Stones on a Grave

by Kathy Kacer

  Somehow one foot found its way in front of the other, and miraculously Sara made it to the train station. But what now? There were no trains in sight. And even if there had been one, she had no idea where she wanted to be. Wolfratshausen? Hope? Neither was a good option at that moment. Sara was dizzy, and she closed her eyes while the earth spun around her. And finally, with no other alternative, she slumped on a bench, and only then did she bury her head in her hands as sobs rippled through her body. Minutes passed, and she became aware of someone standing next to her. When she finally peeled her hands away from her eyes, she saw Peter hovering above her.

  “Are you okay?” His face was creased with worry.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to obliterate the realization of what had just happened. It would have been better if she could have just disappeared into the ground. “No, I’m not okay.”

  Peter did not reply. He shifted from one foot to the other, waiting awkwardly, fidgeting as if he was trying to decide what to do.

  “It all makes perfect sense now,” Sara finally gasped between sobs. “That’s why my mother gave me away. It’s not just that there was no one to look after me. My mother hated me. How could she not hate me after what happened to her, after realizing who…what…that man was…” She couldn’t even say the word father anymore.

  “But none of this was your fault. You were just a baby.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Every time she looked at me, she must have seen him. That would have been enough to make her want to get rid of me.”

  Another long moment of silence passed.

  “Why did I even come here?” Sara finally moaned. “Mrs. Hazelton said I had to figure out the past. But she was so wrong. What good could any of this do me?” There was no moving forward in her life, Sara thought. She was tethered to her past like a horse to a cart. She could no more escape it than she could sprout wings and fly. “I wish I had never known about my mother,” Sara cried. “I wish I had never come to Germany.”

  The train pulled into the station, and Peter and Sara climbed on board. They rode the long journey back to Wolfratshausen in painful silence.

  Sara fled to her room when she arrived back at Frau Klein’s inn, but not before she had run her hands under cool water to ease the burn from having rubbed them raw. Then she threw herself onto her bed, burying her head in her pillow. She wanted to cry; she wanted to scream. But there was no fight, no tears, no feeling, left inside of her. She was simply numb. Finally, she rolled over onto her side, staring at the copy of The Diary of Anne Frank on her bedside table as if Anne could somehow provide some answers for her, all the time knowing that there were no solutions here. Then she glanced out the window. The baby robins had been growing steadily and quickly over the previous few days, and one by one they were beginning to fly from the nest. Three were already gone, and Sara could make out the mother robin perched in a tree close by, chirping madly to try to convince the last baby to leave. But it had hunkered down and did not appear to want to go anywhere. “Better to stay put for as long as you can,” Sara whispered to the last baby bird. “The world can be a horrible place.”

  With that, Sara fell into a fitful sleep and began to dream. It started with everything dark and cloudy around her. Smoke filled her lungs, making it difficult to breathe. Was this the fire that had consumed the orphanage? Where was Mrs. Hazelton? And where had her roommates gone? Were they safe? Sara strained to make out something familiar in the murky surroundings. And then slowly the fog began to lift, and she realized that she was not back in Hope. She found herself standing on the precipice of an empty grave. Faceless men and women surrounded her, some dressed in prison garb, others in the uniforms of Nazi guards. Everyone was shuffling forward and pushing Sara toward the edge of the pit. At first she resisted and fought back against the surge. But then one of the guards raised a gun, and a single pistol shot rang out by her head. Sara was thrown forward into the air, and she found herself falling, falling, falling into the blackness below. She hit the dirt at the bottom and rolled over to look up. The guard who had shot her was standing above her at the edge of the pit, sneering down at her. It was the face of a monster, massive and menacing. But when Sara looked closer, she was horrified to realize that the face staring down into the grave was hers. She had become the Nazi guard!

  She awoke in a sweat and bolted upright, breathing heavily and searching the room for something familiar to ground her back in reality. She had only been asleep for a few minutes, but it had felt like an eternity. Sara lay her head back down on the pillow and tried to control the wild beating of her heart while pushing the grisly images of her nightmare somewhere far away. It took several minutes for her breathing to return to normal.

  What was she going to do now? It was the question that reverberated through her brain, pounding like a sledgehammer. With a couple of days left before she was due to fly home, perhaps she should just go to the airport and try to get an earlier flight. There was nothing left to discover here. To stay or to go? Sara, who had been so good at making decisions for herself on this journey, suddenly felt completely immobilized. She needed help with this decision. But who to turn to? There was only one person she could think of.

  She wandered downstairs, looking for Frau Klein, and found her where else but in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Frau Klein could not hide the worry in her eyes. Peter had likely told her what had happened in Bad Arolsen. But in this moment it was probably a good thing that Sara and Frau Klein couldn’t communicate. Sara wasn’t in the mood for a conversation. So she settled for Frau Klein’s sympathetic glances and the tender hand she placed on Sara’s arm. She knew that Frau Klein was still dealing with her own loss of John Wayne. And even though she did not want to talk, she appreciated the gesture and smiled gratefully at the innkeeper. Then she accepted a tray of food and indicated that she needed to use the telephone. Frau Klein nodded vigorously and pointed her toward the office at the back of the inn, where a telephone sat on a small desk in one corner.

  Sara walked into the back room and sank down into the chair in front of the desk. It was adorned with pictures of John Wayne, from the time he was a young pup right up until shortly before Sara had met him several days earlier. It was a small shrine to the animal that had been Frau Klein’s companion, and Sara gulped hard before picking up the telephone receiver. The line crackled and came alive with a woman’s voice.

  “Guten Tag, wer spricht da?”

  It had to be the operator. “Oh, I do hope you speak English,” Sara began, speaking slowly and clearly. “I need to place a long-distance telephone call to Canada.” She went on to give the telephone number of the nursing home where Mrs. Hazelton had been staying.

  “One moment, please,” the operator replied, while Sara gave silent thanks for having been understood. Several minutes later, another female voice came on the line.

  “Cartwright Nursing Home. Mrs. Luxton speaking. How can I help you?”

  Sara’s heart leaped. “Yes, hello,” she replied. “I’d like to speak to Mrs. Hazelton. She’s a patient there.”

  There was a long pause. “Agnes Hazelton?”

  It was always hard to think of the matron by her first name. “Yes, that’s correct. I’d like to speak to her, please.”

  “I’m sorry. Agnes Hazelton has been discharged.”

  Sara felt her hopes plummet. “Oh, well, can you tell me where she’s gone?”

  “I’m sorry. We are unable to give out that information.”

  Sara tried again. “Mrs. Luxton, is it? I used to live at the orphanage where Mrs. Hazelton was the matron. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you told me where—”

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Luxton interrupted. “That is privileged information that I am not permitted to divulge.”

  “But you see I’m calling long distance. From Germany.” The line was beginning to crackle again and fade. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

  A moment later, the phone went dead in Sara’s hand. She was completely alone
again.

  Dejected, Sara headed back to the kitchen. On the way, she passed a room with its door partly open. She didn’t know what drew her closer to have a look. But with hardly a thought, Sara approached the door and pushed it open. She poked her head inside and was startled to see a sewing machine in one corner of the room and piles of fabric lying off to the side. It was as if she had re-entered the common room of the Benevolent Home back in Hope, and for a moment Sara was transported back in time to that place where she and Dot had shared many long nights, dreaming of their future careers and dancing on the open floor. At another time, Sara would have been overjoyed to see this space. But in that moment, she was almost too numbed by her circumstances to feel anything. It was there that Frau Klein found her a few minutes later.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Sara said when Frau Klein entered the room. “I was just snooping around. I shouldn’t be in here.” Even though she knew that Frau Klein couldn’t possibly understand her apology, Sara felt compelled to explain herself.

  She started to leave the room, but Frau Klein placed a hand on her arm and said something in German. The innkeeper gestured around the room and dragged Sara over to the piles of fabric, pulling a bundle from the top and placing it in Sara’s hands. Then she practically pushed her down onto the chair in front of the sewing machine. Sara didn’t have to understand a word to know that Frau Klein was telling her she was welcome in this room. Sara reached over to give the innkeeper a warm hug. They were leaving the room arm in arm when Peter entered the inn.

  “I was so worried about you,” he said after greeting Frau Klein. “Are you all right?”

  Sara shrugged. “I’ve been better.”

  “Would you like to go outside? It’s a perfect night,” he said. “Let’s get some air.”

  Sara and Peter walked out of the inn and into the garden at the back. Rows of red, yellow and purple flowers encircled the yard, crowding together like visitors at a tourist attraction. Bees happily buzzed around the blooms. The sun was low on the horizon. The sky was clear. And stars were just beginning to peek out. It was, as Peter had said, a beautiful night. He steered Sara to a wooden garden swing that sat off to one side. They sat down side by side under the canvas canopy.

  At first there was little to say. Sara was still wrapped up in the discovery of the circumstances of her birth, and Peter was also struggling.

  “I don’t know what to say to you,” he finally said. “I’m trying to find the right words, but I don’t know how to be helpful.”

  “There’s nothing to say,” Sara replied. “And there’s no way that you can help. Everything is a disaster right now.”

  More silence followed.

  “I tried to call the matron of my orphanage,” Sara finally continued. “But even she wasn’t there.”

  “What do you think she would have said if you had reached her?”

  Sara thought for a moment. It was a good question. “Oh, she would have said that I need to be strong. She would have said that there is a reason for everything. And she would have told me that I need to learn from this moment and move forward.”

  “She sounds like a very wise person,” Peter replied.

  “But that’s so much easier said than done,” cried Sara. “The man who raped my mother was a Nazi. That means that part of him is in me as well. Do you understand that? I was a mistake from the beginning. A horrible, horrible mistake. How do I ever move on from that?”

  Peter paused before replying. “From everything that I know and can see of you, there is no Nazi sitting in front of me. You are not that.”

  It was small comfort.

  “What are you going to do now?” Peter asked.

  Dejected, Sara replied, “I think I need to go back to Hope.”

  “And what will you do there?” Peter’s voice was small and sad.

  Sara shook her head. She had no answer.

  “Don’t go, Sara,” Peter begged, turning to face her. “Stay here. Perhaps there is more that you can find. You’ve only been here a few days.”

  Sara shook her head sadly. “There’s nothing for me here. I was never wanted—not by my mother, not by anyone.”

  Peter moved closer, until his face was just inches from hers. Electricity passed through Sara’s body as the hairs on Peter’s arm brushed against hers. “Don’t go,” he repeated.

  In Sara’s mind there was a fleeting memory of Luke having begged her to stay with him back in Hope—the same plea but different in every possible way.

  And then Peter took her in his arms and kissed her. His lips pressed against hers, softly at first and then with more strength. Sara hesitated for a moment and then wrapped her arms around Peter’s neck and allowed him to pull her close. There had been other first kisses in her life—with Luke and once before that with a boy in one of her classes. Those kisses had been interesting and even exciting. But this kiss was like no other. It was the tenderness of it that took Sara’s breath away. And this time, the anxiety that pumped through her body was intertwined with longing and passion and gratitude and a bundle of other emotions that were hard to figure out.

  “Please stay,” Peter whispered in her ear. “I want you here.”

  Sara pulled herself away from Peter’s embrace, looked into his eyes and replied, “I can’t.”

  Twenty

  EARLY THE NEXT morning, Peter arrived at Frau Klein’s inn to pick up Sara and walk her over to Dr. Pearlman’s office. She would wait for him to finish up some work, and then he was going to accompany her to a travel agent Frau Klein had suggested, who would change her flight to Canada. She and Peter had said nothing to one another about the previous evening’s kiss. There was an awkwardness between them. Sara didn’t like it. She had felt so comfortable, so at ease with him. This strain was unfamiliar and distressing. She longed for the relationship to return to what it had been before, but she didn’t know how to get it there. And she was also confused by the feelings that were bubbling up inside of her. There was no hiding the fact that she was attracted to Peter. He had awoken a desire in her that she had tried to push away. A relationship with him is a terrible idea, she told herself. She was returning to Canada, and he was living in Germany. That alone was an insurmountable obstacle. And after discovering her origins, Sara wasn’t sure she was worthy of a relationship with anyone. It would probably turn into a mess, just like everything else in her life. Perhaps it was better to say goodbye to Peter before anything started. And yet…somehow that didn’t feel right either.

  As she sat in Dr. Pearlman’s waiting room, Sara tried to calm her nerves and fight the fatigue that was threatening to overtake her. The previous night’s sleep had been fitful again. Every time she closed her eyes, the recurring nightmare had begun—Sara on the edge of a pit, her face that of a Nazi guard. In the end, she had been afraid to fall asleep. As she sat trying to breathe deeply, she also tried to keep herself from rubbing her hands together. It wasn’t easy, and in the end she simply clasped them tightly in her lap and waited impatiently for Peter to finish his work.

  The bell above the door chimed, and when Sara looked up, Dr. Pearlman was standing at the entrance. He paused, slightly startled to see her, and then began to walk past without saying a word. Sara couldn’t resist speaking up.

  “You’ll be happy to know that you got what you wanted.” The doctor paused but didn’t turn around. “I’m leaving,” she continued. “You never have to see me again.” This time he turned slowly and stared long and hard at Sara. “You were right,” she added, thrusting her chin into the air. “There is nothing for me here. And snooping around did nothing except bring me information I didn’t want to know.”

  Dr. Pearlman nodded. And then, with a slight hesitation, he approached her. “What did you…find out?” he asked, faltering a bit and then regaining his composure.

  “I’m not sure why you’re interested, but I found out that the only reason I was born is that my mother was raped in the concentration camp.” Sara said it defiantly, angrily.
She wasn’t sure why she had hurled out this news to the person who had pushed her away so harshly. Perhaps she was punishing herself by blurting the information to Dr. Pearlman. Perhaps she expected the doctor to say something like, I told you so. That’ll teach you to go meddling where you shouldn’t. And she would have agreed. But, surprisingly, he didn’t say a word. His eyes even appeared to have softened.

  “My mother must have thought I was a monster,” Sara continued bitterly. “Just like the man who hurt her.”

  Silence hung in the air between them. Dr. Pearlman appeared to be struggling—wanting to say something and then stopping himself. He opened his mouth, hesitated, shut it, then opened it again. And then, finally, he began to speak. “You were no monster,” he said softly. “You were an innocent baby—a beautiful, innocent baby.”

  Sara frowned. What was he saying?

  “You were terribly sick as an infant—a frail baby bird. And Karen was so sick when she gave birth to you.”

  Karen? Why was he calling her mother by her first name?

  “We were all afraid to look at you, knowing where and how you had been conceived. But not Karen. She held you in her arms and the look in her eyes as she gazed at you was pure love.”

  Peter entered the room, and Sara put her finger to her lips to tell him to be quiet. Dr. Pearlman was talking as if he were the only one in the room, oblivious to Sara and Peter. Sara did not want to interrupt his flow of words: he had just said that her mother had loved her.

  “Those first few days after she was hospitalized, she wouldn’t let you go. She held on to you as if together you could give each other strength to heal. Even as she grew weaker and we tried to pry you from her arms, she still refused to let you go. And then she finally took her last breath and she was gone.”

  Sara couldn’t contain herself. She rose from the couch. “Dr. Pearlman, what are you saying? Were you there when I was born? Were you there when my mother died?” Sara had thought he’d simply signed the medical document to allow her to go to Canada. But there was so much more that he was implying here.