“Yes, I understand. I do. I am a woman, too,” Siegland said.
“Siegland, what if I never love anyone again? I feel so old, yet in reality, I’m still young.”
“Oh, maybe you will love again. I think so. You need to try to get on with your life. I know it will be hard, but you will have a baby, and you can stay here and be our family for as long as you want to.”
“Siegland, you are so kind, like a mother to me. If I say it a thousand times, I still will not have thanked you enough.” Petra sighed, “Never enough.”
“You could do something for me,” Siegland said.
“Anything.”
“Maybe you could call me Mama?”
“Of course, Mama.”
Chapter 9
A
t about six o’clock in the morning in early May, as Siegland and Klaus slept, Petra’s labor pains began. They started with a light cramping, just enough to nudge Petra awake, letting her know the baby was on its way. She stayed in bed; from what she’d heard about childbirth, it would be hours before the actual delivery, so she decided not to wake the Bruchmeiers yet. Flushed with excitement, fear and anticipation, Petra lay looking out the window at the beginning of the new day. It was still dark outside, with just a flicker of the morning light beginning to illuminate the earth. The large oak trees cast shadows through the glass and across the room. As she gazed at them, she smiled, thinking to herself that today, once again, her life would change forever. Soon she would know if she had a son or a daughter. With Siegland at her side, she had spent hours thinking of names for the child. She still hadn’t decided between Steffi and Astrid for a girl’s name, but if she gave birth to a boy, his name would definitely be Hans, to honor his father. Perhaps she would add middle names for her parents: Brigit for her mother or Eric for her Papa. As the sunlight grew stronger, filtering slowly into the room, her pains came at shorter intervals, and she knew she must awaken the Bruchmeiers so that Klaus could fetch the midwife.
Petra entered the couple’s bedroom and found them snoring softly. She hated to disturb them, but knew she must.
Gently, she stroked Siegland’s shoulder.
“Mama, I think it’s time. The baby is coming.”
Siegland woke immediately and helped Petra back to bed. Then she sat by her side and waited while Klaus dressed swiftly. He ran outside, and hitching the old horse to the cart, he headed over to the home of the woman who would help Petra with childbirth. Klaus had never been an emotional man, but he had grown to care for the young, pregnant girl with the gentle ways and sweet, appreciative smile. Petra warmed his heart, bringing laughter into the house, and he could not help but be happy for all the pleasure she gave to his wife.
When Klaus returned with the midwife, they found Siegland seated beside Petra, holding her hand. The midwife, Rita VanStrom, a woman of more than sixty years, wore a neatly-fitting dark brown dress and her hair in a tight gray bun. With a hard look she sent Klaus out of the room. Next she examined Petra and judged the situation. Her small, sharp eyes checked to see how far Petra had dilated. As a veteran childbirth assistant, she assessed that it would be a while before the baby opened its eyes to survey its new surroundings. Rita VanStrom pursed her thin lips as she studied the girl. Petra’s hips appeared small. That could make for a difficult delivery.
“Siegland, get me a pot of boiled water, several towels, and a needle and thread. If you have alcohol, it would be helpful,” the midwife ordered, taking charge.
It was clear to Siegland that VanStrom was the expert, so she obeyed and gathered the requested items.
For fourteen hours, Petra labored. Lines of perspiration ran down her face as Siegland sat beside her, wiping them away with cool, damp washcloths. Siegland never strayed from Petra’s side, not even for a moment to relieve herself. Her face was pinched with worry as she watched the girl who’d become like a daughter to her suffer. Petra grew weak, but just as she began to sob, afraid she could endure no more, the baby began to crown. The midwife saw by the way that Petra’s breathing had changed that the time had arrived.
“Ready now, when you get the next contraction, you push, understand?” VanStrom directed Petra. She spoke with the confidence of a well-trained general.
Nodding, exhausted, and questioning how she would find the strength to push the baby out, Petra held tight to the towel that Siegland gave her.
“Hold this. Squeeze it and get ready,” Siegland said, perspiration beading on her forehead.
With a wave of pain, the contraction seized Petra. As the gripping agony shot through her, she pushed. Spent at the end of the contraction, she lay back on the bed, her face bathed in a film of sweat.
“Again. Ready? Here it comes,” the midwife instructed.
With all of her strength Petra pushed. A dribble of sweat tickled down her back, and to Petra it felt as if the baby might be the size of a watermelon. The veins on her neck stood out like ropes, and her face turned a deep shade of red. After half an hour of continuous pushing, she gripped Siegland’s hand, “I can’t do this. I think I will die. The baby is not coming, and I don’t know what to do.”
Siegland fought the tears. As she gazed at Petra, she realized how small the girl actually was. Terror came over the older woman as she considered the possibility that Petra might not survive.
A maddening desperation engulfed Petra as the torture of another contraction took hold of her, sending shooting pains, like lighting, through her body. She cried out as she once again began to push. The pressure became overwhelming, and suddenly Petra felt relief as the tender skin of her womanhood tore apart, giving way as the baby came flooding into the world in a sea of blood and fluid. A lusty cry from the lips of the newborn child soon filled the room. Although Petra continued to pant, trying to catch her breath for several moments as the midwife removed the afterbirth and began to sew the tender vaginal skin with a sterilized needle, she forgot her soreness. The baby was here! In a whisper, barely audible, she asked, “What is it - a boy or a girl? Is it healthy? Is it all right?”
The old midwife had responded to that question many more times than she could remember, but she stopped her work for a moment and with a smile she told Petra that she had given birth to a healthy, perfect little boy. At least this time, Rita VanStrom could relax and admit to herself that for a while she’d been worried - afraid that she might lose Petra. But today she delivered good news. Not only was the mother fine but the child was perfect. Often it had fallen to her to inform a mother of an abnormality, or the curse of a stillbirth. After all, she was the first one to see the infant; it was her job. And when bad luck reared its ugly head it was she who was forced to steel herself and listen as the mother cried out, “Why me? Why my child?”
During Petra’s entire labor, poor Daisy had paced outside the room. The mutt knew her family, and she’d felt the tension in the air. Something was going on, but she was not sure what it was. She’d listened closely. For hours she’d heard groaning and grunting that left her filled with worry. But then a strange crying noise, one she’d never heard before, rang through the house. It was followed by quiet laughter and from the sounds of Sieland’s and Petra’s voices the dog knew that whatever had troubled them earlier was over, and it had ended well. Her tail flicked and fluttered as her loyal canine heart sang with elation.
Siegland bathed the baby with care. She lovingly observed the tiny hands and feet as she tenderly washed between his fingers and toes. She kept her touch soft, and ever so careful, as she used a damp washcloth to clean his little bald head. She found herself enraptured by the tiny ears and eyelashes. Finally, after she had wrapped him in a blanket, she handed the infant to his mother. Petra was beaming with joy. Pure bliss radiated from her as she smiled down at the tiny, red, wrinkled infant and then looked back up at Siegland, “He’ll call you Grandma, if that’s all right with you.”
Siegland could not answer for fear that she might cry tears of happiness. Her throat closed and she smiled. Then Siegla
nd marveled at the girl she had come to love like a daughter, and nodded her head.
“You’re tired, sweet child. Sleep. I’ll watch him. Nothing will happen to him while I’m around,” Siegland assured her.
Worn out with the pain and the ordeal of the birth, Petra fell into a deep slumber and slept for nearly five hours.
After Petra awoke and Siegland propped her up with pillows, Siegland dressed the baby in the diapers that she had made and in a little outfit that she had knitted for him. Then she carried him to his mother to nurse. A hearty baby, he instinctively found the nipple, grabbed on and began sucking. Watching his enthusiasm, Petra turned to Siegland and said, “He’s just like his father.” Both women laughed.
“The midwife, she told me that some babies don’t know how. So it takes ‘em longer, but our little fellow, he knows. Look at him…”
The two women laughed again. Then Petra looked down into the tiny face, so small and determined, and she saw that the blood of her Viking ancestors had come through in her offspring. “Yes, he does know, doesn’t he?”
Klaus came in from the fields at noon and gawked at the tiny, vulnerable child. His thick fingers reached into the tiny wooden cradle he had built, and he touched the baby’s palm. With a strong and sure grip, the infant wrapped his perfect little hand around Klaus’ finger and Klaus melted.
Siegland left, and then came back into the room carrying a large tray filled with scrambled eggs, ham and toast. She sat on a chair beside Petra. Asleep in his cradle beside the bed, the little boy with his chubby cheeks and bald head looked like a cherub. After placing the tray on a pillow in front of Petra, Siegland looked into the crib in awe at the wonder of this beautiful child. In silence, so as not to wake him, she touched his cheek with a feather-like finger.
“So, what did you finally decide to call him?”
“Well, I thought Hans for his father and Eric for mine. So, maybe Hans Eric Jorgensen? What do you think?”
“I think, yes, very good. Sounds like that man who is writing the book that you read to us.”
“Oh, you mean Hans Christian Andersen. Yes, I suppose it does have that same ring. I think I like it. Do you?”
“Yeah, I do, but I am also thinking that maybe you should say that you’re Klaus’ brother’s daughter from Poland, and that your future husband is stationed at the Russian front. I mean that’s just in case the Nazis are coming and questioning; then you could use the name of Bruchmeier. We could say that you are planning to be married, but were separated by the war before you got a chance. These things happen.”
“Does Klaus have a brother?”
“He did, but Frederick died ten years ago.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right. It’s been a long time. Besides today we are happy. We have you here with us now. And we will have a good time with the new babe.”
“I could always use Hans’ last name, Kurman. We never got married, but I think it would take a lot to look that up. But if Klaus had a brother, we could say that I am his niece, and I have come to wait for my future husband and have the baby here in the country,” Petra said weighing her options.
“Klaus’ brother lived somewhere in Poland, so this will be perfect. We will say that you came here to live with us while you are waiting for your future husband to come home. Only if we have to say anything - that’s what we will say, eh?”
Petra nodded, “Yes, good - I mean, if it’s all right with you.”
“Yes, of course, I think it’s very good. So maybe he will have the name of Bruchmeier, like he will be my real grandbaby?”
“Yes. Hans Eric Bruchmeier.”
“I like that very, very much,” Siegland beamed.
With trepidation in her every step, Daisy entered the room. She slowly ambled over to Petra’s bedside, unsure of how she would be received. Petra reached down and patted her head. The old dog nuzzled her hand then walked over to look into the cradle. Immediately Daisy loved the new member of the Bruchmeier family. She decided that the baby Hans would be hers and she would raise him like her very own puppy.
That night Petra felt strong enough to get up and walk around. Her bottom was still uncomfortable from the tear and stitches, but otherwise she’d recovered well. Siegland made sure that she sat on a pillow when she came to the living room, where she stayed for a little over an hour. The family watched as Petra covered her breast with a towel and nursed little Hans until he’d gone off into a sweet slumber. Realizing how tired Petra looked, Siegland insisted that she go back to her room and get some rest.
Petra fell into a sound sleep, and for the first several hours the infant remained quiet, but a few minutes before two o’clock, the child awakened with a loud shriek. Petra heard it and woke instantly. Hurriedly, so as not to disturb Siegland or Klaus, Petra picked the baby up and lay him on a small table that Klaus had built for her to use to change him. Her hands shook as she took great care with the large pins that held his diaper. The love she had for the little boy felt stronger than anything she had ever known.
After she’d removed the urine-soaked diaper, she rocked him in her arms as she carried him into the bathroom where she cleaned his bottom with a warm, wet towel. Then she took him back, and powdered and re-diapered him. Fresh and comfortable again in his mother’s arms, little Hans felt his mother carry him to the rocking chair in the living room. Daisy quietly accompanied them. The old dog wanted to be a part of everything that had to do with the baby, and she stayed with the two throughout the night. The room smelled of powder and laundry soap as Petra sat down in the rocker. Then, in the dark, she took the baby to her breast. Reaching down, the new mother kissed her child’s soft head and took in his sweet baby smell. As the infant suckled, she watched the stars flicker, giving light to the night sky and thought how lucky she was that some miracle of God had brought her to these kindhearted, generous people.
Chapter 10
T
he sound of movement in the kitchen alerted Petra. She thought she heard a paper rustle, perhaps a rat. Her heart pounded in her ears in alarm. Going back to the baby’s room, she placed him in his cradle. Still hungry, the infant screamed in protest, so she picked him up again. If in fact she saw a rat scurry across the room, where would she put the baby while she went after it? Certainly not on the floor, and she could not put him on a chair. He might fall off. Again she heard the sound of the paper moving, only louder this time. Frightened that an even larger animal had entered the house, Petra put the baby back in the crib and closed the door to protect him as he cried out. She cringed as the wailing broke through the quiet house. She did not want to become a burden and disturb the family, but she knew that she must go to the kitchen to uncover the cause of the noises.
If a dangerous person or animal had entered, she felt it her responsibility to do what she could to keep them all from harm. The creaking of the front door stopped her cold as she stood listening. Then a thud followed and she realized someone had shut it. Not making a sound, she stood listening with her heart beating in the dark hallway. Someone had entered the house. Did she dare go forward, or should she quiet the child? If the intruder heard little Hans, might he not come and kill him, or kill them all? She felt a drop of milk escape from her nipple and roll down her stomach, and she shivered in response. The baby finally began to quiet down, and she went forward, still keeping out of sight to see who might be in the house. Perhaps carrying a pair of scissors might be a wise idea, but the only pair she knew of was in the sewing table drawer in Siegland’s room, and she did not want to awaken and frighten her. Resigned that she had no weapon and not sure what she would do with one if she did, she went forward with Daisy at her side. Terror struck her as she considered that an intruder might kill the old dog. She had no doubt Daisy would stage as much of an attack as her old body could muster.
When she reached the main room, adjacent to the kitchen, she saw no one, only large packages on the kitchen table. Still hidden behind the wall of the hal
lway, she watched for several minutes, waiting. Nobody came. Curious, she went to the kitchen, but did not turn on a light. Barefoot on the hardwood floor, her feet cold and trembling, she turned the edges of the brown paper that contained the parcels and looked inside. There she stood, aghast, as she uncovered coffee, onions, apples, flour, and fabric. Once again she heard a noise, this time from outside the window. She quickly moved back behind the wall, just as the baby began to wail again. She raced back to the child’s side, picked him up, and held him close to her. She put him against her bare breast, and for a moment he sucked the air as he searched for her nipple. Frantically moving his head about and still crying, the infant demanded that Petra help him. Soothingly, she placed the nipple in his mouth, and as she tenderly stroked his cheek, the baby started to nurse.
Unsure of what she might encounter, this time Petra stayed in the nursery. Somehow she knew what she’d seen should not alarm her, regardless of the fact that the large quantity supplies she’d observed had been forbidden by the Nazis. Peace came over little Hans’ face, and by the light of the moon he looked like an angel as he suckled, making sounds of pure satisfaction.
Petra vaguely wondered where all the forbidden food had come from. What had she just seen? It did not behoove her to entertain these thoughts. She must mind her own business, she thought, as she sat rocking slowly and stroking the baby’s soft, bald head. Perhaps the Bruchmeiers stole and hoarded food. She didn’t care. She just did not want them to be caught. Hiding food from the Germans was considered treason and carried a severe punishment. She could not conceive of what that punishment might be, but from what she’d learned about the Nazis, she had no doubt it would be cruel. So now she knew where Hans disappeared to at night. But the details remained a mystery. The baby’s grip on her bosom released as his little hands opened. He slept. Petra experienced a tingling in her arm from holding him, as she carefully placed him back into his bed, then left to go to her own. For a long time she lay awake, unable to forget what she had seen. She cared so much for this family; she could not bear to think of their suffering. Still, she would not confront Siegland with the question.
A Flicker of Light Page 6
