Children of the Promise

by Dean Hughes

“But where can we live?” Anna asked. “We have to register, anywhere we go. We can’t use our names. We can’t get work. Can we get out of Germany somehow?”

  Brother Stoltz was shaking his head. “No. I doubt that. But if we stay here, we face certain death. For now, let’s get farther away. I’ll have to think of something. I’ll do everything I can to keep you alive.”

  But it was he who was showing his emotions now. He took his wife under one arm and reached for Anna with the other. Peter moved in close and put his arms around his mother and sister. The four of them clung to each other for several seconds, but then Brother Stoltz said, “Come now. We must not do this. People will notice.”

  They stepped away from each other.

  “We’ll get on the next streetcar. But everyone must keep control this time. I’m thinking that somehow we can get to Berlin. There has been more bombing there. Maybe displaced people won’t seem so out of the ordinary, and we can find a way to hide.”

  It did sound reasonable—the first idea that offered some hope. But how would they get to Berlin? By now, the Gestapo were certainly looking for them, and one of their agents had been wounded. This was not something the Gestapo could allow. All the police in Germany would soon be on the alert.

  Chapter 29

  Brother Stoltz stepped out of the shadows and waved for his family to come ahead. Sister Stoltz, Anna, and Peter had been waiting behind the cover of some shrubs just inside the fence of the railroad yard. Now they slipped out and hurried across two sets of tracks. When they reached Brother Stoltz, he motioned for them to move in close to the train, out of the gleam of an overhead floodlight.

  “This train is heading north,” he whispered. “I found a car that’s marked for Berlin. Follow me. Be very quiet.”

  And so the four sneaked along the side of the train, and they stayed in the shadows and watched for any of the railroad employees who might be in the yard. The Stoltzes didn’t dare buy tickets for a passenger train. A freight train seemed the only answer. But they were not exactly experienced at hopping freight trains. Anna was terrified.

  Brother Stoltz stopped by a boxcar. He pointed to a sheet of paper posted on the side. It was shredded and faded, but it did read: “Destination: Berlin.” “I pounded my fist on the side,” he whispered. “It sounds empty. Help me get the door open. I couldn’t do it by myself.”

  Anna knew that was perhaps because of his damaged shoulder, but she also wondered whether the door wasn’t locked. It seemed a mistake to try something like this when they didn’t know what they were doing. But Father kept telling them that they had no choice, that they couldn’t walk all the way to Berlin.

  It had been a strange night. The Stoltzes had taken the streetcar to the last stop, and then they had had no idea what to do. But Brother Stoltz had talked to a beer delivery man outside a Gasthaus. Brother Stoltz had asked him what direction he was heading in his truck, and the man had said, “North, to Butzbach.” Brother Stoltz had told the man his car had broken down and he needed to get his family home. If the man could drop them off in Friedberg, it would be a huge help to them.

  “My company won’t let me do that,” the man had said at first, but he had taken a good look at the Stoltzes, seemingly abandoned with evening coming on. “But I guess it would be all right. You would have to ride in the back.”

  And so the Stoltz family had sat among kegs and cases of bottled beer. But they hadn’t minded that; they were happy to be traveling inside where no one could see them. The only problem was that Friedberg was not all that distant from Frankfurt, and so the trip was only a small step in the right direction. But when they had arrived in Friedberg, Brother Stoltz had told the others about his idea to catch a ride on a freight train. Even if it didn’t take them toward Berlin, if it would take them farther away from Frankfurt they would be better off.

  Now he had found a train that seemed to be on its way to Berlin, and that offered some hope. Peter grabbed the handle on the door and pulled, but it didn’t budge. He pulled again, putting all his weight behind it—and still, nothing.

  Brother Stoltz reached up and tried to add the strength of his left arm to Peter’s attempt, but any strain of that kind pulled too hard on his right shoulder. Anna saw him tug hard, once, but then grimace with the pain.

  “Let me try,” Anna said, and she stepped in front of Peter.

  But just as she was about to pull, she heard footsteps. The train tracks were lined with coal cinders, and as the Stoltzes suddenly froze in place, they knew that the crunching sound was coming toward them. And then a light flashed in their direction. “Who’s there?” a man shouted.

  Peter took a couple of quick steps away, but all the others sensed that it was already too late to run. The crunching sound, the light, were coming closer, and the voice sounded again. “Stop right there. What are you doing?”

  No one answered. Anna now wished that they had all run. Anything would be better than standing there with that light on them and a faceless voice making demands.

  “What are you doing?” the man asked again.

  Anna was surprised by her father’s answer. “Trying to get on this boxcar,” he said very simply.

  “You cannot do that.”

  Father laughed. “I know. We found that out. It seems to be locked.”

  The man behind the light seemed confused by Brother Stoltz’s friendliness. He said nothing for a time. But then the light clicked off. As Anna’s eyes adjusted, she could see a small man, older, wearing overalls. “You are the family on the run, aren’t you? We got a report,” the man said.

  “From the Gestapo?” Brother Stoltz asked.

  “I don’t know. I suppose. We are to watch for you.”

  “Do you want me to tell you why we’re trying to escape?” Brother Stoltz asked.

  “No. It is not my concern.” But the man was soft spoken.

  “A Gestapo agent tried to rape my daughter—this young lady.” Brother Stoltz put his hand on Anna’s shoulder. “She fought him off. Bravely. She cut him with a kitchen knife—the only means she had to defend herself. Now the Gestapo is looking for us—and you can imagine what will happen if they take us in.”

  “The report we have said nothing of this. It said only to watch for you—to hold you.”

  “Do you have any daughters?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “But do you?”

  “Yes. Two.”

  “What would you do if one of these brutes came after your daughters?”

  The man didn’t answer. He stood, quiet, for a time, and then he said, “This is what you say. But I have no way to know what’s true. Come with me.”

  “And what if we turn and walk away? Would you stop us?”

  “I can call for help. There are others not far off. Please, come with me.”

  “I’m telling the truth. A Gestapo agent tried to force himself upon my daughter. He knocked her down, struck her. Look at her face. If you turn us in, we will die.”

  The man was looking at Anna now, perhaps trying to decide whether the story was true. Anna ran her fingers along her cheek, showing him the bruise.

  “We’re going to walk away,” Brother Stoltz said. “Please don’t stop us.”

  “Wait. Where will you go?” Anna heard a new quality in the man’s voice—like a grandfather’s concern.

  “We’re trying to get to Berlin,” Brother Stoltz said. “Maybe we can disappear there more easily than most places.”

  “That’s the wrong train for Berlin.”

  “This paper here—”

  “No. That’s old. This train goes north to Kassel and Hannover.”

  “That would be all right,” Brother Stoltz said, as though he were accepting an offer. Anna didn’t know what was happening.

  But the man said, “No. Come with me.” And then, when no one moved, he added, “I’ll get you on a train to Berlin.”

  It was almost too good to believe, but the Stoltzes followed, and the man took t
hem between two cars, over the coupling, and then across some other tracks. He didn’t hurry, but he stayed in the shadows, and he didn’t speak.

  When he came alongside another train, he waited for everyone to move in close to a tanker car. “I think you will do best in an empty coal car,” he whispered. “It won’t be comfortable, but you won’t be seen if you stay down. The box cars are mostly loaded, and when they’re empty we keep them locked.”

  He began to walk again, staying close to the train. When he stopped at a coal car, he whispered, “Climb in here.”

  “Thank you so much,” Anna said.

  “Hurry,” he said, and he began to walk away. But then he came back. “Listen,” he said, “don’t take the train all the way into the main yards in Berlin. You won’t get out of there without being spotted.”

  “Where can we get out?” Brother Stoltz asked.

  “I’m not sure. Try a small town somewhere, close to Berlin. But I don’t know the stops. I can’t help you with that.”

  “What about—”

  “I must go. That’s all I know to tell you. Good luck.”

  “Thank you,” all the Stoltzes whispered. And then they climbed into the car, sat down, and stayed low. They hadn’t thought to ask when the train would be leaving, and as it turned out, they had a long wait. It was almost one o’clock in the morning before the car jerked and then began to roll.

  By then, Peter, lying with his head on the laundry bag, had fallen asleep. The others were leaning against the inside walls of the coal car. Anna knew she wouldn’t be safe any time in the near future—maybe ever—but once the train made it out of the yard, she began to breathe more easily. It was a nice night, with the stars clear, and somehow, in that setting, it did seem a little harder to believe that their lives were in danger. But now she had more time to think, and the images all came back. She thought of the gash she had put in Kellerman’s face, the horrible open cut across his cheek and mouth. She had never thought of hurting anyone so terribly, but she also remembered his threats, his power, the leering way he had studied her. She shuddered to think of the evil, the ugliness, of the man. She felt soiled by it all, and she wished that she could take a hot bath. The night was warm, but she felt cold. She wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to stop shaking, but she said nothing to her parents, who had enough to worry about.

  During the night the train made a couple of stops. At one of those it did some switching, either taking on or dropping some cars. It was hard to know what was happening in the dark, and Brother Stoltz kept telling all of them to keep their heads down. They had no idea where they were or how far they had come.

  The sun rose early, however, and as the first light illuminated the horizon, Brother Stoltz raised his head a few times to look around. As the train passed by a town, he was able to spot a name on a train station. “We have a long way to go,” he said. “At this rate, we’ll be all day getting to Berlin.”

  “Maybe it’s better if it’s dark when we get there,” Anna said.

  “Yes. Maybe.” But then he began to laugh.

  It was the last thing anyone expected. Anna looked over at him and knew immediately, however, why he was laughing. She smiled too.

  “What is it?” Sister Stoltz asked.

  “Look at Peter,” Brother Stoltz said. “Look at all of us. We’re covered with coal dust.”

  And it was true. Especially Peter, who had been lying on the floor, was covered with the black dust. He had rolled over at some point, and he was caked on all sides with black.

  “Yes,” Brother Stoltz said, “We’ll arrive at night—all covered with coal. No one will ever spot us.”

  Anna tried to laugh a little, for Papa, but she saw that this was a little too much for Sister Stoltz. The woman looked exhausted, battered, and somehow the laughter was more than she could handle. She shook her head. “Please don’t,” she said, and she sounded angry. Anna reached over and put her arm around her, pulled her next to herself. And she understood. It didn’t seem likely that they would ever be able to relax again, to know a little comfort, and this laughter was only a reminder of that.

  “It’s all right,” Brother Stoltz said. “We’re going to be fine. I’ve felt better since we met that man in Friedberg. I have the feeling God sent him to us.”

  It was a surprising thing for Father to say, and Anna felt it like a flood of relief. She knew her mother felt the same thing. Sister Stoltz let her body relax against Anna. “Yes. Yes,” she whispered. “I think that’s right.”

  But their problems were far from over. The day seemed to last a week, with the sun burning down on them and nothing to eat or drink. And every stop brought on terror. The Stoltzes crouched low then and hoped that no one would look in the car. One of the stops involved considerable switching, and Anna kept worrying that their car would be dropped from the train, or that coal would be dumped on top of them. But even worse was the wait that followed. For some reason, the train sat in the yard almost two hours.

  The Stoltzes moved to the opposite side of the car, where the shade had now shifted, but the heat was still suffocating, and all of them were very tired. Sitting on the hard, metal floor was uncomfortable—and they couldn’t talk or even move very much. Anna did fall asleep for half an hour or so, but she awakened more tired and hungry and uncomfortable than when she had drifted off.

  The train finally did move, and then all afternoon it chugged forward, the smoke billowing overhead, dropping ashes into the car, the tracks rattling noisily, and the steel under them getting harder by the mile. Everyone was terribly thirsty, and yet there was nothing they could do about that. “We’ll get water tonight, and food,” Brother Stoltz told them. “We just have to get by for this one day.”

  The sun was beginning to go down when the train stopped in a good-sized railroad yard. The Stoltzes didn’t look up, but they could hear the trains around them and hear voices and footsteps from time to time.

  Anna watched Peter, who had been lethargic and quiet all day. She could see that he was nervous. With no cover over the car, Anna constantly felt that a head was suddenly going to appear, and a Gestapo agent would have them trapped where they would have no chance to escape. She watched continually, and yet she longed just to stand up, stretch, and have a look around. She had realized by then that her ankles and shins were getting sunburned, as were her face and arms, but she had no way to protect herself.

  As darkness gradually came on, Brother Stoltz did finally take a look outside. “This is a big place,” he whispered.

  “Maybe Leipzig,” Peter said.

  “No. Not that big. I’m thinking Halle. But maybe we’re closer to Berlin than that. I simply don’t know.”

  “How will we know when to get off?” Sister Stoltz asked, and Anna could hear the strain in her voice.

  “I’m not sure,” Brother Stoltz said. “Once the train is going again, I’ll try to spot some town names.”

  But the train waited quite some time again, and by the time it finally began to move, Anna felt as though she couldn’t stand much more of this. Getting away from Frankfurt had been relieving, but before long, the other reality had to be faced. They would have to get out of some railroad yard without being stopped. And then what? Where would they go? How could they survive? Anna wanted more than anything to go home. She wanted to sleep in her own bed. She wanted the things she had left behind—her books, her school pictures, the new beige dress she had bought with her own money, her diary. She hadn’t brought so much as a hairbrush. Running away had meant saving their lives, but now, what were they running to?

  When the train departed, Brother Stoltz made a stronger attempt to determine where they were. Eventually, he realized they were much closer to Berlin than he had guessed, and now the train wasn’t stopping. He kept peeking up and then saying, “We’re coming into the city. We need to get off somehow, before we reach the main stop.”

  But on and on the train continued, and Anna felt the panic growing inside. Sh
e saw it in Peter, who was squirming constantly now, and in her mother, who was deathly still.

  “Listen,” Brother Stoltz finally said, “I can feel the train slowing. We can’t be far away. We need to get off now.”

  “While the train is moving?”

  “Yes. It won’t be so bad. We can climb over the side, drop to the ground, and roll.”

  “Heinrich, how can I do this? How can you?”

  “We must. That’s all. You heard what the man in Friedberg said. Come on now. Peter can go first, and then he can hurry and catch up with us. Anna will go second. And I will go last.”

  “I can do it,” Peter said, obviously pleased to be chosen.

  He got up and pulled himself over the top edge of the car and onto the ladder. “Can you see anything?” Brother Stoltz called to him.

  “Not too much. But it’s not going fast. I can do it. Jump quickly after I do. Don’t leave me here alone.”

  “Don’t worry. We must hurry after you. Go ahead.”

  And suddenly Peter disappeared. Anna climbed up quickly after him. She saw buildings not far from the tracks, but close by she saw nothing but darkness. She had no idea what she would be jumping into. She only knew there was no time to wait. She jumped, feet first, and instantly she knew the train was going faster than it seemed. Her feet hit, and she was sent flying. She tried to roll, but she landed on her front, scraping into a bed of cinders.

  Anna rolled over and popped up to her feet, but she felt her arms and chin burning, and she knew she had cut herself. She spun as she heard Peter running toward her. “Anna, are you all right?” she heard him call.

  “Yes. Are you?”

  “I hurt my knee,” he said. “It’s not too bad. Hurry.” And he ran on by. Anna saw that he was limping. At the same moment, Anna thought of her mother. What would happen to her?

  Anna began to run, and in the distance, she caught a glimpse of a dark figure letting loose from the train—disappearing. “Mother, mother,” she called, and she ran hard, passing her little brother.

  When Anna got to her mother, she found her struggling to get to her feet. “I’m all right,” she said, but she didn’t sound all right. “Run for Heinrich. I’m scared for him.”