by Dean Hughes
The train was slowing now. Elder Thomas could see they were coming into the outskirts of a city, and he knew it had to be Bonn. He watched as they passed through an industrial area and then slowed to a stop in the big train station. The elders were staying on board here, so they held their places in the back. The only problem was, very few people got off, and more were trying to get on—many of them soldiers.
But no one ordered them off, to their relief, and even though the train remained in the station much longer than seemed necessary, when Elder Thomas heard the big steam locomotive begin to chug and grind, and felt the car move again, he knew they were edging closer to Holland.
Elder Thomas listened to bits and pieces of the conversation around them. He heard a soldier say, “Poland would be crazy to get anything started. They will be destroyed if they do—utterly destroyed.”
So the talk went—confident, boisterous at times, and yet exaggerated. The men sounded a little too much as though they were trying to convince themselves.
Another hour went by, and the train pulled into Cologne, Köln in German. Here, the elders had to change trains. They grabbed their suitcases from an overhead shelf, and they tried to work their way through the crowded car. More people
were trying to get on the train, and they weren’t waiting for passengers to get off. For a time it seemed as though the elders wouldn’t make it, but a policeman barked, “Let these people through.”
The crowd in the aisle gave way enough to let them slide past, and they managed to make their way out onto the platform. But the crunch of people there was almost as bad. “We have to get inside,” Elder Thomas shouted above the noise. “We have to find out what track our next train is on.”
And so Elder Thomas worked his way through the crowd, holding his suitcase up to his chest. Elder Taylor followed. Inside, they found a board with all the trains listed. “Track number four,” Elder Thomas told his companion. He looked around for the right gate. “That way,” he said, and he began to push through the crowd again.
“The schedule means nothing,” a man said to him, in English.
Elder Thomas turned toward a young man with thick glasses and a cigarette in his mouth. “Excuse me?” he said in German.
“The train may be there. It may not. Tickets mean nothing. Even if your train is there, you may not be able to get on.”
Elder Thomas nodded. “Danke Schön,” he said, but he pushed ahead anyway. They had to try.
The station was suffocating, hot and humid, and the smell of the people was almost intolerable, but Elder Thomas was sure he didn’t smell good himself at this point. He wanted to strip off his suit coat, but it would be one more thing to carry.
“How much time before the train is supposed to leave?” Elder Taylor asked.
“Forty minutes—if the schedule means anything,” Elder Thomas shouted over his shoulder. “Did you understand that man?”
“Some.”
“Let’s hope the right train is here.”
“What about food?”
“We’d better not worry about that for the moment. If the train is here, let’s get on. If it hasn’t come in yet, we’d better hold our places on the platform and get on as soon as we can.”
“If we have to wait on the platform, one of us could find something—at least some mineral water. I’m really thirsty.”
“Yeah. We’ll see.”
But the two had come to the gate now, and Elder Thomas reached into his pocket to get out his ticket. A railroad official, however, was already shaking his head. “We have tickets for Holland,” Elder Taylor told him. “Through Nijmegen.”
The man, wearing a flat cap and cotton jacket, continued to shake his head. “That train is canceled,” he said. “It’s going to Poland.”
“We’re Americans. We’re leaving the country. How can we get to the Netherlands?”
“You can’t. The border is closed.”
“Excuse me?”
A large man was eager to get by, and he was pushing Elder Thomas aside, slowly but persistently. As he slipped on past, he complained under his breath.
“The border is closed. No one can go through.”
“What can we do?”
The official cocked his head to the side and shrugged his shoulders. “Move back, please,” he said, and his look of indifference was almost more than Elder Thomas could stand. How could the man not make some effort to help, or at least to advise them? Elder Thomas stepped away and set down his bag. He looked at Elder Taylor. “We’ve got a problem. The border is closed. Holland must not be letting refugees in.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Last year we got through without any problem. But there weren’t so many people trying to get out.”
“What can we do?”
Elder Thomas was trying to think. “If we can get to the border, maybe we could convince the guards that we’re American missionaries and should be allowed to pass through on our way home. But we have to get there. Let’s try to get to a ticket booth and find out whether any trains are going to the border.”
“Can we use these same tickets?”
“I don’t know.”
Elder Thomas knew the next question. Where would they get money to buy tickets? The elders had given most of their money to President Meis—for any members who needed help. The elders had enough money for food, but only for a couple of days. They hadn’t thought that anything like this would happen. They were expecting to be out of Germany before the day was over.
“Let’s not panic,” Elder Thomas said. “We need to ask questions—try to figure something out.”
Elder Thomas pushed his way toward a ticket booth, and then he got in a long line. But when he finally got to the booth, the man inside the cage was no more helpful than the man at the gate had been. “Maybe some trains will go that direction. I can’t say. But you won’t get across,” he said. “You should try to get to Belgium, perhaps, or maybe Denmark.”
“Could we trade in our tickets for others?”
“No, no. I’m sorry. That’s not possible.”
“But the train is canceled. We should get our money back.”
“We can’t do that. I’m sorry. You must step aside. Many people are waiting.”
“We have no money. We have no way to get out of Germany.”
“I’m very sorry. I can’t help you. Please step aside.”
So Elder Thomas stepped away from the booth, and he tried to think. “Maybe we can call President Wood,” Elder Taylor said.
“Maybe. But the phones are jammed. I doubt we could get through to him.”
All the same, they tried. They waited in another line until they got to a telephone booth, and they placed their call. But the operator told Elder Thomas, “The call will not go through.”
“But couldn’t you—?”
The line went dead. Elder Thomas stepped out of the sweltering booth, and for a moment the air of the train station felt almost cool. He took a long breath and then said, “We need to eat something, and we need to think.” And so they walked outside and found a little Gasthaus that was open on Sundays. They ordered bratwurst and sauerkraut—with a large mug of apple juice. And they felt a little strength come back. But they could think of no way out of their mess. “We’ll have to keep calling the mission office,” Elder Thomas told his companion. “Maybe later in the day the phoning will slow down.”
“At night, maybe. How soon is President Wood leaving?”
“He wasn’t sure. Soon.”
It was not a comfortable thought. What if the president closed the mission office before he realized his missionaries were stranded? “We need to stay in the train station and keep our eyes open for missionaries. Others might be stuck here too—or will be before the day is over.”
And so the elders walked back to the station. But in the mass of people, they could spot no one they recognized as missionaries. Every hour or so they tried to call the mission office, but each time they got t
he same result: the operator replying that the call would not go through.
The elders spent some of their time outside, where they only had heat to deal with, not the sauna-like closeness, and not the ubiquitous body odor. When night came, the crowd diminished, but the calls still would not go through. The elders finally found a place in a corner, stretched out as much as possible, and lay their heads on their rolled-up suitcoats.
Toward morning, Elder Thomas finally drifted off into a shallow state of sleep. But he hadn’t been asleep long when something slammed against the bottom of his foot. He sat up suddenly, startled and wide awake. What he saw above him was a policeman—not SS but local. “Get up!” the man demanded.
Both elders scrambled to their feet.
“You can’t sleep here,” the policeman said. He was a grim-looking man with lumps over his eyes, like a boxer.
“I’m sorry. Our train was canceled,” Elder Thomas said.
“What are you? Americans?”
“Yes. Missionaries.”
“Show me your papers.” Both elders dug out their passports and minister’s credentials. The man gave them a cursory glance. “Let me see your train tickets,” he demanded.
The elders complied once again, and this time the policeman took more time. He was heavy, and he stood with his mouth open, breathing audibly. Finally, he said, “These are worthless. You cannot go to the Netherlands.”
“We know that,” Elder Thomas said. “But we’re trying to leave some other way—maybe through Denmark.”
“Why didn’t you go last night?”
“We used the last of our money to buy the tickets that were canceled. And now we can’t get our money back.”
Elder Thomas hoped to a win a little sympathy; instead, the policeman seemed to take the words as an insult. “That is not our fault,” he said, leaning forward. “Germany didn’t close the border. The Netherlands did.”
“Yes. I understand that.”
“You can’t stay here. You’re vagrants. This station is already too crowded. We don’t need foreigners—tramps—sleeping on our floors.”
Elder Thomas knew better than to argue. “That’s fine,” he said. “We’ll leave.”
The policeman stepped closer. He breathed into Elder Thomas’s face. “At this moment you are only vagrants. Any day now—any hour—you will become enemies, foreigners in a country at war. All borders will be closed. If anyone stops you then, you will be jailed, immediately.”
“We want to leave. Can you help us contact our leaders in Frankfurt? All the telephone lines are busy.”
“That’s not my problem. You must leave this station. Don’t let me see you again.”
So the elders picked up their baggage and walked outside, and they kept going until they reached a little park. They found a bench there and sat down, and they talked things over, but every possibility seemed closed to them.
“Elder Taylor, have you been praying all night?” Elder Thomas asked.
“Sure.”
“Me too. But let’s have a prayer together, okay?”
And so they knelt together by the bench. Elder Thomas called on the Lord to deliver them from the trap they were in. “Please help us find a way out,” Elder Thomas said. “We place ourselves in thy hands. Show us what to do.”
The sun was just beginning to rise, causing a little line of clouds to glow, pink and gold. Elder Thomas sat back on the bench and tried to get an answer, to hear the voice of the Lord telling him what to do.
“What about members here in Köln?” Elder Taylor asked. “Maybe they would help us.”
“I’ve thought about that. We could find the church, maybe, but I doubt anyone would be there on a Monday morning.”
The two fell silent for a time, but then Elder Thomas found himself saying something that came as a surprise even to him. “We need to get back into that train station.”
“Why?”
“If President Wood knows about the border closing, I would think he’d try to send help in this direction.”
“How would they find us in all that confusion?”
“I don’t know. But they won’t find us out here.”
“What about that cop?”
“We’ll watch for him, but before long the place will be as crowded as it was yesterday. I doubt he’ll spot us.”
“Do you think that’s what the Lord is telling us to do?”
Elder Thomas shut his eyes and tried to find a voice within himself. But then he said, “I don’t know, Mit. But it’s the only thing that feels right to me. What about you?”
“I don’t know. But if that’s what you’re feeling, let’s do it.”
And so they walked back. They stepped into the station but stayed near the open doors, and they scanned the crowd. For the moment, Elder Thomas was primarily looking out for the policeman. “Let’s keep our bags close to this exit,” Elder Thomas said, “and then let’s take turns working our way through the crowd. If any missionaries are in the building, maybe we can spot them.”
“Okay. Do you want to go first, or should—”
“Wait. Listen.”
Elder Thomas was not sure. He listened intently. Someone was whistling on the other side of the station. It was hard to tell, but he thought he recognized the tune.
“Do What Is Right!” Elder Taylor said, and suddenly both elders were grabbing for their suitcases.
“Over there, on that baggage cart,” Elder Thomas said, and at the same moment, he thought he recognized the missionary. But it was too good to be true. “Come on.” A big guy in a dark suit had crawled up on top of the baggage cart and was whistling for all he was worth.
Halfway there, Elder Thomas finally knew for sure. “It’s Elder Mecham, my old companion,” he said.
“I hope he’s got some money.”
Elder Thomas was thinking the same thing. As the elders neared the baggage cart, Elder Thomas began to wave, and he saw Elder Mecham grin. “Hey, Elder Thomas,” he said, looking delighted, “I’m glad you recognized my song. I can’t carry a tune in a bushel basket.”
“It sounded like a chorus of angels, if you ask me.”
Elder Mecham waved his elbows, pretending they were wings. “That’s me, the Angel Lewis.” And then he pointed. “Look! Another pair of elders. And two sisters with them.”
As it turned out, these four had been in the station only a short time, having gotten in during the early morning hours. But an older couple also appeared, and they had been stuck in the station even longer than Elder Thomas and Elder Taylor. Elder Thomas knew Elder Norbert and Elder Peterson quite well. Sister Edwards and Sister Price, along with the couple, Elder and Sister Pfortner, he had met at district conferences.
Elder Mecham had gotten down from the baggage cart by the time the missionaries collected in a little group. Everyone was shaking hands but still looking rather serious until Elder Mecham said, “I’ve got tickets. And plenty of money.”
“Did President Wood send you?” Sister Price asked.
“Yeah. I got into Frankfurt last night and stopped at the mission office. The president had gotten word about the border being closed, so he had me buy tickets for Amsterdam—and for Copenhagen—and he gave me five hundred marks. Then he sent me out looking for missionaries. I’m glad to find eight in one place, but I still have twenty-three to locate.”
“What did he say for us to do?” Elder Norbert asked.
“He thought you could still get through the border if you had tickets on to London. Joseph Fielding Smith was with President Wood in Hanover when all this started. Elder Smith and his wife got out that way, and they’re in Amsterdam. But I’m not sure that will work now. You might want to try it, since it’s close, and then, if that doesn’t work, head for Copenhagen. I’ll give you enough money to buy more tickets if you have to.”
Elder Mecham reached inside his suitcoat and pulled out his billfold. He was pulling out bills when a loud voice sounded. “Was machen Sie da?”
The
whole group turned at the same time. A policeman—not the one Elder Thomas and Elder Taylor had dealt with but another local officer—had come around the baggage cart. He stepped up close to Elder Mecham.
“Nothing,” Elder Mecham said. “I was just trying to find my friends.”
“You shouldn’t be getting up there like that.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” He laughed.
“Have you papers?”
“Yes, of course.”
The policeman was a slim man with a strong jaw and short, well-trimmed hair. He studied the papers thoroughly but briskly, and then he handed them back to Elder Mecham. “Are you leaving Germany?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I see you have money. You cannot take that with you. Give it to me.”
“It’s for my friends. We’re all missionaries. We have to buy tickets to Denmark.”
“I told you, give me that money.” The policeman stepped closer and held out his hand. His eyes were still as stones.
Elder Mecham, who was much bigger than the policeman, held his ground, the billfold still in his hand and tucked against his chest. “I can’t give it to you,” he said. “I promised to get all our missionaries out of Germany, and we need this money to buy train tickets.”
“You have a great deal of money there—much more than enough.”
“No. I’m looking for thirty-one missionaries. I promised to help them all.”
“I will decide that. Give me the money.” He stepped closer and extended his hand again.
“No.”
“Come with me, then,” the policeman said.
“Where?”
“To the police station.”
“No. I can’t do that. I need to stay here.”
The policeman had stepped away, expecting Elder Mecham to follow him. Now he stepped back. “Have you gone mad? I am arresting you. You must come with me.”
“I can’t. I won’t go.”
The two stood absolutely still, staring into each other’s eyes. Elder Thomas felt as though his heart had stopped.