by Liz Tolsma
He had difficulty drawing a breath. He clenched his jaw.
Gisela stepped behind him. “Mongols,” she whispered, shuddering.
They watched the foreign troops process down the road. For the people on this street, the war had ended. They were now in Russian-occupied territory.
When he could watch no longer, he turned to her, stroking her upper arm, trying to warm her. “Now might be a good time for that coal and powder.”
“What about you and Kurt and Jorgen? They’ll shoot you on the spot.”
“Kurt and Jorgen, maybe, but not me. I’ll explain to them that I’m British.”
“And how will you do that when you don’t speak Russian and I doubt any of them speak English? What are we going to do?”
Then he would fight them. Fight them for taking away Xavier. Fight them for what they did to women and children. Fight them to show he wouldn’t surrender this time.
THIRTY-FOUR
April 28
Kurt watched as Gisela grasped the lump of coal and rubbed it over Audra’s face, then massaged precious flour into the other woman’s hair. With its light color, it didn’t take much to turn Audra gray. She did appear to be quite a bit older than her twenty or so years. And much uglier. Not good if she was out to impress Josep. He clenched and relaxed his sore fist.
Then again, Josep only had one good eye.
Not a word passed between the two of them since that day. They remained across the room from each other. His anger had cooled into determination. Josep and Gisela spent more time together than ever. But he would have her. She would be his. Even if he had to fight Josep again.
Audra kneaded the white powder into Gisela’s hair. “When we get to America, we can dye our hair any color we want to.” She worked in more. “Yours, being darker, isn’t as easy as mine. We’ll use up every bit of flour we have left.”
The music faded. He hated witnessing Gisela’s beauty being hidden.
“Don’t do that.” She held a mirror up to inspect herself, then turned to Audra. He didn’t recognize her face. Nein, she couldn’t disappear.
She tipped her head to the side. “Deepen the crease marks around my mouth and eyes and that will have to be sufficient.”
The demanding foreign voices with their harsh-sounding language approached ever closer. His palms sweated and he managed a breath every ten seconds or so. Gisela huddled in the corner of the basement beside Mitch. Audra slid into the empty spot beside Kurt.
He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “You can’t let them get this close. Not at a time like this. You should rely on him; she should be here with me.”
“I’m watching. Trust me.”
Kurt wiped his damp hands on his rather tight khaki pants, borrowed from Frau Mueller’s much smaller husband. They had at last convinced him to burn his German officer’s uniform. He shouldn’t have to be ashamed of who he was.
“You’d better work fast. This war is almost over. And then what? They will run away to the west and leave us alone here. We can’t let that happen.” He didn’t know if he was more afraid of the Red Army or of losing his muse.
Bettina sat at the edge of her seat. “Moscow, Sister, can you imagine? Remember being here years ago? Let’s go see the colorful roofs of St. Basil’s.”
Frau Mueller grasped Bettina’s arm. “Later, ja? Soon it will be supper time.”
Jorgen sat dazed between the Holtzmann sisters and listened to them argue about what they would order in the Moscow restaurant tonight.
A higher-pitched scream broke out, cutting off the sisters’ banter. Frost formed on the inside of Kurt’s blood vessels. Gisela rose and snuck to the narrow window.
“Women. Large-boned Russian women high on the tanks, shooting their guns in the air and hollering like cornered rabbits. The Mongols weren’t as bad as them.”
“These are your allies, Josep. The people you have teamed up with to defeat Germany. What do you think of them now?”
Josep didn’t answer, but fire smoldered behind his eyes.
While her back had been turned, Audra had snuck into Gisela’s vacated seat next to Mitch. She clung to his elbow, her head on his shoulder. “I can’t take much more of this. All of this yelling and shooting is frightful. How will any of us survive?”
No doubt about it, she batted her eyelashes at him. She practiced her English on him. “Please, tell me about England. I go to your house.”
Mitch shot Gisela a glance, one dark eyebrow raised. She shrugged.
Kurt patted the empty spot next to him on the bench. “Come sit here, Gisela.”
Mitch raised his other eyebrow. Good, raising doubts in his mind.
She moved like a wooden toy and took the seat beside him.
“There is nothing to worry about.” He patted her knee.
“I wasn’t worrying.”
“Those communists won’t harm me. If Josep can pretend to be German, I can pretend to be English. I will say I lost my papers and identification in the POW camp.” Kurt reached for her hand, which she pulled away to scratch an itch on her nose. This wasn’t what he wanted. Had Josep told her what happened at the warehouse?
“You sound rather confident.”
“I am. When this is over, I will take you to my parents’ home in Bavaria. You can rest and enjoy the quiet of the forest and the mountains. The air is fresh and clean, the countryside beautiful. Perhaps Oktoberfest will begin again in Munich. I want to show you the sights.” If she saw his home, she would want to stay.
“That is a gracious offer, but I have to find Mutti. Ella will come for the girls, I will take the Holtzmann sisters to their niece, Vater will return, and then I will leave for home.”
“This is your home.”
“America.”
Kurt shook his head. “Nein, you are German through and through. What little bit of American you had in you is gone.”
A shadow passed over her heart-shaped face. The music in his head turned soft and slow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Please understand.” She turned to him, her gaze holding his. “Germany hasn’t been kind to me. I lost my sister here. We were closer than most. America is where my happy memories are. Where I want to be. Away from the war and death this place brought.”
She couldn’t leave him. He couldn’t allow it. “You have awhile to decide. I will help you situate both sets of sisters and locate your parents. By then, Germany will have healed.” If he could convince her to stay . . .
“You need to return to your home and your family, and I need to go to mine.”
He grabbed her hand and pressed her fingers into his palm. “You must come with me, for the music.”
Her forehead scrunched. “The music?”
“When I am near you, I hear the dancing of the notes. The music I thought I had lost along with my arm.”
“I don’t give you the music.”
He sat straight. “But you do.”
“Music comes from the heart.” She touched his chest. His lungs expanded. “When you hear it, your heart is speaking to you. Not me. At home, the place you love, the music will come back. And I will be in the front row of your first concert.”
“Don’t you see? There will be no more concerts. A one-armed man will never play the piano. The melodies in my head are all I have left.”
“God will give you the music. You could direct. Or teach.”
“I could never do it. I was born to play.”
“With God’s help, you can do anything. Look at what we have survived.”
She was slipping away from him, though he squeezed her hand. “I love you, Gisela.”
She yanked her hand from his. Kurt’s mouth went dry. “It’s not me you love; it’s the idea of me. You love the music you think is only with you when I’m nearby. But you don’t love me. And I don’t love you, Kurt.”
He stared at the gray concrete floor, clenching his jaw. Without her, without the music, his life would be empty.
; “God will give you the music. Trust Him. Love Him. It will come.”
Kurt first fell in love with music in his hometown church. The swelling of the organ filled his soul. Once he had joined the Nazi party and entangled himself with them, that music failed to stir him. Could the Lord give back that gift?
She touched his shoulder. “When you go home to Munich, one day a woman will come along and you will love her. All of her. Not just the idea of her.”
A requiem played in his head. Yet he heard the organ chords, and a spark lit deep inside. Perhaps, just perhaps, he needed to pray for the return of his beloved music.
Across the room, Audra touched Josep’s stubbly cheek.
And the Mongol-Russians arrived at the door.
“Uri, uri, uri,” the Soviet conquerors screamed as they clattered up the stairs. They wanted watches. And they would get them any way they could. These present-day yells mixed with the past ones in Gisela’s memories. Goose bumps covered her arms. Each breath she drew was jerking and halting.
The women of the house crouched in the back corner of the cellar.
Kurt hid behind the oxygen pump with Jorgen.
Mitch stood tall in the middle of the room, waiting to face the Russians.
Would they take the time to find out he was British? Her stomach clenched. She went to him and tugged on his arm. “Please, go hide. In the time it will take you to explain to them who you are, they will shoot you. Go with the other men.”
He rubbed her arm but didn’t say a word. A study of his dark eyes told her what she needed to know. Nothing would dissuade him from confronting the Red Army head-on.
He guided her back to her spot with the other women. “Pray.”
With a great crash, the soldiers broke open the heavy wood door. They thundered down the stairs, their boots stomping on the wooden steps. “Uri, uri,” they continued to demand.
They turned the corner to the shelter. Within seconds, they raised their rifles and pointed them at Mitch’s chest.
Oh God, spare him. Spare us, Father.
The answer to her prayer came to her as a soft whisper. Fear not, for I have redeemed thee.
Yet panic rose in her throat and threatened to choke her.
“English, English, English.” Mitch shouted at the Soviets, his voice strong and clear. From his pocket, he withdrew a piece of paper. When he unfolded it, Gisela saw that he had colored a Union Jack. He waved this in front of his face. “English, English. Now get out. Leave here.” He pointed to the stairs.
“Nein. Germanski.” A rather squat, Asian-looking soldier cocked his rifle, five watches glinting on his arm. He shook his head so hard, his ushanka hat tilted on his head. “Uri.” With a jerk of his chin, he motioned for his cohorts to search the building for watches.
Mitch stared right back, his dark eyes focused on their guard.
Pressure built in Gisela’s forehead and a wicked headache picked this moment to erupt. She sat and rubbed her temples. Dear God, help us. Make these soldiers go away.
She gripped the edge of her chair, digging her fingernails into the wood.
Mitch waved his homemade flag. The soldiers cared nothing for his nationality. “Leave this place.” He took a step forward. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
The soldier cocked his gun. Mitch took another step forward. “Go. Go. Go.” Another step.
The Mongol peered through the sight.
Mitch ran at him and kicked the rifle out of his hands. It clattered to the floor. Gisela sucked in her breath and shook all over. Mitch grabbed the gun and pointed it at the Mongol. “Out. Get out. Now.” He spun the soldier around and marched him up the stairs.
Gisela clasped her hands together and hugged Annelies close. Russian voices floated from upstairs, harsh words she couldn’t understand.
More clomping of boots on the stairs, Mitch’s voice, the door slamming.
But who left?
Mitch leaned on the door, trembling like a nervous dog, his ears ringing.
He had sent the Russians a message.
How long before they returned the favor? With shaking fingers, he locked the door. He had to will his legs to carry him down the stairs to the bunker.
He sank to the floor.
Audra rushed to his side. Her hands were cool through his thin shirt. “Are you injured? Did they hurt you?”
“Nein, I’m fine.”
She wrapped both hands around his upper arm. “You were so brave. I can’t believe you stood up to those monsters. And they left here without hurting us. I owe you my life.”
Gisela gathered a fussy Renate in her arms and came to stand beside him. “What were you doing?”
He managed a small grin. She didn’t reciprocate and he sobered. “I couldn’t let them come and have their way here. Not after what they did to Xavier, shooting at him from the sky. Not with what they might do to you. And the others.”
Audra kissed him on the cheek. “Danke for saving my life. I will be forever grateful. I will do anything for you.”
Mitch didn’t doubt that she would. He pushed himself up and left her squatting on the floor. From the corner of his eye, he watched Kurt crawl from behind the oxygen pump and sit on the bench.
Mitch approached Gisela, who paced this small dungeon bouncing Renate on her hip. She wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“What is it?”
She turned on him, fire in her amber eyes. “They could have shot you. They could have shot all of us. What kind of craziness was that?”
“For Xavier.”
“Is that what he would have wanted?”
She had a point. A very good point. “No.”
“They’ll return. And they may not be so understanding next time.”
Mitch bowed his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It was foolish and, well, I didn’t think. But I did take this from one of the soldiers as he left.” He held out her gold watch.
She took it from him and stared at it. “You remembered this.”
“The last link to your sister. I couldn’t let them have it.”
She touched his cheek. “Thank you. You were crazy and don’t ever do that again, but thank you.”
Kurt approached them, his gaze darting between them. “From now on, Gisela, you will go behind the oxygen tank with me. Josep is trying to get us all killed. You need to stay somewhere safe. With someone who will keep you safe.” He gripped her elbow.
She wriggled away from him and a little closer to Mitch. Kurt clenched his fist.
Gisela hunched her shoulders. “It’s only a matter of time until they take one of us. All of us. They will kill some of us and rape the others.” Her voice broke as she studied Renate, now quiet in her arms. “God help us, our fate is sealed.”
THIRTY-FIVE
May 1
For days, the screech of the Stalinorgels echoed in Audra’s head. The cadence of machine guns lulled them to sleep and woke them in the morning. One day blurred into another. The Holtzmann sisters argued and bickered as did Annelies and Renate. Kurt was short with her, and Jorgen snapped at anyone within ten meters.
The only ones who got along were Gisela and Josep.
There had been a change in their relationship. They were closer, looked at each other with a tenderness that reminded Audra of her parents. They were in love.
And her dreams of a life of fame and fortune in the West were shattered.
The men left the shelter to work on securing the front door. From below, Audra heard them grunt as they picked up Frau Mueller’s hutch and carried it to the entryway. The wardrobe would be harder as it had to come downstairs from the bedroom.
Gisela sat beside her on the bench and rocked a dozing Annelies.
Audra rested her back against the cool concrete wall. “Will the furniture keep the Soviets from getting in?” She had never been as frightened as when the soldiers had burst into the shelter. If they took her virtue, they would take everything she had left.
“Nein. It may delay them, but
they will get in one way or another.”
“And then?”
“You know.”
Audra clamped her hands together.
“Put it here.” Josep’s voice carried down the stairs. The piece thunked on the floor.
Frau Mueller sat at the table on one side of the cellar, her red tongue stuck out in contrast to her pale face, as she concentrated on the strange markings she made on the paper.
She had written Тиф карантин—TYPHUS QUARANTINE—in big, bold letters. The Russian she had learned when she gave refuge to a woman fleeing the communist revolution years ago might be what would save their lives. They would post the paper on the front door and pray that whoever tried to force their way into the house could read.
And would be afraid enough of typhus to stay out.
The agonizing screams of women and girls echoed down the street, their purity and innocence snatched from them. Right on their block, the laughing, mocking voices of the soldiers continued day and night. When the women’s cries died out, the wailing and mourning began.
They had traded one form of fascism for another.
Gisela turned to her. “You like Josep, nein?”
Audra smoothed back her movie star-colored hair. “You like him.”
“I love him.”
The swelling in her throat blocked anything Audra might have said. If Gisela would take her to America, then she could have everything she wanted. The fame, the fortune, the handsome man on her arm. “You will go to England?”
“Why do you want to be an actress so much?”
“In the West, I don’t have to be poor anymore. No more awful handmade clothes. No more sharing the last piece of bread with your younger brother. No more sleeping four or five to a bed. If I could go to Hollywood and be famous, I would never have to worry again. Ever.”
“I understand.”
“You didn’t answer my question about England. Will you go there?”
“I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, much less after the war. I want to go to America, to California. When we lived there, I was happy. I want that again.” Gisela clamped her hands together. A single tear escaped down her cheek. “I want you to come to America with me.”