by Kate Hewitt
“I’m…” Birgit opened and closed her mouth as she fought a sudden fury. “I’ve been helping you,” she hissed, leaning forward, her gaze burning into Ingrid’s. “All this time, I’ve been helping you. I’ve distributed every single pamphlet that has ever been shoved under my door—”
“Oh, well, then,” Ingrid drawled, her eyes flashing a challenge. “Aren’t you brave.”
Birgit sat back, more exasperated than angry now. “What is it you want from me?”
“More,” Ingrid replied immediately. “Much more. Austria will not be freed by paper, but by action. Are you willing?”
“Action?” Birgit felt a stirring in her soul, something like excitement, twined with terror. “What do you mean?”
Ingrid reached for her glass of schnapps and tossed it back in one swallow. “What do you think I mean?”
“I think you mean violence.” Communists were known to deal in blood rather than words. Sabotage, assassination, guerrilla warfare. Birgit swallowed and met Ingrid’s bold stare. “Am I right?”
“Call it violence if you want,” Ingrid replied with a shrug. “I call it defense. The Nazis have already invaded the Czech Republic, and soon it will be Poland. After that, who knows? No one is brave enough to stop them. It’s up to us, the workers, as it always is.”
Birgit reached for the bottle of schnapps and sloshed a measure into the glass on the table. The other woman watched, amused, as she tossed it back just as she had done—and then erupted in coughing.
“My little Catholic,” Ingrid said with a smile. “You do like to pretend, don’t you?”
“I’m not pretending.” Birgit pushed the glass away, her throat on fire. It had been an act of foolish bravado, but at least it had given her courage. “What do you want me to do?”
Ingrid was silent for a moment, her head cocked. “Are you still seeing that soldier?” she finally asked, and Birgit started in surprise, saying nothing. “The one in the Bundesheer? Of course he’s not now, is he?”
“He’s in the First Gebirgsjäger,” Birgit admitted. “And I suppose I am. He’s been deployed, so I haven’t seen him since November.”
“But he writes you? And he sees you when he can?”
Birgit shrugged, uncomfortable with the other woman’s questions. As much as she loved Werner—and she knew she still did, sometimes to her own shame—she didn’t like talking about him, especially to a leader of the communist resistance. “I suppose.”
“Good. Then here’s how you can help us, at least for now. There will be other ways, I’m sure. When you see him, find out what he’s doing. What his unit’s plans are. Whatever he knows about troop movements, military plans, anything like that.”
Birgit did her best not to gape. “You want me to spy?”
“Call it what you will. The more information we have, the better we can plan. His letters will be censored, so there’s no point trying to dig for information that way. In fact, it’s better to keep your letters light, breezy, just a silly girl to her sweetheart.” Ingrid’s mouth twisted as she jabbed her cigarette towards Birgit. “But when you see him, you need to gain some information. Do it in a way where he won’t suspect. I think you can probably manage that, can’t you?”
“I—” Birgit could not imagine herself asking Werner any such thing, and yet she knew she would.
“Do that, and we’ll help you.”
“But I may not see him for months!” she exclaimed. “And Franz needs to be moved now.”
“Fine.” Ingrid shrugged as she stubbed out her cigarette. “We’ll take it on good faith. But if you fail us or betray us, you’ll regret it, and so will your family.” Her tone was perfectly pleasant and yet Birgit was chilled to the bone. She believed Ingrid meant it, utterly.
“All this time, I’ve been on your side,” she said. “I’ve done what you asked. I’m… I’m one of you.”
“Then we don’t have a problem, do we?” Ingrid said, her tone as pleasant as before. “As for Franz, go to Nonnberg Abbey and ask for Sister Kunigunde.”
“Nonnberg!” That was the last thing Birgit was expecting. “My sister Lotte is a novice there.”
“Oh, really?” Ingrid sounded unimpressed. “Well, it’s Kunigunde you want. She’ll tell you what to do, and in the meantime we’ll arrange for identity papers. He’ll have to leave the country, of course. He can only stay at Nonnberg for a few days at most.”
“Leave the country?” Birgit thought of Johanna. “Couldn’t he just… hide?”
“And keep everyone involved in danger? No, it’s best to move people on quickly.” Ingrid rose from the table, the conversation clearly over. “When you have something to report, leave a message with Hans.” She nodded towards the bartender. “And don’t be stupid.”
On impulse Birgit decided to go to Nonnberg Abbey before returning home. Better to have a plan in place to tell Johanna and Franz than simply the prospect of one. There was, she realized shamefully, a small, proud part of her that wanted to be the one to sort it all out, to return home with a fait accompli. It was ridiculous to have such petty aspirations in the midst of a crisis, and yet she knew she did.
By the time she reached the top of the Nonnbergstiege, she was hot, tired, and out of breath. She had not been up here since Lotte’s novitiate service a year and a half ago. Surely Lotte should be taking her final vows soon, and yet they’d had no word. Had it happened? Or had that, like so much else in life, been postponed or forgotten?
The nun who came to the porter’s desk when Birgit rang the bell gave her a frowning look. “Yes?”
“I’m here to see…” Suddenly Birgit hesitated. She didn’t know anything about this Kunigunde, and Kunigunde didn’t know her. And what if this nun, looking so sour, was suspicious? Every conversation, every word, seemed fraught with danger. “Lotte Eder.” It would be good to see her sister, and, she realized, she needed to tell her all that had happened.
“You mean Sister Maria Josef?” the nun asked with a sniff, and Birgit nodded.
“Yes, I am her sister. There is… bad news from home.”
The nun nodded in understanding. “Very well.”
A few minutes later Birgit was ushered into the small, bare sitting room where Lotte had said goodbye to them nearly two years ago. It felt like a lifetime—one that had ended when the troops had rolled across the border. Everything had changed, and yet Lotte had remained here the whole time, seemingly undisturbed, untroubled.
Had her sister been anxious about them, Birgit wondered. Afraid? Or had she not even been aware of the dangers they’d faced? She had no idea.
The door opened, and a woman came through it—a woman whose pale, smooth oval of a face was framed by the white wimple that hid her hair and covered her neck right up to the chin. Her black habit rustled as she walked, and her hands were hidden in her sleeves.
It took Birgit several stunned seconds to realize the woman was her sister.
“Lotte,” she whispered, and her sister inclined her head.
“I am Sister Maria Josef now.”
For some reason this made Birgit angry, and she had to choke back an instinctive retort. “How have you been?”
“I am well.” Lotte stood in front of her, arms folded at her waist, looking at Birgit as if she were a stranger who was taking up her time. She had a patient air, but it seemed forced, like a costume one might put on and then take off again. “Sister Agnes said you had news of the family.”
“Yes…” Birgit gestured to a pair of hard armchairs. “Why don’t we sit down?”
Lotte hesitated, and for a moment Birgit thought she would refuse. Then she moved to one of the chairs and perched on the edge, as if at any moment she might get up to leave. She waited, saying nothing, and Birgit started to feel resentful. After all this time, her sister had nothing more to say, to give?
“Papa has been arrested,” she stated, and was gratified to finally see a reaction from her sister—Lotte’s eyes widened, her lips parting soundlessly. “T
he Gestapo came to the house because they said they heard reports of treasonous activity.” Birgit’s voice trembled as she spoke; it was only now, hours later, that the shock of what had happened was starting to truly sink in. “They searched the house—they broke Mama’s good china and lots of other things, besides. And they took Papa, Lotte!” She leaned forward, as if she could somehow make her sister understand the terrible reality of such a thing. “They took him.”
Lotte flinched and then looked away. “And Franz?” she asked after a moment.
Birgit shook her head. “They didn’t find him. I don’t even know why not. I left right away to find help.” She stopped abruptly, unsure if she should tell her sister about what Ingrid had said. What if Lotte didn’t know about the Jews being hidden here? Yet surely even if she didn’t know, her sister would never be an informer.
“Help?” Lotte repeated neutrally, her expression revealing nothing.
“Franz has to leave the house,” Birgit explained after a pause. “It’s not safe there any more—for him or for us. I know someone whom I thought could help.”
“And did they?”
Birgit took a breath. “They said to come here,” she admitted. Lotte did not look surprised. “They said to ask for someone named Kunigunde.”
Lotte nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said, her voice sounding heavy. “I know about Sister Kunigunde.”
“You do?” Relief flooded through Birgit. “Is it safe? What should I do? Can Franz come here?”
Lotte shook her head. “I don’t know any details. I just know what she does.”
Birgit wasn’t sure, but she thought her sister sounded vaguely disapproving. “Do you help?” she asked. Lotte did not reply. “Surely you must help?”
“I… I only just discovered what was happening.” Lotte bit her lip. “I didn’t know what to think or do about it. I still don’t. It’s all so confusing, Birgit!” For a moment she sounded like a little girl, as if she’d fallen down and wanted her big sister to pick her up again, brush her off.
“It’s not confusing,” Birgit answered, and was surprised at how hard her voice sounded. She leaned forward, her gaze burning into her sister’s. “It’s not confusing at all. It’s very clear and simple, Lotte. We are fighting evil. Evil people who want to destroy everything that is good and right in the world. That is how simple it is. There is no choice to be made here.” She gestured to the wimple that hid so much of her sister’s face, her golden hair. “By the nature of your vows, you have already made that choice.”
“The Mother Abbess said something similar,” Lotte whispered. “But—”
“But what?”
Lotte shook her head, her voice coming out in something close to a whimper, “I don’t know how to be brave.”
As Birgit looked at her, she was reminded again of Lotte as a girl—light, laughing Lotte, who had only wanted peace and fun, singing and joy. “I don’t either,” she told her. “It’s not about being brave, Lotte. It’s about doing, even when you don’t feel brave.”
Lotte drew a shuddering breath. “But what can I do?”
“You can help hide Franz here,” Birgit said. “You remember Franz, Lotte? Franz, who plays the piano so beautifully, who always joked and teased and made you laugh?”
“Of course I remember Franz,” she whispered.
“If he stays at the house, he will almost certainly be arrested. We all will.” The prospect of those men, with their leather gloves and their cruel smiles, returning, made a cold sweat break over her body, everything prickling. “Please, Lotte. I’m not even sure how to speak to Kunigunde, or whom I can trust here. Please, you’re my sister. Won’t you help me? Help Franz?”
Chapter Nineteen
Lotte
Birgit stared fixedly at her sister, waiting for her answer, and yet still Lotte struggled to find the words. She’d spoken the truth when she said she didn’t know how to be brave. She didn’t even know how to begin. Right now all she wanted to do was run away and pretend Birgit had never come, had never asked…
It had been several weeks since Lotte had confronted the Mother Abbess about what, or really who, she’d discovered in the storeroom. She’d given no answer then, either. She was in a torment of indecision, a true crisis of faith—and of fear.
What was obedience? The Mother Abbess seemed to think it was to a higher call, to God Himself, and yet everything Lotte had been taught since coming to the convent, everything she had learned and believed and trusted, was to submit to the authorities God had placed over her. To humble herself, to surrender any thought of self-will or determination, to obey without any question or doubt. There was safety in that, as well as comfort, and it was right. It was meant to be right.
“Lotte…” Birgit said helplessly, spreading her hands wide. “Say something, please.”
“You don’t realize what you’re asking—”
“I don’t realize?” Birgit looked incredulous. “I’m the one who saw the Gestapo storm into the house only this afternoon! I saw them take Papa. He is most likely being interrogated as we speak.” Her voice wavered before she continued on more strongly, “How can you think I don’t know what this means for all of us?”
Lotte swallowed, longing to look away yet unable to. “I could be putting all the other nuns in danger,” she protested in a whisper. “Is that even my right—”
“Putting yourself in danger, is what you really mean,” Birgit replied, and Lotte heard the derision in her voice and she flushed. “It’s already going on, isn’t it? This Kunigunde is involved, so it must be. So if you’re already in danger, why won’t you help?”
Lotte stared down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap. She thought of the days and months and even years—almost two—that she’d spent behind these abbey walls, savoring the simplicity, the serenity, the silence. Never having to worry. Never having to fear. And at the first call on her comforts, such as they were, the first possibility of risking them—for the sake of her own family—she balked.
Had she learned anything during her postulancy, her novitiate? Or had she just become more selfish, all the while thinking she was learning humility, obedience, sacrifice? She blinked back tears of shame at the thought. How could she hesitate even for a moment, for a second? And yet still she struggled to speak.
“It’s so strange to be here again,” Birgit remarked after a moment as she looked around the room. Lotte looked up and saw how exhausted she looked—her face pale, her hair falling out of its usual knot. “Are you taking your final vows soon? I though the novitiate was only a year.”
“It is at least one year, often two. The Mother Abbess has not spoken of any of the novitiates taking their final vows yet.”
“I suppose everything is uncertain now, even that.” Birgit sighed, the sound like a gust of wind leaving her body, making her sag. Then she straightened, turning practical. “Can you at least summon Kunigunde, so I may talk to her, if you will not help?”
Lotte stiffened, jolted to realize Birgit had given up on her already. Of course, she’d given her no reason to hope.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help,” she protested feebly, and Birgit looked at her in weary resignation.
“I thought you just did.”
“It’s just…” Lotte swallowed. “It’s hard.”
“I know it is.” Impulsively Birgit reached over and grasped her hand, tucked in her lap. Lotte stiffened in surprise; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been touched. Birgit’s skin was warm and soft, although there were calluses on her fingertips from her work. “Half the time, or even more, I’m so frightened, Lotte. I’m terrified. For the last few months I’ve been waiting for the knock on the door. Everyone has. And then it came…” Her voice choked and almost of their own accord, Lotte’s fingers clasped her sister’s.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she whispered, and realized she’d meant it.
“We miss you.” Birgit squeezed her hand. “The house isn’t the same without you, Lo
tte. It’s so quiet. We don’t even sing anymore.” She gave her a sorrowful smile. “How can we be the Edelweiss Sisters without you?”
Lotte let out an uneven huff of laughter. “That seems so long ago, that we were all singing at the Elektrischer Aufzug.”
“It was. It was nearly five years ago now.”
She shook her head slowly, both nostalgic and yet reluctant to think of it, any of it. She’d put her old life behind her, had made herself not remember, not long for what once had been. It had been so much easier then, yet now that Birgit had cracked the door open to her memories, they came flooding back, and she found herself yearning for what once was.
“So much has changed,” Birgit told her in a hollow voice. “If you went out in the city now, Lotte, you wouldn’t believe it. Swastika banners everywhere. Nazis in the streets. People being arrested or beaten at a moment’s notice. Everyone’s either arrogant or afraid.” She glanced at her, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. “Have you ever left Nonnberg since you first came here?” Lotte shook her head and Birgit released a long, low breath. “How strange. How little you must know about any of it.”
“I’m not meant to know,” Lotte replied a bit stiffly. “I’ve left that life behind.”
“Must be quite comfortable for you, then.” Birgit sounded weary rather than bitter. “I wouldn’t mind becoming a nun, considering the way the world is now.”
“It’s not just about escaping the world,” Lotte began, and then stopped. She was repeating what both Father Josef and the Mother Abbess had told her, and yet it felt like a lie in her mouth. She had escaped the world—and she’d been glad.
“So you will help?” Birgit leaned forward, their hands still clasped.
Lotte stared down at their twined fingers. Everything about this exchange—the intimacy, the emotion—chafed at her. It felt like too much, nerves suddenly twanging to the painful realities of life, old yearnings long buried rising to the surface, along with all the doubts and fears.