“These three are the Rittgarn siblings, Hans, Gretel, and Lina, from Köln, who came to stay until their relatives can be located. They’re six, four, and one.” While Gretel clutched Frau Ziemer’s skirt, the little one looked up at Heidi with huge blue eyes.
“Baby Sabine’s inside napping, and these three are Willi, Bernhard, and Bernd.”
Heidi laced her fingers together so she wouldn’t snatch up little Lina and scare the poor tot. Sewing may have kept her hands busy without Erich, but her heart needed a reason to live, and here were eight lovely reasons.
Before Frau Ziemer could say more, Christobel marched up to Heidi. Arms akimbo, she demanded, “Are you going to play with us?”
“I sure am, sweetie.”
“What are you going to play with? We don’t have any toys.”
And none were available in stores anymore. The Steinhorsts had stored all their childhood toys at their grandparents’ home before their American sojourn. Too bad the stuffed animals, her dolls and Gretchen’s, their tea party dishes, and Konrad’s cars and trucks were all gone. Grandma had given them away to children who had lost everything in the bombings. Nothing remained for these children.
“We’ll play games.” All that came to mind was Duck, Duck, Goose. Maybe the birthday party games she’d helped a neighbor with in Milwaukee. Pin the tail on a donkey. Drop a clothespin in a bottle. They’d improvise.
“I don’t want to play house.” The young boy with the cowlick, Willi, looked mutinous. Keeping him entertained wouldn’t be easy.
More possibilities presented themselves. Hide and seek. A scavenger hunt. These children had lost so much, but she could still help them have fun. She eyed Christobel. “You look like you’ve been tumbling in the grass.”
Christobel cast a guilty glance at Frau Ziemer as she brushed at her sleeve.
“I’ll bet you can run fast. Are you faster than the boys?”
In short order, the older children were racing across the yard to a towering pine tree.
Shrill cries echoed through the house. Heidi bolted upright and gazed around an unfamiliar room in gloomy darkness. Oh, right, Bickenbach. She jumped from her bed and rushed down the hall.
Frau Ziemer sat on the bed holding a sobbing four-year-old Gretel, one of the Rittgarn siblings. Her brother lay huddled with his pillow over his head. Heidi knelt beside him and rubbed his back before lifting tiny Lina from the crib where she stared unblinking at her sister. The toddler cuddled for a moment, looked back at her sister, and pointed to the window.
“Is your sister reminding you of the air raids? We’ll go outside if that makes you feel better.”
Heidi stopped for her robe and headed out the door. Outside, millions of stars twinkled overhead in the still, clear night. She shivered as the cool air wrapped around her. Pointing up, she said, “See the pretty stars, Lina?”
The small girl looked skyward for just a moment before returning a solemn gaze to Heidi. Finally, she spoke. “Mama?”
“Oh, liebchen.” Heidi hugged her close. How could she explain to such a young child that Mama died in the bombings and was never coming back? That her papa disappeared in battle before she was born? What was to become of these precious children, and so many other homeless orphans, if no relatives could be found?
Tears threatened to spill. The Allies seemed determined to destroy Germany. Indulging in anger would be easy, but Germany started this war. No! That’s not true. Those Nazis started this war. This is all their fault. They killed my husband. They’re destroying Germany. They’re making us a scourge among the nations. My life would be perfect without them.
The National Socialists detested the moniker ‘Nazi,’ and uttering the epithet was a serious offense. What a pleasure to use it in her thoughts.
Heaping the blame at the Nazis’ feet was fine, but the Allies would say she didn’t go far enough. Back in Hagen, she and Papa had secretly listened to the BBC on their radio. It was the only way to learn accurate news. Such an act could have them sent to a concentration camp if discovered, but they exercised great care, always spinning the dial afterwards so no one could tell what they’d been listening to.
An Englishwoman had vented her rage at Germany. The interviewer suggested the Nazis were to blame rather than all Germans, but the woman retorted, “And who voted them into power? If they’ve changed their minds, why don’t the Germans get rid of the blokes?”
Heidi shook her head. How can a boulder be stopped once it’s rolling downhill, flattening everything in its path? But did the Allies behave any better than the Nazis? They were trying to wipe Germany off the map. The Americans might claim to bomb only military targets during daylight raids, but so much else was destroyed in the process. The British didn’t even pretend to discriminate.
At least Germany wasn’t trying to destroy England. Oh, no? The Englishwoman had ranted about the destruction of her city. Coventry, was it? She’d said the Germans had bombed it into oblivion just for the fun of it. Well, that certainly had to be an exaggeration.
Heidi jerked her head up. What had her American friend Rachel written after the war started? Germany attacked Poland without warning and slaughtered men, women, and children. Her horror shouted at Heidi from the page. Rachel had pleaded with her to get out of Germany while she could.
Maybe the Allies had taken a lesson from the Germans and were doing unto the Germans as the Germans had done unto others. She shivered, and not from the cold. Where was the German military now while the Allies bombed their cities into dust and rubble? All the news reports claimed victory would soon be theirs. The evidence raining down from the skies pointed to the contrary. The Allies wouldn’t stop until Germany surrendered, and that word didn’t seem to be in the Nazi vocabulary.
She eased into the tree swing, and settled the toddler, now asleep, on her shoulder. The little innocent had already lost so much. What was to become of them all? A tear slipped down her cheek. Overhead, the stars beckoned. What was that verse she’d memorized in Milwaukee, a favorite of Rachel’s husband? “I trust in thee, O Lord. Thou art my God. My times are in thy hand.” If not for that assurance in these dark days, they would have no hope for the future.
Chapter Seven
Central Florida
Saturday, September 11, 1943
How many grapefruit, lemon, and orange groves had they passed? Paul, classmate Vern Loch, and Vern’s girl, Betty, sat in the front seat of Betty’s brother’s nearly-new cherry red Chrysler Windsor convertible. Chet, Livvy, and Libby squeezed together in the back seat.
Paul ran a hand along the doorframe. What a sharp car this was. Top of the line, and Betty’s brother didn’t get to enjoy it, having been shipped out to the Pacific.
With the weekend before them, the girls wanted to show them more of Florida than the southern tip. They pooled their gas ration coupons and had a reasonably good spare tire in the trunk. They’d been driving north for hours. Much longer and Paul’s legs would go on strike. Betty had said their destination was about two hundred miles away.
Beside him, Vern shifted restlessly. “I keep reminding myself that combat missions can last up to ten hours. This trip is what, four or five hours?”
“This is far better than the train trips we’ve had to endure, crisscrossing the country to all the different training spots. I sometimes get the impression the army tries to send us to the furthest camp possible.” Chet’s feet disturbed Paul’s seat when he shifted.
Paul laughed. “I guess that means we can plan on heading for Idaho after graduation for crew assignment.”
Chet and Vern groaned. Betty laughed and patted Vern’s knee. “Poor babies. But guess what? Here we are at Lake Wales for our first stop.”
Looming over the town stood the Bok Singing Tower. The grounds around it featured profuse flowers and a reflecting pool. Serenity blanketed the park.
“We got here just in time.” Livvy walked beside Paul on the paths. “The carillon bells play briefly every half hour, but at o
ne and at three, they offer a concert. It’s almost one.”
As if on cue, a melody began. “Faith of Our Fathers.” Paul hummed along. They sat down on a bench beside the pool. The notes tingled in the air, a taste of heaven’s music. If only Rachel sat beside him. The song ended and “This Is My Father’s World” began.
In hushed tones, Livvy explained the park. “The tower was dedicated in 1929, the gift of a Pulitzer Prize-winning Dutch author and immigrant, Edward Bok, who advocated world peace.”
“World peace. Now there’s a pipe dream.” Paul stretched out his legs, leaned back, and crossed his arms. “Our Father’s world will never know peace. Somewhere, someone will be fighting. Look at the last war, the war to end all wars. Yet here we are, two decades later, in a worse calamity. We won’t know real peace until we get to heaven.”
Rachel was already enjoying it. She wouldn’t care to come back to this war-torn planet. Every day she must be hearing angels sing.
He watched the tower’s reflection ripple in the pool. “Do you believe people in heaven can watch us?”
Livvy was slow in answering. “When my husband’s sister gave birth to a son in June, she named him Richard, after my husband. And his mother approved, saying Dick is smiling down at us. That’s a nice image.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t think he can see us?”
Paul shifted to sit up straight. “What if Baby Richard was stillborn or deformed somehow? Would Dick still have smiled? In heaven, we’ll experience no more pain or sorrow or crying. Sure, there’s lots of beauty and happiness here, but you can’t look at earth without seeing all the hurtful stuff.”
He rose, offered a hand to help Livvy up, and they continued walking. “No, I don’t think people in heaven see us. I don’t think they even remember us. They are so filled with the glory of the Lord. A verse in Peter’s epistle says with the Lord, a thousand years are like a day and a day is like a thousand years. It must be like that for Rachel and Dick and everyone else. They don’t miss us. We’ll get to heaven and they’ll say, ‘Oh, there you are.’ Like we’d just stepped out to buy a newspaper.”
When the last notes faded away, they continued on their car journey to nearby Winter Haven.
“The floral displays at Cypress Gardens are second to none,” Libby insisted.
Paul had switched to the back seat, and Livvy poked his leg before she agreed with her twin. “They’re sensational.”
Vern craned his neck to look back when Paul laughed.
The flowers were gorgeous. Rachel would have loved it. She’d gloried in flowers. Here she’d be dashing from one display to the next, inhaling the scents, exclaiming over the colors. The rush of memories hit him square in the chest, and his throat ached with unshed tears.
The roar of a motorboat engine lured them to a small lake, where an impromptu water ski show drew a crowd. This was more like it. Rachel hadn’t been fond of the water. He nudged Chet. “I wouldn’t mind trying that.”
After speaking with a park employee, Betty brought them a report. “Those were the children of the park founders with their friends, putting on a show for some visiting servicemen.”
“They should make it a regular feature. That was great. Didn’t it make you want to get out there and do a little skiing yourself?” Chet stood at the lake’s edge. He wouldn’t surprise Paul if he waded in.
“Not me.” Vern turned away. “I’m not a strong swimmer.”
“You should be.” Paul slid his hands in his back pockets. “Practice in the ocean while you have the chance. What will you do if you have to bail out over water?”
Coral Gables, Florida
Monday, September 13, 1943
Before plunging back into training, Paul invited Livvy to join him on a sunrise beach stroll.
This was how he would remember Florida. The hoarse cry of sea gulls, the rhythmic swooshing of waves onto the shore, the spindly palm trees, houses painted in pastel colors. He could live out his days here. In a blue house, maybe, or a yellow one. Definitely not a pink one. Best to keep such sentiments to himself though. Mom would be horrified if he didn’t return to Milwaukee.
A sea gull’s cry nearly masked Livvy’s voice. “Something’s washing ashore.”
He joined her at the water’s edge. In the gray light before dawn, the bundle tumbling in the surf was indistinguishable. He reached out to it as a wave rolled it over. Livvy released a strangled shriek as she clapped her hands over her mouth and spun away. The bundle was a body. A badly decomposed body, dressed in a torn blue work shirt and equally torn dungarees. A sailor from a torpedoed ship, surely.
Paul backed away. Countless sailors ended up in this state. Airmen, too. He breathed deeply, staring out across the ocean. Salt scented the air. At least the body didn’t stink. Livvy’s husband had gone down in mid-ocean, likely never to be found. His eyes strayed back to the body. Dick would look like that now, probably worse. Wretched shame that Livvy had to see the corpse.
He strode over to her hunched form. “Go notify the police, Livvy. I’ll keep watch.”
She nodded and flew across the beach.
Paul arrived late to class that morning. Captain Lunn raised a brow at his entrance. “Trying to extend the weekend, Braedel?”
“No, sir. A sailor’s body came ashore overnight. I stayed with him until the policemen arrived.”
The instructor’s face darkened. “There haven’t been as many washed-up bodies as there were a year or so ago. But there’s still a war going on, and the U-boats have been active in the Caribbean. That’s why your training is so important, men. You need to get out there and help bring this war to an end.”
Or end up like that sailor, washed up on a foreign shore, unrecognizable. Paul looked around at his classmates. Any one of them could wind up like that corpse on the beach, face nibbled away by fish. It was a sure bet they wouldn’t all survive the war. He might want to join Rachel, but death might require him to leave behind such a macabre mess. His parents would be heartbroken. Maybe he didn’t have a death wish after all.
Chapter Eight
Bickenbach, Germany
Thursday, September 16, 1943
Gretchen finally arrived in Bickenbach. She danced into the bedroom and flung her suitcase on the bed. “Guess what? Adele’s getting married in two weeks.”
“Married?” Heidi nearly dropped her hand mirror. She set it carefully on the bureau. “Who’s she marrying? I just saw her a month ago and she never said a word.” Only that her mother had someone in mind.
Gretchen began tossing things out of her suitcase. “I don’t think she wants to marry. Her father wants the marriage.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s a rabid Party member, you know. The guy he picked out is a Gestapo agent.”
Heidi shoved aside Gretchen’s clothes and sank down on the bed. Poor Adele. Poor, poor Adele. They’d been friends ever since they met in kindergarten. Adele’s father served as block warden, but that didn’t stop Adele from warning neighbors when they attracted scrutiny. Had her father discovered that? Was this marriage a way to make her toe the line?
Nothing Heidi had heard about the Gestapo made her want to get to know any of them. They arrested people any time of the day or night. They took them away and tortured them for not agreeing with Nazi policies. A neighbor’s uncle had disappeared in a concentration camp for six months and, when he came back, he wouldn’t talk to anyone. Before, he’d been robust, but now he was pale and skinny and always looking over his shoulder. No longer was he a life-of-the-party sort. All because his son had been friends with members of the White Rose resistance group, made up of university students. The son had also been in a concentration camp, but had been shot “while trying to escape.” No one was fooled. He’d been executed.
Now Adele was marrying one of them. A chill raised goose bumps on Heidi’s arms.
Gretchen stuffed her clothes into a bureau drawer. She’d have to do her own ironing.
“What about you? Are you
still interested in the Lebensborn program?”
Her sister shuddered and sat down, rumpling what hadn’t been put away. “No, I am not. Renate went through with it, and it was horrible. The man raped her, Heidi. A doctor treated her, and he blamed her for not being cooperative.” She threw up her hands. “It was her first time with a man, for pity’s sake. They told her she could try again in another month, but she escaped. Her parents brought her home.” She hunched over, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Leisl’s still there.”
Heidi reached over to hug her, rubbing her arm. “Gretchen, I should warn you about Ursula Grote. Her father’s the burgermeister here, and they’re tight with the Gestapo. Ursula would love to marry an agent. She’s eager to spy and inform on the neighbors.”
After talking long into the night, Heidi had barely gotten to sleep when a small hand nudged her arm. She rolled away. The hand patted her shoulder. Sighing, she turned back and squinted open one eye. Gretel solemnly studied her. Stifling a yawn, Heidi muttered, “What time is it, liebchen?”
The young girl pulled back the cover. “Frau Ziemer says it is time for breakfast.”
Heidi gently touched Gretel’s cheek. She had yet to see the child smile, much less hear her laugh. “All right. Tell her I’ll be right there.”
Gretel nodded and left the room on silent feet. Heidi struggled upright and turned bleary eyes toward her sister’s empty side of the bed. Groaning, she rose and dressed.
She had to find some way to coax a smile out of Gretel, but how? The youngster stayed close to Frau Ziemer. Not even the barn kittens could entice her to leave the woman’s side. Her brother, Hans, spent most of his time helping Herr Ziemer about the farm. With their childhoods ripped away from them by war, how could they be inclined to play and explore like children should? It would be her mission to bring fun and laughter back into the children’s lives.
Friends & Enemies (Promise for Tomorrow Book 1) Page 5
