by Alisha Paige
The SS guard poked Lucas with his rifle, yelling in German. “Get up, you filthy, Jew!”
Cliff stood beside the bed, shivering partly from the cold and partly from the large guard looming over him, barking at his dead bunk mate.
“What’s wrong with him?” the guard asked Cliff.
“I believe he’s dead,” Cliff answered in German.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Get rid of him,” the guard hissed as he continued his inspection.
Cliff pulled the stiff body off of the cold bunk. Lucas’s feet and legs thudded as they hit the hard floor. He managed to get a hold of him under the arms and drag him outside. The winter wind slapped him in the face and blew into his thin shirt where two buttons were missing. The sun was just beginning to peek over the stone walls of the camp. A peachy softness faded into the soft blue sky as the sun rose higher and even Cliff noticed the beauty of sunrise. His brain had learned to take a special kind of inventory of any and all forms of beauty.
Any day may be his last and he didn’t want his last thought to be one of depression. Day by day, he began to live within himself, recalling fond memories of his childhood, before his dad had died. He had gone back as far as he could remember, back to the age of three, when Hank used to pull him in the little red wagon and he would laugh so hard, his sides would hurt. Then he thought of the all the times he and Hank played cowboys and Indians. He was always the cowboy and Hank was always the Indian. First he would lasso Hank and then Hank would tie him to a tree and pretend to set him on fire. It was grand fun and now Cliff wondered why they had never switched roles. If he ever saw Hank again, he planned to ask him.
Cliff hardly felt his feet anymore and guessed that most of toes were long dead. They were far too purple and stiff to be alive. The guard let him pass as he reached the crematorium and the heavy metal door swung open, letting out a horrible stench, but Cliff was almost glad. He’d be in from out of the cold for at least thirty seconds. It was quite warm inside and those few seconds were precious to his frozen joints. He guessed he’d lost nearly a hundred pounds and though he hadn’t seen a mirror in years, he was sure that he didn’t begin to resemble his former self. Lack of food and shelter had weakened his body beyond belief and lately, he too wondered if he’d ever escape or if he’d die here. His life hung on a precipice daily. He had seen the SS guards gun someone down for coughing too loudly or sneezing too much. Any sign of weakness was automatic death and any sort of disobedience of any kind wasn’t even questioned. A shotgun would go off and that would be the end of it.
He dragged Lucas inside and laid his body against the far wall, saying a prayer in his head. He couldn’t risk being heard. Reluctantly, he turned to go. Hundreds of more bodies awaited him and soup was hours away yet.
As he worked, his mind slowly wandered to memories of Louise. In a way, they seemed further away than his childhood memories. Maybe because they seemed more like a dream and she had only been his wife for three days when he left for Austria, but they were the images that kept him alive more than any others. And often, especially when he lay curled up in a frozen ball at night, next to a man and not his wife, he thought of their baby and the day of his or her birth and pictured himself there, holding the baby. He still didn’t know if he had a son or a daughter, but he felt sure it was a girl. He had dreamed it was a girl countless times, never once dreaming he had a son. Maybe that was God’s way of helping take care of Louise. If he were to die, a girl would probably be more suited to having just a mother or at least it made him feel better to think so. A boy might need more guidance from his father and Cliff really hoped the good Lord had given them a baby girl. It made his heart ache to think of all the milestones he had missed. Their baby’s first teeth, first steps, first Christmas, first day of school. So many firsts and Cliff had seen not one of them. He thought how beautiful Louise must look as a young mother and imagined that she was by far, the best mommy in the world.
His life with Louise seemed like a faraway fairy tale, but he knew it was real if only for the wooden nickel he kept hidden in a hole beneath his bunk. He would wait until the last SS guard’s footsteps echoed on the cold floors at night and he would reach for it in the dark. He would scratch away at the earth that helped to conceal it and run his fingers over the buffalo’s back and think back to the day he’d given it to her. She had been the prettiest little girl he’d ever laid eyes on and he’d given her his last coin. It just didn’t seem right that something so beautiful and so delicate should go hungry. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel her white glove in his hand as he closed her fingers over the wooden nickel. She had been so shy and so surprised. Cliff smiled in the dark as he ran his fingers over and over the buffalo, again and again, thinking of her, knowing she was real and alive, with his child, all the way back home, where he didn’t exist anymore. Louise had said that the wooden nickel would bring him back safely to her. It was all he had left, except for one thing. Hope. Hope and the wooden nickel was all he owned.
~ * ~
July 16, 1944
Dear Diary,
Today was a hard day. I had been doing so well, throwing myself into my students’ class work, but we began to discuss the war and I nearly broke down in front of them. I of all people must be a good example to them and appear strong. Many of the children have fathers overseas in the war. I wanted to kick myself. How could I be so stupid and risk upsetting them further?
Mama says I need to accept Cliff’s death and move on and I simply nod at her. I don’t want her to worry, but I refuse to give up hope. I pray for his safe return and I know Cliff would write me if he could. If Pa would have known how dangerous Austria was at the time, I know he wouldn’t have sent him there. Who would have guessed that Hitler would round up the Jews like this and it’s not just the Jews mind you. Anyone who crosses the horrible man or his Nazi soldiers. I know in my heart that he’s alive and it saddens me that almost everyone has given up on him now. Even Hank said in his last letter that he has searched high and low for him and no one in Austria has heard of a journalist named Cliff Emberton or seen him. (Hank took along a snapshot of him.) Hank has even been to Germany looking for him, when he could. Of course, sometimes he has to fight this horrible war, too and Mama is so afraid that now we will lose Hank, too. And Lily has grown quite fond of him. They correspond by letters as often as possible and Lily will be leaving soon to join the war effort. She’s going to Berlin, to work in a hospital there and patch up some of our poor boys over there. Oh, now I will be filled with worry for her, too. When will this all end?
Annalisa asks for Daddy every day. I refuse to tell her that he’s gone forever. Mama and Pa both suggest that I’m filling her with false hope, but she’s my child and I’ll tell her what I wish. I pray every day for his safe return and if this hideous war ever ends, I hope that Cliff shocks the daylight out of all of us and comes crawling home. Our very own army has freed some of these prison camps and some strong souls somehow survived. Oh, Diary, how I hope and pray that if Cliff is alive, he is one of those last surviving souls. But, I hate to tell you this. Pa doesn’t see why the Nazi’s would have taken him anyways. He doesn’t look at all like a Jew, being blond and fair skinned. What in the world would Hitler’s men do with him if they had him? Why would they lock him up? I don’t mind answering the question myself, but I didn’t say this to Pa. I think Hitler hates just about anybody and most often, I suspect he doesn’t need much reason to take someone prisoner anyhow. None of this war makes sense to me and it’s coming out now, just how many people he has killed, for nothing.
Wouldn’t it be something, Dear Diary, if I wrote you with good news for a change? Since Cliff’s disappearance, all of my memories have been filed under black, except for the birth of our beautiful baby girl. She is filed under soft pink, of course.
Regards,
Louise (never giving up on hope!)
~ * ~
“Okay, you can hold the reins, now,” Louise said, handing Eric t
he reins as he rode in front of her in the saddle. Eric giggled with excitement as he took the reins for the first time.
“Giddy up, Rena!”
Louise patted the palomino on her side as the horse raised her head, munching on grass as she slowly moved forward.
“Okay, pull the reins this way, we’re gonna walk her on that trail over there.”
“Like this?” Eric asked pulling on her reins.
“That’s it. See? You’re a regular cowboy!”
His freckled face crinkled with concentration as he nodded in answer, taking his job very seriously. It wasn’t as hard as he’d thought. Rena went whichever direction he pulled her, stopping now and then to graze or sniff the green meadow.
“Now that I’ve got the hang of it, will you tell me some more about the wooden nickel?”
“Let’s see, now. Where was I?”
“Poppy never came home, remember? And Mama had never even met him yet.”
“Oh, yes. Well, your Uncle Hank had gone to war overseas.”
“What’s overseas?”
“He was in another country. First he went to England. He had to take a boat to cross the ocean.”
Eric nodded as Rena continued up the trail, holding tightly to her reins and kicking her gently with his legs like he’d seen his grandmother do.
“I see, overseas, like over the sea. How come they don’t call it over oceans?”
Louise chuckled as a handful of butter colored moths flittered around their heads.
“Friendly little buggers, aren’t they?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Eric stated plainly as he sat up tall and straight in the saddle, clearly proud of himself. “So, how come?”
“How come what, dear?”
“How come they don’t call it over oceans?”
“Good question. I don’t know. That makes about as much sense to me as overseas.”
“Me, too,” Eric agreed. “Did Uncle Hank get hurt in the war?”
“He sure did, honey.”
“I’m glad he didn’t die.”
“Me, too. We would have missed him a whole lot.”
“Yeah, and then Aunt Lily would have been extra sad, like you were.”
“You’re very smart, Eric.”
“Teacher thinks so, too. I get most of the answers after reading time.”
“Do you?”
“Almost always. Even if she doesn’t call on me every time, I know all the answers and she can be sure that if she wants the right answer, she better ask me.”
“She certainly is lucky to have you in her class.”
“That’s what mama says, too. She says she’s lucky to have me, too.”
“She sure is and so am I.”
“The older I get, the more I can figure is that, we’re all lucky. Since we all have each other, I mean. It just would be no fun without all of us.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Louise said as Rena headed for a nearby creek.
“Whoa, Rena!” Eric cried.
“That’s okay. She can walk over there. She might need a drink.”
“Oh, I bet she’s been here before. She acted like she knew where she was going.”
“She sure has. This is one of her favorite drinking spots.”
“I think I would like it, too if I were a horse. Cause it’s kind of shady and nice and quiet. The water looks clear, too and I bet it tastes good on her horse tongue.”
Louise laughed out loud, marveling at the things children say.
“So, how long was Uncle Hank fighting for America over oceans?”
“Almost three years.”
“Then he got hurt?”
“Yep. He hurt his foot real bad.”
“How?”
“Well, he twisted his ankle really bad and it swelled up so good that he couldn’t walk. He had to stay behind. He hid out in an abandoned German shelter and found half a chocolate bar in there. That was the only thing he had to eat for days, until he caught up with his company later.”
“Okay, I know he hurt his foot, but I didn’t understand the rest. There you go talking all grown up again, Grandma, just like you were talking to Mama.”
“I’m sorry, honey. Well, he rested in an old house for a couple of days that the Germans used to stay in. The Germans were America’s enemy. We were fighting them in the war.”
“I thought we were fighting Japan for dropping that big bomb on Hawaii.”
“That’s right. We were, but we were fighting the Germans, too.”
“That’s way too many people fighting at once.”
“You know, you just said a lot for a seven year old. You are so right.”
Eric smiled his toothless grin. “See, I told you. I know all the answers.”
And from the mouth of babes. If only a room full of German, Italian, Japanese, British, American and French children could have hashed all this out on a playground. Everyone would have fared much better in the end, Louise thought.
“Aunt Lily saw Uncle Hank over oceans, right?”
“That’s right,” Louise said as she thought back to day she received Lily’s first urgent telegram.
Eight
MARCH 15, 1945
DEAR LOUISE-
IM NURSING A NEW PATIENT BACK TO HEALTH - HANK! HIS FOOT IS ON THE MEND. HE WANTS TO STAY HERE WITH ME UNTIL THE WAR IS OVER!
GIVE MY LOVE TO ALL,
LILY
~ * ~
“How did I get so lucky to get the prettiest nurse in all of Berlin?” Hank drawled from his bed as Lily jotted some notes down into his chart.
Lily certainly had changed since their childhood. She’d been the perfect nurse, bathing him, reading to him, changing his wound. It made Hank half mad to think of her doing all these things for other soldiers, but he knew it was her part of her job. He knew most days she even spent her time off with him, bringing him books and candy, reading to him and even feeding him.
“Oh, I see you’re awake, Mr. Emberton. Did you sleep well?” she asked with the utmost professionalism.
“Not a wink.”
“Oh? Let me check your vitals,” Lily replied, suddenly worried about him. She’d been nursing him for six weeks now and he’d never said that before.
Hank took her hand as she placed a blood pressure cuff around his arm. “Hey, I was just kidding. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Why, Hank Emberton! Don’t do that again,” she bristled, far too busy for games.
“I just couldn’t sleep, cause I kept thinking.”
“About what?” Lily asked, only half listening as she checked his bedside pitcher to see if he needed more water.
“You.”
Lily stopped and met his gaze. Her green eyes froze as tenderness smoothed across his still bruised cheeks. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“What about me?” Lily asked softly, wanting to savor the moment and liking the way he was staring at her. He made her feel like she’d just been dipped in warm honey.
“Ah, sugar, you’re like the angel of mercy. You have no idea what I’ve seen out there.”
“War is a terrible thing, Hank.”
“It’s taught me a lot.”
Lily watched his face as he took her hand and held it to his heart. “I don’t want to live another day in my life without you and I’m not leaving here until the war is over.”
Her heart caught in her throat. She had the incredible urge to waltz all the way down the ward, except Hank couldn’t dance. Not yet. “Do you really mean it, Hank?”
“More than I’ve ever meant anything in my whole life! I love you, Miss Lily. Will you marry me?”
Lily’s hands flew to her mouth and her eyes popped open wide, her eyelashes fanning over her thin eyebrows.
“Is that a yes?”
Lily nodded as giant tears dripped from her lashes and onto her starched, white collar. Hank pulled her to him and covered her with kisses as she tried desperately to hold her nurse hat in place. Hank finally pulled i
t out of the pins and laid it on the bed.
“Forget the hat, Mrs. Emberton. Give your fiancé another kiss.”
Lily sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over him, holding his handsome face in her hands and finally, at long last, tasting those firm, strong lips that had filled her days and nights with longing for so long.
“Oh, Hank, I love you so much. I’ve always loved you.”
Hank looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Don’t lie, Lily. It doesn’t suit you. We both know you had a thing for Cliff back then.”
“No, I didn’t. I was just jealous of Louise and besides, that was a long time ago. I was mad at you for moving to Tennessee.”
“I never knew that.”
“It’s true. I thought I’d just die the night I ran into you in the hallway.”
“I scared you half to death.”
“No, I was thrilled to death,” Lily explained.
“Come here, you,” Hank said, pulling her closer, twirling a luscious chocolate curl around one thick finger as he kissed her again.
~*~
May 11, 1945
My Dearest Cliff,
You told me to keep writing and to save my letters for you when you get home and I’m sorry I haven’t written for years, but I promise you, I’ve never given up hope. Last night I had the most amazing dream. I dreamed of the day we met, in the bread line, back in ‘33 when we were just kids. Remember how you gave me that old wooden nickel? I haven’t thought about that old thing in years. I’m hoping you got my last letter, because I sent the wooden nickel to you, for your safe return home. When I woke up, I swear, my hand was burning where you placed the wooden nickel and it’s still tingling now. I just had to write you. All I can think about is that darned wooden nickel and now I’m suddenly filled with new hope.
