by Dean Hughes
As it turned out, the next twenty-four hours were the worst of all. The elders had slept very little the night before, catching winks on trains when they could get a seat, and lying on a train station floor for a few hours. But now they found that the trains heading toward Hamburg or anywhere north were being taken over by troops. At every station they were warned not to board, that they might get to the next train station but then be booted off and end up stranded. But they got on trains that were heading somewhat in the direction they needed to go, and they kept working their way closer to Denmark. Three different times they seemed trapped, with no way to continue north or to return to their last city. But each time, they managed to find another train.
When they reached Schleswig, they knew they couldn’t be more than thirty or forty kilometers away from Denmark, but it was early in the morning, and the elders hadn’t had any real sleep for three days. And worse, what they had been seeing outside made them feel that the war would probably begin that day. They had seen convoys of tanks and artillery moving on the roads and highways, blocking traffic, filling villages with their noise. And armaments were appearing everywhere. Anti-aircraft guns were set up in church steeples and on top of buildings. Every bridge they crossed was guarded by machine-gun emplacements.
In Schleswig, an official came through the car announcing that the train would travel no farther north. Everyone must get off. So the elders climbed off the train, again very worried. But they saw people jumping off the platform and running across the tracks to the train across from them.
Someone shouted, “It’s going to the border. It’s leaving now.” The elders bolted after the others. They jumped off the platform, ran across the tracks, and then climbed up the other side. They were about to head for the nearest car when a man yelled. “You two! Stop!”
Elder Thomas took a couple of steps toward the train, but a policeman was running toward them.
“Stop! You can’t do that.”
Just then Elder Thomas saw the departing train jerk and begin to roll forward. “We must catch that train,” Elder Thomas told the policeman. He took another step in that direction.
“No. You have broken the law. Where are you from?”
“America.” Elder Thomas looked at the train, which was rolling a little faster now. He couldn’t think what to do.
“Look how many are crossing,” Elder Mecham shouted at the man, above the noise. Several more people were down on the tracks, and some were just climbing up on the platform.
The policeman shouted, “No! You must not do that.” He turned back to the elders. “Stay here. You are under arrest.” Then he ran along the platform, yelling for everyone to stop.
“Come on!” Elder Mecham yelled to Elder Thomas, and he reached down and grabbed both suitcases. He took off after the train, running hard. Elder Thomas was almost sure they were making a mistake, but he took off after Elder Mecham.
“Stop! You men, stop!” the policeman was shouting. But Elder Mecham kept running, and Elder Thomas was not about to stop and go back alone.
The only trouble was, the train was picking up speed. Elder Thomas could see what he had to do. He sprinted past Elder Mecham, gained some quick ground on the caboose, and then leaped onto the steps. “Forget the bags,” he yelled to Elder Mecham. He reached his hand out for him.
But Elder Mecham had drawn even now, and he tossed Elder Thomas’s suitcase to him. Elder Thomas shoved it behind him and then caught Elder Mecham’s little bag. In the effort, however, Elder Mecham had lost some ground on the train.
He put on a burst of speed—all he had—and leaped. He got a foot on the bottom step, and Elder Thomas grabbed him by the arm, but the big guy was dangling, unable to reach the handrail with his other hand. Elder Thomas was clinging with everything he had, but he could feel Elder Mecham slipping from his hold.
And then another hand reached over Elder Thomas’s shoulder and caught Elder Mecham by his suitcoat. A big tug shifted Elder Mecham’s weight forward, and he was able to swing himself around and catch hold of the handrail. He was on!
Elder Thomas took one last look and saw the policeman waving a fist, his mouth wide open, yelling some last curse at them. But they were on the train, heading toward the border. And it was the conductor himself who had pulled Elder Mecham on board.
“I should have let you fall,” he muttered. “You should not do that.” But his gruffness seemed to take some effort.
The elders stepped inside the caboose and shut the door. “We have to get to the border,” Elder Thomas said.
“Yes, of course. I understand that.”
“We have money—but no ticket.”
“Everything is crazy,” the conductor said. “People are getting on any train they can. No one has proper tickets.” He turned and walked away.
The elders were still trying to catch their breath. “I was about to slip off,” Elder Mecham said, but he was laughing. “If I had landed back on the platform, that cop would have had me.”
“I doubt that. You would have fallen on the tracks and broken your head wide open.”
“Ah, no. My head is too hard for that.” He grinned, and then he said, “Let’s go see if there’s a seat somewhere in this train. I’m a little tired.”
The train, as it turned out, was not crowded. Troops were heading south from this part of Germany, and most people who were fleeing the country had apparently already made their way out. The two missionaries sat down, and Elder Thomas took some more deep breaths. They were going to make it, he told himself.
“I hope everyone else got out,” Elder Mecham said, and that, of course, was the last worry.
The train stopped at a couple of little towns after that, and it stayed longer than seemed necessary, but finally, about mid-morning, it chugged to a stop at the border. And once again, everyone was told to get off the train.
The elders lined up at a little guard station and waited for their turn to be processed. Elder Thomas couldn’t believe the relief he felt. As they were waiting, however, a guard walked along the line, looking at everyone. When he reached the elders, he stopped. “Americans?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
Elder Thomas couldn’t think why they would be singled out. Most of the people in the line were foreigners. But the elders were marched into the station and into an office. There, they faced an older, balding man who looked up at them through thick glasses. “You two were arrested in Schleswig—and you ran from the police. Did you think you could get away with that?”
Elder Thomas’s breath seemed to lodge in his windpipe. It seemed impossible that they could come this close only to be stopped now. He tried to think what to tell the man, but he didn’t think excuses were going to impress him.
“You broke the law. For that you must be punished.”
“We just want to leave Germany before the war breaks out,” Elder Mecham said.
“Yes. And why are you so desperate? Are you spies?”
“We’re missionaries.”
“I’ll let others decide what you are. I only enforce the law.” He stood up and called for the guard.
“We have this,” Elder Mecham said. He pulled out the letter that the military policeman had written for him in Köln. The man read it carefully and then said, “This means nothing. This officer simply accepted the story you told him.” He looked at the guard. “Call the police. Have them come for these men.”
“Wait a minute,” Elder Mecham said. “We’re not liars. We are missionaries. We crossed some railroad tracks—with a lot of other people—but that’s the only thing we did wrong.”
“That’s why you were arrested? For crossing railroad tracks?”
“Yes.”
“And nothing else?”
“Nothing else.”
The man stared at Elder Mecham for several seconds, seemed to test the idea, and then he said, “Go. Cross the border. You’re only making my day more difficult.”
He
handed back the papers, and the elders left. They waited in line again, gave up most of their remaining cash, allowed the guards to check their passports, and then, suddenly, it was all over. They walked across the border and into Denmark.
On the Danish side, they were stopped and checked again, but by then they could see, standing not far away, President Wood with two other missionaries. The three of them were beaming.
As soon as the elders passed on through, they hurried to President Wood, who grabbed one of them in each arm. “You’re the last,” he said. “Everyone is out now.”
“All thirty-one? We couldn’t find some of them.”
“They all got out. Some got through the border before it closed.”
“What about the Pfortners?”
“They’re safe in Amsterdam. The guards let them go through.”
Elder Thomas and Elder Mecham turned and threw their arms around each other. “The Lord did it, Mit,” Elder Mecham said. Elder Thomas began to say a silent prayer.
Chapter 18
President Meis said the opening prayer himself, and then he said, “These are strange circumstances for our first meeting as a branch presidency, but I think we need to carry on as always.”
Brother Stoltz nodded, but he was feeling nervous about this. He knew nothing of Church leadership, and he felt the absence of the missionaries. Brother Meis leaned back in his chair. “I believe we will defeat the Poles quickly and decisively. And that could be the end of this. If everything settles down, the Church might be willing to send missionaries back before long.”
Brother Stoltz hardly knew how to react. He understood the hope to have the missionaries back, but President Meis sounded unconcerned, maybe even satisfied, about the attack on Poland. “Brother Meis,” he said, “England and France have declared war against us. I see no way that this can end quickly.”
“The Führer can negotiate with them. He’s done so before. Why should those countries want to fight over Poland? They know we deserve to have Danzig back.”
“Hitler won’t stop with Danzig. He’ll take the whole nation, just as he did in Austria and Czechoslovakia.”
“It’s what those people wanted. They chose to be part of the Reich. They voted.”
“Voted? They voted the way we do. Yes or no to Hitler—with men checking the ballots to collect the names of those who vote against him.”
But President Meis didn’t answer. “Bruder Stoltz,” he said, “those countries are better off now—being one with us.”
“You believe that?”
“Yes. It’s what I understand. And I’m pleased we’re fighting to get back what belongs to us.”
“Read Mein Kampf, President Meis. Hitler is doing what he said he would do.” Brother Stoltz’s voice had become intense. “He’s grabbing up every country he can get his hands on. Then he constructs outrageous lies to justify anything he does.”
President Meis looked stunned. He glanced at the door and then whispered, “You must not say such things. Who knows who might hear you?”
Brother Stoltz lowered his voice, but he struck the desk with his fist, and he said, “If you care about the gospel, you should pray that someone stops Hitler. Kills him, if possible.”
“Brother Stoltz, this is treason. You could be put to death. Bruder Müller and I could die for listening to you.”
The three were sitting in a room President Meis used as an office for the branch, in rented space above a store, but the office was really just a closet. President Meis sat behind a small desk, and the counselors sat opposite him, very close, on wooden folding chairs.
“I’m sorry, President Meis,” Brother Stoltz said. “But this is how I feel. If you cannot work with me, tell me now.”
President Meis forced a finger inside his collar and tugged. He was not heavy, but he was strong, his collar squeezing his thick neck and his bulky shoulders stretching his suitcoat and pulling under the arms. “Perhaps I believe too much of what I’m told,” he said softly. “And you are a Gymnasium teacher, more knowledgeable than I am. But I support my Fatherland. I will always do that.”
“We can differ on this,” Brother Müller said. “What matters is that we all believe in Christ—and the restoration.” Brother Müller was a white-haired man, about sixty. He was lean, and he usually seemed rather stiff. But his voice was tender now.
“That’s fine,” Brother Stoltz said. “I’ll say nothing more about politics. But in time you will agree with me. We cannot love Christ and Hitler any more than we can love God and Satan.”
“Many members disagree with you,” President Meis said. “They think the Führer is doing what must be done.” He placed his hands on the desk before him, and he leaned forward. “But Bruder Stoltz, the gospel is more important than any of this.”
“That too is a treasonous statement, President Meis. Nothing is more important to Hitler than the Reich.”
President Meis looked down at the desk—his hands—and then he said, “We must make the best of our circumstances, and we must keep the Church alive in Germany until missionary work can begin again. If you say the wrong thing and get us killed, how can that do any good?”
“Then you’re telling me that Hitler is a murderer—but I should support him.”
Clearly, President Meis had no good response to that. It took him some time to say, “We must do what is expected of us.”
“I do,” Brother Stoltz said. “I care too much about my family to take chances.” He hesitated, and then he added, “I won’t bring this up again. And I do believe we must find a way to survive. But don’t ask me to praise Hitler.”
“Fine. I don’t expect that. Let’s worry about the people of our branch and what we can do to look after them.”
“That’s fine with me.”
And so the three pushed their chairs back and knelt in the crowded little room again. “Please, Lord,” President Meis said, “help us to work together and to bring peace to our members, no matter what else happens.”
When he finished the prayer, he stood up, and he shook Brother Stoltz’s and Brother Müller’s hands again, and they started over. They discussed the problems that lay ahead. The members had a much larger load of work to handle themselves now that the missionaries were gone, and the Maintal members were left without leadership. Plans had to be made for someone to visit them and preside over their meetings.
When the meeting ended, everyone felt better. German troops were blitzing through Poland, and people all over the world were waiting to see how the European democracies would react. But the branch presidency would keep the Church going in Frankfurt, no matter what happened, and Brother Stoltz, in spite of his differences with President Meis, felt some closeness to him.
***
Elder Joseph Fielding Smith had managed to find a flight, and he and his wife, Jessie, had arrived from Amsterdam in Copenhagen. Elder Smith had overseen the arrival of the missionaries, and now he was working to make arrangements for them to sail back to America.
It was a strange time for the missionaries. After all the excitement and anxiety of the evacuation, suddenly they were living like vacationers. Each morning they met with Elder Smith at the branch house, and he led them in discussions, but after the class they were free to wander through Copenhagen, take pictures, and visit tourist sites. It would have been very pleasant if the missionaries hadn’t been hearing the news.
German forces were destroying Poland in spite of some limited help by the French. Warsaw was under siege, the artillery fire constant and the people in terror. It was only a matter of days until Poland would fall. And now Russia had marched in from the North, ready to grab up its share of the spoils. That was apparently the deal Hitler had made with Stalin. The great question was what would come next. Would Hitler attack France? Or would the French army move across the Maginot Line and try to stop Hitler, maybe with the help of the Royal Air Force? All of Europe was blacked out at night, and everywhere civilians were expecting bombs to begin falling.
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But the bombs were still not dropping, and the missionaries were thrilled to have time each day with Elder Smith. Elder Thomas had known him for as long as he could remember, but he still knew what an opportunity he now had. And Elder Smith obviously liked teaching, even surprising, the missionaries. One morning he told them, “Here’s something you probably never thought of. The land masses of the world were all together at one time. You can look at a map and see the continents like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle spread apart. Priesthood power, one day, during the millennium, will bring those continents back together. That’s part of the restoration of all things.” He nodded and looked around, obviously pleased with his own concept.
After class one day, Elder Thomas lingered after the other missionaries had left. “Elder Smith,” he said, “I’m wondering whether this war breaking out now could be part of the winding up scene in the last days.”
“Well, now, let’s not speculate,” Elder Smith said. He pointed at his black leather scriptures, then pounded his forefinger on the cover. “Too many people want to think up the truth when all we really need to know is right in the scriptures.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean—”
“That’s fine. That’s just fine. Nothing wrong with the question. But let’s look in the scriptures and see what they say. Where do we need to look, Elder Thomas? What do we know about the last days?”
Elder Thomas hadn’t realized what he was getting himself into, but he could see that Elder Smith was delighted to play the schoolmaster. “Matthew, I guess,” Elder Thomas said.
“Yes, certainly. There are signs mentioned there.” Elder Smith walked over and sat down in a chair, and he motioned for Elder Thomas to sit next to him. He set his Book of Mormon on another chair and then opened his Bible. He thumbed through the pages, which were marked and written on, the corners of the pages tattered. He found Matthew 24 quickly, but he didn’t look at it. It was all in his head. “Have you seen nations rising up against other nations, Elder Thomas?”