A Daring Escape

by Tricia Goyer

  Tonight, just after midnight, a man with an oxcart will come around to pick you up. I have made arrangements for you to be taken to Brno and then to a village outside of Prague that is accepting refugees. You may find some of your friends from Olomouc there. I hear there are agencies working with the refugees, helping them find safe passage out of this country and providing them a means to start a new life. I hope these rumors are true. I also must apologize, but I have used some of the money provided by Abram to purchase your transport and stays long the way.

  Oh, and you may wonder why I hadn’t mentioned the money earlier. It took me a good week after you arrived to remember that Abram had given me an envelope, urging me to hide it in a safe place. I’d nearly forgotten where it was hidden away, but the good Lord must have reminded me just when the time was right. I was pleased to make this discovery of your husband’s provision, just as much as I’m sure you are. He always was a bright lad, so insightful about the ways of the world. It made sense that he thought ahead about such matters. It was always that way with him, even as a child, God rest his soul.

  Remember the oxcart. Friends will care for you from there, and please burn this letter after you read it. My husband knows not how I’m helping you, and I don’t want to bring any challenges to my family. I’m sure you understand.

  Love,

  Hedvika

  Pavla read the letter again to make sure she remembered everything. She was halfway through reading when she realized that Ondřej was wrapped in a towel and reading over her shoulder. At first she pulled the letter away from his eyes but then changed her mind. If anything happened to her, he would need to know about the money and the people who would be helping. A shiver traveled down her spine. It pained her to consider her young son having to care for his younger sister without her help, but in the world these days, that was a possibility.

  She held up the letter so Ondřej could finish reading it. Then she patted the envelope, and he smiled again, relief on his face. He offered a slight nod and she rose, took the letter and crumbled it, and then put it into the wood burner. They couldn’t bring any harm to Mrs. Smidova after all she’d done for them.

  After Klára’s bath, Pavla took hers and then noticed a simple dress hanging in the hall. Without a doubt she knew it was intended for her. The style was not current, but the dress was clean. Pavla slipped it on. It must have been Mrs. Smidova’s when she was younger, and Pavla was thankful for it.

  Taking note of the time, she quickly washed their dirty clothes in the tub with plans to hang them to dry inside the shed. Then she quickly dumped the tub outside in the bare shrubs next to the house and returned it to the kitchen. Next, she cleaned up the rest of the mess, hoping there would be no sign of their presence.

  Before she left, Pavla wished she could write a note and thank Mrs. Smidova, but in the end she knew it could do more harm than good.

  Instead, she took her children’s hands and slipped back the way they had come. They would be cold again through the night, of that she had no doubt. But at least inside they carried a bit of warmth. Abram had provided for them and made sure they would receive help. Just knowing that warmed her soul. The only question was what would happen when she got to the camp with the other refugees. What would they face then? Was there anyone to offer help?

  Once back inside the shed, Pavla folded the envelope and placed it in her dress pocket, keeping it close. At least she had something to cling to, and then she remembered how Abram had turned to God during every difficult time. Thinking of him made her wish to do the same.

  As the children played quietly in the sunlight that streamed into the shed, Pavla considered a portion of Scripture she remembered learning as a child. “Cast thy burden upon the LORD, and he shall sustain thee.” If ever there was a time she needed the protection of Ha-Elohim, it was now. And for the first time since she’d escaped with her children, she released her grip slightly and dared to cast her cares upon the Lord, if only for a moment.

  SIX

  Prague, Czechoslovakia

  Saturday, December 17, 1938

  A cold breeze rose off the Vltava River and danced around the statues of the saints lining the Charles Bridge. Only a sliver of the sun’s rays could be seen over the red tiled roofs spread to the west, and Amity Mitchell hoped her brother would arrive soon. She didn’t like the thought of being a stranger in a land in which she didn’t know one word of their native tongue, especially with darkness descending. There had been a note at the hotel that Andrew had some business to attend to, but he encouraged her to walk to the bridge and enjoy the view of the medieval town, with the view of Prague Castle, as it faded into the night.

  Amity glanced across the stone Gothic bridge again and then let out a low sigh, wrapping her arms around her. A tower had been erected on each end of the bridge, and dozens of statues stood like sentries along the stone sidewalls. Couples, students, and workers getting off for the day crossed the bridge in clusters. No one seemed to notice her.

  In London, she had thought visiting the bridge at sunset would be fun and adventurous. After all, Andrew had sent a postcard of the ancient landmark graced with the beautiful Catholic saints. Yet standing here alone and sensing the tension that filled the city was neither fun nor adventurous. She just hoped that her nearness to these silent saints provided some type of protection.

  Amity tightened her scarf around her neck and approached the closest statue, Saint John of Nepomuk. She noticed the plaque on this one shone, reflecting the fading light. And as she watched, a man and woman strolled by. Each person mindlessly touched the worn spot as they passed, as if doing so would bring good luck.

  Though raised in church, with a strong Christian faith, Amity didn’t recognize the name on the statue, nor did she know the story behind his sainthood. Yet surely he had done something magnificent to achieve such honor. Something worthy of recognition. But to her, the statue remained merely another stone piece of artwork, bringing a moment’s distraction to a weary and anxious traveler.

  Beyond the dark, silent statues, Old Town sparkled with what seemed like thousands of tiny lights. With Christmas around the corner, greenery and colorful decorations caused the stones of the city to glow. Yet the light was cold, haunting.

  From the moment the airplane touched down, the cold was hard to miss. It was more than the chill of the air, of course. Much more. All of Czechoslovakia seemed to be depressed, restless. Even in the midst of the beauty, Amity sensed fear. Almost a foreboding of tragedy, as if the ancient streets and buildings stirred with a memory of what war looked like, felt like, on these very streets.

  Footfalls sounded behind her. Amity cocked her head to listen closer. A smile filled her face as she recognized them as belonging to her older brother, Andrew. The footsteps were slow, sure, and unassuming. Everything Amity was not.

  With a squeal of delight she turned around and flung her arms open wide, laughing at her brother’s surprise.

  “How do you do that? Even before you could walk, I’ve found it impossible to surprise you.”

  “Obviously, Andrew, you’re mistaken. I’m an Illinois girl standing on an ancient bridge in Czechoslovakia, with little idea of why I have come.”

  She placed a fist on her hip. “So, what’s the urgency? Have you met a girl and need a best sister to stand by your side as you wed?” She ignored for now the fact that he’d mentioned Jewish refugees. For the moment Amity wanted to pretend they were just a brother and sister meeting on holiday.

  “I wish that were the case. It’s nothing like that. No good news, I’m afraid. And we have plenty of time to discuss the reason you’ve come once we return to the hotel.” He linked his arm through hers and swept his other hand toward the city before them. “First, what do you think?”

  Amity stroked her brother’s cheek where a trim beard now grew. “Maybe not a marriage, but I do believe you have a certain someone special in your life. I’ve never seen you so…so put together.”

  “No,
I do not.” He seemed uncomfortable with her topic of choice. “Maybe I’ve just learned to dress myself. Now, seriously…” Andrew’s hand lifted toward a large white castle sitting on a distant hill. “Isn’t it magical?”

  “Reminds me of all those stories you used to read to me. All the tales of knights and kings and queens. Princesses being saved from horrible dragons. England has beautiful castles, but this place—it seems to breathe history.” Another cold wind blew, and Amity pulled her coat collar tighter under her chin.

  “Yes, and it seems we’re part of history in the making, even now.”

  “You mean with the Germans?”

  “Yes…but, sister, you cannot speak so feely. You never know who could be listening.”

  Amity glanced around her, but only silent statues stood within hearing distance. Still, she knew from the look on Andrew’s face not to argue.

  “Come, let’s go back to our hotel.” He motioned her to follow. “We can talk there.”

  Amity tucked her hand into the crook of his arm again and matched his pace. The night was silent as they strolled along.

  “Prague is still one of the most beautiful capitals of Europe. I’ve come here often for work, and nothing has changed. The museum, the opera, the restaurants and theaters, and my favorite part of the city—Old Town Square with Saint Nicholas Church and Old Town Hall with its astronomical clock—they are all as they were before, yet everyone here is holding their breath. They know—we all know—that the whole country will soon be in Hitler’s grasp. Maybe the whole continent will. If only our prime minister would understand that. If only he would get his head out of the sand.”

  “Our prime minister is trying to stop bloodshed.” She said the words she’d read in the paper and heard repeated again and again on the radio.

  “Whose bloodshed? Is English blood better than any other? Give Hitler an inch, and he’ll take a mile. Give him the Sudetenland, and soon all of this country will be under his control. There is no bargaining with a madman. And then…well, we’ll discuss that in the morning. You must be tired after your trip.”

  “It must be important…what you have to tell me.”

  “More important than you know.”

  Within thirty minutes they had made their way to Wenceslas Square and the Hotel Evropa. They gathered her luggage, which was being held at the bell counter, and five minutes later Andrew opened the door to a large room with two beds and a private bath.

  “Just like at home, don’t you think?” Andrew turned the knob for the light and scanned the room. Louis XIV furniture had been arranged on lush green carpet, making it appear more like a museum than a hotel room.

  And even though Amity had grown accustomed to English luxury, it was nothing as ornate as this. Clark had much simpler taste. She couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Home—like this? In your fantasies, maybe. I think our first floor back in Chicago could fit into this room. But it is good being with you again. I get a sense of home when I’m with you.”

  Amity offered her brother a quick hug and then removed her gloves and slowly unbuttoned her jacket. She felt weary from travel, and nothing sounded better than a hot bath and a snug bed. But before that she had to know why her brother had brought her all this way.

  With a heavy sigh she plopped onto the bed. “Now, spill it. What’s so urgent? I know Hitler’s up to no good. I’ve been following his progress in the London papers.”

  Andrew removed his jacket and hung it on the ornate coat rack. His hair was disheveled, but he gave it no mind. He ran his fingers through his hair again, brushing it back from his face, and sat down in a leather armchair. But instead of allowing himself to settle back into it, he leaned forward and unbuttoned his starched, white cuffs, letting out a low sigh. “How much are you aware of what’s happening in Germany?”

  “How much? It seems that’s all the world is talking about these days. Everywhere I go I sense apprehension over news reports, especially about the strength of the Nazis and the effect their propaganda is having on the German people.”

  “And you’re aware of what’s happening to the Jews?”

  “Families divided and Jews arrested and beaten by the SS…Hitler’s storm troopers…Yes, of course. Some people don’t believe the reports, but why would anyone make up such lies? The thing I don’t understand is why Hitler’s threats are shrugged off by Britain. They’ve already ‘incorporated’ Austria into the German Reich. Followed by the Sudetenland. Who’s next?”

  Instead of answering, Andrew pointed to the window where a sliver of moon could be seen hanging over the city.

  “The rest of Czechoslovakia, yes. That’s what I was afraid of. Isn’t this place considered a city of refuge for those who’ve escaped Germany and Austria—those being hunted by the Nazis?”

  “I’m proud of you, sister. You’re much more aware of what’s going on than I thought you’d be. Sometimes I still think of you as the sixteen-year-old kid I left back in Chicago.”

  “I am a tutor now, and current events is an important topic. I’m worried about all the Jews who hoped to stay beyond Hitler’s reach. What will happen to them if he takes over the rest of this country?”

  “Oh, it’s not only the Jews who have the problem. It extends far beyond that. Whether Czech, Austrian, or German, this country, this city, is filled with enemies of the Reich—social democrats, Communists, scientists, prominent literary figures and other intellectuals—although you are correct that there are many Jews too.”

  Amity kicked off her shoes, wiggling her toes, glad to be able to stretch them after a long trip. “So what’s going to happen to them?”

  “We’re not going to wait to find out. Currently, with the exception of a fortunate few with personal contacts, the refugees are housed in makeshift camps outside the city where they exist in appalling conditions, without any means of support.”

  “Is this why you’ve asked me to come? To help these people?” Tension grew in the pit of her stomach. Both she and her brother had been raised to give and care for those less fortunate. Living in Chicago, they’d witnessed firsthand the influx of people who’d come to the city seeking jobs and a new way of life, especially Negroes from the segregated South. Whole families uprooted from Southern plantations had moved north, attempting to make a new life in the ever-growing city. More than once, Amity had slept nestled between strangers her own age—girls from other families who lived with them for a time until their families could get on their feet.

  Andrew sighed. He shook his head as if reading her thoughts. “This is nothing like we faced growing up. It’s worse, Ami. Far worse. Especially for the little ones.”

  “Is there no one helping?”

  “Yes, but not enough. Kindertransports are already taking place, rescuing children from Austria and Germany and placing them with relatives or foster parents. But so far there is little help here.” He chewed his inner lip, a habit he always had when he had to ask something hard from her. Then he continued.

  “I came to get a grasp on the situation. I tried talking with some of the parents, but it’s been overwhelming. We’ve set up an office, and we have more questions than answers: ‘How long will it take before my children can go?’ ‘When can I follow my child?’”

  Andrew sighed. “Even harder are the answers. There are so many, it will be impossible to get them all out. There are mothers with children who are too young to be parted. Some children became separated from their parents and are now drifting with tens of thousands of refugees. Like I said, there are children’s agencies that were getting hundreds of children out of Germany and Austria, but the same is not true for Czechoslovakia. I can’t help wondering what will happen to the threatened children here.”

  Without having to ask again, Amity could see on her brother’s face that this indeed was why she’d been asked to come. The Jewish refugees he’d sent for her to help were children.

  Andrew stroked his beard. “Tomorrow I will take you to a sight you won’t
believe. There are thousands of refugees who’ve fled the Sudetenland into Czechoslovakia ahead of Hitler’s army. My job with the Home Office is to work with the British Committee for Refugees. Finding a way to get the little ones out, Ami, is why I’ve asked you to come.”

  SEVEN

  Jívová, Czechoslovakia

  Saturday, December 17, 1938

  Pavla shivered as she pulled her dingy, cream-colored sweater off her shoulders and placed it over her son and daughter. She wasn’t sure how much the thin sweater would help, but she had to try. She was thankful for the clean dress from Mrs. Smidova, but what she wouldn’t give for the blankets and coats she’d left back at their apartment in Olomouc. Icy fingers of cold air pushed their way through the decaying wood, as if seeking to pull all warmth from her skin and all hope from her soul. She rubbed her arms and sat next to her sleeping children, attempting to remember happier times.

  Years ago, they’d purchased the sweater from one of the finest women’s clothing shops in Malá Strana. Abram’s parents had watched the children for the weekend, and he’d taken her on a short holiday to Prague. She’d enjoyed the two-hour train ride with her husband, reminiscent of the times they had together before they had children. They’d visited the Prague National Museum, which they’d done on one of their first dates, and then Abram had taken her shopping for her birthday, spoiling her as always.

  He was an important business owner back then, and he liked to show her off at private parties and community events. She enjoyed being by his side, but the busyness of life often took away the time they had to just enjoy being together. Had that really been their life—filled with fine dinners and theater tickets? It seemed like a dream. Especially when now the things she cared for most were finding food for her children and keeping them warm.

  A sad smile touched the corners of her lips as she adjusted the sweater over her daughter’s thin frame. Last she’d heard from Mrs. Smidova, a German family had moved into their apartment. What had that family done with all their things? If she’d had time, what would she have packed? Photographs, personal mementos, some of their finer clothes…and once again she thought it careless of her not to have grabbed what jewelry she had as well. Of course, other than the jewelry, none of that would have helped them now. If anything, those things would have just been a burden to carry along.