by Kathy Kacer
The sun shone brightly as she made her way through the streets of Wolfratshausen, turning this way and that, until she finally found what looked like a mailbox. Before dropping the letter inside, she stared at it in her hand and at the address for Loretta’s Diner she had written on the front, hoping that Mrs. Clifford would find a way to get it to Dot. She wasn’t sure if she’d hear back from her former roommate. And it didn’t really matter one way or the other. Sara knew the letter was just her way of reaching out to someone who was important to her.
The sun beat down on her as she walked back to the inn, skipping over the puddles that dotted the sidewalk from the rain the day before. Cars honked as they drove past, and a flock of geese from the river called out in response. It felt good to be outside, and by the time she returned to the inn, she had worked up a sweat and had removed her sweater. Peter was already there, seated at the kitchen table and happily munching on a slice of poppy-seed cake that Frau Klein had just removed from the oven.
“You must think we don’t do anything but eat here,” he said when he saw her.
“I was beginning to wonder,” Sara replied.
“We have an understanding here about Jewish mothers. They are a force of nature. They feed us, pamper us, protect us and often make us feel guilty. Frau Klein doesn’t have any children, but she is definitely a Jewish mother!”
Sara laughed and sat down next to Peter. She was happy to see him. Frau Klein continued to hover around them, and Sara noticed that John Wayne’s dishes had been removed from the floor while she had been out for her walk. She didn’t say a word about it; she just stared at the empty space that had been John Wayne’s spot. Her heart still ached for Frau Klein.
“Okay, what next?” Peter asked when he finally pushed his plate away and sat up to face Sara. “I assume you are not going to give up.”
Sara cleared her head and quickly filled Peter in on the frustration she was feeling at not having been able to get any information about her mother.
“It’s what I was trying to tell you,” said Peter. “There aren’t many people around here who want to talk about the past, or even admit that anything bad happened.”
Sara paused. “I understand not wanting to remember. But surely they knew what was happening.” Thinking back, even she had to admit that she was aware of Luke’s harassing Malou back in Hope. She hadn’t wanted to see what he was doing; she had wanted to mind her own business. But if she was being completely honest, she had to acknowledge that all the signs were there. She had chosen to ignore them. Sara knew from her reading that more than 150,000 German Jews had perished during the war. How did the citizens not see that? “What did everyone think when Jewish people were sent away?” she asked.
Peter leaned forward in his seat. “First of all, the cover story was that the concentration camps were a place to protect Jews from the discrimination that they were facing in their hometowns. People probably knew the camps existed, especially as the war went on. But I don’t think they knew that Jews were being tortured and murdered there. The Nazis worked hard to keep that a secret.”
“But what did everyone think when no one came back? They weren’t living under a rock!” Peter looked confused, and Sara tried to explain. “You can only hide from the truth for so long,” she said. “Eventually, you have to face what’s happening in front of your eyes.”
“Some people tried to help,” Peter replied.
“But not enough.”
Peter was trying to remain calm, but the discussion was heating him up. “There is no simple explanation here. Even if people did know about the camps, remember that there was not much that ordinary German civilians could have done without risking their own lives. People were scared. For themselves and for their families. It was safer to look the other way. That was also a reality.”
“But—”
“Sara,” Peter interrupted. “This is not a…how do you say it…a black-and-white situation. You’re asking questions that perhaps we will never know the answers to.”
He was right, of course, and Sara realized that it was wrong of her to put him on the spot like this—to try to have him explain or defend the activities of Germans during the war. But in reality, all of her questions boiled down to one simple one. How was she going to find out any information if people refused to talk about the past?
As she and Peter continued their conversation, Sara was aware of Frau Klein hovering close to them. The look on her face told Sara that she was desperately trying to understand what they were talking about, frowning every now and then and leaning forward to try to pick up a word or two. Suddenly, she began to talk to Peter in animated German. He responded while Sara slumped in her seat, wishing again that she could understand what they were saying. Every once in a while, she heard a word that sounded like “bad” coming from Frau Klein’s lips. Is she talking about me? Sara wondered. Was Frau Klein also suggesting that Sara’s plan to find someone to talk to was a terrible one? Without even realizing it, Sara began to rub her hands together, slowly at first and then with more intensity. This whole situation was making her feel sick.
Frau Klein turned and smiled at Sara, and then she walked out of the room.
“What was that all about?” Sara asked.
“It’s just a suggestion,” Peter began, “and it may be too hard or too crazy.”
“Tell me!” Sara sat upright and leaned forward.
“Frau Klein knows of a place where the Germans have stored documents from the war. It’s in a town north of here called Bad Arolsen.”
“I heard Frau Klein saying the word bad and I thought she might have been talking about me.”
Peter laughed softly. “Actually, Bad is the German word for spa. There is a center there, in Bad Arolsen, that has information—the names of Jews, which concentration camps they were sent to, and even how and when they died or were killed. The names of those who survived and went to the DP camps are also there.”
“Let’s go!” Sara leaped to her feet.
“Not so fast,” replied Peter. “The town is about a four-hour train ride from here. It’s a long trip. And even if you went there, I’m not sure they would let you in. The place has tight security, and not many people are allowed to enter.”
Sara sank back down onto her chair. It was unfair to throw out a solution like this and then snatch it away from her because it was too difficult. Yes, she had to admit that there were obstacles in this proposal, but maybe the plan was doable. A four-hour train ride was not impossible, she thought. The fact that the place might not allow her in was a problem. But she would cross that bridge when she got there. The biggest hurdle of all was how she was going to communicate with the people who ran the center. But in her heart she knew this might be her shot to find out the truth about her mother—perhaps her only one. And she had to take it.
“Peter, I have to try this. Will you come with me?”
Peter looked into her eyes, perhaps a little too deeply. And then he replied, “Yes!”
Sixteen
SARA WAS IN Dr. Pearlman’s office, seated on one of the couches in his waiting room. It was early—well before 6:00 AM. Peter had picked her up at Frau Klein’s that morning but said he had to stop at the clinic first and put together a few things for the doctor. Sara was waiting for him to finish up. Their plan had developed quickly the day before. They hoped to catch the earliest train to Bad Arolsen, get to the center where the documents were stored, see what they could find and catch the last train back to Wolfratshausen. It would be a long and exhausting day but manageable—just as long as everything went according to plan. Sara stopped herself at that thought, refusing to dwell on the possibility that she might fail in her quest to find information about her mother. Today is the day that I will discover the truth, she told herself over and over. She wasn’t sure why she was so certain of this outcome. She just had to be.
The previous night, Sara had begun to dream about a real mother for the first time—her mother. She imagined a
woman holding her in her arms, singing a lullaby and rocking her to sleep. The woman’s face, though hazy, radiated kindness. Even in her dream, Sara knew that the image was far-fetched and implausible. And, of course, it had nothing to do with concentration camps or why Sara had been given up for adoption. That didn’t matter. She had hunkered down in her sleep and hadn’t wanted the fantasy to end.
The door to the clinic opened suddenly and Dr. Pearlman walked in. When he saw Sara, he stopped in his tracks, coughed into his hand and shut the door—just a little too loudly—behind him.
Calm down, Sara told herself. Don’t overreact.
“Good morning,” she said, keeping her voice even as she stood up. She was determined to be polite no matter what.
“Good morning,” he muttered back, almost like he didn’t want to respond but had no choice. He was just about to walk past her into the back room when he stopped and turned to face Sara.
“What are you doing here?” He was as gruff as he had been the last time they met—perhaps even more so.
“I’m—I’m just waiting for Peter.” Oh why was she stuttering? Why was this man making her lose her confidence and her composure? She didn’t even know him, and yet he was unnerving her so.
At that moment Peter appeared from the back. Dr. Pearlman glared at him and barked a brusque question in German. Peter glanced at Sara and then back at the doctor. Then he began to respond. Sara listened closely. She caught the words Bad Arolsen in their exchange and assumed that Peter was explaining where they were going.
“Why are you snooping around here so much?” Dr. Pearlman directed this question to Sara. “And why are you helping her?” This one was for Peter.
Peter was about to respond when Sara stepped in. “I don’t have to tell you what my plans are. The last time I checked, this had become a free country.”
“Don’t be cheeky,” Dr. Pearlman snapped. “You can’t just appear out of nowhere and think you’re going to get my assistance.” The air was thick with his contempt.
“You’ve made it quite clear that you’re not prepared to help me in any way.”
“Please calm down, Herr Doktor,” Peter interrupted. “We’re leaving now and won’t bother you with anything.” He turned to escort Sara from the building, but she would not be stopped.
“Why do you care what I am doing?” she asked, shaking off Peter’s arm. “And why are you so angry with me? I haven’t done anything to you. I don’t even know you, and yet you are doing everything in your power to make me feel like I’m an outsider—like I’ve done something wrong.” This man was worse than the people living in what was once the DP camp. Those people had a reason for being so curt, as Peter had tried to explain. They were trying to erase the past and their possible roles in it. Why was this doctor trying to do the same? Had his past been so unbearable that he couldn’t even be helpful to her? She could understand his pain at having lost his family. But that wasn’t her fault. Why blame her as he seemed to be doing?
At any rate, Sara had had enough of his anger. And hers was starting to get the better of her. What she usually kept bottled inside rose in her throat and began to seep out against this horrible, mean man. Her hands found one another, but she forced them apart. She wasn’t going to let her anxiety get the better of her—not now. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and faced the doctor. Her eyes flashed as she glared at him. “I don’t have to answer any of your questions. If you’re not prepared to help me, that’s fine. But you can’t stop me from trying to get my information.”
They faced one another, separated by years of life experiences. Peter watched the exchange, not moving. Dr. Pearlman paused. His face trembled slightly, and his eyes glared back at Sara. As he reached up to rub his eyes, Sara could see the tattooed numbers on his arm. She refused to be unnerved by them.
“You’re just…” he began.
Just what? Just getting in the way? Just being stubborn? Sara stood her ground in front of the doctor while Peter stood helplessly by. A moment later, the doctor turned and walked out the door.
Sara and Peter said little on the way to the train station. Even after they had purchased their tickets and boarded the train, and it had pulled away, she could still feel the fury of her exchange with the doctor. She was glad she had stood up to him. But her stomach was rolling up and down and from side to side even more than the train. And all the anger that had been directed at the doctor was now replaced with the more familiar apprehension. She hated the feeling!
She turned to stare out the window, trying to calm herself by watching the green, hilly land of the Bavarian south flatten as the train moved north toward the center of the country and their destination. Her breathing began to return to normal as she watched the countryside speed by. A full hour passed. Peter was the first to finally break the silence. He was sitting across from her, and he leaned forward to face her.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into Dr. Pearlman, but you have to trust me when I tell you that he isn’t usually like this.”
Sara wasn’t sure she was ready to talk.
“You touched a nerve in him, that’s for sure,” Peter continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this upset.”
“Well, I guess he touched one in me too.” She hesitated. “Mrs. Hazelton, the matron of the orphanage, once told me that I have a strong spirit. I think she used the word fierce.”
“I can certainly vouch for that!” said Peter.
Sara smiled. “You know, I can’t say that I was ever really happy growing up in the orphanage. Don’t get me wrong,” she added quickly. “Of course there were times when I felt good. It’s just that, deep down, I never felt really content. But at least I knew what was what. Mrs. Hazelton was a wonderful matron, and my roommates were like sisters—are like sisters,” she corrected herself before continuing. “I even had a boyfriend who I thought loved me.” She didn’t know why she was blurting all of this to Peter, but somehow she needed to get it out. She turned away from his stare. “Then, when the orphanage burned down, everything was turned upside down. It felt as if everything I knew in my life had been taken from me. I didn’t know where I was going to live or what I was going to do.”
“And the boyfriend?” Peter asked.
Sara smiled sadly. “He turned out to be nothing but trouble.” She paused and took a breath. “But then Mrs. Hazelton gave me this information and told me that I had to figure out my past before I could figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
Peter continued to stare at her. “What do you want to do—with your life, I mean?”
“Well, maybe this sounds silly, but I’ve always loved to sew. One of my roommates, Dot, and I used to make clothes back in the orphanage. I’ve always dreamed of becoming a designer. But those are just dreams—wishful thinking.”
“It’s not silly at all. And dreams are important,” Peter said. “My parents are always telling me to think big and then find a way to catch up with the ideas.”
Sara smiled. “I like that.” No one had ever paid much attention to what she desired for her future. Luke had just laughed when she talked about wanting to design clothes.
“You can find a way to make that one happen,” Peter continued. “I’m sure of it.”
Sara felt her face redden, and she quickly tried to shift the conversation. “What about you?” she asked. “Do you think about what you want to do one day?”
Peter didn’t hesitate. “Medicine. Despite what you’ve seen of Dr. Pearlman, I’ve admired his skills for years. That’s why I’ve worked for him at the clinic. I’ve watched him—the way he attends to his patients, the way he figures out what’s wrong with them and then finds a solution. I’m going to be a doctor.”
“I think you’ll make a good one,” Sara said.
Peter finally broke the awkward silence that followed. “It’s unusual for Jewish girls to have such blue eyes.”
Sara laughed out loud. “I wish I knew where the
y came from,” she said. “It’s all part of what I’m trying to discover. I have no idea what my parents looked like.”
“I’ve always been told that I look like my father.” Peter had short reddish-brown hair and dark-brown eyes. “Most of the Jewish people around here look like me—dark hair, dark eyes. It was usually the Aryans who were blond-haired and had blue eyes, like you.”
Sara looked puzzled. “Aryans?” she asked. There was something familiar about that word from the reading she had done, but she couldn’t place it.
“Another term from the past,” replied Peter. “It’s simply a racial grouping. But Adolf Hitler believed that Aryans were what he called the master race—the most superior of all. Jews were not part of that desirable group and were mistreated for their religion, culture, background and, yes, even for their appearance.”
It was still unimaginable to Sara that such attitudes had once existed.
“I like them.” Peter was still talking. “Your blue eyes, I mean.”
Sara blushed again. Just then the train listed to one side, and Peter was thrown forward, bringing his face practically up against hers. He steadied himself but stayed there a moment longer—his face close to hers. She could almost feel his breath against her skin and could see his mouth just inches from hers. A moment later, he moved back into his seat. They didn’t talk again until the train pulled into the Bad Arolsen station.
