by Tricia Goyer
Laughter burst from Clark’s lips. “I won’t call you Calamity—unless it’s called for—but I will call you friend.” His voice was husky, full of emotion. “And hopefully someday it can be more…”
They looked at each other and smiled. Amity let off a slight laugh to release the tension, and then they grew silent. Amity felt hopeful and uncertain. She was very aware of his closeness and was thankful for it, and she hoped he was too.
The silence of the night was broken by the sound of voices. Three male voices and a female. They were arguing about something. The woman’s voice carried down the street, and Amity could tell it was Madeline. Even though they couldn’t make out the words, Madeline sounded upset.
Clark stood to his feet. “Should I go check on her?”
Amity rose, standing by his side. She watched the small group who stood just beyond the light of the streetlamp. Amity was about to encourage Clark to go check on her friend, but Madeline broke away from the huddle of men and hurried toward them. The older woman was halfway down the street when she noticed them on the steps and slowed her stride. Amity watched the men hurry away in the opposite direction. One of them seemed to have the stride and cadence of Emil, but she couldn’t be certain.
“Madeline, is everything all right?” Amity called out.
Instead of answering, Madeline motioned for them to go inside the apartment. It was only after they’d all removed their coats and were seated at the small kitchen table that she dared to speak.
Madeline’s hands quivered as she placed them on the table. She moved them to her lap.
“I am sorry you saw that. My friends sometimes are fools. Everyone knows that our city soon will be under German control, but many of us believe differently how we should handle things. Some people want to fight…” The clock in the other room struck the hour, but Madeline stayed silent.
“And you?” Clark finally asked.
Madeline shrugged. “We have a saying—‘Kdo nemá v hlavē, musí míti v nohou.’ Basically it means, ‘Who falls short in the head must be long in the heels.’ I’d rather think things through. I don’t believe it will be too hard to outthink the Germans. We won’t be able to stand up to them with weapons, that is for certain, but not every idea is one we have to pursue.”
Madeline rose and began to heat water in a teakettle on the stove. She opened a tin from the windowsill, and the aroma of herbs wafted through the room. “Would anyone like chamomile tea? I know it will help me sleep tonight.”
Amity moved to the cupboard for teacups. “Yes, please. Clark?”
He nodded and then focused on Madeline. “If there is any way I can help…”
She fixed her gaze on him and nodded once. A look passed between them. Did Madeline have something in mind? Amity wouldn’t guess, wouldn’t ask. She had enough worries just thinking about the upcoming transport and all the children who needed a way out.
Amity placed the teacups on the table, and she noticed Clark’s eyes were fixed on the painting on the wall. It was an image of a snow-covered Charles Bridge with patrons walking on it and peasant men pulling heavily loaded carts through the snow. A solemn statue of a saint, with lifted hand and snow-brushed shoulders, appeared to be praying a blessing over those who passed. And in the forefront of the painting, a young boy walked with hands in pockets and scarf blowing behind him. His head was turned, and he looked ahead as if looking into the kitchen where they sat, hungry for its warmth.
Clark studied the boy and then pulled out his notebook again and started writing. Amity noticed that something about this place brought him to life. The pain, the heartache, the desperation…she supposed these had a way of making one realize the contrast between powerlessness and power, and one’s need to find a place in the struggle between the two.
TWENTY-THREE
Prague, Czechoslovakia
Monday, February 20, 1938
Pavla told herself she wouldn’t cry again in Radek’s presence. After caring for her family for two months, he was weary from her tears, but she had not been able to keep her word.
They had traveled overnight from Brno to a village just outside of Prague. Pavla had had no intention of staying two months with the farmer’s family, but events had transpired to keep her and her children there. After Klára recovered, Ondřej became ill, and then she had too. Their saving grace had been the money Abram had left them. The money had helped pay for all their expenses, and she had been able to give a little more to Radek and Emílie for their trouble.
Thankfully, whatever illness her family had didn’t spread to Radek, Emílie, and their seven-year-old daughter, Jana. Emílie believed the illness had come from their hearts more than their bodies. She’d claimed that once in a safe place, their bodies, minds, and souls finally had a chance to grieve. Pavla had nodded as Emílie explained, but she believed that their illness had come for a different purpose. It had kept them there, surrounded by a different kind of faith than she’d known before.
Even though Radek and Emílie had no idea they were being watched, Pavla had witnessed what it was like to be a Christian. She’d listened as Radek read Bible stories to little Jana at night. And for the first time, Pavla, Ondřej, and Klára had celebrated Christmas.
Hearing the story of the baby Jesus born to the virgin Mary had filled Pavla’s heart with joy and her mind with questions. She’d been told her whole life that what the Christians believed was a lie, spread by Christ’s followers who did not want to admit they’d followed a madman. Growing up, her parents had spoken of how Christians had persecuted Jews throughout history. And as they escaped Olomouc in the night, she believed that was happening again. Yet what had been done to their home, their business, and their family should in no way be linked to Christians, she realized now. Hitler’s dictates had come from his own evil heart.
What Pavla had seen from Radek and Emílie was different. They were not perfect. They still grew angry and often fought, yet they had welcomed three strangers into their home. They shared what little they had. They loved when it was not required. Seeing this love in action touched her heart and stirred her soul, wanting to understand this Jesus they served.
Pavla and her children were well enough to make it to the refugee center, but tears had filled her eyes when she didn’t find the help she had hoped for. They’d walked up the wide steps of the former municipal building, and a weary-looking woman had been standing at the front door. She had a toddler on one hip and a baby on the other. They clung to her, and the woman, thin and frail, bounced softly side to side, attempting to sooth their soft whimpers.
“Where have you come from?” she asked, seeing Pavla, Ondřej, and Klára with the small carpetbag standing on the threshold.
“We are Jews from Olomouc,” Pavla had explained, touching the band on her finger. She balled her left hand into a fist and felt the rubies against her palm. “My husband and his parents were killed in November. We fled for our own lives, but we’ve been sick on the journey, so we stayed in Brno for a time.” Pavla had forced a smile. “But I hear there is a place for us here. I have also heard they are setting up transports for children—so they can escape to England.”
Pavla had shivered in the doorway, wishing the woman would let them in so they didn’t have to talk in the cold. She glanced back at Radek, who was still waiting with his oxcart with more of their things. She knew he was tired and cold and just wanted to get home, but she held up one finger to wait just a moment. Frustration was clear on his face, and that’s when her tears had come. Would things be like this for the rest of her life? Would she always be dependent on the kindness of strangers and begging for someone to listen to their plight?
Pavla turned back to the woman, and the cries of the two little ones in her arms increased—probably from the cold coming in through the open door. The woman called to someone, and a girl who looked to be about twelve years old came and took the two little ones from her arms. Still the woman did not let Pavla and her children inside.
> “Yes, there are transports,” the woman said in frustration, tucking her thin sweater tighter around her. “A small flight of twenty children left in January. Another—a train with a few hundred children—leaves a few days from now, but there is no way you will be able to get your children on the list.”
Emotion knotted in Pavla’s throat. She placed one hand on Ondřej’s shoulder and another on Klára’s, wishing that she’d left them back in the cart. Wishing they had not heard this. Pavla leaned closer to the woman. “Why did you say there is no way for my children to get on the train?”
“The list is long.” The woman frowned and spoke in her normal volume, seemingly unconcerned if Pavla’s children overheard. “There are hundreds of children already on the list. You cannot begin to understand…” The woman threw her hands up in the air. “It is taking too long.” Her voice quivered. She placed her hand on the door as if she were about to shut it. “You listen to the radio, don’t you? Hitler is preparing even now to invade our country. And then what? What will happen to all of us?” The woman sighed. “We’ve been here waiting, pleading, and you think you simply can waltz in here and get on the list?”
Pavla wanted to drop her head. She wanted to apologize for bothering the woman. She wanted to turn and walk away, but instead she lifted her chin and focused on the woman’s eyes.
“But there is a list, correct? Then I will try to get my children’s names on it until they kick me out the door. If you let us in, we won’t be a burden. I simply need to know where to go. What do I do to get my children on the list? Even if it’s at the end, with a thousand names before them, I want my children on that list. Who do I talk to?”
The woman shook her head. “You do not understand. We have been waiting here for months.” She ran a hand down her pale face. “There are so many hurdles. Every week new decrees, more documents required. It seems as if nobody knows what’s happening. Some mothers have given up.”
“Given up? But we’re trying to save our children’s lives.”
The woman said nothing but instead looked off in the distance, almost as if she could read the future in the clouds. “I said that some have given up, but not me. I will stand in as many lines as possible. At least my children are on a list.”
Pavla jutted out her chin. “Tomorrow I will find a line to stand in.”
The woman nodded, but it was obvious she had no hope for Pavla or her children. She barely had enough hope for herself.
Pavla dared to take a step closer to the door. “And tonight…can I stay here?” She knew what she needed—a place to stay and information. And from the hollow look on the woman’s face, Pavla also knew what the woman needed—food.
“I do not come empty-handed. I have…uh…purchased some supplies. Things I thought we would need as we wait.” She lifted up her carpetbag. “There is food in here, and there are two small suitcases in the back of the oxcart with a few more things.” She leaned close to the woman, as if sharing a secret. “I have a loaf of bread, baked just yesterday, and my friend gave me plum jam as a parting gift.”
“Plum jam?” The woman whispered the words, and her face brightened. She took a step back, making the space between her and the door wide enough to pass. “We do not have much to share. We do try to help each other. I will be willing to share my bed and blankets with you and your children—at least until you have time to go into Prague and check on those lists.”
“Thank you.” Pavla released the breath she’d been holding. “That is just what we need. Thank you.” Then she placed her hands on Ondřej’s and Klára’s backs. “Take my carpetbag and go inside. I’ll be right in.”
Klára didn’t hesitate. Hearing the voices of other children, she ran right in. Ondřej, on the other hand, hung back and hesitated.
“It’s all right, my son, just step inside. I will be right there.”
He looked up at her, fear filling his eyes. Suddenly she knew why. Ondřej had heard them talking. He now knew she would not be joining them to the end of their journey.
“Please, Ondřej,” she urged again. “I just need to go get our things.”
He nodded and stepped inside the door, carpetbag in hand, watching her every move.
She hurried down the steps to the oxcart. Seeing her approach, Radek pulled the two small suitcases from the back. They were light, but Pavla was thankful for the clothes Emílie had passed down for her children and the few things she’d purchased at the store for Pavla—things the children would need for their journey.
With a suitcase in each hand, Pavla lifted her chin to look into Radek’s face. She was surprised to see tears in his eyes.
“Thank you—both you and Emílie—for all that you have done for us. We would not have made it this far if it hadn’t been for you.”
Radek nodded. “We will continue to pray. We will continue to hope that you find safety.” He swallowed hard and looked up at the open doorway. “Ondřej is going to be a fine young man,” he said with emotion, and Pavla knew he was thinking of his own lost son.
“This world is full of pain…” Her words came, and she didn’t know what she meant by them except to acknowledge that even though she and her children were the ones in hiding, he, too, had experienced great loss.
“And there will be a day in eternity when the pain will be no more.” His voice was gruff. “There will be a moment when our last tear will be wiped from our eye…or at least that’s what my grandmother used to tell me. She would sing hymns about a place Christ is creating for His people. And on days like today I hold on to that truth.”
“Yes,” Pavla said, for the first time realizing she did really hope that was the case. “Yes, I want to hold on to that as well.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Prague, Czechoslovakia
Wednesday, February 22, 1938
Pavla dressed deliberately for the occasion. She did her best to smooth the wrinkles from her best dress, yet when she put it on she was disappointed by how it hung on her frame. With gentle strokes she brushed out her thick brown hair and pinned it up on the sides. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, but it did little good. Her cheekbones protruded, and her face looked pasty white. Her reflection reminded her of her aunt who had stomach problems and whose body couldn’t absorb nutrition. She smiled again and pinched her cheeks, but it did little good to give her enough color.
Since a child, she’d always been considered bright and charming by those who’d known her. Her mother said she’d been quick to laugh, but now Pavla looked at the shadow of her former self and told herself not to cry. With a sigh of resignation, she turned each cheek carefully to the mirror to ensure not a hair was out of place. Her stomach balled in knots. The lives of her children depended on her performance today.
Two hours later, Pavla strode up to the woman as the desk inside the municipal building, head held high, and placed the two small suitcases at her feet. Ondřej did the same with the carpetbag, placing it right before him.
The young woman’s hair was swept up into a loose chignon, a beautiful reddish brown. Her skin looked pink and healthy, and for a moment Pavla looked at her and wished she could be as beautiful again.
The woman’s head remained down as she frantically scribbled notes on a paper. Ondřej glanced up at Pavla. Questions filled his gaze. Why has this woman not acknowledged us yet? his look seemed to say.
Pavla patted his head, offering reassurance. Then she brushed her fingers through his dark, unruly curls. He needed a haircut, but that was the least of her worries now.
Ondřej fidgeted nervously while Klára stood on Pavla’s other side and sucked her thumb. Any other time, Pavla would have scolded the girl, telling her to pull her thumb from her mouth in public, but not today.
The young woman looked up from the desk, weariness heavy on her face. Then she smiled. It was a warm, reassuring smile—one that put Pavla’s heart at ease.
The woman said something in English, words Pavla didn’t understand. Then her voice rose, and
she called to a man across the room. He approached, rubbing his brow. He was a young man, handsome too. He seemed to be even more relaxed and happier than the woman, and Pavla wondered what could make him so happy in a place like this—a place where mothers had to make plans to be separated from their children.
“I am Emil.”
She sighed a sigh of relief when he spoke to her in Czech.
“I’m sorry, my friend only speaks English, and she is trying to finish up travel arrangements in the next hour. How can I help you? Did you receive one of our telegrams about the transport?”
For a split second, Pavla considered lying and stating that she had indeed received a telegram. Would that get her children on a transport out of the country sooner? But no, she couldn’t do that. Instead, she gave the man what she hoped was her brightest smile and told the truth.
“Yes, Emil. I have come to put my children on a list for transport. I hear there are those who are caring for them in England.”
He shook his head. In an instant the smile turned to a frown. Sadness filled his gaze. “I am sorry. Our list is full. There are more children than sponsors. We have been turning people away for the past two days. I am not even certain how you were able to get inside. I told Marek to keep everyone away except those who are on an upcoming transport.”
By prayer, she wanted to say. By hope and determination. That is how I got inside. “I understand there is no room.” She clasped her hands in front of her, fingering her ring with her thumb. All morning she’d been planning and preparing for what she might have to do.
He raked a hand through his hair, and Pavla knew he was about to dismiss her, so she hurried ahead with her words. “But my husband was a shopkeeper in Olomouc. We had a very nice place. Yes, you understand? I will do whatever it takes to save my children.” Pavla’s voice quivered, and she told herself to remain strong. She fingered her ring again.
