© 2013 Gerald Lund.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Deseret Book Company ([email protected]), P.O. Box 30178, Salt Lake City Utah 84130. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of the Church or of Deseret Book. Deseret Book is a registered trademark of Deseret Book Company.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Other Books by Gerald N. Lund
FICTION
The Alliance
Fire of the Covenant
Freedom Factor
Leverage Point
One in Thine Hand
The Undaunted: The Miracle of the Hole-in-the-Rock Pioneers
The Guardian, Book 1
SERIES
The Kingdom and the Crown
The Work and the Glory
NONFICTION
The Coming of the Lord
Divine Signatures: The Confirming Hand of the Lord
Hearing the Voice of the Lord: Principles and Patterns of Personal Revelation
Look Up, My Soul: The Divine Promise of Hope
Jesus Christ: Key to the Plan of Salvation
Personal Revelation: Receiving and Responding to the Voice of the Lord (talk on CD)
Selected Writings of Gerald N. Lund
To family-
An eternal journey
To Lynn, whose unwavering commitments to family binds us together
And to our children, who are extending that commitment into the third and fourth generation.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
CIP data on file
ISBN 978-1-60907-796-9
Printed in the United States of AmericaEdwards Brothers Malloy, Ann Arbor, MI
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
Prologue
PART ONE
Return
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
PART TWO
Phase Two
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
PART THREE
Crosby Canyon
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
PART FOUR
Anonymity Lost
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
PART FIVE
New York, New York
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
PART SIX
Le Petit Château
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
PART SEVEN
Return to the Past
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
PART EIGHT
The Rumble of Chariots
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
PART NINE
Walking with the Dead
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
PART TEN
Fool's Gold
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
PART ELEVEN
Justice and Mercy
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
EPILOGUE
Prologue
Bombed Ruins, Munich, Germany
May 1, 1945, 10:18 p.m.
The little girl leaned down and screamed in her mother’s ear. “Mama! Someone’s coming.”
The child’s voice barely penetrated the heavy fog of exhaustion, making the woman feel like she was smothering. She fought with what little willpower she had left to force her eyes open, but they only fluttered for a moment, then closed again.
Let them come. It doesn’t matter anymore.
Sobbing, the girl began shaking her violently, crying, wailing, whimpering in fear. She was only four years old, and she was terrified. But it wasn’t enough.
It doesn’t matter.
Slowly she surrendered. It felt so good to let go. She had fought so hard for so many days. She had huddled in terror for so many interminable nights. It was time to let go.
Her head lolled to one side as she slipped back into unconsciousness.
Her next conscious awareness was that of pain behind her eyes. Yet it felt good at the same time. Confused, she cracked one eye open, then hurriedly clamped it shut again as she realized it was a beam of sunlight shining directly in her eyes, warming her face. With a great effort, she turned her head away and opened her eyes. Slowly, perceptions began to register in her brain.
They were still in the bombed-out shell of a two-story building.
There was no roof, and the sky above was a brilliant blue.
She was no longer cold, and that seemed almost unnatural to her. Except that somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, she remembered that it was spring now.
There was the smell of something delicious in the air. She sniffed a second time. Sauerkraut and frankfurters. It made her almost dizzy with pleasure.
She turned her head to the other side, trying to comprehend where she was. And why. A stab of fear pierced her as she saw a dark figure kneeling in the rubble a short distance away. His back was to her, and she saw that he was bent over a small, portable burner, like the ones soldiers used in the field. And he was wearing a uniform.
And then she focused on the other, smaller figure to his side. It was her Liesel. She came up on her elbow with a lurch as hope shot through her. “Schatzi?” It was the German term of endearment used by spouses for each other.
The man whirled around to face her, and that brought his face fully into the light. One hand came up and swept off his hat. The disappointment stabbed so sharply that she gasped with pain. It was not her Schatzi. This man was a complete stranger to her. She saw that he was not in uniform at all. The hat and jacket he wore were those of a farmer. His trousers were plain and worn. His closely cropped blond hair did remind her of a soldier, but he didn’t have a soldier’s bearing. Light blue eyes smiled out from beneath thick brows. The face was long and narrow, but kindly. He was smiling at her, and she saw that his teeth were somewhat crooked.
“Schatzi? Is that you?” She pulled herself into a sitting position, still hoping.
He got up and came toward her. “I’m sorry, Frau Decker, but I am not your husband.”
She shrank back. “I ... my name is not Decker. It is—”
“It is Decker now,” he cut in quickly. “You cannot ever use your real name again. Do you understand me? That is very important. Starting right now, you are Frau Elizabette Decker.”
It was as if he were speaking a foreign language. Her mind refused to process the words.
“Where is my husband?”
“In a prisoner-of-war camp. I do not know where.”
“Is he dead?” It had been more than three months now since she had been told that he was missing in action and it was ass
umed he had been captured by the British or American forces.
“No. That has been confirmed. But from this point on, until you are reunited with him, Frau Decker, you must tell people that he is dead.”
He turned his head as the little girl leaped to her feet and ran to her mother. She dropped to her knees in front of the woman and threw her arms around her. “Oh, Mama. I thought you were dead too.” She began to cry with deep, shuddering sobs.
The mother held her close, rocking back and forth, touching her hair and murmuring soothing words of comfort. “No, Liesel. I’m not dead. I feel ... better now.”
The man turned back to her. “Frau Decker. Your daughter has a new name too. It is Gisela Decker.” He pronounced it slowly—GEES-ah-lah—to be sure she got it.
She barely heard because something else had flashed into her consciousness. She looked around the shattered room. “What do you mean ‘dead too’? Where’s Willi, Liesel?”
Fresh tears burst out. “Willi’s sleeping, Mama. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I couldn’t wake him.”
Taking her daughter in her arms, trying to stop the trembling in her body, the mother looked up at the stranger, her eyes imploring.
He nodded. “He passed away just before morning. He is at peace now.”
She went numb. Her firstborn gone? Not yet six years old and dead already? Tears trickled down her cheeks as she tried to blot out the pain. She had known her son was close to death. Since they had been evicted from their home, Willi had become the little man of the family. It had been too much for him. She remembered that she had seen it in his eyes last night before she had fallen into her own exhausted sleep.
The man leaned in, eyes soft with compassion, but nevertheless all business. “We must hurry, Frau Decker. There is no time to waste. We must go quickly. I have left a note on your son’s body so he will receive a Christian burial. But we must go. The Americans are already in the city.” He leaned down and gently took her by the arm. “Come. Eat a little breakfast.”
As mother and daughter ate their meager meal, the man talked quietly. “My name is Manfred Hoffman,” he began. “I am a captain in the army, though I am out of uniform at the moment. I knew your husband well.”
“Hoffman?” It was a name she vaguely recognized.
“Yes. After completing my basic training, I was given lieutenant’s bars and assigned to your husband’s unit in Poland. That was back in 1942. We were together for over a year.” His eyes filled with shame. “I was young and impetuous, ready to spit into the face of the world. But fortunately, your husband took a liking to me and took me under his wing.”
“I remember now,” she said. “It was while he was stationed in Krakow. He wrote of you.”
“Yes, in Krakow.” He took a quick breath. “After I had been with him for several months, several of us were given weekend passes. We went into the heart of the city. We got very drunk, and ...” He looked down, not able to meet her gaze. “I did something very terrible, very foolish. And ... and I was caught doing it. At the very least, it should have cost me my commission. Under these wartime conditions, it could even have gotten me shot.”
She was shocked by his words. He seemed so pleasant and so kind.
“Your husband intervened in my behalf. He made it right, using his own funds. No charges were ever filed, and it was never entered into my record.” He sighed. “A month later I was sent to the Russian front, and he was eventually transferred to France. I never saw him again.”
“That would be my Schatzi,” she murmured.
She could tell that he was glad to have it said and to be done with it. “I knew that he was from Munich and had family here. He spoke of you and the children all the time. So when I was transferred here two months ago, I tried to find you. I wanted you to know what your husband did for me. I want to help your family in some small way to repay the debt that I owe to him.”
He was staring at her, pain darkening his eyes. “I had no idea you were so young. Colonel Kessler never said.”
Her head tipped back proudly. “It was an arranged marriage. I was but seventeen. He was thirteen years my senior. But it quickly became a marriage of love. He knew the war was coming and wanted to have children immediately. My Willi and my Liesel were born just fourteen months apart.”
Her head dropped and she began to sob. And now, at twenty-four, she was in all but fact a widow. Her firstborn was dead. She and Liesel were on the run, homeless, penniless, without hope.
He went on gently. “But when I arrived here in Munich, things were already terrible. When I went to your villa, I was shocked to find another family living there. They told me that you had sold it to them and gone to Berlin.”
“Sold it?” she cried bitterly. “The local Gauleiter, an evil little man, used his influence in the Nazi party to have us evicted. When I went to the bank to draw out money to fight them, there was no money there. He produced documents saying that my husband had sold our estate to him. But I knew otherwise. My Schatzi would never have sold our beautiful home, even when conditions grew worse.”
Captain Hoffman reached out and briefly touched her shoulder. “This is one of the reasons you must leave. They know that as long as you are alive, what they did can be undone.” He looked away. “They are determined that you shall not survive the war. They are looking for you now.”
“No, I cannot leave. I must get it all back, before my Schatzi returns.”
“It pains me deeply to say this, but there is another reason you must disappear for now.”
“Another reason?”
He nodded grimly. “Your husband was not only a high-ranking German officer, he was also an important figure in the Nazi party here in Munich.”
Her face softened momentarily. “He was very important. We were invited to all the parties. It was such a thrill.” She leaned in, as if to share a secret. “It was here in Munich that the National Socialist Party had its first beginnings, you know. We even sat at the Fuehrer’s table on several occasions and—”
“The Fuehrer is dead,” he cut in bluntly. “He and his mistress, Eva Braun, committed suicide the day before yesterday in their Berlin bunker. Berlin is surrounded by the Russians and will almost certainly fall today or tomorrow.” His eyes held her as if in a tight grip. “You have to leave Munich, Frau Decker. The world has much anger toward Germany right now. There is already talk about forming tribunals to prosecute war criminals.”
“But my husband has done nothing wrong. He was a loyal and faithful officer and—”
“He was a Nazi,” he said bluntly. “And as his wife, you might be under suspicion as well. This is the other reason why you must go.”
“I ... I don’t understand. Munich is our home.”
“Munich has fallen. The first American troops entered the city two days ago. They hardly had to fire a shot. The city is almost completely deserted. Most of the people have fled to the country. And we must join them. Quickly. Before there is no more escape. Please, Frau Decker. I am here to help you. But we cannot delay. We must go.”
Almost senseless with grief, but filled with gratitude at the kindness of this gentle man, she looked up, brushing at her eyes with the backs of her hands. “But where shall we go?”
“The first thing is to get you out of the city. Then we shall make you disappear.” What he hadn’t told her was that Gauleiter Werner had already snuggled up to the Americans and was promising to help identify Nazi criminals and other undesirables. This was in exchange for certain considerations, including keeping his estate. It wasn’t too much of a leap to realize that Frau Decker would be one of those he identified as a problem.
“So is the war over, then?” the new Frau Decker asked.
“Not officially yet, but all German forces in Italy surrendered yesterday. And that fat old strutting fool, Mussolini, was caught trying to flee the country and was executed.”
<
br /> Her face was white, her pupils wide with shock. “So the Third Reich is no more?”
He laughed bitterly. “I fear that it fell a little short of the thousand years we were promised.”
The trip to the city’s western outskirts was one prolonged nightmare, but Captain Hoffman stayed with them all the way. There were many detours. Several of the streets, even the widest boulevards, were choked with rubble. Twice they saw columns of American soldiers coming into the city and ducked into side alleys or blown-out buildings. Perhaps Munich had been mostly emptied, but there were still thousands fleeing the city. A few pulled their things in children’s wagons or pushed them in wheelbarrows, but mostly, they had bundles over their shoulders. Some had nothing at all. No one looked at them, and they looked at no one. Everyone averted their eyes as they hurried on, moving west. They were just one more family with gaunt faces, desperate expressions, and vacant, haunted eyes.
By nightfall they were out of the city. Now their protector increased the pace. Little Liesel—now Gisela—began to whimper. Hoffman picked her up, put her on his shoulders, and carried her for what seemed like miles, singing children’s songs to her. Finally, he turned off into a narrow country lane. “We are almost there, Frau Decker,” he said gently.
“Where? Where are we?”
“At the house of a trusted friend. It is a small farm. He will give you food and shelter.”
“But ...” She felt the dismay rising quickly. “But what shall we do?”
“You will rest. I will return as quickly as possible, but it may take a day or two. I must create documents for you and your daughter.”
“Documents? But we already have documents.”
“No, not anymore. We need identity papers under your new name. Passports. Travel documents.” There was a long sigh. “I wish I could stay here with you, but I must return. If I am found out of uniform, I will be shot. And I must see to my own family as well.”
To Run With the Swift Page 1
