A Daring Escape

by Tricia Goyer

  “Klára?” she asked.

  “With Madeline. She’s fine. Madeline is as good at playing paper dolls as she is taking a good shot.” He swept his hand around the room. “Madeline’s been caring for you too.”

  “I’m thankful.” Pavla smiled weakly. “What time is it?”

  “It’s nine in the morning, and you’ve been a sleep for nearly twenty hours. A doctor checked on you. He claims that with good food and rest, you’ll make a full recovery.”

  “Oh, yes, and I am certain that’s exactly what I’ll be able to get now that the Germans are here. They will take care of it all, right?”

  She eased herself back under the blanket, tucking the pillow under her cheek. “I know, I should be grateful…” Pavla’s words traveled off.

  “You are safe here. You do not have to worry. More than that, your children are safe, Pavla.”

  He said her name so tenderly that tears came upon hearing it. They came softly at first, but then grew in volume. She should be ashamed of these tears, but she wasn’t. She cried until sweet sleep threatened to engulf her again. The pillow under her head made her feel like a real person, and she snuggled down deeper. She drifted off knowing Emil was in the room, and that too gave her comfort.

  Amity looked down at the little girl’s file that she’d spread upon her bed, flipping through the pages one last time. In one last act of decency, Marek had given Madeline the file before he fled into the night. The child would be on the next transport, but what about the mother?

  Amity scanned a second file she’d laid out before her. Maruška Tesařová died on Easter morning, knowing that her only son, Michal Tesař, had made it to safety, into the arms of a new family in England. She also died with an exit visit already stamped and ready to go. The only problem was the photo. The slight pixie of a woman looked nothing like the refugee that Amity wanted to get on the next transport.

  A shiver ran down Amity’s spine as she remembered Kriminalrat Boemmelburg’s words, “There have been quite a few Americans who have disappeared within this city in the last few months. It’s so hard to keep track of them.” She knew what would happen if she was caught trying to sneak out one Jew on another’s paperwork.

  Her mind also flashed back to Clark’s words as he peered into the dark waters of the Vltava River. “I imagine if someone weighed down a body and tossed it over the edge, it never would be seen again, would it?”

  Should I do it? Should I use Maruška’s paperwork for Pavla? Is it worth the risk?

  She thought of a story she had heard since staying in the Czech capital. Václav Wenceslas—whom Wenceslas Square was named after—was a devout Christian, hated by the pagan nobility because of his kindness to the poor. He was murdered by his brother and became Bohemia’s first martyr. Good King Wenceslas, he was called. It was a Christmas carol she knew even from the States.

  She remembered her mother singing it as she decorated the home with evergreen boughs and poinsettias. When she asked about it, her mother said it’s a song about a Bohemian king who went on a journey during harsh winter weather to give alms to a poor peasant on the Second Day of Christmas. During the journey, the king’s page struggled to keep up, but he was able to continue by following the king’s footprints step by step through the deep snow. Amity softly sang the words.

  “Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger;

  Fails my heart, I know not how; I can go no longer.”

  “Mark my footsteps, good my page. Tread thou in them boldly.

  Thou shalt find the winter’s rage freeze thy blood less coldly.”

  In his master’s steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted;

  Heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed.

  Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing,

  Ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing.

  Why was she thinking of that now? She knew the reason. It was the answer to her prayer. She knew what God was asking of her. It wasn’t just a matter of courage. Instead, it was about sacrifice, should it come to that.

  What she had to face was something she could not stand up against on her own. The night was too dark. The obstacles too surmounting, yet only one thing was required of her—to walk in the Master’s steps and to bless the poor. Or in this case, to bless one poor soul whose life depended on the decisions that Amity would make over the next few days.

  Amity put the files on the nightstand, turned off the light, and snuggled under the sheets. She was but a page, stepping in her Master’s footsteps. She was but a defenseless pope, standing against a merciless Hun.

  She lay in the dark and listened as Madeline’s old Chesterfield clock chimed from the downstairs hall. There wasn’t anyone else awake in the apartment, and even the streets outside seemed strangely quiet. The German patrols that rumbled through the streets in their armored vehicles or walked in groups of two or three were obviously occupied elsewhere.

  Another quarter hour passed and then another. Would she be able to sleep tonight? She didn’t know how she could. If things didn’t go well tomorrow, tonight would be her last night of freedom.

  She sat up and pushed back the covers. Her legs moved over the edge of the high bed, and it took a moment for her feet to find the floor. She ignored her slippers and bathrobe, and instead walked to the window. She placed her fingertips to the window, sensing the cold of the night slip through the glass. Regardless of what the next few days brought, she knew she had done everything God had asked her to do, and because she had been obedient to His call, lives had been saved.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Prague, Czechoslovakia

  Tuesday, April 11, 1939

  With quickened steps Amity strode into Kriminalrat Boemmelburg’s office. The man sat behind the desk and didn’t rise. He was also missing the familiar grin she had been accustomed to. He didn’t motion to the chair either, so Amity remained standing.

  Boemmelburg wasted no time in telling her the reason that he’d sent for her.

  “I’ve learned that one of the leaders of your last transport was someone who escaped illegally.”

  Fear seized her, and Amity took a breath, not knowing how to answer except by telling the truth.

  “I am so sorry. It was a mistake on my part. It is just that some of these mothers and fathers came to me in such a state of desperation.” Her hands began to tremble. “I made a mistake, but I promise not to do it again. I am trying to help the children, but sometimes I wonder why I have taken on this job.”

  Boemmelburg’s scowl softened. “People have used you, and I am sorry for that. But from now on it is absolutely forbidden for any adult to leave the country without a special Ausreisebewilligung.”

  “An exit permit. Yes, that makes perfect sense. Does that include me, sir?”

  His gaze quickly flicked up at her. “Are you leaving us now?” She nodded. “I am sorry. I do not have a choice.” Amity quickly looked for an excuse he would understand, and again she decided simply to tell the truth. “As you can see, the pressure has become too great. In order to leave with my honor intact, I must return to England.” Her chest filled with emotion, and she guessed he had no idea how hard it was to say those words. But deep down she knew her time had come. She was no longer safe. As hard as it was, there would be others in London who still needed her help.

  She placed her exit permit before him and was surprised by how quickly he stamped it.

  Then he scanned the list of other names before him. “What about others? Do any of them need exit permits?”

  “Only one.” Amity urged her heart to stop its wild pounding, but it did no good. “A mother, traveling with her child. Maruška Tesařová—she was unable to make the last transport because she was ill.”

  “And she is better now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Boemmelburg continued to flip through the list “And she is Jewish?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And the ch
ild, Jewish also?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Finally, after she’d answered all his questions, he lifted his eyes to her, removed his reading glasses, and smiled.

  “You are right to get out now while you can, and you must continue to be careful, even in London. A beautiful young woman like you—people will try to take advantage of you.” He sighed. “And remember, we Nazis will care for the Aryan children. You have no need to worry about them.”

  “I will try to be more careful—both here and in London. I appreciate your concern.”

  “Thank you for being honest. There are so few people I can trust these days. It makes my job so much harder, as I am sure you understand.”

  Without hesitation he stamped the remaining exit papers and handed back the list of children for transport. On the top was Maruška’s exit document, stamped and ready for her to board.

  Pavla walked up to the train platform. A few days ago she would have considered this to be the scariest thing she had ever done, but after what she’d experienced with the German agent, she realized that carrying false documents took second place. Her head spun. Her heart raced.

  Emil, who walked beside her, touched her arm. “Pavla, whatever you do, you can’t let them see your fear. Pretend you do not have a care in the world. Pretend you have nothing to hide.”

  She had used that technique just days ago with that horrible German, but now she questioned whether she had enough strength to do it again. Yet Pavla knew she had to try. If the train attendants saw the slightest sign of fear, they’d look too closely at her paperwork, and she couldn’t have that. Not only did her life depend on it, but Amity’s did too. And then there were the two hundred children who filled the train to consider, including her sweet Klára.

  Without another word, Emil walked away to help the children, and Pavla didn’t look back. She moved ahead to the first-class car. They had made these arrangements to give her as much space between herself and the children as possible in case something went wrong.

  Even as she walked, she knew that somewhere on this platform, Amity was helping load children onto the train for the last time. She had no choice but to head back to London now. There were too many people scrutinizing her every move.

  Pavla walked with light steps toward the train, telling herself she wasn’t walking to a train platform. Instead, she was walking to a party, and Abram was waiting for her inside. She was wearing a fine dress that they’d had designed and sewn just for her at the local dress shop. The children were home with their grandparents, and when the party was over they’d hurry home and place kisses upon their heads.

  Only after she made it onto the train…only after she exited Czechoslovakia and made it all the way through Germany…only then would she let the truth seep in. She couldn’t embrace the reality that she was leaving her home country and all the memories of her life with her husband for good. Not now. Not yet.

  A steward approached and offered her a smile. “Miss, may I take your baggage?”

  “Yes, thank you, sir.” She smiled as she handed over a small suitcase that Madeline had given her.

  After passing over the suitcase, Pavla straightened her traveling jacket and readjusted her purse on her arm, and then she continued forward. Eyes watched her, but this time for a different reason. They wondered how a Jew walked with such confidence, and maybe they realized it was because she was leaving this new German protectorate for good.

  Pavla settled into the fine crushed-velvet chair and prepared for the long journey, but it was two hours later when her acting skills were truly put to the test.

  When the train stopped at the border, two Secret Service operatives in black uniforms with skull and crossbones on their hats, members of the Secret Service Death’s Head Brigade, climbed onto the train, asking for documents.

  Her spirits sank. If anyone would be able to see beyond her charade, it would be these men. With a smile, she turned over her passport, her Gestapo permit, and her tickets.

  “How did you get the exit permit?” one soldier asked.

  She cocked an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. Then, seeing that she caught his interest, Pavla forced a shy smile. “If you have any questions, why don’t you call your headquarters in Prague and they will tell you?”

  “Why isn’t your age on this card? Just your name and passport number?”

  Pavla folded her eyebrows into a frown. “I’m not sure.” She tipped her head. “But if you must know, I am thirty.”

  “And why are you in first-class?”

  She shrugged. “Again, I have no answers, but if you call the headquarters in Prague, they will tell you.”

  The guards said nothing else. Instead, they just collected the documents and walked back out.

  Pavla prayed with their every step and held her breath. Maybe they would just take her, not realizing her connection with the children.

  Yet as she watched, the men got halfway to the station, then turned around and came back to the train.

  “Heil Hitler. We wish you a pleasant trip,” the guard said, tossing the documents onto her lap.

  Amity had never heard such a ruckus of excited, eager children in all her days of traveling, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Part of her rejoiced with the children. They would soon be safe. They would soon be able to be children again. Yet she mourned all those left behind. Although Madeline and others promised to keep working on the transports, Amity wondered how many more children they’d be able to transport to safety. Too few. Always too few.

  She thought about the morning she’d awoken and had known the time for her to leave had come. It was a gentle knowing, a peace from God that His work with her in Czechoslovakia was done. What she wished she could have done for all, she’d at least been able to do for some. The battles weren’t over yet, but she was released from this fight—at least on this side of the transports.

  Now she had watched out the window when the train had stopped at the German border. Secret Security officers entered the train and checked all their passports. She tensed as they checked Emil’s paperwork, who was sitting next to her. His smile put the officers at ease, and Amity released the breath she’d been holding when the officers also exited first-class and waved the train on.

  When they crossed into Germany, the excited chatter faded, and fear was clear on the faces of the children. What atrocities had they already seen committed by the Germans? What nightmares invaded their sleep at night?

  The muffled cries of one young woman carried through their train car, but soon a soft humming took its place, and then—nearly as one—the children’s voices rose in song.

  “What is that? What are they singing?” Amity asked Emil. She had used his real name and almost his real age. The Emil on the exit paperwork was four years old, while this Emil was twenty-four…a clerical error, of course. She just hoped that Boemmelburg didn’t figure it out. At least the security guards hadn’t.

  “The children are singing our country’s national anthem—or at least it was.”

  “The words,” she asked. “What do they mean?”

  He hummed along and then translated.

  Where is my home, where is my homeland?

  Water roars across the meadows,

  Pinewoods rustle among crags,

  The garden is glorious with spring blossom,

  Paradise on earth it is to see.

  And this is that beautiful land,

  The Czech land, my home,

  The Czech land, my home!

  Where is my homeland? The question caused Amity’s heart to ache. They all would have a different homeland now.

  Many hours later, after going from train to ship and crossing the English Channel, the children stood on the deck, waiting for the ship to drop anchor, the yellow lights of the ship casting an eerie glow on them. Ghost children.

  The words of the song sung on the train had filled her mind. The cold sea air hit her, and a shiver ran down her spine. The past lives of the chi
ldren were dead. Even if they were again united with their parents, the old lives they had were forever gone.

  The sea gulls’ cries echoed over the water, causing Amity’s soul to ache. Just last year at this time these children were running through gardens, chasing butterflies, rolling in the dirt. They had sticky fingers and smiling faces from their mother’s treats. Wrestling before bath time with giggles and laughter. But now they had turned into small adults. They had to be responsible. They had to be subdued. Amity still heard their parents’ translated pleas in her ears. “Be a good little boy. Be a good little girl. Obey. See, this nice lady will take care of you.”

  Whispered secrets had replaced their shouts of glee, but hopefully not for long. New families would be forming, new memories made.

  Amity wanted to say goodbye to Emil, Pavla, and Klára on the ship. Instead of catching the train to London, they would be taking a different train to the countryside, where one of the artists Emil had saved had offered up her summer home for Pavla and her children to use as long as needed. Once they arrived they would send for Ondřej, who was certain to be thrilled to be reunited with them.

  As their ship neared the shore, Amity couldn’t help but pull Pavla into a large embrace. She considered asking Emil to translate a goodbye but then changed her mind. She did not need to tell Pavla how much she believed that God would give her a good future. God had already saved Pavla and her children.

  Then, after she stepped back from Pavla’s embrace, Amity bent down so she could look into Klára’s smiling eyes. The salty sea air caused the girl’s light hair to flutter around her cheeks, and Amity was certain she’d never seen such a look of joy.

  Klára was on a ship, with her mother at her side. Few other children had been so lucky, and soon this small girl would be reunited with her brother. It truly was an answer to prayer.