“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said. “I was startled by some soldiers, so I hid.”
“Come then! I’ve found us a ride, and some food.”
Ilse-Renata hastened alongside Prow until they came upon a farm tractor pulling a trailer.
“Hop on,” the farmer said. “We’ve a way to go.”
Prow helped Ilse-Renata hop onto the flatbed trailer and jumped up to sit beside her.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“North. To find your mother,” Prow said. “Once I know you’re safe, I can go in search of my own family.”
He dug into his coat pockets and retrieved small bits of bread, cheese, and a bottle of ale.
“Eat,” he said. “Then you can rest a bit.”
The bread and cheese settled welcome and heavy in her belly. The ale quenched her thirst as tiny bubbles found their way down her parched throat. The sun warmed her again and, together with the after-effect of the ale, made her drowsy.
She fought to stay alert, but sleep overcame her. Slipping deeper into slumber, Ilse-Renata leaned sideways, only to be jerked awake by Prow.
“What is it?” she asked, shaken by the abrupt awakening.
“You nodded off,” he said. “I was looking at the destruction of the landscape and didn’t realize it until you were about to fall off the wagon. I caught you just in time. Otherwise, you would have been under the wheels, and I would have wasted weeks of my time trying to save you from certain death,” he said, teasing her. Within his jest, she saw the truth.
“Thank you,” she said humbly. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Nor do I,” he mocked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and holding her close.
“I’m so tired,” Ilse-Renata mumbled into his chest.
“Sleep, then,” he said, caressing her hair with his free hand.
Prow continued to find transportation that carried them further north, closer to her mother. At Zeil on the Main River, Prow asked her for more of the gemstones.
“We aren’t far from your mother’s accommodation, and we can’t arrive empty-handed. We will stop at this farm to buy eggs and meat,” he said, pointing toward a farm they were approaching.
“Wait here,” he said moments later, leaving her to sit on the front steps of the farm’s house.
When Prow returned a while later, he carried a basket of eggs, a loaf of bread, and an oddly-shaped bundle wrapped in brown paper. “What’s that?” Ilse-Renata asked, pointing at the package.
“The farmer only had one calf left, and he refused to butcher it, so I had to do it.”
“You know how to butcher cows?” she asked, surprised at her employer’s unusual skill.
“No, but I learnt quickly,” he said.
“That doesn’t look like a calf,” she said, sizing up the package again.
“It’s not,” Prow said, grinning at her. “I couldn’t carry a whole calf, so I only took half of it. I’ve left the other half for someone else. That clever farmer made me pay for the entire calf, though, and now he will benefit from a second sale of the remaining half. A sly fox, he is. Come on. I also got directions to your aunt’s house. It’s not far.”
When they neared the town’s grocery store, Prow pointed. “Your uncle owns that store,” he said. “Your mother should be staying there.”
“Wait!” Ilse-Renata snapped. “Let me straighten up.” She licked her hands and smoothed her wayward hair, brushed straw from her coat, and polished the toes of her shoes on the legs of her hose.
“I don’t know why you bother,” Prow said, shaking his head. “We’ve been travelling for more than two months. No one is going to complain about how you look. They will simply be happy to see you!”
Ilse-Renata blushed, realizing the futility of her endeavours. “My mother taught me to be respectful.”
She stopped suddenly and turned to face Prow. “Before we go in, I must say thank you. Again. It is only because of you that I am here. You have been so kind to me, and you have fulfilled your promise to keep me safe. I don’t know how I will ever repay you.” She twisted her hands, feeling at a loss of what to do.
“Don’t fuss,” Prow said. “You’re embarrassing me. If your mother can make a meal of the food we bring, that will be enough thanks to see me to my own family. Come!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
GERHARD SAT SLUMPED on the settee, his elbows braced on his knees, supporting the weight of his head. He looked up with tired eyes, fingering the throbbing scar on his brow.
“Gerda. You’re home, then.” His voice was flat. Gerda entered the old study and sat in an armchair opposite.
“Yes, Papa. I’m not needed at the farm just now. I can stay with you for a few days. There’s things that need to be done.”
“I thought we’d be safe here. I promised Vater that I’d keep everyone safe,” Gerhard lamented, his hands covering his face as he wept. “I can’t believe they’re gone.”
Gerda dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her father, trying to comfort him.
“Mein Gott!” he said, gently prying his daughter’s arms away from him. He sat straighter, as if trying to find his self-control.
Moments later, he jumped to his feet and began pacing past the old painting of Mars that hung on the study wall. “The German defence is already forfeit! There’s no need for the Americans and the British to continue their air raids! Bombing the city of Bayreuth in the middle of April was not necessary! That stupid, arrogant action obliterated half of the Old City, the area around the train station, and Wagner’s Villa Wahnfried. And, thousands of civilians have been killed! For what?”
Gerhard continued his rant. “But not us! Gott sei dank. The Lange house stands unscathed. But not the Lange family. No. We have not escaped; death has marked us.” His words were heavy with grief.
“Papa, please,” Gerda said. “Come and sit with me. I’m afraid that your excitement could cause a heart attack.”
“Ha!” Gerhard plopped back into his chair, dismissing her concern. “Otto! He survived the worst war in history, only to be killed by one of those irresponsible bombs! And Hildegard, poor woman. And Marie. My beautiful sister Marie …” He rolled his head in his hands.
“What were they doing in the Old City?” Gerda asked, pouring a brandy and handing a glass to her father. The late morning sun filtered through the stained-glass window in the study, casting colour about the room. A beam of light caught the crystal of the glass she handed to her father, sparking small fires of light on the walls.
“It was Otto’s birthday. They went to a tea garden to celebrate. They shouldn’t have gone. I told them not to go.” He moaned.
“How is Mama?” Gerda asked, changing the topic.
“Wha—oh. She’s good. The doctor said she was very lucky. The debris that fell around her protected her. She has a head trauma, but she will recover from that. The doctor said she can return home as soon as the dizziness stops. A few days, perhaps.”
Gerhard staggered up from his chair, rising to his full height and stretching his tired body. Gerda noted with surprise that his spiked hair was a mixture of ebony and grey. More salt than pepper since she visited six weeks earlier. She rose to steady her father.
“Papa?”
“I need my ulcer medication,” he said, pointing to a prescription bottle on his desk and grabbing his belly. A small gasp of discomfort escaped his lips. “And, we must make the funeral arrangements.”
“Yes, Papa. Let’s have our midday meal first, shall we?” She snatched the prescription bottle from the desk and hooked her arm through his. “Your medication is to be taken with food, so this is perfect timing. Let’s go eat. We can attend to the funeral arrangements this afternoon.”
On cue, the cook appeared at the doorway and announced that the meal was ready. Seeing Gerda, she excused herself to set another place in the dining room.
In measured steps, Gerda escorted her father
into the dining room, where the cook had set out bowls of hot, vegetable soup and fresh, black bread. They ate quietly, remembering their time lived with the dead.
Over tea, they discussed plans for their afternoon: to visit the Beerdigungsinstitut to make funeral arrangements, then to visit Emma at the hospital for her latest prognosis.
“Where are Grandmother and Tante Cook?” Gerda asked.
“They’re at the hospital with Mama,” Gerhard told her. “It was fortunate that they were unable to attend the birthday celebration. Tante Cook was ill that day and stayed in bed. Grandmother stayed behind to keep her company.” He bent his head in anguish, trying to control his emotions.
As they prepared to leave, the cook reminded them that Arthur would arrive later that afternoon. “I’ll meet his train,” Gerda said, “while you rest, Papa.”
“I wish Paul was coming too,” Gerhard said. “I haven’t heard from him in weeks. He was sent to Italy, you know. I’m worried that he may have been caught.” His words evaporated into a mumble, but Gerda heard the last clearly: “Dead.”
“Yes, I know, Papa. I pray he’s safe, too.”
Emma was released from the hospital a few days later, the gash on her forehead the only visible damage of the bombing.
“My head will heal in time,” she told Arthur as he escorted her into the funeral service, “but my heart will always miss three I held so dear.”
The day following the funeral, Gerhard asked Emma, Arthur, and Gerda to join him in the study for coffee before they each headed off to start their day. As Gerhard closed the study door and invited his son and daughter to sit in one of the armchairs, Emma poured them each a cup of false coffee. Coffee had not been on shop shelves for a very long time.
“We need to prepare ourselves,” he said, without mixing niceties. “Either the Americans or the Russians will reach the city shortly, and I don’t know what will happen to Arthur and me. At the best, we will be taken as prisoners of war …”
“No! Gerhard!” Emma exclaimed, covering her mouth to stifle the volume.
“Now, my dear,” Gerhard said, placing a hand of reassurance on her shoulder. “We’ve talked of this possibility, you and me. As I see it, we are facing the inevitable.”
Looking toward Arthur, he continued. “I can only hope that the Americans arrive before the Russians, and that they are more charitable toward us.”
Turning toward the women, he said, “You must be prepared to manage things on your own. Focus on the farm, Emma. Between you and the general manager, I think you can train Gerda to step in wherever she’s needed. We need to keep growing food to feed the people, as well as expand the herd. What do you think, Gerda? Are you up to it?”
“Oh, yes, Papa! I love the farm, and welcome the opportunity to learn more about its administration. I used to follow Uncle Otto and Tante Hildegard around. I loved watching them at their work,” she said. Sadness appeared to overwhelm her, and she slumped into her chair. “They worked so well together.”
“That’s my girl,” Gerhard said, ignoring her reference to the death of his two friends. Instead, he smiled fondly at his only daughter, hoping to cheer her up.
“Emma, leave the factories for now. The Americans will want to see that our priorities are growing produce and expanding the herd. If my return is delayed for any reason, and you see that the farm is prospering, then you can turn your attention to the factories. You know enough about them to get them organized; just don’t do anything that would suggest the assembly of armaments. If any of the employees return, they will help you. If I still haven’t returned by then, run the factories—organize the men to make only the parts necessary to repair or rebuild damaged farm equipment.”
“But, Gerhard,” Emma interrupted again.
“No ‘buts,’ Emma. With or without Arthur and me, the farm needs to work. Germany needs to be fed. After that, the factories will need to commence operations. Farm machinery will need to be repaired or rebuilt. Ultimately, the factories will be our future, and our primary source of income. Do the best you can. I have no idea how long Arthur and I will be detained, but we must plan for a worst-case scenario.”
“Do you think we’ll be executed, Papa?”
Emma and Gerda gasped at Arthur’s question.
“Not if the Americans arrive first,” Gerhard answered. “I suspect they’ll want to put us to work, rebuilding the country. I don’t have the same confidence in the Red Army. They’ll want retaliation.”
He sat next to Emma as she collapsed onto the settee, wrapped his arms around her, and held her until she stopped shaking. “Arthur, if you’re interrogated, be honest. That’s all I will say on that matter. Don’t do or say anything foolish, understood? Don’t speculate or base your answers on rumours. Facts only. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Arthur gave his father a sloppy salute. He had vacated the chair upon which he had first sat. As his father had spoken, he had slipped to kneel beside his sister, holding her hands, trying to comfort her.
“If you return before me, help your mother and sister rebuild.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pray God that you both return home quickly,” Emma said, her voice full of sadness.
“Amen to that,” Gerda said, sniffling into her hanky.
“One last thing,” Gerhard said. “I expect the detainment to be abrupt, without notice, and so you must, too. I don’t want to think about the consequences if the Russians arrive first. I’m truly hoping for the Americans.”
He smiled benevolently, hoping to reassure his family. “When you hear that the Americans have arrived in the city, and we don’t return at the end of the day, presume that we have been taken prisoner, and pray for our speedy return. If the Russians arrive, we must pray for ourselves and each other.”
Within a week of the funeral, American forces arrived in the city. They continued to push north, dispatching troops throughout Bavaria and commandeering any military bases and other facilities that suited them, including the Depot where Gerhard worked in the administrative offices. All military men, including Gerhard and Arthur, were detained for questioning.
Although Gerhard was a senior officer with the Wehrmacht, his interrogators soon determined that he was not a member of the Nazi party, and that his position as an administrator overseeing the well-being of returning troops during the war was non-threatening.
When he was finally given the opportunity to inform the committee assigned to his interrogation about the farming operations overseen by his family, and his determination to make the farm fully functional as soon as possible, he was released on one condition. The farm would be inspected on a regular basis to ensure that the operation was as originally described, and diligently managed.
Gerhard took the opportunity to mention that his son was also involved in the farm’s operations, and, as summer faded into fall, Arthur was released.
By then, some of the hands who had been injured during the war had also returned to the farm. Those men resumed their former responsibilities as best they could. Adjustments were made to accommodate any disabilities.
Gerhard and Arthur were billeted at the farmhouse to oversee the farm’s operations, thereby supplanting the responsibilities of Emma and Gerda. Consequently, the women returned to their home in Bayreuth and made themselves useful elsewhere.
Each day, a truck arrived from a nearby prisoner-of-war camp, delivering able-bodied German prisoners to provide additional labour for the farm. Other than communications necessary to instruct the prisoners, the prisoners were forbidden from any actions or words that might be perceived as socializing.
Gerhard noted that the prisoners were malnourished, and that, as the days passed and the men applied themselves to the physical labour required to run a farm, their health worsened.
When the first inspector arrived, Gerhard complained about the condition of the men and insisted that he be permitted to provide them with at least one hearty meal per day. For that, he would require some
one to prepare the meals, and requested the women from his home: his wife, daughter, and the family cook. “A man well-fed will be stronger and more capable of doing the required work,” he argued.
The inspector contemplated Gerhard’s suggestions, and ultimately agreed to implement the necessary changes, subject to one condition of his own.
“On the occasion of each of my inspections,” he informed Gerhard, “I will welcome an expression of your heart-felt generosity, illustrated with a healthy ration of meat and a large basket of fresh produce.” He leered at Gerhard, waiting for him to object.
Gerhard almost complied, then decided to hold his tongue. If he could provide one solid meal per day to each man who worked on his farm, those men had a chance at survival. Further, he reasoned, by keeping them well-fed, they would be more committed to carrying out the tasks assigned to them. In the end, the farm would thrive, producing bountiful crops that could be put toward feeding the nation.
It may be a year before everyone involved will benefit, but, God help us, we will! Besides, I’ll have my family close by, where I can protect them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
PAUL AND HIS men were caught in the Apennine trap, and transported to a prisoner-of-war camp overseen by an American command. At the time of capture, Paul and his men were stripped of their gear, loaded into trucks, and taken south to a camp near Rome.
They were inspected on arrival for any other contraband, then forced to relinquish their boots. Without boots, they were not expected to escape.
When the war ended, their captors continued to detain the German soldiers, but relaxed their security enforcement. Although the prisoners received food rations in accordance with the Geneva Convention, the rations were meagre, and the men were always hungry, especially after a day of hard labour.
The captives discovered that, with care, canned goods could be secreted out of the American food supplies. They took advantage of the American inattention, supplementing their diet and building their own stash of supplies.
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