by Kate Hewitt
“Yes,” she whispered, her gaze still on their hands. “I will.”
Birgit released a long sigh as she sat back, removing her hand from Lotte’s. “Thank you. You’ll speak to this Kunigunde?”
Lotte let out a hollow laugh. “Yes, but she doesn’t like me.”
“Nuns don’t like each other?” Birgit raised her eyebrows. “I thought you were all meant to get along.”
“We are, but…” Lotte thought of how she’d spoken about Kunigunde in public confession. How she’d followed her, confronted her. She saw it all as so petty now, and her shame bit even deeper. “I’ll talk to her,” she promised.
“We need to move Franz as soon as possible. Today, if we can.”
“Today…” Lotte glanced out the window. Dusk was already falling. “I don’t know if it will be possible.”
“This is a matter of life and death, Lotte.”
Life and death. Franz’s life and death, perhaps even her whole family’s. Her stomach clenched as she nodded. “I’ll go find her now,” she said.
“I’ll wait.”
Lotte felt as if she were walking through a fog, or perhaps in a dream, as she headed down the corridor. She had a heightened sense of everything—the slap of her sandals on stone, the cool air brushing her cheeks. Outside, light was being leached from the sky in streaks of vivid orange and red as a violet twilight crept like a cloak over the mountains.
The air was so sharp and cold, Lotte had an urge to take it in big lungfuls, to feel it travel and expand through her body, the very breath of life. I’m alive, she thought. Right now I’m alive.
Was this what courage felt like? This excruciating awareness, the sense of time being both fleeting and precious, running through her hands like water, constantly ticking like one of her father’s clocks? How much more would she have? She’d thought she’d put to death her earthly, fleshly desires, yet now she felt them keenly. I’m only twenty, her mind cried. I want to live. I may have put so much to death already, but this? This breath in my body, this heart beating so steadily? I cannot put those to death. I won’t.
She felt as if in the last two years she had learned nothing at all.
Lotte knew Sister Kunigunde had been assigned to clean the dormitory that afternoon, although soon it would be vespers. She walked quickly down another corridor, conscious of each moment passing, time seeming to go faster and faster. In the dormitory Sister Kunigunde was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the stones. She looked up as Lotte entered.
“Sister Maria Josef.” Her voice was cool as she sat back on her heels.
“There is someone here to see you.” Lotte spoke stiltedly, more aware than ever of the ill feeling between them. “It is my sister.” Kunigunde raised her eyebrows in silent inquiry. “She has come on behalf of my father’s apprentice, Franz Weber.” A pause as Kunigunde kept her gaze. “He is a Jew.”
“Ah.” She nodded slowly. “You want my help.”
“My sister…” Lotte began, then stopped. “Yes.”
For the first time a look of something close to respect flashed in Kunigunde’s eyes. She rose from the floor, brushing the dust off her habit. “Is your sister here?”
“Yes, in the visitor’s room.”
“I’ll go now.” Kunigunde started towards the door, and then glanced over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”
Surprised, Lotte hurried after her. “Yes—yes, I’ll come.”
Birgit whirled around as soon Kunigunde opened the door. “You are Kunigunde?” she asked.
“Sister Kunigunde, yes.” Kunigunde came into the room and Lotte followed, closing the door after them. “You need help,” she stated quietly.
“Yes, as soon as possible. You have… space?”
“Yes, we have space.” She glanced at Lotte, a spark of defiance in her eyes. “We always have space.”
“So what shall I do?”
“Come to the side door this evening, during vespers.”
“But it’s almost vespers now—” Lotte began, before she was silenced by another look from Kunigunde.
“Wait by the side gate,” Kunigunde instructed. “Do not knock. Someone will meet you.”
“Not you?” Birgit asked with some alarm, and Kunigunde gave a swift shake of her head.
“Perhaps, perhaps not. I can’t be sure. If the person who opens the gate seems surprised, walk away quickly.”
Birgit’s eyes flared with fear. “You mean someone might come to the gate who doesn’t—”
“It is unlikely, but you never know. The man who delivers wood uses that gate on occasion, as well as a few others.”
Birgit gulped. Nodded. “And then?”
“Then he will stay here until he can be safely moved. It’s better for everyone if it happens as quickly as possible. Of course, he’ll need papers first. We don’t have any capacity to provide those.”
“Yes, I know someone who can arrange for them. But what happens then—where will he go?”
“That is not my concern,” Kunigunde replied swiftly. “Or yours, for that matter. The less anyone knows, the better. Then if they ask you, you cannot say.”
“Well, they’re hardly likely to ask, are they,” Birgit said soberly.
“They will demand,” Kunigunde agreed, and for a moment all three women were silent, contemplating the terrible risks they faced.
Finally Birgit spoke. “Our father was arrested this afternoon. They took him in for questioning.”
Compassion flashed across Kunigunde’s face and then was replaced with resolve. “All the more reason to get this apprentice out of your house. Go now, quickly. And come back as soon as you can, when it’s dark.”
Birgit nodded, and then glanced at Lotte. “Will…” She swallowed. “Will I see you again?”
Lotte stared at her, shocked by how much had changed in so short a time. Already she felt as if her past had come rushing up to meet her, and she could not imagine returning to the life she’d cultivated with such careful deliberation. To go back to saying the rosary, sweeping the floor, sitting in silence. It seemed absurd. It seemed awful, and yet she realized she craved it now more than ever. The simplicity of it, the safety…
And yet she didn’t think she’d ever be able to go back.
“I’ll see you tonight,” she told Birgit, and she felt Kunigunde’s surprise like a ripple in the air. “I will be at the side gate,” she promised, and Birgit smiled.
The next hour seemed to pass with terrible slowness, and yet with the ticking of each minute, each second, Lotte felt both her terror and her determination grow. She was going to do this, despite Kunigunde’s skepticism as well as her own fear. She wanted to, even though she was still so afraid. Perhaps that was courage.
“We shouldn’t both go during vespers,” Kunigunde told her after Birgit had gone. “It might arouse suspicion.”
“Who would suspect?” Lotte asked. “Who doesn’t know?”
“Several, at least,” the other nun replied grimly. “And they would see it as their God-given duty to report us.” She gave Lotte a pointed look, and she lifted her chin.
“I never reported you.”
“You spoke to the Mother Abbess.”
The Mother Abbess must have told her that, Lotte realized, and experienced an inward curdling of guilt. What had the Mother Abbess thought of her sanctimonious tattling? She looked back on her former self and cringed, and yet she knew she still wasn’t much better.
“I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble,” she insisted. “At least, not that kind of trouble.”
“You wanted me to say a few more Hail Marys?” A surprising glint of humor sparkled in Kunigunde’s eyes.
“I don’t know what I wanted,” Lotte admitted. “For things to go back to the way they were, but they can’t, can they?”
“No,” she agreed. “They can’t.”
Lotte bowed her head humbly. “I’m sorry for reporting you to the Mother Abbess. And I’m on your side now, Sister Kunigunde. We are in
this together.”
The bell for vespers had just started to ring, its chimes pealing out into the still, cold night, as Lotte made her way to the side gate of the abbey. She had slipped away as the sisters had started to gather, and she’d caught Kunigunde’s eye as she’d stolen down the corridor, away from the chapel, and seen her give a tiny, encouraging smile.
When she came to the side gate, all was quiet. She shivered in the cold air; although it was March it still felt like winter, and the peaks of the Salzkammergut were covered in deep snow.
When would they come? What if they’d been stopped, arrested? They would tell everything, just as Kunigunde had said, and the Gestapo would soon be at the door of the abbey.
Then, Lotte told herself, they tell everything, and you are arrested, and in faith you will be brave. That is all you will be able to do.
It felt like small comfort indeed, and yet it was enough. She squared her shoulders, everything in her tensing when she heard footsteps on the alley.
She peered out into the darkness, wishing she’d brought a light yet knowing she couldn’t have. Then Birgit’s pale moon-like face loomed out of the darkness, followed by Franz and Johanna.
Lotte could not keep from gasping at the sight of both her sisters together. “You came—”
“It wasn’t easy,” Birgit whispered. “We hardly ever go out at night anymore.”
“And there are curfews for Jews,” Johanna added. She smiled at Lotte. “It’s good to see you. Although I almost didn’t recognize you!”
“I suppose it is strange,” Lotte admitted with an uneven laugh. She had not seen her own reflection in a year and a half; she had no idea what she looked like now. She turned to Franz. “It is good to see you, as well.”
His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, and his teeth flashed white as he gave her a smile. “How are you, Lotte?”
“She’s Sister Maria Josef now,” Birgit reminded him, shooting Lotte an uncertain smile. Heartened, Lotte returned it as she stepped aside so they could come through the gate.
“You can still call me Lotte,” she told Franz. “Quickly now. I will show you the way.” She turned back to Birgit and Johanna. “It’s best if you go now. The fewer people about, the fewer questions there will be.”
Birgit nodded and then turned slightly away from Franz and Johanna. Confused, Lotte turned to her, but not before she saw her sister embrace Franz tightly, her face pressed against his shoulder.
“I will come back,” Franz promised as he stroked Johanna’s hair. “I will return to you, Johanna, I promise.”
Johanna nodded, sniffing, and then stepped back. “Go,” she said. “And Godspeed.”
Franz turned to Birgit, embracing her quickly. “Thank you for being so patient with me. You are a far better apprentice than I ever was.”
“Don’t say that,” Birgit told him unsteadily. “You have far more natural ability than I ever did.”
“Take care of the shop,” Franz said, and he glanced once more at Johanna, a look so full of love and yearning that something in Lotte ached. “Goodbye,” he said, and as they turned to leave Lotte darted forward to hug both her sisters in turn. The feel of their bodies against hers was both surprising and welcome, their arms embracing her tightly. She’d missed this, she realized. She’d missed the physical affection she’d once taken for granted.
“God go with you,” she whispered, and then she hurried back into the abbey garden, closing the gate behind her. The sound of her sisters’ footsteps echoed in the silence and then disappeared altogether. Franz turned to Lotte with the approximation of a cheerful smile.
“Where to now?”
“A storeroom that isn’t used. It’s not the most comfortable accommodation, I’m afraid, but it will have to do.”
“I don’t mind.”
Lotte locked the gate before leading Franz along the shadowy cloister to the storeroom whose door she’d flung open only weeks ago, to her own shock and dismay. It was empty now; Kunigunde had shown her it after they’d met Birgit, swept clean and looking innocuous. “I’ll bring in a fresh blanket,” Kunigunde had said. “And some food. We can’t spare much without someone noticing—it has to be able to be cleared away at a moment’s notice.”
Now, as Lotte opened the door of the storeroom, she felt she had to apologize for its sparseness—the room held nothing but a blanket, a loaf of bread, half a sausage wrapped in wax paper and a jug of water. “I’m sorry, it really isn’t much.”
Franz laid a hand on her arm. “It’s perfect. I’m so grateful to you, and to the other nuns here. To everyone who has helped me.”
The warmth and sincerity in his voice both shamed and moved her. “How can you be so kind?” she whispered. “Why aren’t you angry?”
Franz was silent for a moment. “I am angry,” he said finally, but she heard sorrow, not fury, in his voice. “I’m filled with rage at what the world has become, what madmen are allowed to do. But I recognize that being bitter serves me no purpose, and helps no one else, either. There is too little kindness in this world already.”
“Yes, you are right,” she answered. “And it is our task—our duty—to bring more kindness into this world, even if it costs us.”
His eyes and teeth gleamed in the darkness. “Are you afraid, Lotte? That it will cost you?”
“No,” she answered, with at least some truth. “Not any more.”
Chapter Twenty
Johanna
September 1941
Johanna glanced quickly up and down the empty street, lit up with the last of the sun’s rays, before darting into the narrow alley that ran alongside the abbey. Although there was no one in sight, she kept her head tucked low, a scarf over her hair. Even after two and a half years of visiting the abbey once or twice a month, she knew she could never be too careful.
Lotte had left the gate off the latch so she was able to slip inside easily and then hurry along the empty cloister to the little brick shed at the back of the garden used for storing broken tools, empty sacks, and the like. A quick, light knock—two taps, a pause, and then another, their signal—and then the door was unlocked and opened. Johanna hurried inside, to be enfolded by a pair of wiry yet strong arms.
“Hello, liebling,” Franz murmured against her hair.
Johanna pressed her cheek against his collar and closed her eyes, overwhelmed by emotion just as she was every time she visited him. These visits were so fleeting, so precious, and at every one she wondered if it would be the last. It seemed incredible that they’d been living this way for two and a half years.
When Franz had first come to the abbey, he and Johanna had both expected him to be moved on within a matter of days. Birgit had said that as soon as he received his new identity papers he would be spirited across the border to Switzerland, to freedom. Johanna had said goodbye to him, thinking she might never see him again, despite Franz’s promises that he would survive the war and come back for her. She couldn’t help but feel it was dangerous, to want something so much.
In any case, it hadn’t worked out like that at all. Only two days after Franz had left for the abbey, Birgit returned to the house on Getreidegasse, her face pale, her eyes wide with alarm.
“I’ve just had a message from Ingrid,” she’d said in a low voice, although there was no one to overhear. “The man who forges the identity papers—he’s been arrested.”
Johanna had pressed one hand to her throat as her mind had raced with the potential implications, the certain dangers. “What does that mean for Franz?”
“He’s safe, at least,” Birgit had replied. “The man didn’t know any details of anything. Kunigunde told me it was better that way, and now I believe her.”
“But what about Franz? How will he get away?”
“He won’t,” Birgit had told her bluntly. “Not until they can find another forger.”
They hadn’t found another forger for several months, for it had no longer been a priority. The resistance group had moved rel
entlessly, resolutely on, once Hitler had declared war on the Allies, targeting supply trains and railway lines, making homemade bombs out of brown glass bottles and acid, sawn-off pipes and gunpowder. Johanna heard about their activities from Birgit, and she suspected her sister was involved in some of them, judging from the nights she’d heard her slip out of bed when she thought Johanna was asleep, only to return just before morning. Johanna didn’t ask Birgit about her involvement; she knew it was better not to know, even as she quaked with fear at the danger her sister was putting herself, and indeed all of them, in.
In any case, by the time another forger had been found, Franz had decided to stay at the abbey, with the blessing of the Mother Abbess.
“It’s more dangerous to attempt to get to Switzerland now than stay in Salzburg,” he’d told Johanna one evening when she’d come to visit, slipping along the streets and alleyways like a shadow. “Most of the nuns here are on my side, and the few questionable ones can be kept in the dark. To them I’m just the man who comes in to do the gardening, and I’ve got the papers to prove it now.”
“But what if they suspect and inform on you?” Johanna had asked, torn between relief that Franz would be staying and worry for the danger he might still be in.
“It’s a risk I have to be willing to take. I want to stay.” He’d held her hand, twining his fingers with hers. “I don’t want to leave you.”
And so he’d moved to a shed at the back of the abbey garden, away from any prying eyes. The nuns had kitted it out with a bed roll, blankets, some books and dishes. He’d made himself useful by repairing things in the abbey, tools and the like, as well as helping with the garden. If anyone were to ask, he was Heinrich Müller from Grodig, a simple farmer’s son whom the abbey employed to do the work the nuns could not.
And yet still they lived in fear, and had been for so long Johanna couldn’t remember what it felt like not to have a knot of anxiety gnawing away at the pit of her stomach, or to feel her heart start pounding at a sudden footstep or knock on the door.