by Anna Schmidt
Beth made the tea and placed the pot on the tray with the cups and saucers. Ilse poured a little milk into the cream pitcher and got spoons for stirring and the sugar bowl. Then she opened the door and watched as Beth carried the tray back to the study and tapped on the closed door.
“I brought you tea,” she said when Uncle Franz opened the door and stood aside to let her pass. The doctor was sorting through a stack of books, setting aside one or two that seemed of interest to him. He placed the rest in the limited space available on the already-overcrowded floor-to-ceiling shelves.
“May I help?” She avoided looking directly at her uncle’s former student. While Beth had been preparing the tea, Aunt Ilse, through whispered comments, had made clear her view that the man was surely a government spy. Her aunt’s litany of fears and anxieties—for her child, herself, and most especially for her husband’s career as a professor at the university under this new regime—was ceaseless these days.
“Danke, Liebchen, aber I think perhaps there is something you might rather do,” her uncle said with a twinkle in his eyes. “If you check under that stack of books there, I believe you will discover a letter from home.”
Beth gave a yelp of delight as she set the tray on the library table that also served as her uncle’s desk and foraged through the mail, all thought of their new boarder cast aside. “It’s been weeks,” she said, hugging the envelope to her chest. “Please excuse me.” She stepped into the hall, and as she turned to close the door, she added, “It was nice to meet you, Herr Doktor.”
“Josef,” her uncle corrected. “He’s part of the family now, and there’s no need to stand on ceremony, right Josef?”
“I don’t wish to make anyone uncomfortable,” the doctor replied.
“Josef then,” Beth said. “And I am Beth.” She gave him a polite smile. Her uncle’s insistence on the informal use of the man’s given name was odd in a society where a bit of reserve between new acquaintances was more the tradition.
“Now don’t get all caught up in replying to that letter,” Uncle Franz called out to her. “You’ll need to set an extra place for supper and help your aunt. Josef has agreed to join us, although he insists that there be no special attention given to him.”
Beth understood the underlying message. Any slight change in their routine could upset Ilse to the point where she would take to her bed for the remainder of the evening. It had happened before. And having the doctor share their meager evening meal was just the sort of thing that could send Ilse over the edge.
“I’ll just go read this. I can answer it after Liesl is in bed,” she promised.
In the small bedroom that she shared with her cousin, Beth kicked off her slippers and slid her thumbnail under the flap of the envelope. Using her toes, she pulled the straight-backed rocking chair closer to the late-afternoon light streaming through the single window that overlooked the small courtyard in back of the apartment building. She smiled as she settled into the creaky old chair for a long-anticipated taste of home.
The letter had already been opened and crudely resealed. When she removed the thin pages, she saw several places where her mother’s words had been blacked out—censored. Was nothing sacred to these people? Not even an innocent letter from mother to daughter?
She held the pages up to the daylight streaming through the window, trying to recover the words some government person had decided were threatening or seditious.
Dearest Beth,
Your father and I hope this finds you well and _____. Your letters are always so full of _________________ and good cheer, ___ we read _________________. We are quite certain that circumstances ___________________ here. _______________ _______________________ your father and I _____ to leave as soon as possible. _____________________________________ _________________________________________________ ____________________________________________ Franz and Ilse to ____ as well. After all there is Liesl to _________. If only…
________________________________________ ______________ we must constantly seek God’s guidance _____________. And who knows whether coming back here is the answer? Here in America there is growing animosity toward people like us—people of German heritage. Even those of your generation are not immune to the taunts and snubs of some.
_______________________________ back home with us, but _____________________leaving Munich_______________. I know that my brother is well-respected ____________________________….
Beth let the letter dangle from her fingers as she stood and stared out the window. The sun reflecting off the autumn leaves that had seemed so glorious earlier was blighted now by gathering clouds. She had so longed for news of life at home—of her father raking leaves and her grown brothers leaping into the pile, then helping him to repair the mess they had made. She had longed for images of the neighborhood—Bertha Dobins walking her poodle down the country lane that connected their farms, old Mr. Remington leaning out the window of his rusty pickup truck as he offered Beth’s mother advice on putting up the last of the tomatoes. She wanted to hear of the pot roast her mother had prepared and of friends from her high school days who had stopped by to ask how she was faring and when she might return. She wanted gossip and news of what had been said at the meetinghouse that week. She was desperate for that taste of home.
In the years since she had come to live with her aunt and uncle, she had gone back to Wisconsin only once, and that had been barely two years after she had first arrived. These days Beth had to wonder if she would ever be able to leave. More than just the need to stay and care for Liesl—and her aunt—kept her from leaving. A year or so earlier in a moment of impulsive reaction to the unfairness of life for many of her neighbors, Beth had given her visa to a friend who was frantically trying to leave the country. At the time, she had naively thought that as an American it would be easy to say she had lost her papers and get the precious document replaced. But that had been before the American consulate had been closed and the consul—a friend of her parents from Wisconsin—had been reassigned to Berlin. She had had no choice but to tell her uncle what she had done. She knew that he had tried everything he could to get the visa replaced—even making a trip to Berlin—with no success.
So if Beth wanted to leave Munich—and she did more than anything—without the proper papers, how could she? Her eyes widened in shock as she considered that perhaps this was why Dr. Josef Buch had come. He knew.
CHAPTER 2
Are you certain that inviting me to live here is a good idea, Herr Professor?” Josef handed the older man a stack of books. “Your niece seemed a little reticent.”
“Everyone will adjust, and I thought we had an understanding.”
Josef paused in his work and looked at his former mentor. “Still, Herr Professor…”
“I am Franz, and you are Josef,” Franz reminded him. “Now suppose you tell me why you have decided to accept my offer to room here when you could just as easily—”
“I do not wish to live with my parents during this time. There are too many—distractions. And besides, I have a shorter distance to travel between the university and the hospital if I am here. But of course if you should ever change your mind…”
“Not at all. I’ve been outnumbered by the females in this house long enough. It will be so pleasant to have another male point of view.” He chuckled, and for Josef it was a taste of the days when he had been a carefree university student savoring Professor Schneider’s lectures in natural science. That had been such a wonderful time in Josef’s life. He and his friends had naively complained of the long hours and difficult coursework, never once understanding that they had been happier than at any time in their young lives—happier than Josef suspected they would ever be again. He thought of the one friend he missed the most.
“I saw Willi Graf at the train station last summer when we all left for our assignments,” he told Franz as the two of them continued sorting and cataloguing the professor’s library of journals and texts. “Do you reme
mber him?”
“Quiet young man with blond hair. Ja? ”
“Blond thinning hair,” Josef said laughing. “We were joking about that. He and some of the others from my class were sent east to Russia.” He flipped through a book of medical terminology, and a folded paper fell out.
“I’ll get that,” Franz said, his voice sounding slightly panicked as he bent to retrieve the slip of paper and stuff it into the sagging pocket of his cardigan sweater without looking at it.
The two of them returned to their work, but the mood in the room had undoubtedly shifted. Something about that paper had unnerved the professor. More to the point, Josef suspected that his simply seeing the paper had contributed to Franz’s sudden reserve.
They worked in silence for several minutes. Despite the closed door, Josef was aware of cooking odors and the muffled sound of female conversation coming from the kitchen. He thought about the paper the professor had been so anxious that he not see. The brief glimpse he’d had of it showed it to be something printed on a mimeograph machine. Something about the layout of the printing had felt familiar.
Then he remembered why the paper had triggered a memory. That summer, a flurry of leaflets had appeared, calling for Germans to rise up and take a stand against Hitler and for their country. The leaflets had not been signed except for the title on each: “Flugblätter der Weissen Rose,” Leaflets of the White Rose. As far as Josef knew, they had been distributed primarily at the university throughout the summer. Yet just as suddenly as they had appeared, they stopped. Josef had assumed that the authors had been caught and arrested.
But the words of that first leaflet had stayed with him during the weeks and months he had spent serving in France:
Nothing is so unworthy of a civilized nation as allowing itself to be governed without opposition by an irresponsible clique that has yielded to base instinct. It is certain that today every honest German is ashamed of his government… ashamed of his government.
It was precisely what Josef felt every time he saw the black swastika and heard the ranting of Adolf Hitler broadcast across the land. Germany was Josef’s homeland and had always been a place of culture and refinement that set a standard for the rest of the world. But no more.
He considered whether he could ask the professor if he had ever seen the leaflets from the group known as the White Rose. Surely Franz would be in complete agreement with their cause. Perhaps he even knew what had become of them.
But these were unusual times, and friends did not ask friends about things that might be controversial. Friends showed their friendship by respecting the silence, the caution that permeated daily routine. There was no longer the luxury of casual conversation—not in Germany.
Clutching her mother’s letter, Beth stood at the window and stared down at the bustling street below, tears of disappointment leaking down her cheeks. Earlier she had seen workers leaving their jobs for the day to gather at the café on the corner. Across the street was the bookstore that had been owned by the family taken from their apartment. The shop was dark and closed now, although the window still featured a display of books gathering dust.
Through the open bedroom window, she could hear the jingle of the bell on the bakery that occupied the ground floor of their building. On mild October days like this one, the baker opened the rear door to get more air circulation in the hot kitchen. She and Liesl so liked waking to the aromas of fresh bread and pastries baking. A streetcar passed. The wind rattled through the trees, scattering their brilliant red and gold leaves. In the distance she heard the piercing siren of an ambulance.
She settled her gaze on a woman entering the rear courtyard of the building next door, a straw shopping bag in each hand. From the looks of her parcels, she hadn’t gotten much at the market. Beth recognized her as the woman who, with her husband, had moved into the apartment that had been suddenly abandoned. This new couple had been taken into the camaraderie of the neighborhood without question. She watched the woman greet another resident of her building who was sitting on the rear steps, smoking his pipe. The man gestured broadly as he apparently relayed some news. The woman’s shoulders sagged a bit more, and then she shrugged and shook her head before continuing on her way.
Turning away from the scene below, Beth’s thoughts returned to the letter she held. She stared at the blacked-out lines, then smoothed and folded the thin sheets of stationery and placed them back in the envelope. How she longed for some positive news—at least something that might make her heart lighter. How she longed to return to a place where she didn’t have to censor her words or thoughts.
But even if Beth could return to Wisconsin, then what? How would Aunt Ilse cope? How would Uncle Franz be able to concentrate on his research and teaching so that his position at the university remained secure? No, her place was here—not just because she had no exit visa, but because everything told her that this was the right thing to do—this was God’s plan for her at this time in her life. She had prayed about it in meetings for worship over the last several months, asking God to show her His way, and in the end she had come to the certainty that she was meant to be where she was. She could only hope that in time she would be able to go home.
She turned her thoughts back to the immediate situation. The arrival of the doctor presented a new puzzle. He was here—as apparently he would be tomorrow and for days to come—his sudden presence only adding to the confusion and uncertainty that roiled through the house these days. Oh, what did it all mean?
Beth sighed, for in their faith there was only one answer to such a state of inner turmoil.
“Be still and know that I am God.”
She should wait for the following day when the few remaining Friends living in Munich would gather in her uncle’s simply furnished sitting room for the weekly meeting for worship. But as her mother often told her, at times a person could not wait for the gathering of others to seek God’s guidance. So Beth sat in the rocker, folded her hands in her lap, closed her eyes, and waited for the calming beacon of that inner light that Friends around the world believed dwelt in every person—even Chancellor Adolf Hitler.
After several moments she was able to shut out the sounds that floated up to her from the street through the open window. She was less successful in shutting out the sound of Uncle Franz’s laughter, which found its way to her like a whiff of the rationed and treasured pipe tobacco he smoked. Determined to find the calm and comfort of silence and to have all thoughts focused on God, she pushed away each concern that plagued her—her mother’s censored letter, the unexplained presence of the doctor, her nonexistent documents for going home….
But her efforts to find inner peace were short-lived as she was startled back to reality by Liesl’s howl of distress and Ilse’s strident and impatient attempt to settle the child. Her prayer would have to wait.
At supper Josef sat on the bench across the kitchen table from the professor’s niece and the child, Liesl. The professor sat at one end of the narrow table and his wife at the opposite end. He tried to concentrate on his food and the conversation—stilted as it was given that the professor’s wife was decidedly uncomfortable in his presence. But again and again, his attention returned to Beth.
In his presence she appeared nervous, never meeting his eyes directly, maintaining her silence unless spoken to directly. No, not nervous. More cautious. From what he had observed on the battlefield, caution was something to be admired. He far preferred to be in the company of soldiers who considered their options rather than those who rushed headlong into the fray.
Earlier she had burst into the house as if the crisp autumn wind had driven her there. Her chatter had been filled with the unmistakable vibrancy common to Americans. During his time in Boston, he had never gotten accustomed to the way his American friends had of simply blurting out their thoughts and feelings without any attempt at censoring them first. But once she had seen him—or more to the point seen his uniform—she had assumed the guarded reserve that was
commonplace throughout Germany these days.
“Do you live near Munich, Herr Doktor?” Beth asked, apparently as unsettled by the strained silence as everyone else.
“My parents live in Harlaching—in the southern part of the city.” He saw the professor’s wife glance at him for the first time. Harlaching was less than two kilometers from the professor’s cramped apartment.
“That’s quite a lovely area,” Beth continued. “The homes are quite… stately.”
“They are larger,” Josef admitted.
“And yet you have decided to—”
“Josef wishes to take a room with us to be nearer his work at the university,” Franz said, and the look he gave his niece was a warning for her to stop probing. “You must tell us what your mother had to say, Beth.”
Beth’s answer was surprisingly blunt. “Everyone appears to be fine.” She darted a quick glance in his direction. “Once the censors had their way with it, I’m afraid there was much in the letter left to the imagination.”
Earlier when Franz had given her the letter, Josef had been taken aback by her unadulterated joy. Clearly as she ran off to savor the contents, she was anticipating news of friends and family. In that moment he had actually envied her, for he well recalled the letters that his father had written to him while he served his first tour of duty as a medic. They were brief missives of instructions and curt reminders of the honor he could bring to the family name. He was quite sure that it had been his mother who had lobbied for his father to use his influence to get Josef back to Munich to complete his studies.
Now as he observed the professor’s American niece helping Frau Schneider serve the meal, he wondered if perhaps her news from home had been as disappointing as the letters from his father had been. Certainly when her uncle had inquired about her letter, Beth’s answer had been surprisingly curt.
