by Kathy Kacer
Sara tried again. “I was told that you—the doctor who signed this—had changed the information about my health. I was told I had TB as a child and that you altered the form so I would be allowed to travel. I have the name of my mother on another document.” Why was she so nervous, and why was this man making this conversation so difficult? She dug through her bag for the second piece of paper, this one from the United Nations Rehabilitation and Relief Administration. “Here,” she said. “My mother’s name was Karen Frankel.”
She extended the paper toward the doctor, but he did not move to take it. His eyes widened again as he stared at it. “What did you say her name was?”
“Karen Frankel. You see, it’s written right here.” She indicated the name on the paper. “That’s all I know.”
Dr. Pearlman’s eyes traveled from the document up to Sara’s face, searching her features until his gaze came to rest on her blue eyes. He didn’t say a word, though Sara could see that he had gone quite pale. Peter was standing now and also staring at the doctor.
Sara felt the hairs on her neck stand straight up. Instinctively, she stepped back out of the spotlight of his scrutiny. “I’ve also got this.” She reached into her blouse and pulled out the Star of David necklace.
This time, Sara could see Peter leaning in to look at the star. Dr. Pearlman’s gaze shifted from Sara’s face to the necklace and back again. He gasped and reached up to remove his glasses. His hands were trembling; in fact, his whole body seemed to have gone into spasms. For a moment, Sara forgot about her own situation and stepped forward, reaching a hand out to rest on the doctor’s arm. He did not look well.
“Are you all right? Do you want to sit down?” She couldn’t imagine what had panicked him to the point of looking as if he might pass out.
Peter hurried over to stand next to Dr. Pearlman. “Herr Doktor,” he said urgently. “Can I get you something?”
The doctor coughed and shook off Sara’s hand. Then he turned away so that she couldn’t see his face. “I can’t help you,” he said over his shoulder, rather brusquely this time. “I’m afraid you’ve come for nothing.”
Sara was confused. “But you must be able to remember something—”
“No!” His voice was loud and angry.
Sara would not be deterred. “I just need you to give me some information about my mother.”
“Nothing!” He was almost shouting now. “You have to leave.” And with that, he strode out of the room.
Sara remained glued to the spot, staring at the empty space that had been left when the doctor stormed off. Then she turned to Peter. “What just happened?”
“I’ve never seen him this upset,” Peter replied. He looked at Sara with brows knitted together, shaking his head.
“I didn’t mean to do anything to…I just wanted some answers.”
Peter nodded. “I don’t understand it either.”
“But I don’t think I did anything wrong.”
Peter jumped in quickly. “No, you didn’t. There must be something else that has disturbed him.”
Sara sank back down onto a couch and buried her face in her hands. This had gone worse than she could have imagined. Her stomach was aching, tied up in knots that were threatening to overcome her. If she didn’t get hold of herself, she was afraid she might throw up. A pain behind her left eye began to throb, keeping time with the clock on the wall, whose second hand counted out the passing moments—one, two, three—growing with intensity until the beat became a thump. Her hands were tightly clasped. Minutes went by before she was aware that Peter had moved over to stand directly in front of her—two feet planted on the floor below her gaze. She really didn’t want to talk to him, but she couldn’t avoid looking up.
His face showed concern. “Are you okay?”
Sara stared at him blankly.
“What are you going to do now?”
Before Sara could even think of an answer to that question, the back door swung open and Dr. Pearlman reemerged. She jumped to her feet. The doctor had combed his tuft of hair back into place and seemed to have composed himself, though his face was still pale and he avoided looking Sara in the eye. “There is a small inn not far from here,” he began. His voice was calmer as well. “Peter will take you there. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk. Frau Klein, the woman who runs it, will give you a room for the night. I’ve already spoken to her, and she is expecting you.”
Sara made a move to speak, but the doctor held up his hand to silence her.
“The inn isn’t fancy, but it’s clean. You can make your plans to return to Canada after you’ve had a night’s rest.”
He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Sara and Peter alone again.
Eleven
SARA WAS SILENT as she trudged after Peter on the walk to the inn. Had she really come all this way just to be told she would have to leave? No, Dr. Pearlman hadn’t just asked her to leave. He had practically ordered her away. It made no sense. Sara knew that there was more to discover and that this doctor had more information than he was willing to share. Why else would he have become so unsettled and abrupt, turning on her for no r eason she could comprehend? What was it that he was hiding? She had no idea how she w as going to discover that.
“He’s really a good man.” Peter interrupted her thoughts. “The doctor—he’s a caring man. All his patients say so. I’ve worked for him in the clinic after school and every summer for a few years now, so I know what he’s like.” Peter was walking just ahead of Sara. He had insisted on carrying her suitcase, despite Sara’s protests. In the end, she had given in and let him take it. Pick your battles, she thought. Besides, in her weary state, she was grateful for the help. The case slapped against Peter’s leg as he slowed his pace to give her a chance to catch up.
“Well, he doesn’t seem to care too much about my situation,” she replied. Her head was still pounding, and her stomach was still in knots over the way her conversation with Dr. Pearlman had ended. She didn’t know if it was anxiety that churned in her belly or hunger. It felt as if days had gone by since her last meal.
“All that talk about the war,” Peter continued. “It upsets him. That’s probably why he didn’t want to talk to you.”
Despite her overwhelming fatigue, Sara was instantly curious. “I saw those numbers on his arm,” she said. “That has something to do with this, doesn’t it?”
“Those were the numbers he got when he was taken to Auschwitz. Everyone who was sent there was tattooed.”
Sara recalled that Auschwitz was one of the worst of the concentration camps that Adolf Hitler had established.
“I’m told that he lost his family there—his wife, a child. He was the only one to survive,” Peter continued. “When the war ended, he went to Föhrenwald—the displaced persons camp. He worked there as a doctor, trying to help other survivors.”
That was the name of the place on her certificate. Föhrenwald—the place where Sara was born. The connection between her and the doctor suddenly felt as if it had intensified—another reason why he must have information about her or her mother. “How do you know all of this?” she asked Peter.
“Dr. Pearlman is a family friend. My parents also survived the camps and had me just after the war ended.”
He said the word camp like he was talking about summer camp, not a place where people had been murdered.
“So you’re Jewish!” Sara instantly regretted having blurted this out, even though Peter looked amused at the comment. “I’m sorry,” she continued quickly. “I don’t mean to be so personal, but you have to know that this is all so new to me. I’ve never actually met anyone Jewish. Well, that’s not quite true. There was a Jewish minister who came to speak once at our church back home.”
“You mean a rabbi,” Peter interrupted.
Sara felt her face redden again. “Of course! A rabbi.” She exhaled before continuing. “Anyway, this rabbi came to speak at our church in Hope—the town that I’m from. He talked about some
Jewish customs. But I have to admit, I didn’t really pay too much attention. And now I wish I had! I guess I’ve got a lot to learn about all of this.”
“Well, in answer to your question, yes, I’m Jewish. There aren’t that many of us living here now—not many who stayed in Germany after the war. So many of those who survived were eager to get away from this country. Those of us who are left are a bit of a tight-knit community. Frau Klein who runs the inn is a survivor as well.”
They arrived at their destination—a charming A-frame chalet with colorful wooden carvings across its gables, and flower pots that lined the walkway up to the brightly painted red door. The sign out front read Landhaus Inn. Peter knocked and waited. A few minutes later they heard shuffling feet on the other side, and an older woman answered. She had the gentlest face Sara had ever seen. There was no other way to describe it—warm eyes that invited you in and a smile that threatened to stretch up to the tops of her ears. Frau Klein felt like kindness personified—tender and embracing. And all of that was contained in the tiniest of frames. She couldn’t have been much more than four feet tall, but she was impeccably dressed, as if she took great pride in always looking her best. Her silver hair was pulled up into a fashionable beehive-shaped bun at the back of her head. And she stood straight and strong despite her years, which Sara guessed to be even more than Dr. Pearlman’s. Sara liked her immediately.
“Sara, this is Frau Klein. Unfortunately, she doesn’t speak English. I assume the doctor explained your situation to her on the telephone. But I’ll just fill her in and help you get settled. Then you’ll be on your own.” Peter proceeded to speak rapid-fire German to Frau Klein while Sara looked on. The elderly woman continued to smile and nod, cooing ever so slightly under her breath as Peter presumably talked about the events that had unfolded at the doctor’s office. Finally, she reached up and lightly stroked Sara’s cheek. Her hands were chapped and raw, as if she had soaked them in harsh laundry detergent over a lifetime. But the gentleness of the gesture took Sara’s breath away, and her eyes instantly filled with tears. She was not used to being touched with such unreserved affection. Frau Klein continued to coo and cluck as Peter finished talking. It was only then that Sara noticed the tattooed numbers on Frau Klein’s arm as well. In one day, Sara had met two survivors of the Holocaust—more than she had ever imagined meeting in her lifetime!
Sara shook hands with Frau Klein and then stood there in the entranceway, awkwardly waiting for something to happen. Just then a black-and-white, short-haired dog waddled in from another room and walked up to Sara, sinking to the floor and nestling up against her foot. It was some kind of a mongrel, a mixture of breeds that Sara couldn’t begin to figure out. And it was almost as wide as it was long.
“Ah, this is Frau Klein’s pride and joy,” said Peter, bending to scratch the mutt behind its ear.
Sara was usually not one to take to dogs. She didn’t hate them, and she certainly wasn’t afraid. She just hadn’t been around them enough to get used to them or warm up to them.
“His name is John Wayne. Frau Klein loves American westerns,” he added when he saw Sara’s amused look. Frau Klein said something in German, and Peter smiled. “She says that John Wayne is probably as old as she is, and just as…what’s a word that you use to describe someone who isn’t afraid to go after what they want?”
“Determined?” Sara replied.
“Even more than that.”
“Gutsy!”
“Yes, that’s a better word. John Wayne is gutsy.” As if on cue, the dog responded with a quick bark, struggling to his feet and wagging his tail.
Sara knelt down to give the dog a pat on his head. John Wayne immediately leaned forward to lick her on the cheek. She was delighted and instantly taken with him.
Frau Klein spoke to Peter again.
“He must like you,” said Peter. “Frau Klein says he is quite stingy with his affection.”
Sara stared at the dog panting in front of her. I could use a friend right now, she thought. Even a four-legged one. “You’re a sweet old dog, you know that?” she said.
John Wayne tilted his head to one side and raised an ear.
“I’m afraid he also only understands German,” said Peter. “Sitz!” he commanded. The dog fell back on his haunches. Then Peter said something else and John Wayne lifted a fat paw and placed it in Sara’s hand. That sealed their friendship.
“Well, it looks like you don’t need me anymore,” said Peter. “Between Frau Klein and John Wayne, I think you’ll be well taken care of.” He handed Sara her suitcase and turned to go. “I’ll come back tomorrow and take you to the train station to make arrangements to get back to Canada.”
Sara rose from the floor and began to protest. She had gotten here on her own, and she wouldn’t need any help getting back. Besides, she was not used to boys doing things for her. Back in Hope, she’d had to remind Luke to hold the door open for her. Not that she had needed that either! But then she stopped herself. There was something about Peter that she liked. And yes, in the midst of this strange and foreign country, perhaps a little help was just what she was going to need.
Twelve
THE ROOM THAT Frau Klein led Sara up to was bright and inviting. Its walls were covered in floral wallpaper, and a matching eiderdown comforter lay across the four-poster bed. It was one of the prettiest rooms Sara had ever seen. While she, Dot and Tess had tried to create a welcoming space in the small room they had shared at the orphanage, their dorm room had always felt plain and sterile. This one felt like a warm summer day. She flopped down onto the bed, wondering again when the last time was that she had slept; she figured it was more than a day ago. And yet, oddly, she wasn’t ready to close her eyes. Frau Klein had insisted that she eat something before going to her room, and Sara had gladly consented. Now, with food in her belly and energy pumping through her body, she was wide awake and buzzing with thoughts. She needed to sort them out and began to make a mental list of the things she knew so far.
1. Dr. Pearlman. He was abrupt and perhaps even rude. And he was certainly mysterious. Peter insisted that the doctor was kind, but so far Sara had not seen any evidence of that.
2. Peter. He was interesting and definitely eager to lend a helping hand. And Sara had to admit that she found him attractive. But it was crazy for her to even think about anything else. She had just ended a relationship with someone she thought she had known, someone who had turned out to be a disaster. And she was finally moving forward. Now was definitely not the time to think about guys.
3. Her journey. Was it about to end almost before it had started? She didn’t want to leave Germany yet, though Dr. Pearlman had made it clear that she should get on the next train out of Wolfratshausen. There had to be a way for her to discover something about her parents. This was the location that the documents all pointed to. This was where she had come from.
4. Everything seemed to lead back to the m ysterious Dr. Pearlman. He had seemed quite interested and polite at first, yet cut her off so quickly once she showed him the certificate with his signature. Why?
Just before going up to her room, Sara had managed to convey to Frau Klein that she wanted to look at a local telephone book. Even though she knew it was fruitless, she had searched through it to see if she could find a listing for the name Karen Frankel. Just as she thought, there were no names close to that. She presumed her mother must have been dying when she sent Sara away. But a small part of her wondered if maybe—just maybe—there was a chance her mother was still alive. But if that were true, then why would her mother have abandoned her? Did it have something to do with her father—whoever he was? She had no information about him whatsoever. Sara sighed aloud in the empty room. She had barely been here for a day and already she had more questions than she had arrived with—along with a couple of dead ends!
She reached into her purse, pulled out her wallet and began to count out how much money was left. Mrs. Hazelton’s contribution of $138 had pretty much taken
care of the round-trip airfare. That left Sara with her own nest egg of nearly $300. The inn was only $10 a night, with two meals that Frau Klein would provide. And if the snack she had just eaten was any indication, Sara knew she would be well fed. So she still had plenty of cash for this trip. She had a return ticket in one week’s time. Why go home now? For a moment she wondered what Mrs. Hazelton would say if she knew the situation Sara was in. Well, she didn’t have to think about that for more than a second. Sara knew that the matron would urge her to continue searching—not to give up. Mrs. Hazelton’s words of advice—Sometimes you need to look back in order to move forward—echoed loudly in Sara’s head.
She rose, lugged her suitcase onto the bed and opened it, staring down at the clothes neatly folded inside. Just before leaving Hope, she had managed to sew a couple of skirts and blouses, using Mrs. Clifford’s sewing machine. Her former boss had even given her the fabric, claiming she had piles of it at home. You’ll put it to better use today than I could in a dozen years, she’d insisted. The pieces Sara had whipped up fit her much better than the clothes she had been given at the church after the fire.
Without even thinking, she began to remove the items, one by one. She hung her skirts and pants in the small closet next to the bed and piled the sweaters and undergarments into the wooden chest of drawers on the other side of the room. Then she laid the copy of The Diary of Anne Frank on the small table next to her bed. It didn’t take her long to empty the suitcase, which she placed in another corner.
With that done, Sara plopped down on the bed once more and stared out the window. It was starting to get dark, and the last rays of the setting sun cast a yellow glow into her room. There was a robin’s nest to one side of her windowsill, securely nestled under one of the gables. Four little heads poked out of the nest, mouths open to the sky, waiting expectantly. Suddenly, as if on cue, the mother robin appeared with a worm dangling from her beak. The four heads stretched higher toward the mother bird, demanding to be fed. These babies were big and plump and threatened to spill out of the nest in their eagerness to be the first to get to the food. Just like the Little Ones back at the orphanage, Sara thought, smiling to herself. The mother robin pushed the worm into the mouths of a couple of her babies and then flew off again to search for more food. Sara watched the mother bird taking care of her babies and wondered, briefly, why her own mother had never done the same for her. It was a ridiculous comparison; she knew that. But she couldn’t help going there in her mind. Why had she been abandoned? Would she ever discover the reason? As she watched the babies bob up and down, waiting for their mother to reappear, she laid her head down on the comforter, closed her eyes and in seconds was fast asleep.
