Songbird Under a German Moon

by Tricia Goyer

  When the song was over, laughter spilled from Betty’s lips, and cheers erupted around the room.

  “See, I knew you had it in you,” Dolly said, clapping.

  Betty turned toward Mickey, her eyes wide, anticipating his excitement. Instead, he looked at her through half-lidded eyes. He didn’t smile, didn’t even nod.

  “I think we’ll wait on that one. It seems too cheerful, too soon. Besides, it needs work. The timing wasn’t right. Betty’s voice sounded weak.”

  Betty didn’t know how to respond. For as long as she could remember, she’d never had a reaction like that when she sang.

  “But Mickey, it was one of Kat’s favorite songs. She would have loved it,” Irene dared to say.

  “Does anyone ever listen to me?” Mickey threw his hands up in the air. “We’re not going to do that song. Maybe we’re never going to do it.” Then looking around, he lowered his voice. “We’re all going to work together. Like a team. There aren’t going to be any stars. Everyone’s gonna be the same. These are the numbers that stand.” He slammed his clipboard with the schedule on the floor. “This is the program. Everyone satisfied?”

  “Yes, Mickey,” Dolly started.

  “Yes, Mickey,” everyone else chimed in.

  “I understand.” Betty did her best to hold back her tears. She was a professional now. This wasn’t the church choir. This wasn’t some canteen. Mickey knew what he was doing, even though it didn’t feel good.

  “Fine. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off. And maybe do some warm-ups or something. Your voices really stunk today.” Mickey stalked out of the building, and they all stood quietly for a moment.

  Betty stared at her feet, feeling foolish. Maybe her voice did sound as bad as Mickey said. She heard someone crying and looked up, and saw that Irene had her face in her hands.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Betty asked.

  Irene shook her head. “No.”

  “It’s okay. Maybe our voices did sound bad, but we can practice tonight back at Wahnfried.” Betty approached Irene and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “It’s not that. I miss Kat being here. She would have stood up to Mickey. She would have given him a piece of her mind.”

  Dolly nodded. “Yeah, she would have. And she would have told Mickey that if he thought he could sing better to put on a dress and try it.”

  “I just can’t believe she’s really gone,” Tony the saxophonist jumped in. “Even though I keep telling myself it’s true, I keep expecting her to stomp out of that dressing room like she owns the place.”

  “I can believe it. I happened to be up here at the Festspielhaus when they were carrying the body bag off the trail,” Billy said. “More than anything else, I’m mad at her. How could she do that? It was so selfish. Didn’t she think how we’d feel? How all her fans would feel?”

  “Enough of this moaning and weeping.” Dolly stood. “We really should get our outfits ready for tomorrow. Should be easy enough, though, since we’ve got no solos. We just have to find some dresses that match and that look half-decent.”

  They went through the dresses on the racks quietly, yet Betty noticed that none of them tried on any of Kat’s dresses. They stayed far from her rack. Betty had a feeling that trying one on would bring tears to her eyes. She couldn’t imagine actually performing on stage in one. She’d be a mess for sure.

  Things were better when they returned to Wahnfried that afternoon. Everyone spoke about ordinary things—and Betty found herself more comfortable around the other women again.

  Even though she still hadn’t given up on the idea that Kat’s death wasn’t by suicide, she was content leaving the conversation for another time—when the pain of her death wasn’t so fresh on their hearts.

  Three handsome soldiers delivered their meal to the estate. As always, they requested a few songs.

  Betty and the others sang some Andrews Sisters favorites and then sat down to the now-cold ham and biscuits.

  “You know,” Irene mumbled, “after all this boogie-woogie, I’d give anything to hear some Bach. Sometimes I find my foot tapping along to this jazzy beat—even as I sleep.”

  “Are you serious? I have a collection,” one of the soldiers said as he was gathering their tins to take back. “My mother sent me a small crate from home, and it had some recorded cantatas in it.”

  “Really? Do you think you can bring them over? We have a record player in the foyer. It looks as if it works.”

  “Sure. It’ll be worth a try.”

  “As long as you stay in the foyer!” Irene insisted, pushing a finger into the chest of one of the men. “It’s Mickey’s rule.”

  “Mickey?” he asked.

  “Our boss. And believe me, you don’t want to get on his bad side,” Irene added.

  “Unless you want a broken nose and busted eardrum,” Pearl added.

  “Seriously?” Betty’s eyes were wide. “Mickey did that to someone?”

  Dolly leaned over and softly pushed Pearl’s arm. “Way to go—don’t you think before you speak?”

  “Sorry. It’s not like these guys are going to make a big deal out of it. They don’t know anyone in the business. Besides, Mickey’s been real good since he’s been here.” She scanned the room, seeing the amused looks on everyone’s faces. “Or rather, mostly good.”

  The guys left, and thirty minutes later, they were indeed back with the records.

  With eager anticipation, everyone circled up in the foyer with the record player in the middle. Expertly, Irene set up the player and placed the first record on it. A few seconds later, Bach flowed out.

  “I can’t believe this thing didn’t get messed up in the bombing,” Dolly said. “In fact”—she scanned the room—“someone must have taken a lot of time to get everything ready for us. I’ve seen the buildings downtown. There are buildings that were in shambles from a bomb falling two blocks away.”

  “If I ever learn who got the place in order for us, I’ll have to thank them,” Irene said, sitting back in her chair. “It’s as if I’ve found a little culture again, listening to this.”

  Betty listened to the music that filtered through the quiet of the room. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t get much culture growing up. We didn’t have our own radio. In fact, my only singing experience had been in church. Then in high school, a friend of mine had a radio and we’d sing along. I hadn’t even heard about Wagner until I got here. It’s a shame, isn’t it.”

  “Not really. I’m the same. When we first got here Oskar gave us a tour,” Shirlee said. “He seems to know everything there is to know about Wagner. When an opera was first performed, who the singers were, what costumes they used. Sometimes we get a little anxious because Mickey pushes us so hard, but it sounds like those Wagner people really took things seriously. Before the war, people made pilgrimages here every year to attend the performances. Also, singers from all over the world would come and perform nearly for free—just for the honor of singing for Wagner on this stage.”

  Hearing Shirlee talk reminded Betty of the first MP she’d met when she arrived, and the stories he told of his mother—the opera singer—who used to sing in Wagner’s operas—until she discovered the connection with Hitler.

  “You know, I’ll have to ask Oskar for the official tour sometime. It doesn’t seem fair that I don’t get it just because I came in late,” she pouted.

  “Make sure you ask on a day when there are no concerts, no rehearsals. It takes awhile,” Shirlee said.

  “And wear comfortable shoes.” Pearl giggled. “I knew the building was huge, but walking it made me realize how many halls and rooms and closets there are.”

  Betty twirled a strand of hair around her finger, wondering why she’d never connected what Mac, their MP driver, had said with Kat’s death. She vaguely remembered him talking about being warned by his mother to stay away from the Festspielhaus in the month of October. What could he have meant?

  “Pearl, do you remember Oskar saying a
nything specific—or important about the month of October at the Festspielhaus?” Betty dared to ask.

  “October? Like this month?” Pearl wrinkled her nose as she frowned. “Not that I can remember, but you can ask. If anyone knows, Oskar does.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Betty sat up in bed. Were others walking in the halls? Had she overslept? She opened her eyes, her confusion deepening when she saw that it was still dark. What were the others doing walking around in the middle of the night? She listened, wondering if the noise had only been in her dreams.

  She heard it again. Shuffling—not in the halls. Not upstairs, but under her. Betty was afraid to move. She almost felt frozen in place.

  “Irene? Dolly?” she called softly, hoping one of them wandered the halls. No one answered.

  Then she remembered… There were MPs stationed outside. As quietly as she could, she stood and tiptoed to the window. Looking out onto the front lawn and driveway, she saw the MPs’ jeeps still parked out front, which meant the guys were still there. She considered asking them to check—in the basement? She wondered if there was one.

  Or maybe they could patrol inside the house—just in case. No, that would wake everyone.

  She could head out there and ask the MPs to walk the perimeter of the building and find—what? A person? The person who’d hurt Kat? No, that didn’t make sense. If someone wanted to hurt any of them, he most likely wouldn’t do it when they were guarded.

  It’s probably an animal. One that’s found its way under the house. There were plenty of displaced animals, just as there were people.

  You can’t let your fears take over, Betty. There is going to be a time when the MPs aren’t here. You can’t spend your whole life obsessing about every little noise.

  She returned to bed, but the unsettled feeling wouldn’t leave her. For the last few days, she’d told herself the uneasiness deep inside had to do with Kat’s death. It was only right to feel sad and worried. Add to that the way Mickey had treated her at the rehearsal, and it only made sense why the anxiety wouldn’t leave.

  Mickey’s rejection couldn’t compare with the sorrow—and even fear—she felt after Kat’s death, but the pain was almost as acute—just in a different way. It seemed to stab the tender place in her heart where she’d tucked away her dreams.

  Her dreams were something she’d held inside for as long as she could remember, and in the last year when she’d entertained at the canteen, it all seemed to be building to something greater—a wider audience for her songs.

  Betty thought she’d achieved the pinnacle of her dreams when she came here, and although she had a lot to learn, she’d never expected Mickey to reject her as he had today. The sharpness of his words and disdain in his eyes made her question if she had any value. She thought she’d done well, but maybe the applause was more because she’d shown up.

  Added to all that, she wondered why Frank hadn’t been around. Does he still care? Has he given up on me? Has he found someone else?

  Maybe I’ve fooled myself. Maybe it’s time I face reality. Fame isn’t achieved overnight. True love isn’t birthed within the span of a plane ride, jeep ride, six songs, and one date.

  Realizing she’d let naïve, romantic ideals run away in her mind and heart made her feel empty and aimless. Or rather, it intensified the emptiness that lingered in the shadows of her soul. Feelings she’d tried to ignore.

  Betty got back into bed and curled onto her side, pulling her blankets up under her chin. Thankfully, the shuffling underneath the floor had stopped. She took in a deep breath and then blew it out slowly, trying to think back to when she started feeling this way. The more she thought about it, the more she realized the aimlessness most likely started when she’d set her mind on singing for the USO. That made no sense. The USO meant she was doing what God had created her to do, right? From the time she was a child, everyone had told her that her voice was given to her by God. Not a Christmas pageant was held without her singing an angelic song. She’d sung in every school play. She sang because it sounded good and brought smiles to other people’s faces.

  When she was moved from the factory to the canteen, she gladly used her gift for a greater good. And when she heard about the auditions with the USO, it seemed right in line with what had been happening. She could bring smiles to more soldiers—those who longed for home. But it was only here, now, that she realized she’d never really prayed about it. She’d never sought to see if this was what God had planned for her life. If this was where He wanted her to go.

  The fear that had been there moments before transformed into remorse. She rose and moved to the light switch, turning it on. Then she hurried to her dresser and pulled out her Bible, taking it back to bed with her.

  Did I miss Your path completely, God? Am I completely off track?

  She opened her Bible and turned to the bookmark she’d put there the last Sunday service before she left home. She looked again to the verse she had underlined, Psalm 37:7. “‘Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him,’” she whispered.

  “Wait patiently? Is that what I was supposed to do, God? Did I run ahead?” She thought about that for a few minutes—trying to still her mind enough to think about God and how He saw the situation. She pictured her Heavenly Father looking down on her. Watching her smile as she sang. It seemed as if it would make Him happy to see her using her gift to bring smiles to others.

  She also considered if she’d intentionally forced her will—pushing even though she felt God telling her to stop. She didn’t think so. Even when her family questioned her decisions, she never felt as if she disobeyed God by pursuing the USO.

  Of course, there was the way she handled it. Perhaps she could have figured out a different way to plan for the trip. A way that wouldn’t have made her parents worry. She could have figured out a better way to treat her friend too. It wasn’t very kind the way she made her take a bus to come get her car.

  Lord, I’m sorry. Forgive me for not treating people as kindly as I could in my haste.

  She had been selfish in the small things, but Betty felt her heart had been in the right place when it came to singing. She truly wanted to bring joy to others, rather than build up her own name and find fame. She hadn’t acted immorally to get this job—as many young women did in Hollywood. Yet, maybe in all her attempts to sing and serve she’d forgotten what it meant to care for others in small ways. More than that, she’d forgotten what faith was all about. She’d taken too little time to build a relationship with someone special—a loving God.

  Meet Me. Come to Me. She felt the words whisper in her soul.

  “Lord, maybe being part of the USO is what You had planned. But maybe there is more than that. Are You asking me to quiet down and be prayerful before You?” She thought about how much she enjoyed seeing Frank and spending time with him—and that was only someone she’d known for a week. How much more should she enjoy spending time with God, praying to Him, thinking about His love, imagining His smiling face?

  As she sat there, her back leaned against the wall, Betty considered the times over the past week when she’d said quick prayers to God, seeking His help. She’d prayed for safety on the plane. She’d prayed for comfort after Kat’s death. She’d even prayed for answers about what really happened. But thinking back now, those were reactions more than communication. Sure, God wanted her to turn to Him, but maybe He wanted more. Maybe He wanted her to see Him there too—with her. Maybe instead of giving her an answer, He wanted to be the answer, the protection, the peace.

  Is that what You want, God? Is that what You’re trying to tell me?

  Betty tried to remember what Pastor Lambert had preached on her last Sunday at home. It was something to do with trusting God—or at least she thought that’s what it had been about. She remembered she’d worn her favorite red dress and the choir had sung her mother’s favorite hymn. They’d gone to her aunt’s house for lunch and… Betty let her mind wander through the weeks prior, trying
to remember any sermon she’d really listened to. Trying to remember any moment when she really felt connected with God. Maybe she’d been keeping God at arm’s length longer than she thought.

  The thing was, she’d been able to get by with that then. Or maybe the emptiness had been more manageable, since her life had been filled with so many other good things.

  But now?

  Now she didn’t know how she’d make it through the day if she continued to keep God at arm’s length. She wasn’t in a safe, protected place anymore. She wasn’t surrounded by people who loved her singing whether she did a good job or not. She didn’t know what waited for her outside the front door. She needed God as she’d never needed Him before.

  She placed her Bible on the dresser, hurried over and turned off the light, and then jumped back into bed, snuggling under the covers again. And as she closed her eyes, Betty realized how needy she was. Yet now she saw her need differently. In all those places she felt scared, empty, and incomplete, she knew God would come in and fill them with Himself. Even as she lay there thinking of Him, she felt His sweet, gentle presence seeping in—filling her to overflowing, as He’d promised.

  And even though nothing had changed on the outside, knowing God was with her flooded her with more of His special, supernatural peace than she’d felt in a very long time. Even though Kat’s bed was empty and the world outside could be harsh, God gave her an assurance that He was there. And that if she looked to Him, all would be well—if not always outwardly, then deep in her heart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Frank spread the photos on his bed, looking at them in the mid-morning light. Art had been up and out of the house early, shooting photos of buildings at various stages of cleanup and construction.

  When Frank wasn’t watching the Festspielhaus from afar, he’d looked at the photos a dozen times over the last few days. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. Kat looks too peaceful. For some reason he thought she shouldn’t look that peaceful. But the thing that bothered Frank the most was the fact that there seemed to be no trauma on her body. There was just that one small bruise. No cuts. Nothing.