by Kate Hewitt
“I wonder how long we will be able to take such an elevated position,” Kunigunde replied darkly before turning back to the dishes. “When you think of our families suffering…” She shook her head as she scrubbed the pot she held with vicious concentration.
As Lotte looked at the other novice, her head bent over her work, she realized she did not remember Kunigunde’s family at all. She had not paid any attention; she had not cared. The notion was unsettling, for it smacked of selfishness—or was it simply singular devotion? Lotte didn’t know, and her confusion unsettled her all the more. What—who—was right?
“Sister Kunigunde,” she began, and the other woman glanced at her over the basin of soapy water. “What of your family? Are they in Salzburg?”
“My parents are dead. There is only my sister and her family, in Eugendorf, a nearby village. They don’t have very much, and I would have been another mouth to feed, even though I could have helped with the little ones. It didn’t seem enough.”
“You mean that is why you entered the community here?” Lotte could not keep the shock, and perhaps even the disapproval, from her voice. “You don’t—you don’t actually have a vocation?”
Kunigunde’s mouth twisted. “What is a vocation, after all?”
Lotte shook her head slowly, unable to answer. She had assumed all the novices had had a similar experience to her, a longing for the religious life, its simplicity and purity, a call to higher things, yet obviously Kunigunde did not.
And yet what did it say of her, that she did not remember Kunigunde’s family? Who could judge whether a desire for simplicity was a more or less selfish motivation than seeking to ease another’s burden? Perhaps Sister Kunigunde’s sacrifice was a more fragrant offering to God than Lotte’s. Her thoughts jostled for space in a way they hadn’t during the year she’d been at the abbey. All her convictions felt as if they could be overturned, never mind Hitler and his army.
Sister Kunigunde had turned back to the dishes once more, and slowly Lotte began to scrub the dirty bowl she held, her mind in more of a disquiet than ever.
Just two weeks later the unthinkable, the inevitable, happened. While the sisters gathered again in the refectory, the Mother Abbess addressed them.
“I just received word that German troops entered Austria this morning.” She lifted her chin as she looked around at them all. “The Austrian Bundesheer was ordered not to resist. Chancellor Schuschnigg has resigned, and I am sure there are many more changes to come. The world around us will look very different, but that is not our concern.” She paused, taking a breath to steady herself before continuing, “May I remind you, daughters, that we answer to a higher call. Nothing has changed for anyone here.” She looked at each of them in turn, her expression turning uncharacteristically hard. “We will continue to serve our community and those who come to us for aid. Anyone,” she emphasized, “who comes to us for aid will never be turned away.”
It wasn’t until much later that Lotte wondered who she was really referring to.
Chapter Fourteen
Johanna
March 1938
Johanna gazed out the sitting room window at the street below, nearly every building bedecked with swastika banners. Two days on from what was now known as the Anschluss—Hitler’s war of flowers—she was still battling a swamping sense of unreality.
It had all happened so fast. It seemed as if one moment Austria had been clinging to independence, Schuschnigg doing everything he could to keep his country whole, and then, in a single movement, like a hand sweeping away all the pieces on a chessboard, the world as she’d known it had disappeared completely.
In a matter of mere hours, Schuschnigg had resigned and the Wehrmacht, with its troops, its trucks and tanks, had rolled across the border to the ringing of church bells and the cheering crowds of ecstatic citizens. In Vienna there had been parades; flowers had been strewn across the roads, the thronging crowds wild for Hitler.
In Salzburg the reception had been, if anything, even more enthusiastic. Manfred had ordered everyone to stay inside yesterday when troops marched over the Staatsbrücke and into the old town, to the delight of the crowds. Johanna had heard their swelling chorus of approbation from the kitchen, even with the windows and shutters closed, the curtains drawn. She felt as if they were in mourning while the whole world sang.
The odious “Horst Wessel” song had blared from every radio in every crowded café, its triumphant sound echoing through the streets. When Johanna had turned on the radio to listen to the woman’s hour program, “If Women Ask,” she heard the program “Women in the National Socialist State” instead.
“How have they done this so quickly?” she’d asked her mother, who merely shook her head, grim-faced and thin-lipped. In a single day the entire country had not just been taken over, but utterly transformed, like a curtain coming up on a play, all the scenery shifted, the costumes changed. A new act had begun, and it was unrecognizable to Johanna.
That day the newspapers had either appeared with blanked-out front pages or had not been published at all, and the banks had closed. Nazis had marched in the streets under their scarlet banners; even the traffic had changed, with many of Salzburg’s one-way streets becoming two-way, causing a hopeless snarl of cars. Yet despite all this hassle and uncertainty, still people had celebrated and rejoiced. Johanna could not understand it.
It had been six months since Franz had left her standing by the Salzach. Six months where they had moved around each other carefully, barely speaking, with none of the playful flirtation and easy camaraderie Johanna had come to love and need. There was no longer a teasing glint in his eye, that lovely quirk to his mouth. Johanna thought he seemed as miserable as she surely was.
At first she’d been too hurt and too proud to approach him; she’d focused on her secretarial course, which was far duller than she’d hoped, and getting a job, earning money. Then, when Birgit’s Werner had come to supper, Johanna had thought Franz might soften. She’d seen the way he’d looked at her when she’d spoken so sharply to Birgit’s Nazi beau, and the next day she’d humbled herself to approach him, while he was alone in the shop.
“Must we go on like this?” she’d asked quietly as she’d stood in the doorway of the shop, her hands twisted together. Franz was bent over a clock; her father had gone upstairs for dinner with Birgit while he’d said he would finish down there first.
“How else are we to go on?” he’d asked, his tone indifferent, offering her no hope at all.
“Franz.” She’d stood there uncertainly, her hands bunched in her apron, frustrated by her own hesitation as well as his stubbornness. “I’m sorry for what I said before. Surely you know I didn’t mean it?”
“I know.”
“And if you want to tell my family—tell anyone—then do it! I don’t mind.”
He’d looked up then, one eyebrow raised. “You don’t mind?”
“I want to, I mean!” Johanna had cried. “I will. I’m sorry I was reluctant before. It was because I was afraid. Not of you, but of me. Of my own feelings.” She’d bitten her lip, hating to have admitted even that, but still Franz did not reply. “Franz, please.”
He’d sighed, a sound of resignation. “I’m not sure any of it matters any more, Johanna.”
She’d clenched her hands into fists. “Why not?”
He’d looked up at her, his expression weary but resolute. “Because you cannot have a future with me.”
He’d sounded so sure that it had taken her a few moments to respond, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. “What… but—”
“If Hitler marches into Austria,” Franz had stated flatly, “which he is surely likely to do very soon, things will look very bleak for me indeed. I doubt I will be able to keep this job, or any other. I won’t be able to make money or support myself, much less a—a wife. And that is most likely the best possible outcome. It is almost certainly going to be much worse. I have heard stories of Jews being sent to live in specia
l Jew-houses, like ghettoes, imprisoned, or sent east. They disappear. No one knows where they go exactly, but they never come back.”
Johanna’s breath hitched. “But you don’t know if—”
“Surely you can see how unwise, how unfair, it would be to tie you to me now? I’m a marked man. If you were married to me, you would be as well. You might even receive the same treatment. You could be beaten or thrown into prison or worse. I can’t offer you any sort of life, and I won’t subject you to any of that.”
“You are assuming so much,” Johanna had said faintly. “Schuschnigg is determined to keep Austria independent—”
“Schuschnigg has very little power. I fear it is already out of his hands.”
She’d been silent, absorbing his words and what they meant—not just for herself, or even for Franz, but for all of Austria. She felt as if the very earth beneath her feet was shifting; she had an urge to reach out and hold on to a chair, to keep her balance as everything around her trembled and shook.
“Is that the only reason?” she’d finally asked quietly. “Because of the way the world is? Or is it just an excuse because you don’t really want to be with me?”
Franz had looked up from his wretched clock, anger flaring darkly in his eyes. “I think I’ve shown you well enough in the past that I want to be with you. I love you, Johanna, and I would be a selfish man indeed if I allowed the woman I love to ruin her life on my account.” He had risen from the bench without looking at her. “And now we should go upstairs. They will be waiting for us.”
They had not spoken of it again, and now, in March, with the sky a leaden gray and the city full of banners of scarlet and black, it looked as if everything Franz had said was coming horribly true after all. Johanna still didn’t think he was right for refusing her, but she’d come to accept it, with a weary sort of despair.
She turned away from the window, restless after two days of waiting for the world to somehow right itself, even though she knew it wouldn’t. Her classes at the secretarial school had been canceled, and who knew when or even if they would ever resume? There was not a single certainty in the world, except that Hitler would rule Austria.
Impulsively she went into the hall for her coat, while in the kitchen her mother glanced up from the dough she’d been kneading.
“Has something happened?” she asked, her voice tight with anxiety. Johanna realized yet again just how uncertain everything was, how frightening, that the simple act of her reaching for her coat had her mother worried.
“I’m going out.”
“Out!” Hedwig rested her hands on the table. “That could be dangerous, Johanna.”
“I don’t care.”
“Johanna—”
“I don’t.” Johanna turned away from her mother, hurrying down the stairs as she pushed her arms into the sleeves of her coat. Franz glanced up from his work as she unlocked the side door, his brows drawn together in concern, but Johanna turned away, flinging open the door and stepping out into the narrow alleyway that ran along the side of the house towards Getreidegasse.
She hurried to the entrance of the alleyway, only to stop in breathless surprise as the reality of this new world slammed into her yet again. Somehow, seeing it all from the upstairs window had made it feel muted, surreal, like watching a film.
Now she stood at the edge of the street as soldiers in Wehrmacht uniforms marched past her, and businessmen with newly fastened Nazi party pins on their lapels swaggered by. Every building that Johanna could see sported a swastika banner. She took a step into the street, sidling along its side, wanting to stay to the edges of this brave new world.
She passed a shop that sold women’s hats and handbags—run by Herr Huber, she recalled, a friend of her father’s—and saw, to her shock, even though she knew nothing more should shock her now, a sign that proclaimed in bold black letters: Für Juden Verboten—Jews Forbidden. She continued walking, her mind going numb, as she took in sign after sign after sign. What had once been illegal had now become law. Franz had been right, his grim predictions turned to reality in front of her very eyes, and by her own neighbors.
Johanna kept walking all the way to Alter Markt, putting one foot in front of another as a matter of instinct, feeling as if she were wading through treacle or battling through a snowstorm. All around, sinister sights and sounds assailed her so relentlessly it started to feel like some monstrous joke—banners, signs, armbands, jackboots, “Heil Hitlers!” that seemed to have replaced the usual “Gruss Gott.”
How had this happened so quickly, or even at all? Two days ago—two days—Chancellor Schuschnigg had been holding on to his country, proclaiming independence, while people had gone about their business. Austria had been a free country. The Nazi party had been banned. Now its members swarmed the streets, smug and self-important, arrogant and cruel-faced. Johanna met the eye of a tall, thin-lipped man in an SS uniform and looked away quickly, terrified although she couldn’t have even said why. He’d barely glanced at her.
She stopped in front of SL Schwarz, the department store where her mother had once bought her dress for First Communion. Signs plastered the window, forbidding Jews and informing passersby that the store was now owned by the Salzburger Sparkasse, a local bank, as were the adjoining properties, including the Neue Galerie, the city’s eminent showcase of contemporary art. Johanna saw that its windows were empty, the walls inside bare. All the art had been removed—why? Where?
“They say Herr Schwarz has been arrested,” a woman standing next to her murmured, and then gave Johanna a frightened look before hurrying away, as if she’d said too much.
Johanna pulled her coat more tightly around her. Was this what it had come to—this suspicion, this fear, everywhere? What about Franz? Her heart lurched. As unbearable as this all seemed, it was far, far worse for him. How would he succeed in this new world? How would he survive?
Filled with apprehension and sick with horror at it all, she wheeled around to start back towards home. By the time she left Alter Markt she was almost running, so overwhelming was her sudden terror that everything would have changed in her absence. The police might have already come—they might have arrested Franz just like they did Herr Schwarz and heaven knew who else.
Her breath came out in tearing gasps as she started to run, only to be suddenly stopped by a hard hand on her arm.
“What is your hurry, Fräulein?”
Johanna whirled around, her arm still caught, her heart thudding wildly. The man who had grabbed hold of her arm wore the gray uniform of the SS, the red-and-black swastika on his armband looked like a livid scar. She gaped at him, speechless, as he gave her arm a little shake.
“Well?”
“I’m just going home.”
“And for this you needed to run?”
For a half-second, no more, Johanna had the urge to snap at him, Am I not allowed to run in Hitler’s Austria? “I remembered that I have bread in the oven,” she heard herself say, as if the voice were coming from outside herself. “I did not wish it to burn.”
The man’s gaze narrowed before he finally let go of her arm. “Very well,” he said. “But watch where you are going. You almost ran into me.”
Johanna nodded, practically bobbing a curtsey, before she continued walking down the street, this time at a slightly more sedate pace. Her heart still thudded, and her legs felt as if they were made of water.
By the time she got back to the shop on Getreidegasse she was weak-kneed and trembling. She had barely begun to open the side door before Franz was there, throwing it wide and then pulling her into his arms.
“I thought something had happened,” he said as Johanna clung to him. “I thought I might have lost you.”
“I just went for a walk—”
“On today of all days?” His arms tightened around her. “When there are soldiers in the streets and every would-be Nazi’s blood is up? Don’t you know how dangerous that was?”
“I do now,” she whispered.
He pulled back to gaze into her face, his expression both ferocious and frightened. “Did something happen?”
“No—”
“Johanna.”
“I was running, and an SS officer stopped me. He let me go. I hadn’t done anything wrong.”
He pulled her back into his arms. “I can’t lose you,” he said in a low voice and Johanna pressed her cheek against his shoulder, her eyes tightly closed.
“You won’t,” she promised. It was as if the six months of silence between them had never happened. In light of all the dangers around them, they melted away to nothing.
And yet now, more than ever, the future—their future—felt terrifyingly uncertain.
Chapter Fifteen
Birgit
November 1938
Birgit glanced at the door of the crowded coffeehouse for the third time in as many minutes before turning back to the mélange coffee she’d ordered but could not yet bring herself to drink. Werner had written that he’d meet her here at four o’clock, and it was now fifteen minutes after, shadows already gathering. She tapped her foot as she forced herself not to check the door yet again.
Since the annexation of Austria eight months ago, every day had started to feel like balancing on a tightrope, or perhaps the edge of a precipice. Salzburg had become virtually unrecognizable; swastika banners had turned the city into a sea of red and black, its once well-known streets seeming harsh and unfamiliar.
All the government officials had been replaced by Nazis; the radio was a constant barrage of propaganda and marching music. Shops forbade Jews, and grey-uniformed soldiers swarmed the streets. Worse than any of that were the rumors of arrests, beatings, imprisonments, even executions. Franz had not dared to leave the house since the Anschluss. No one met anyone’s eye any more; everyone scurried down the street, head tucked low, trying to be invisible, just as Birgit had always been. At least now that unfortunate quality had some use.