by Anna Schmidt
Theo walked to the mailbox to collect the mail and found among the bills and other pieces a letter from his sister, Beth. It was addressed to his parents, and while it was certainly not unusual for Beth to write, the timing seemed off. After all, supposedly she and Josef and their two children were already on a ship crossing the Atlantic on their way back to Wisconsin. Their last communication had been a one-word telegram: Approved!
He studied the postmark and realized the letter had been posted from the station in their little village on the day after they were supposed to have left for Southampton to board the ship. His mother was hanging clothes on the line that stretched from the house to the huge elm tree in the side yard and back again.
“Letter from Beth,” he said, handing her the envelope.
She put it in her apron pocket. Beth’s letters were always so filled with news and humor that they had taken to waiting until they could all be together to read them. “We’ll open it at supper and read it together,” she said, squinting up at him. “Theo? What is it?”
“I … nothing … maybe you should just go ahead and open it now.”
His mother gave a nervous laugh, but her smile froze as she studied his face. She fumbled for the letter and handed it to him. “You read it.” Her hand shook as she gave him the envelope.
Theo ripped it open and removed the two pages inside. He scanned the contents and then gave his mother the good news first. “They are all well—no one is sick or injured,” he assured her.
“But?”
“They are not being allowed to come. Josef’s father is an escaped POW, and Aunt Ilse wrote to Josef telling him this so now the authorities think that Josef—and probably Ilse—have knowledge of where he is hiding.”
“They are not coming home?” Ellie ran her fingers lovingly over the sheet that Theo knew she had washed in preparation for setting up Beth’s childhood bedroom.
“Not now, Mom. Soon,” he promised, although he had no way of knowing that. “Once this is all worked out.”
She turned back to her laundry, shaking out a pillowcase that matched the sheet and pinning it to the line. “Go tell your father.”
That night Theo was late calling Suzanne, and he could not hide his distress over the news his family had received that day. Beth was not coming home.
“But the war is over, and she’s an American,” Suzanne argued.
“Josef is not an American, and his father is an escaped prisoner of war.”
“But Josef is not his father. Besides, couldn’t she come with the children? Why are they detaining her?”
“She won’t come without Josef,” Theo replied and could not help thinking, Would you go without me?
“But—”
“It is what it is, Suzanne, and you can’t fix it, okay?” He knew he was being unfair, but he was so irritated both at the circumstances his sister and brother-in-law found themselves in and at Suzanne’s incurable assumption that something could be done to change that. Would the ripples of this war never cease?
The silence between them was made all the more difficult because they could not see each other’s faces, could not reach out a hand to touch the other one in support, could not find the words necessary to break the tension.
“Sorry,” she murmured finally.
“No. I’m sorry for snapping at you. It’s been a rough day. My folks are devastated. They haven’t seen Beth in over five years, and they have two grandchildren they’ve never held and …”
“Why on earth would Ilse—”
“It’s not her fault, Suzanne. She wants to find her sister. You can’t blame her for going down every possible avenue to accomplish that.”
“But I—we—I was working on that and making progress.”
Again, the terrible quiet interrupted only by the muffled sound of traffic outside her apartment windows and night birds and crickets outside his.
“Talk to me about your day,” he said finally, his tone conciliatory. “Give me some good news.”
“I have an offer for the book.”
“Really?” He was overjoyed for her. She had worked hard to put the manuscript together, sending him sections to read, and he had found himself enthralled with the story even though he knew most of it already. “Oh, honey, that’s terrific.”
“It’s not firmed up yet and it’s an offer from a small press here in the DC area, but it is an offer.”
“First a byline and now a book deal—wow! I’m really proud of you.”
“The only thing that would make it better would be if you were here with me. I cannot wait for you to move here so we can be together.”
Theo did not know what to say. He needed to tell her, but he had hoped not to have to say anything until after the election. If—when—he lost it would be a moot point.
“Theo? What’s going on?”
Did she really know him so well? He cleared his throat. “You know if I lose the election—”
“You won’t. People love you. I saw the way they wanted to speak with you, be with you at the Fourth of July event. I have told you before, Theo, you are a natural.”
“But we have to be realistic, Suzanne. I could lose.”
Now she was the one who said nothing for so long that Theo wondered if somehow they had been disconnected. “Are you still there?”
“Even if you don’t win, you could still move here. There are plenty of jobs and—”
“Or perhaps you could give Wisconsin a try? We have newspapers and everything.” He tried to make a joke of it, but they had danced around this topic for some time now without really discussing it. She had simply assumed that he would come to Washington and refused to consider that there might be any other outcome.
“I know. It’s just that right now everything is coming together for me here and—”
“Hey, we don’t have to make any decisions tonight. Let’s just enjoy your news—a real live book. That’s something to celebrate. Does Ilse know?”
“No. I thought of writing to her and Gisele and the others, but I chose to tell Detlef Buch’s story as well, and now that he’s escaped …”
“That’s hardly your fault.”
“I know, but with Josef being detained and … Your folks must be so devastated.”
Theo recalled his mother’s ravaged face as he gave her Beth’s news. “My parents are survivors, Suzanne. Dad was even talking at supper about maybe he and Mom could go to England over Thanksgiving. Things are slow on the farm then, and it just might be a good time for them to get away.”
“Would you want to go?”
“I’d love to see my sister and meet my niece and nephew and Josef, but somebody has to milk the cows.” He chuckled.
“Yeah, and you’ll be getting ready for the swearing-in ceremony in Congress after the holidays. I’ve found a couple of apartments that might work out for you. Of course with the war over things are starting to fill up fast.”
“All I need is a room,” Theo assured her. He glanced at the clock. They had talked for nearly an hour. “You need to get some sleep,” he said.
“And you don’t? As I recall, those cows get up pretty early.”
He laughed then sobered. “Suzanne, whatever happens with the election, know that I am so very happy for your success.”
“You are going to win that election, and we are going to be together, Theo Bridgewater. Get that straight right now.”
“I’d settle for one out of the two—the second one. I love you, Suzanne.”
“I know,” she said softly, and then she blew him a kiss as she always did to end their calls. He heard the click that told him she was no longer there and quietly replaced the receiver in its cradle. She claimed to believe that he loved her, but did she trust in that love—that it would be there for her no matter what?
Ilse was stunned by the news that Josef and Beth were being denied passage to America. In spite of Ellie and Paul’s assurances to the contrary, she felt at fault. If she had not sent the informati
on to Josef, if she had refused to have anything to do with Detlef Buch, surely this would not have happened. Perhaps Gisele had been right, after all. But Ilse found it hard to believe that Detlef would be so cruel—not after all this time.
“You cannot take this on yourself, Ilse,” Gisele told her. “The man escaped all by himself. You did nothing to help with that.”
“Well, neither did Josef, and yet he and Beth are paying the penalty. I just wish there were something I could do.”
I wish Franz were here. Together we could always solve anything. She felt her chest fill with her grief. It seemed as if since his death everything had gotten worse. The war had ended, but they were still here—still not free to make choices for themselves. And almost nightly Liesl quizzed her about where they would go, pleading with her to stay in America—as if Ilse had the power to make that decision.
“Will this nightmare never end?” she whispered, more to herself than to Gisele.
“Come with me,” her friend said, taking her by the hand as if they were schoolgirls again. “You need cheering up, and I have just the recipe for that.” She led Ilse into the building that had been converted into a performance hall for theatrical productions, the movie nights they held now and then, concerts, and lectures.
Several of the residents who regularly appeared in the shelter’s productions were gathered around the piano. They were all talking over one another, and Ilse had to wonder how they could possibly accomplish anything.
“I brought fresh talent,” Gisele said.
When Ilse realized that the actress was referring to her, she had to smile. “I cannot sing a note,” she protested.
“Not a problem at all,” Ivo, the man who usually led these productions, assured her. “At the moment it is your objective opinion that is needed. Come sit.” He patted the seat next to him on the piano bench. “We are developing a satirical musical. See what you think of this.”
He played an arpeggio on the piano and then nodded to the others, who referred to a song sheet. “We are in a cage without reason,” they bellowed. “We are in a cage, a golden cage.”
The chorus went on from there, and then one of the men sang alone. “Like a lion in the cage, we are losing health and mood. …”
The music stopped suddenly. “That’s as far as we’ve gotten,” Ivo said. “Any thoughts?”
All eyes were on her, and everyone was smiling hopefully as if she might actually offer them some viable idea. Their obvious confidence that she might gave her courage. “Well, I will say I never thought of myself as a lion—more as a bird—and an aging one at that.” She laughed and realized that she was already feeling a little better.
“If we divided the song into scenes,” Gisele suggested. “One when we first arrived and then after the war ended and then—”
“Indeed,” Ivo said. “Of course, it is the ending that will have to wait until the last possible moment.”
Suddenly the light spirits that had dominated the room dimmed as everyone’s smile faded. Surprisingly Ilse did not feel as if she had once again been cast into the depths of depression. Instead she felt as if she were part of a group—a community of people facing exactly what she faced. Some of them also had children who surely wanted to remain in the America they had come to think of as home. She was not alone. “Is there something I could do to help with the production?” she asked. “Behind the scenes, of course.”
“Costumes? Do you sew?” Ivo asked.
“Well, of course she sews,” one of the women huffed. “Have you not seen her daughter? Liesl is always beautifully dressed, and forgive me but one does not find such fine detail in the donated goods we are forced to rely upon.”
“I sew a little,” Ilse admitted.
“Excellent. We shall need everyone in the cast dressed in rags for the opening, and then as the show progresses they will become more and more presentable until at the end—”
“At the end we should each dress the role we played in life before all of this,” the man who had sung the solo suggested. “Doctors, merchants, lawyers, writers, performers—people who were educated and successful. Let’s show them who we were.”
“Who we are,” Gisele added, and everyone applauded. “I’ll help Ilse with the designs and sewing,” she added.
Just like that, Ilse found herself part of something that gave her joy and purpose. To some it might be just a silly little amateur production. For Ilse it was a lifeline.
That night as she sat with Liesl while the girl practiced the piano, her mind raced with ideas for transforming the actors in the production from a bunch of ragtag refugees into the proud, gifted men and women they had once been and would be again—if not here in America, then somewhere else in the world. She wondered if those men in Washington debating their fate would ever truly appreciate what they might lose if they held to their plan to send them all back.
“Mom?”
She had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t realized Liesl had come to the end of her piece. “What, Liebchen?”
“You were smiling. Were you thinking of Papa?”
“Not just then, but I do think of him often.”
“Me, too.” Liesl’s shoulders slumped. “I miss him so much.”
“So do I.” She wrapped her arms around this cherished child—her only child. “But do you know what? I believe that every time you play the piano, Papa is listening.”
“Do you think he is dancing?”
Ilse laughed. Franz had been a wonderful dancer. “Yes, Liesl. Papa so loves to dance, so you must play for him often. He would be so very proud of the progress you have made in your lessons in such a short time.”
“That’s what Nancy’s mom said when I played for them. She wanted to know who my teacher was, and when I told her it was you, she said that you could give lessons for money. She said you could earn a living doing that. That’s how we could make our way when we leave the fort.”
Ilse was stunned to realize that Liesl was thinking of such mundane things as how they might earn money. She had thought about such matters, of course, but it had never occurred to her that Liesl might have the same worries.
“We have to have some way to pay the bills,” Liesl continued. “I could maybe do some chores for people, but for real money—I mean now that Papa—”
Ilse held her closer. “Sh-h-h. This is not for you to worry about. You just concentrate on doing well in school and practicing the piano. I will see that we have what we need, all right?”
Liesl looked up at her and frowned, and Ilse realized that the child had serious doubts about her mother’s ability to provide what the two of them would need. “All right,” Liesl said finally, but her words lacked conviction.
That night Ilse sat at the table in their apartment long after the barracks had gone completely quiet except for the occasional footsteps in the hallway as someone made his or her way to the bathroom. On the table in front of her was the local newspaper, a pad of paper, and a pencil. For hours she had scanned the advertisements in the paper, gathering information about what it might cost to feed and clothe herself and Liesl.
Now she studied the listings for apartments for rent. Surely the prices in Oswego would be representative of others in similar-sized towns across the country. She wrote down figures and descriptions on the notepad. Tomorrow she would get a pass and walk or take the bus to some of the addresses. At least then she could see the exteriors of the buildings and the neighborhoods. She would also walk through a food market to get more information for understanding just how much money she would need to earn to care for Liesl and herself.
At the top of the page she had written, “Expenses if we stay in America.” After realizing that Liesl was worried about their future and their financial situation, Ilse had decided that the one thing she could do for her daughter was to give her a promise that if the government allowed, they would stay in America. Theo was right. Ilse could always travel to Europe to search for Marta.
So e
arlier that evening after she and Liesl had held their nightly abbreviated meeting for worship she had sat on the side of Liesl’s bed and tucked the covers around her daughter. “Liesl, I have made a decision.”
“What decision?”
“If the American government decides that we are allowed to stay in this United States, that is what we will do.”
Liesl threw the covers aside as she leaped up to wrap her arms around Ilse’s neck. “Oh, Mama, do you mean it?”
Whenever Liesl called her Mama, it brought back so many memories of when they had lived in Munich, of when Ilse had relied so much on Beth. It brought tears to Ilse’s eyes that something so simple as a promise that depended on the actions of others could make her child so very happy. “You understand that if the government says that we—”
“Have to go back, then we do,” Liesl said. “But oh, Mama, surely they will see how good we have all been. If we stay, will we move to the farm in Wisconsin?”
Ilse saw no harm in indulging in dreams for this once. “Would you like that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember the farm. Is it like the fort except with cows and chickens? But then where else would we go? Could we stay here in Oswego? I have a lot of friends here.”
“I know. If the Americans say we can stay, then we will have to decide together, but Liesl, there is always the possibility—”
“I know.” She sighed heavily, but then she grinned. “Every night from now until we know, I am going to pray really hard in our meetings for worship, and maybe—if God thinks it is for the best—it will all come true.”
“I think that is a very good plan as long as you also keep in mind that God may have another way for us, and we must be ready for that as well.”
Liesl kissed Ilse’s cheeks and hugged her hard before collapsing back onto the pillow, a smile on her face. “I can’t wait to tell my friends,” she murmured just before she drifted off to sleep.
Ilse had sat beside her for a moment longer and then gathered the newspaper and notepad and started to work. She would plan for staying in America, and if it turned out that Beth and Josef were to remain in England, that would be her second choice because it would be best for Liesl to be around family. But one day—once Liesl was settled—Ilse would return to Munich, for that was her home. That was where she had met Franz, and that was where her memories of their life together lived.
