by Susan Finlay
“Sorry to hear that,” his cousin Jacob said. “We’d love to meet them.” He glanced at his mother. “Mom’s hoping she might get to babysit your little girl, isn’t that right, Mom?”
She nodded and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Then she went on and told them stories about when she and Elsa were little girls playing in their houses, both in Biberach, Germany, and Sacramento.
Everyone listened and nodded and laughed in the right places.
Jacob whispered in Lucas’s ear, “We’ve all heard these stories dozens of times, but it makes her happy to remember the good old days.”
“Does she ever talk about the war?”
“She wasn’t born until after the war but, yeah, she sometimes talks about what it was like for her family during the post-war area. They all had a pretty tough time.”
Lucas wanted to ask more, but didn’t want to upset Anna by not listening to her.
In the early afternoon, some of the family left to get lunch.
Jacob said to his mother, “We need to grab a quick bite and then I’m taking you home to get some sleep. You hardly slept a wink last night. I’ll drop you off back at my house, and then I’ll go pick up the kids at their mother’s house. We’ll stop back by the house then and pick you up.”
“But someone has to stay here in case Elsa regains consciousness.”
Lucas was about to say he would stay, but Jacob said, “Her kids are staying here. They’re eating in the cafeteria downstairs and have their cell phones with them. They’ll be back up here in probably fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“I’d rather stay,” Anna said, refusing to budge.
“Absolutely not,” Jacob said. “I can’t have you not sleeping and then getting sick, too.”
“Oh, I guess you’re right.” She grabbed her purse and tried to get up. Jacob had to take her hand and pull her up.
Lucas walked with them out to the parking lot.
Jacob said, “We’ll call you later to give you an update. Mom has your phone number, right?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Lucas watched Jacob and Anna stride across the lot and get into a shiny black Mercedes sports car. As they drove past him, he headed in the other direction to his ten year old blue Jeep.
He didn’t really know anything about Anna’s son. Probably a doctor or lawyer, driving an expensive car like that. But then again, maybe Jacob’s father had been a CEO of some big company or something and was rolling in money. The house Anna and Elsa lived in was certainly expensive.
As he drove back toward Roseville, he randomly wondered why his mind automatically tried to put people into slots. He knew nothing about Jacob or about Anna’s deceased husband. Hell, he barely knew anything about his own deceased father or his own brother. And yet, here he was guessing about these strangers.
He pulled into his driveway and went to push the button on the garage door opener. Uh oh. Crap, Tawny didn’t want him coming home until night.
Well, maybe he should call her and see how they were feeling. They might need something. He shut off the engine, then took out his cell phone and called Tawny. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired. We’ve both been sleeping and yet I feel like a truck dragged me down a dirt road for hours and hours.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Is that Daddy?” Bianca said in the background. “Hi Daddy,” she shouted in the phone. “Thank you for bringing Hallie to us.”
“Hi right back at you.”
“Okay, baby, lay back down and try to sleep some more. Sorry about that. She’s running a temperature of 101. She wants to get up, but as soon as she tries to get off the bed, she changes her mind. Says she feels dizzy and like she might throw up.”
“Poor kid. And you, poor wife. Isn’t there anything I can do?”
“No, I don’t think so. Where are you?”
“Uh, in our driveway. I got distracted and was operating on auto-pilot, I guess. Are you sure there’s nothing you need or nothing I can do?”
“That’s really sweet, Luke. But all I really want to do is sleep. You go on over to your Dad’s house and get some work done.”
“Okay.” He was about to say bye, then remembered something. “Did you call your doctor’s office?”
“I did. They told me not to worry. Pregnant women get sick with colds and flu all the time.”
Lucas said, “Oh good. Thanks for checking. All right, I guess I’ll head over to Dad’s. I figure I could tackle some of those crates we saw the other day. You know the ones that were hidden behind some suitcases.”
“Oh, yeah, that should keep you busy. Let me know if you find anything good.”
“I will.”
Tawny said, “I forgot to ask. How is your Aunt Elsa?”
“No change.”
He drove back to Sacramento, stopping for a quick lunch on his way. At the house, he didn’t have to worry about checking on the cat, so he headed straight upstairs.
He switched on the light in the attic and then pulled one of the crates out of the corner to a brighter area. He picked up a crowbar he’d found in the garage back when he and Tawny had first started digging through the stuff up here and pried open the crate.
Oh wow, the crate was jam packed with stuff. He picked up and set aside a stack of old newspapers, began stacking old books—he stopped moving things—diaries! He picked up one and started reading. Huh? What language is that? Definitely not German. He’d studied Spanish in school—wasn’t fluent but could read it. Definitely not Spanish, either. The sloppy handwriting didn’t help matters.
Slavic. It had to be. And that made sense. Some of his ancestors had lived in the Sudetenland, which was part of Czechoslovakia. So it was possible that they had Czech family, too.
“Well, that’s not going to help me,” he said. He set the diary aside and picked up the next. German. He recognized the handwriting. He’d read other diaries by the same girl, Christa. Then he picked up another. Hmm, different writing, but again German. Ah! Probably the same girl who wrote the second batch of diaries Tawny found the first day we were looking through boxes. He unloaded the rest of the books but found no more diaries.
Well, at least he had a few more to read through. That could help him. He’d have to find someone who could translate the Slavic one for him, but he could read the other two himself.
He set that crate aside and opened the next one.
On top he found a military uniform. German. Well-worn.
CHAPTER TEN
Christa Nagel, July-August 31, 1944, Altstadt, Sudetenland—
THE DAY AFTER Vati came home, Mutti strutted and clucked like a mother hen, caring for him as if he were her little boy. He wasn’t allowed to do any lifting or work, according to her. His leg didn’t really seem that bad to Christa. The other kids kept bugging him to show them his wound. Eventually, he’d given in and raised his pant leg. Giselle had been horrified and ran to Mutti, but Christa and the other kids had thought it wasn’t any worse than the wound one of their cows had gotten last year when she tried to escape from the German soldiers who were rounding up all the livestock from the farms. “Vati, do you have to turn in your uniform?” she asked. They were sitting on the sofa, both of them reading books.
“That is a good question, little one, for which I have no answer. When they gave me permission to go home, I just kept my mouth shut and left. I did not want them to reconsider, which they might have if I had asked questions.” He winked at her, and she smiled.
“I would not have asked, either. You were smart, Vati."
He patted her on the head.
“We do not have any livestock anymore,” she said. “And the soldiers confiscated most of our land. I guess that means you are no longer a farmer.”
He pursed his lips and nodded.
“What will you do?”
“Hmm. I may have to go to one of the bigger cities to find work. We will have to wait and see.”
TWO WEEKS LATER, Vati too
k the train from Altstadt to another city. Christa didn’t know which one. He returned in two days and announced to Mutti and the rest of the family that jobs there were hard to come by and he would have to travel again to a larger city with factories.
He made many trips, each time to a further city, each time coming home with no prospects, and each time looking more worn and concerned. On one of the trips, he managed to bring back some fruit that he’d picked in a field. That temporarily cheered Mutti up.
“I may have to wait until the war ends,” he said after his latest trip, looking tired, but effecting a weak smile. “We can manage. The war is winding down, I know that for sure. Another year and it will be over.”
Mutti said, “We may not be able to wait until then.”
“Why is that?” he asked.
She wrung her hands together, opened her mouth to reply, but then hesitated. Finally, glancing at Christa and Ernst, she said. “We are expecting another baby.”
Vati said, “Are you sure, Hanna?”
“I have gone through six pregnancies. I know the signs. If I am correct, the baby will be due in the spring.”
Vati struggled to keep his face blank. Christa could see the effort. But without hesitating, he pulled Mutti into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “You are a wonderful mother. This baby will be lucky to have you.”
“You . . . you are not upset?” she asked, her dark brown eyes looking up into blue-gray ones.
“Nein, nein, we will manage. I will go to Prague tomorrow. Surely I will find a job there.”
Another baby? Christa groaned inside. More diapers to change and to wash? Washing was Christa’s job. Didn’t she have any say in the matter? And what did they need with another baby? Weren’t the six kids they already had good enough for Mutti and Vati? Mein Gott, they can barely feed the family as it is. How are they going to feed another?
VATI RETURNED HOME after his trip to Prague, this time smiling, his face bubbling with excitement. “I got a job, Hanna. I will have to live in Prague during the week in a boarding house near the factory. But it’s a job. I will make enough money to pay room and board and still be able to send money home for the family.” Christa watched and listened, unsure if she was happy or sad. His leaving would be difficult on the whole family.
Mutti pulled away from his embrace. “Nein. You cannot leave us,” she cried. “Do you not know how much we missed you all those months you were away? How can you leave us again?”
Christa looked back and forth between her parents.
“I thought you would be happy,” Vati said. “Is this not what you wanted?”
“Nein. Not if it means you will not be here with us. We are a family. We stay together.”
He sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and said, “You knew I was going on these trips to find work? Did you not understand that I would have to live wherever I could find work?”
“I thought I could cope with it. We managed without you before. But now that it is happening, the thought of you leaving us again is unbearable.”
“Because of the baby you are expecting?”
“Nein.” She swatted at his hand. “I have had enough babies. I know what to expect. It is not that.”
“You want me to turn down the job?”
“Ja.”
“You are sure? This is not because of female hormones spiraling?”
Huh? What did that mean? Christa glanced at Ernst. He shrugged.
“Ja, I am sure,” Mutti said.
“Then I will go to the town hall in the morning. I can use a pay phone there. I will call them.” He hesitated, looking at each of the children’s faces and Mutti’s face. “It will not be easy feeding all of us, but I want to make you happy. I will stay.”
“Danke.” She pulled him close and kissed him, with all of the kids watching.
Fritz and Julia snickered, and Giselle pulled on Mutti’s skirt.
Christa felt her heart twist. Of course she wanted the family together and happy, and she certainly didn’t want Vati to live away from them, but wasn’t there any other way? Why couldn’t they all go with him?
Two weeks later, a knock on the front door startled them all during dinner. Mutti and Vati exchanged glances. Christa didn’t like the sound of that knock, and she was pretty sure her parents didn’t, either.
Mutti started to get up, but Vati put his hand on her shoulder.
“I will see who is there. Wait here.”
Hearing a loud male voice and then Vati’s voice, Mutti and the rest of the family, except for the baby who was strapped in a high chair, rose from the table and peeked around the corner.
Mutti gasped.
Two uniformed soldiers stood there, both high-ranking officers, Christa guessed, based on their uniforms and medals.
Mutti stepped forward. “What is happening?”
“Frau Nagel?”
She nodded.
“Your husband has been recalled to the front,” one of the officers said. “We are short-handed, and as he is recovered from his injury, he is deemed fit to return.”
Christa couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Tears dripped down her face. She turned and ran up the stairs.
Ilse Seidel, July-August 31, 1944, Memmingen, Germany—
THE TOWN OF Memmingen was over-run with German soldiers, everywhere Ilse looked on her way to the market. Seeing their guns made her shiver. Some of the soldiers didn’t look any older than her brother, Johann. Were their families far away, worrying about their safety the way Mutter, Oma, and Opa worried about Johann? Had any of these soldiers lost friends or comrades in the air battle last night? Some of the men smiled and waved to her, as if they were classmates seeing each other again after the summer break. But she doubted any of them were from this area. School had been on break now for almost a year, and she rarely saw any of her former classmates around town. Most of the teachers were gone. Some were Jewish and had been ‘relocated to the ghettos’. Then she’d heard the news on the BBC radio that said the Jews were moved into concentration camps. She couldn’t believe they would do that. Other teachers had been conscripted. Students had been forced into the youth groups and didn’t have time to waste on school, the government told them. She would give anything to go back to school and have a normal life again.
At the marketplace, every shop or booth she stopped at had run out of food. The clerk at the butcher shop leaned forward and whispered, “All the food is going to the soldiers. The gestapo demanded we give them all the good cuts of meat. Hardly anything was leftover. What there was got snapped up within five minutes of our shop opening. I have heard the same thing happened at the other shops.”
“What are we supposed to do? We will starve.”
The clerk glanced toward the window. Ilse followed her eyes. Two soldiers stood on the sidewalk directly in front of the butcher shop, smoking cigarettes, their rifles hanging off their shoulders. One of them turned and glared at the woman as if he could hear her, which of course he couldn’t, but it gave Ilse chills.
“They do not care if we starve,” the woman said. “Why are they fighting? If all of the citizens die, why does it matter if the country has more land, more power, more anything?”
Ilse didn’t respond. She knew that any talk against the country or against the Wehrmacht could get a person executed on the spot. No trial. The woman took a big risk talking about this to her, but it could also be a set-up. She’d heard of people engaging or encouraging that kind of talk to entrap people. Why? Because it got them special privileges or made them important to the soldiers. Trust no one. That’s what Oma, Opa, and Mutter told Ilse and Ursula and Robert. They were right.
The only food she was able to get today was a few potatoes and an equal number of onions. Not even one meal worth of food. She lumbered home and handed the basket to her mother.
“Mein Gott! I cannot make enough soup for all of us with that.”
Ilse said, “I could go to the forest and see if I can find mushroom
s. Or maybe apples or berries.”
Oma said, “Nein. The soldiers are searching the woods. The woods are too dangerous.”
“I know an area that has wild trees with bean pods. Johann and I found some beans there last year. I think it is in a different area than where the soldiers have been searching. Besides, the soldiers are back in town now. They are all over the place and they did not bother me.”
No one said anything, so Ilse picked up her now empty basket and left before anyone could stop her.
An hour later she found the bean trees she’d talked about and was thrilled to find perfect-looking bean pods on them. Why hadn’t she thought of this place sooner? They could have been eating beans for months.
When she’d filled her basket to the top, she started back toward home, walking back through tall grass that waved in the warm breeze. Something darted across her path. She froze in fear, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. Breathe, she told herself. Once her heart slowed back to a reasonable pace, she stared at the creature standing less than fifty feet away. A fox! Oh, my goodness. She’d never seen one up close like this before. The fox had frozen and seemed to be waiting to see if she’d noticed it. Suddenly the fox took off, running into a thick expanse of pine trees to her right, the pine forest with walnut trees mixed in, the forest she had forgotten about. This was the forest she and her best friend had played in sometimes when they were kids. Back then, she and her friend had been fearless and the forest had seemed inviting. Now her friend was dead, killed in one of those early bombings. Now the forest appeared dark and gloomy, the tall trees being close together, standing like sentinels, guarding their territory and warning people to stay out.
Dark. The perfect place to find mushrooms, she thought. She edged toward the trees and, sure enough, she spotted mushrooms. Mushrooms for their soup. She rushed forward and bent down to check them. Vater had taught her how to tell the difference between safe mushrooms and poisonous mushrooms. She bit her lip, studying them, then smiled. These were edible. She picked a dozen and had to readjust the contents of her basket to fit them in.
