tendril of gray hair had come loose from its pins and curled across her cheek. “You will never believe what I am to tell you.”

  Gisela sat forward, anticipation tickling her toes. The barest of hopes ran through her. “Tell us.”

  The rest of the cellar denizens, old and young, chimed in, each straining forward.

  “She is going to tell us that she has arranged for a gondolier to row us around the canals of Venice.” Katya’s blue eyes gleamed in delight.

  “Nein, not that.” Frau Mueller’s face returned to a more normal color. “Everyone at the pump was talking about it. The streets are abuzz because the government has been holding out on us. They have warehouses full of food—meat, vegetables, milk powder, flour, sugar—whatever you can imagine. People are running to get some before the Russians take it all.”

  Mitch scrubbed the dark stubble on his cheek. “By get some, you mean without coupons or paying? Looting?”

  “Call it what you want. If we don’t get it today, the Russians will dig in while we go hungry. Better we have it than them.”

  Before Gisela could utter a word, Kurt grabbed her wrist with a bit too much force and pulled her to her feet. “We volunteer. As a soldier, I will get preferential treatment. Gisela will help me carry the provisions.” He had, so far, refused to burn his uniform.

  She pulled herself from his grasp and stepped back. “Nein. The SS will kill whoever loots.”

  Kurt’s face hardened and he straightened his shoulders. His icy stare gave Gisela a chill. “They won’t shoot an officer who gave an arm to the cause. No one is safer on the streets than I am.”

  She couldn’t verify that statement. And she didn’t want to risk it. “We have enough for a few more days. By then, this will be over and the store shelves will burst.”

  “We don’t know that.” Frau Mueller sat on the bed with a thump. “The Red Army will take retribution on us and leave us with nothing.”

  Audra stood. “I will go.” She gazed in Mitch’s direction, almost as if she hoped he would stop her.

  Which he did. “No women. Just men.”

  Gisela grasped the lapel of her gray sweater, her hands sweaty. “Nein, not you. They will hang you on the lamppost.”

  He steered her to the side, away from the eight pairs of ears. “I’ve not done a thing all war. Nothing. Nothing brave or heroic. Nothing for my country. The least I can do, the very least, is provide food for a group of women and children.”

  She wanted to shout at him that he was stealing. Yet she had taken the dead woman’s coat and shoes. And he had taken the beer for her foot, and she had said nothing. The government stole from them this entire war.

  “Hitler has been holding out, leaving his citizens to die.”

  “If they find out you’re British, it’ll be worse for you.”

  “Worse than hanging as a deserter?” He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingertips light as a breath. “I’ll go with Kurt.” With that, he turned away.

  Gisela hated the thought of him out there. He may have given his heart to Audra, but hers continued to long for him.

  With each passing minute, the report of machine-gun fire grew ever closer. The Soviets penetrated into the suburbs of Berlin. They were a few short kilometers from the heart of the city. Not much of it remained.

  Mitch scanned the scene around him. Frau Mueller had been right. Hordes of people—the brave, the hungry, and the crazy—streamed from their cellars toward the shops and warehouses. They carried bags and baskets, like he and Kurt did. Others pushed prams, minus the infants, in hopes of returning with a stockpile of supplies.

  They joined the almost-festive throng. The sky might have been black with smoke, but the people had something to look forward to for the first time in many days.

  “Audra is a beautiful woman.” Kurt clapped Mitch on the shoulder.

  He didn’t answer.

  “She is very gentle and caring. You have seen her with the kinder?”

  “Ja. She is nice.”

  “She would be a fantastic wife for you.”

  Mitch stopped in his tracks. “Wife?” The same as Gisela had said.

  It wasn’t Audra’s green eyes that had chased away his nightmares. It was Gisela’s amber ones.

  “Ja. She is devoted to you.”

  “I heard you. You want Gisela for your own.” He turned to face his foe. In that moment, he knew his heart. “So do I. She is the one I want to be my wife.”

  Kurt stopped short, balling his fist. “I will never let you take her from me.”

  If he wanted a fight, Mitch would give him one. He clenched his hands and stepped forward. “You never had her.”

  The German swung. Mitch ducked and he missed. With all his might, Mitch punched Kurt in the stomach. He doubled over and Mitch threw an uppercut.

  The crowd halted and gathered around, cheering. Fists flew. Mitch didn’t think. Just swung. Kurt connected with his eye, the pain blinding him for a moment.

  Kurt’s disability didn’t hamper his fighting ability. Mitch had to give it everything he had. His arms grew tired. His face throbbed. Kurt got him in the gut. A second passed before he was able to catch his breath.

  All for a woman.

  His father would hate what he was doing.

  A man stepped forward from the crowd. He pushed Mitch and Kurt apart, though both continued to lunge at each other.

  “You should be fighting the enemy, not each other. What shame you bring on your country.”

  Kurt relaxed. Mitch only dared to let his guard down a bit. He stayed prepared for another round of fisticuffs.

  With one push, the man separated them farther. Mitch stumbled backward, fighting to maintain his balance. “Gisela.” His breath came in spurts and sweat dripped down his back.

  “Ja.” Kurt
also huffed.

  “We have to get the food.”

  Kurt nodded. Mitch picked up the bags he had discarded without thinking. He set a brisk pace in the direction the crowd streamed. If Kurt followed, he followed. If not, all the better.

  Mitch pushed the fight aside, though his eye swelled and his vision blurred.

  In his imagination, he couldn’t have dreamed up a more surreal scene. Children sat crying in the rubble. Elderly men roamed the streets with aged guns. Women, old beyond their years, mourned over corpses in the streets.

  As they approached the warehouse, the crowd picked up its pace. Ten-year-old boys, pregnant women, and teenaged girls sprinted ahead of them. In the opposite direction, in no less of a brisk pace, a similar group darted past, their carts and bags laden with butter and sugar. One woman, her face worn but radiant, dragged a rucksack behind her.

  The throng pushed and shoved in a desperate bid to get their hands on the precious rations. The frenetic atmosphere that charged the air seeped into Mitch’s veins. He must reach those food stores. He had to. Coming back empty-handed was unacceptable.

  A ring of black-uniformed SS officers brandished their weapons. “Get back. All of you, get back.”

  Not a single person heeded the order.

  A shrill voice uttered the crowd’s plea. “Let us through! Give the food to us, not the Soviets!”

  The chant rose. “Let us through! Let us through!”

  A lucky few emerged with sacks of flour and tins of coffee.

  “Drop it.” The Nazi soldier fired into the air. “Drop it.”

  Those finished looting dashed away.

  “Drop it!”

  Shots rang out.

  Two bodies fell to the ground.

  “Let’s get in there.” Kurt shoved Mitch in the small of the back.

  A few moments later, they popped through the doorway. In a burst of energy that was difficult to muster these days, they sprinted toward the pallets of food. The basics. Enough to keep them alive until peace arrived. They loaded sugar and a few tins of fruit into their bags.