All God's Children

by Anna Schmidt

  Uncle Franz laid his hand on his wife’s. “Then there is our answer. Beth will stay here while we take Liesl and go to the mountains for a few days. It will do us all good. We can eat at that café you like so much in Bad Tölz, maybe ski some. Beth will have some time to herself, and—”

  “That man is not to be in this house with you when you are alone,” Aunt Ilse instructed with a jerk of her head in the general direction of the attic.

  At least twice since the night of the air raid, Ilse had come into the kitchen or sitting room when Beth had been talking to Josef and laughing at something he’d just said. Beth had given up trying to explain that with Josef living under the same roof there were bound to be times when the two of them might find themselves alone. “There is nothing between us, Tante Ilse,” Beth said softly.

  Her aunt’s eyes filled with tears. “I know—it’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just all too much, and I am so very tired of…of everything,” she admitted. “Forgive me, Beth. I don’t know what we would do without you.” She turned to her husband. “Yes, let’s go to the mountains. Let’s all go,” she added, glancing at Beth. “It will be nice.”

  “If it’s all right with you, I would like to stay,” Beth said. She knew that her uncle’s mind must be racing to find some reason to leave her behind. “It will give me some time to do some shopping in the Christkindlmarkt and, with all of you gone, I might even have time to give the apartment a thorough cleaning.”

  Aunt Ilse frowned and glanced toward the stairway to the attic. “Still, that man…”

  “I’ll ask Josef to find other accommodations for a few days,” Franz assured his wife. “So, my darling Ilse, shall we take this opportunity to go to the mountains and see if your skiing has improved at all?”

  The smile that Beth saw pass between her aunt and uncle touched her deeply. For the first time in years, Aunt Ilse looked lovely—almost girlish, the way her eyes sparkled. “A holiday before the holidays,” she whispered, and then she laughed.

  Hearing her aunt’s laughter was like listening to what had once been the sound of normal in this closed and cramped apartment.

  “Yes, let’s go to Lenggries, Franz,” Aunt Ilse whispered as she wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed his bald forehead.

  A few days after she’d seen her aunt and uncle and Liesl off at the train station, Beth hurried across Stachus, one of Munich’s busiest squares, her head bent against the sleety mist. The puddles that were starting to glaze over with ice crystals caught the reflection of the enormous red banners hanging from the Palace of Justice on one side of the square. Indeed these banners draped every official building, flags branded by the omnipresent black swastika that these days looked to Beth like some mockery of the cross.

  When she’d first come to Munich in the summer of 1934 and seen the banners, they had been impressive—even festive. The flags had snapped and fanned almost playfully in the breeze, energizing the entire city with a fresh sense of vivacity and hope for the future. Adolf Hitler was Munich’s adopted native son, and the city was bursting with pride. But so much about her feelings toward the government had changed.

  Beth had once heard a nurse describe the sound a dying patient made when the end was near as a death rattle. Now as she stared at one banner that hung from what she had come to think of as the Palace of Injustice and listened to the sound it made as it slapped against the building, she shuddered.

  Just a year earlier the wet street, the cold mist, the hint of red that shimmered in the puddles might have lifted her spirits. She might have seen the banners as harbingers of the coming holidays. How she loved spending time wandering through the fir-covered booths that filled the marketplace. How she savored the scent of roasting almonds and mulled wine. It was all part of what had for her become the magic of the holiday season.

  But on this night, she found herself shivering as much from the uncertainty of her future as from the cold. How long could she continue to live here before someone complained to the authorities about the possibility that she was not only American but also a spy living in their midst? It had happened to others.

  A year earlier when Germany had declared war on America, Beth had gone to her uncle’s office at the university, terrified at what might happen to her—and to them for having her in their house.

  “I must leave at once,” she had announced.

  “We will take it up with the others,” Uncle Franz had said.

  The others meant those Friends still living in the area—at that time twelve families. At the next meeting for business—a monthly routine among Quaker groups around the world—Uncle Franz had told everyone about Beth’s concern that she needed to continue to care for Liesl and help Ilse, but that in doing so she was placing the family in danger. He had left out the part about her not having proper documents for being in the country at all or for leaving to go back to America.

  Ilse had taken Liesl to the park and not attended the business portion of the meeting. One by one Friends spoke openly of their concern for Ilse’s health and the way Beth’s presence had positively affected Liesl’s development. One woman raised the concern that a change in routine would only call more attention to the family. In the end after hours of silence and prayer, the clerk for the meeting announced his belief that they had reached consensus that Beth should stay in Munich.

  But just a day earlier as she had helped Aunt Ilse pack for their holiday, Uncle Franz had called her to his study, where an agent of the German government was waiting to question her about her intent to leave the country.

  “Now?” she had whispered. “It’s been over a year since our two countries went to war.”

  “Who can say why the authorities have chosen today but—”

  “My papers,” she had gasped.

  “We will try and reason with the officer,” Franz assured her. “We just need more time. I had intended to speak with Josef about your missing papers,” he admitted. “I thought perhaps he could help.”

  “Uncle, no,” Beth protested. “He is…his family…”

  “We have to trust someone, Beth.”

  But she did not miss the way Uncle Franz could not meet her gaze as he said this. She knew that he had to be wondering if Josef had told his father of the situation, prompting the visit from the agent. “Get dressed,” Uncle Franz said. “I will offer this man some tea.”

  Beth tried reasoning with the government representative. “My mother was born here and lived here until the age of twenty-two,” she told him, making sure to speak in flawless German as she served him the last of their ration of sugar for his tea.

  “My wife is quite ill,” Uncle Franz confided. “Our niece has lived with us for the last eight years, caring for our daughter and helping my wife to manage the house. She was little more than a girl herself when she arrived. She has practically grown up here.”

  “We have nothing to do with politics,” Beth assured the man. “We are peaceful people—Freunde.”

  “You are Quakers?”

  “Ja aber…”

  The man’s entire demeanor shifted. He stood and actually smiled at Franz. “After the last war,” he said, “my family had nothing—nothing to eat, nowhere to sleep, nothing to wear—nothing. If it had not been for the Quäkerspeisungen, we would surely have starved.” He focused all his attention on Beth, his brow furrowed in frustration. “You have no papers, do you?”

  Beth opened her mouth to protest—to lie—but the man stopped her with a dismissive wave of his hand as he collected his hat and gloves and walked to the door. “Do whatever you need to do to replace them, Fräulein. The next person who asks for them may not have owed your people the debt that I do.”

  Of course, Beth knew exactly what had become of her papers. One glorious June day when she had been walking Liesl home from the park, they had come upon a crowd gathered outside the American consulate on Lederer Strasse. It was immediately evident to Beth that the gathered people were trying to leave th
e country. It was a common sight in those days, as arrests for no cause and strange disappearances of entire families escalated. From time to time, news got out that a limited number of exit visas would be handed out on a certain day, and the result was always a scene like the one she and Liesl were witnessing.

  On the edge of the crowd, Beth had recognized her friend Siggy, a young woman who worked as a helper in the bakery. The bakery clerk had recently confided to Beth that she was Jewish. Because of her Aryan looks, she had been able to hide that fact from her employer and—so far—from the authorities. But recently a customer—their neighborhood Blockwart who came regularly to the bakery—had spoken to her more than once in veiled threats, seeking her agreement to meet him after work. His intentions were clear in the way he watched her and found ways to touch her arm or hand whenever she waited on him.

  “I have to get away,” she had told Beth.

  So on that June day, seeing her friend being jostled by dozens of others all seeking the same prize, Beth had made a decision. The authorities checking papers and deciding who would get exit visas would never allow Siggy to leave. She had no ties in America, no job waiting, no family there. Beth had seen the woman’s forged papers, easily identifiable in the light of day as fake. She fingered her visa and other identification papers—always available in a deep pocket of her dress or coat since at any moment someone might demand that she produce them.

  Siggy was the same height, the same weight, and they looked enough alike that they had been mistaken for sisters on more than one occasion. She steered Liesl along the edge of the sidewalk as Siggy glanced up and saw her. Her lovely face was lined with fear and desperation. Siggy had told Beth that her parents and siblings had all been taken away and she had no idea if she would ever see any of them again. “There are such horrible stories,” she had whispered.

  The man charged with inspecting papers and deciding who would be admitted to the consulate and who would be sent away was moving closer.

  “Siggy,” Beth called, smiling and waving. “I came to say good-bye.” She pulled the young woman into an embrace and pressed her own identification papers into her hand.

  “No,” Siggy whispered as she realized what Beth was offering.

  “Yes,” Beth assured her. “My uncle has influence, and I am American. I’ll come back here tomorrow and get them replaced. I’ll play the dumb female and say I lost them.”

  “Papers,” the bored consulate employee demanded.

  Siggy hesitated, then handed him Beth’s identification papers. Beth faded back into the crowd, afraid the man might look from Siggy to her and realize what had happened—or worse, ask for her papers as well. She hurried after Liesl, who was skipping down the street. “Liesl, wait,” she called even as she glanced back and saw her friend waving to her as the man stood aside and indicated that she should go to the short line of people accepted for going inside.

  That night Beth had told her uncle what she had done. He looked at her with a mixture of admiration and fear. “Replacing your papers will not be so easy,” he had said. “But perhaps…”

  The following day the consulate had been closed for good, and in spite of everything her uncle had tried over the last year, it was clear that any opportunity she might have had for replacing the precious documents had disappeared. Every time she left the apartment, Beth ran the risk of being discovered, of being arrested and taken to who knew where. The least that could happen would be that she would be deported back home to America. The worst? She did not wish to consider the worst.

  Now as the sleet turned to snow, she wrapped her arms tightly across her body and walked quickly across the plaza. This holiday season would take more than the scent of roasted nuts or evergreen branches to lift her spirits. She passed a young couple, their arms around each other as they stumbled out of a beer hall. The man was in uniform, and although that was his only resemblance to Josef, Beth found herself thinking of the handsome doctor, recalling how he had coaxed her into that pirouette and how he always wrapped his arm around her during the air raids.

  As Franz had requested, Josef had gone to stay with a fellow student, and Beth had not seen him but was aware that he had been back to the apartment only once since her aunt and uncle had left for their holiday. He had left a note to say he was missing a certain book and if she found it would she call his friend’s landlady and leave a message for him. She had also noticed that a heavy wool scarf he favored in the colder weather was missing from its usual hook in the foyer.

  And on this cold, silent night as she stood in the city center— Mariensplatz, so named for the large statue of the Virgin Mary in the middle of the square—she realized that she missed Josef. She pulled the pale blue, cable-knit woolen scarf her mother had sent as an early Christmas present higher around her chin and tried to ignore the hollow mocking sound her leather boot heels made on the wet cobblestones as she continued on her way. That sound had been amplified a thousand times over by the passing parade of soldiers routinely marching in lockstep through the streets and into this very square. Day after day and sometimes in the dead of night, they pounded the message of Hitler’s omniscient power into the very soul of Bavaria’s capital.

  Beth forced her thoughts to focus on more pleasant images. She was only a few blocks from home, and for once she would not need to face her aunt’s condemning silence. With no one else at home, there might be enough hot water left to wash away the damp chill that seemed to have found its way into the very marrow of her bones.

  She had spent the evening celebrating a friend’s birthday at the famous Hofbrauhaus beer hall, and in the relief of mindless conversation, good food, and beer she had lost track of time. She had missed the last streetcar, and if she didn’t hurry, she would be out past the government enforced curfew. She longed for the sanctuary of silence that she knew awaited her in the empty apartment, for the peace she always found in taking the time to look deep within herself and seek God’s guidance.

  She turned a corner and heard male laughter. Half a block away, she saw two soldiers sharing a cigarette break under the shelter of the arches of the Neues Rathaus or New City Hall. In spite of dating back to the late nineteenth century, the building was called new because the original city hall—still standing—dated to 1310. There had been a time when such amazing historical facts had intrigued Beth, but on this night she entertained no such thoughts. Instead she focused on searching for an alternate route back to the safety of the apartment. If the soldiers stopped her…

  She had one thing in her favor. Her long golden hair worn this night in fashionable braids pulled back from her face, her sky-blue eyes, and her willowy athletic body were all in keeping with the Aryan features so prized by the regime. More than once her looks in combination with her passable command of the local dialect had gained her the tentative smile or trust of a shopkeeper or passerby. More than once she had talked her way out of showing her identification by playing the role of the empty-headed female.

  Still it had been foolhardy to take such a risk as she had taken this night. Had her aunt and uncle not gone away, she never would have agreed to join her friends. But the temptation to finally escape the pervasive undercurrent of fear that the city wore these days like a second skin had overwhelmed her good judgment.

  She glanced around for some source of shelter and saw that she was within steps of a small gated park where she sometimes brought Liesl to play—the park where she used to meet up with her friend Siggy. Knowing the soldiers would continue their rounds sooner or later, Beth sought sanctuary in the park. She made her way to a half-hidden concrete bench in a far corner, a favorite hiding place for Liesl when they came here to play.

  Determined to contain the fear and panic that threatened to overwhelm her, Beth concentrated on positive things. The bench was stone but plain enough that it reminded her of the simple wooden benches in the meetinghouse back in Wisconsin. That Wisconsin meetinghouse floor was constructed of wide wooden planks oiled and waxed to a mah
ogany patina. The ground here was black earth worn down by the shoes and boots of others who had sat in this same place.

  Missing, of course, was the silent support and comfort that came with the presence of other Friends in an actual meeting for worship. From the time she’d first begun attending meetings with her parents, Beth had found such solace and assurance in that spiritual family that every Quaker relied upon to help in challenging times. That circle of fellow Quakers in Munich had dwindled to a mere half-dozen souls over the last few weeks as more families had left the city. Now there was just Beth, her uncle and aunt, and one other elderly couple and their widowed daughter.

  In the darkness of the park, Beth bowed her head and willed herself to find the stillness. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the scent of the cedar tree that sheltered the bench, the hard-packed earth beneath her feet, and the surprisingly refreshing coolness on her skin of the sleet that had softened into snow. In her solitude she prayed for the Inner Light that all Friends sought to guide their thoughts and actions.

  But a rustling to her right brought her alert. Streetlights were not permitted in keeping with the blackout, and she blinked several times as she adjusted her sight to the shadows surrounding her. Huddled in the corner behind the bench like stumps of a tree was a woman clutching two small children. Her eyes having grown accustomed to the darkness, Beth realized that the woman was watching her. She also caught a glimpse of the crude yellow felt star that Jews were required to wear. Beth motioned for the woman to remain silent. Meanwhile she crept back to the gate, hoping the soldiers had decided on a different route.

  But half a block away, two cigarettes hit the street, glowed briefly, and went out as the soldiers readjusted their uniform caps and started walking in her direction. The woman was now standing next to her, and had Beth not put a hand on her shoulder, she surely would have tried to make a run for it.

  What was the right thing to do in this situation?