Daisies Are Forever

by Liz Tolsma

  “Gislea? Are you ill?”

  Mitch. She wasn’t there anymore.

  “You were in a far-off place.”

  “In my head, I can still hear the Russians’ heavy boots thunking as they made their way upstairs at my aunt’s house in Goldap. I held my breath, afraid to make even so small of a noise as exhaling. I knew by the squeaks of the risers which step they were on. Any second they would burst through the door.”

  Her body trembled as if an earthquake rocked it. She couldn’t stop. She drew a ragged breath.

  Even as she spoke to Mitch, she felt herself drawn back there.

  Without formulating a plan, she propped open the window and climbed to the porch roof. Her cousins closed the window behind her. What were they doing? Why didn’t they climb out too? Without any other choice, she swung her legs over the edge and dropped to the ground.

  She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, to the garden, where she hid under the hedge. It was cold, so very, very cold. The ground was damp and the chill seeped through her clothes. She stayed under there all night. No matter what, she couldn’t shut out her cousins’ screams.

  The Russians found them.

  When gunshots filled the night, their screams stopped.

  Mitch gave her hand a squeeze, bringing her back to the present.

  She rubbed her temples. “I ran away once. At the cost of two lives. No more running. Not for me. You go if you want. But leave me here.”

  Mitch wanted to shake Gisela. He hadn’t left yet, knowing he could never talk her into coming west when the girls weren’t well. And then he had fallen ill himself.

  And now . . . Why didn’t he leave? Just go. She was home. She would be fine here.

  But that wasn’t the truth. And he couldn’t stand it if anything happened to this beautiful, headstrong, stubborn woman.

  She fiddled with the gold watch on her wrist. “You see, if I had prodded Heide and Lotta out that window, we might have all survived. But I didn’t. I thought only of myself.”

  If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be here right now. “With the time it would have taken for all of you to get out the window, the troops might have caught them anyway. You don’t know what would have happened. They chose not to come.”

  Just as his chums had chosen to follow him, all because of his bragging. Couldn’t they have found a map or followed someone else? But they trusted him. That was the worst. He broke that trust.

  “I will never forget that night. Those sounds.”

  And he would never forget the sight of those German panzers. “How did you escape?”

  “I ran. When morning came, I ran and ran, until a stitch in my side forced me to slow down. A few hours later, I caught up with a group of retreating German soldiers. They took me to Heiligenbeil. Don’t you see? I survived. They didn’t. Just like with Margot.”

  “You have to know it’s not your fault.”

  “If I could go back and change things . . .”

  “No what-might-have-beens. If God says not to worry about tomorrow, I would think the same applies to yesterday. There’s enough trouble in the here and now to worry about how differently things could have turned out. You’re talking to an expert on the matter. I’m world famous on what-might-have-beens.” He came to her, and though she attempted to push him away, he didn’t allow her.

  Despite her protests, he held her close. Close enough to stroke the curls at the base of her neck. She buried her head in his shoulder. “Oh, Mitch, what a muddle I have made of my life.”

  “We all make messes.”

  “You too?”

  “Yes.”

  “France. That’s what you’re talking about.”

  “And East Prussia. How could I have done it twice? Walked in circles?”

  She turned her head so her ear was pressed to his chest. “Do you think this will all end?”

  “It will. It has to.” Either there would be a truce or they would all die. Heaven became more real to him with each passing day.

  He peered at her, a ray of sunlight falling across her head, the golden highlights in her brown hair shining through the grime.

  “I’m not sure I can keep going. God is punishing me for what I did. For what my country did. He may never relent until He has purged us from the earth.”

  “I have to believe He continues to love us. How else could we get out of bed every morning?”

  She sat in his embrace a moment more before she pulled away. “We must get this notice painted. The girls need me. They have to be so frightened and confused. I never should have left them this morning.”

  She held the can of white paint and Mitch traced the letters of the words on the red bricks. He couldn’t spell in German worth a lick, so she helped him, and they painted the message. They set the brick on the steps where Frau Cramer would be sure to see it.

  “That’s all we can do for now.”

  Gisela shook her head, her wonderful stubborn streak rearing its ugly head. “There’s more.”

  She may have failed her cousins, but she wouldn’t fail the girls and she wouldn’t fail Mutti. Along with Mitch and Kurt, she picked her way the few blocks to Frau Mueller’s place.

  Dear Lord, let Mutti be here. Bitte, bitte.

  She climbed the three stairs to the house’s front door, her legs heavy, stiff. Her hand trembled when she turned the ornate brass knob. Mitch opened the heavy wood door for her. Mutti, she just knew, would be on the other side.

  Two little blondes ran to her and wrapped themselves around her legs. “Tante Gisela, you’re back, you’re back.”

  “Ja, I am that.” She looked into Frau Mueller’s lined face, asking the question with her eyes.

  Frau Mueller shook her head.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Audra sat on the couch, twisted her hands, then traced the green scroll pattern on the cream fabric. She stared at Gisela first, then Josep as they entered Frau Mueller’s small home. “Did you find your mutti?”

  Josep shook his head. “Nein. She may not have been at home at the time of the bomb.”

  She did pity Gisela. The not knowing had to be terrifying. “I’m so sorry.” She bustled to her feet and hurried to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “You look exhausted, both of you. I will get you coffee and a damp towel.”

  Audra walked the tightrope with care—not allowing Gisela to go to England with Josep while befriending her. Within minutes she returned to the living room and handed him the coffee, along with the towel.

  His face crinkled in concern. “Where are the girls?”

  Audra rubbed his arm. “Napping.”

  Gisela turned in the direction of the narrow stairway that led to the guestroom the girls occupied. “I’ll go and lie down with them.”

  Audra staked a claim on the davenport beside him. “Have a good rest. Sleep for as long as you can.”

  She waited for the bedroom door to click shut. Josep stared into the depths of his coffee cup.

  “Kurt didn’t come with you.”

  “He went to look for Frau Cramer.”

  Ah, ja. Play the part of the hero. Perfect. She would take on the role of comforter. “You must be tired too.”

  “Where are Frau Mueller and the Holtzmann sisters?”

  “Out on a search for more rations.” Which meant they were alone.

  Josep set his cup on the glossy walnut end table and stretched.

  “Are you sore from so much work?” She grabbed him by the shoulders and began to rub them.

  His muscles were taut under her fingers. She worked the knots and one by one they loosened as he relaxed. He groaned, then sat straight and pulled away. “I shouldn’t have let you do that.”

  “Yes, you should have. You are so good to Gisela. She doesn’t appreciate you enough. You need someone to take care of you.”

  “Like all of us, she is having a hard time.”

  In a flash, she determined the moment was right for a gamble. “But she’s not your wife. That’s a great
sacrifice on your part. You would be back with your countrymen now if not for her.”

  “I wouldn’t be alive if not for her.”

  “I think you would have been fine.”

  He rose. “I want to peek in on Gisela and make sure she is sleeping.”

  She wanted to shout at him. What did that woman have that she didn’t? Why was he so devoted to her when she didn’t deserve it?

  Instead, she bit her lip.

  Near noon the next day, Mitch held Gisela’s elbow to keep her steady as they walked among the ruins of what had once been one of Europe’s grandest cities. Hitler had brought her to her knees. Parks had been turned into gardens, homes into graveyards, a city into a wasteland.

  He had waited until the usual morning air raid was over to venture out. Both the Americans and the Brits had become systematic in their bombings. They learned to plan their days by them.

  Yesterday had been different, though. The air raids had been more frequent. Last night the eastern sky had burned red. The Soviets crept ever closer. Almost close enough to touch.

  Gisela struggled over the decision to leave the girls while she conducted the search for her mum. He promised her they would be fine for a while and she consented with great reluctance.

  She stopped and massaged the back of her neck. “I don’t even know where to start looking for Mutti. My landmarks are gone. Even if I knew which friends to inquire of, I have no idea how to get to them.”

  “Then ask. Just step up to any of these people on the street and question them.”

  She pressed her lips in a thin line. Fear and hope blended together on her face, tiny lines accenting her wide eyes.

  “Do you want me to do it?”

  “You shouldn’t be out, much less speaking. You could be hanged as a coward for not fighting for the Fatherland.”

  Wasn’t that what he was? A coward for not fighting for his fatherland?

  He slid his right arm from his jacket’s sleeve and pressed it against his side. “Now I’m a hero. No one will question me.”

  She flashed him a dubious look, her brow furrowed. “Just don’t say anything.”

  A scouring of area hospitals turned up nothing. No one matching her mum’s description had been admitted at any medical institution.

  They spent the waning hours of the afternoon knocking on doors. Many of the places they went to look had also been bombed out. So many displaced.

  At each residence, the answer was the same. No one had seen Gisela’s mum.

  Now they stood listening to bad news for the tenth time that afternoon from a plump hausfrau. “I’m sorry. She isn’t here. If she should come, I will tell her you are looking for her.”

  Gisela turned away, her shoulders humped. “I have run out of places to look. I can’t think of where she might be.”

  “Probably either at Frau Mueller’s sipping a cup of that stuff that passes for coffee or out looking for you.”

  “Mitch, I’m scared.” She spoke in English, her voice hoarse. “What if we’re separated forever?”

  “That won’t happen. It might take a little bit of time, but you will find her. You’re too stubborn not to find her.” He couldn’t let her sink into despair.

  She tipped her head to the side and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Thank you for those encouraging words.” The pins that held the rolls on the top of her head had come loose. Here, in the middle of a war zone, in the midst of all this death, he wanted to pull out all of those pins and run his fingers through the length of it.

  He forced himself to turn away and keep to the topic at hand. He propelled her forward with a slight touch to the small of her back. “You need to rest.”

  Like a little child, she allowed him to lead her home. At each corner, he verified that they were headed in the right direction. She answered only with a nod or shake of her head.

  The streetcar, limited as it was in its run, clanged a few streets over. Women hustled past, heading home with the meager foodstuffs they had bought for their families.

  And then he peered at Gisela once more.

  Mitch couldn’t stand it. She looked defeated. Deflated. Done in. About a block from the apartment building, he stopped. She turned to look at him, her amber eyes full of questions.

  He drew her close, could feel her heart beating furiously against his chest. She trembled much like the little bird he rescued from the ground when he was a child. Gone was the stubborn, infuriating woman. For a moment, she leaned against him, her arms snug around his middle.

  He breathed in her amazingly fresh scent. “You aren’t alone.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m going to stay with you. Through the rest of this crazy war, I’ll stay with you.”

  She pushed away from him, her gaze directed over his shoulder.

  Gisela blinked and blinked again, staring over Mitch’s shoulder. A woman turned down the block. The woman’s shape, posture, and gait were all familiar. The way she bustled about with an air of purpose and efficiency.

  She pushed herself out of Mitch’s embrace. “Mutti? Mutti?”

  He spun around, following her line of vision. “Is that your mum?”

  Gisela nodded. “Mutti!”

  The woman never looked up. She didn’t acknowledge her call. He held her arm, but Gisela slipped from his grasp and marched toward her mother. “Mutti.”

  The figure turned down a side street. Where was she going?

  Thankful this block had sustained little damage, Gisela sprinted in Mutti’s direction. Hadn’t she heard her daughter calling? “Mutti!”

  Her lungs cried out from the exertion, but she ignored their protests. In the matter of half a block, she caught up to her mother. “Mutti.”

  The woman pivoted and looked around. “Are you talking to me?”

  It couldn’t be. The woman matched Mutti in size and stature, her plain brown coat just like her mother’s. But the eyes were wrong and so was the tilt of her chin. Gisela’s heart slammed against her ribs. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

  The woman nodded, turned, and walked away. Mitch came huffing beside her.

  “It looked so much like her. She even walked like Mutti does, like she has a very important place she has to be. But it wasn’t her. How could it not have been her?” Disappointment exploded in her stomach.

  Mitch opened his mouth, sure to apologize again. His words would sound like teeth against a metal spoon.

  “Don’t say you’re sorry. Please, don’t say that anymore. I can’t stand it. You didn’t do anything. I did. I left my mother to do the laundry. And now she is—where? We don’t know. We may never know. What do I do?”

  “We can figure it out later. Right now, let’s go home.”

  Home?

  She didn’t have a home.

  Kurt wandered the desolate streets. The setting sun cast a red glow in the western sky, and Russian artillery fire colored the eastern sky crimson. The cool air refreshed him for a brief moment. Weak from months of hunger, he became winded far sooner than a man his age should.

  All day, he had searched for Gisela’s mutti. If he found her, Gisela would owe him a debt of thanks he intended for her to repay.

  He had pondered turning in Josep numerous times. Only his concern that Gisela would mourn for the man caused him to hesitate. He could comfort her in her grief, but would she recover from another loss?

  Nein, the situation demanded that he proceed with care.

  And he had been unable to locate Frau Cramer. He balled his single fist in frustration. The woman had disappeared from the face of the earth. Not uncommon these days, but he had hoped to bring the best of news to Gisela tonight. Before Josep got the chance to play the hero.

  Before Kurt lost the music forever.

  He came to the bombed-out apartment building. The bodies he had helped lay in a row this morning reposed under their coats.

  For a while, he paused in front of them, silent, his mind abuzz with ideas
to impress Gisela. He tossed each away like the morning trash. Until one idea came and refused to leave.

  He didn’t relish the idea of ransacking the dead. To him, it resembled stealing far too much. But then he imagined Gisela’s face when he brought home more ration coupons. Perhaps the dead woman had coupons for extra milk for the kinder. Gisela would run into his outstretched arm and kiss him on the cheek.

  He rummaged through the pockets of the old couple that took in Bettina and Katya. A few cards, partially used.

  He came to the bodies of the woman and three of her children. They hadn’t found the others. As he reached into the pockets of the coats that covered them, he diverted his eyes from the children’s bloated faces.

  Just little kids, full of life, full of promise.

  What are we doing here? Is this what I gave my arm for? What Hitler demanded of them? And all for what?

  He sat back on his haunches and went to rub his right arm, the pain in it growing in intensity. Nothing but air met his hands.

  Off in the distance, the air-raid sirens screamed their warning yet again. How many did this make today? He had lost count.

  The cards he pulled from the children’s pockets would be able to supplement the meager bit of milk the girls were allowed each day.

  At least one small victory for him in Gisela’s eyes.

  Mitch sat on the hard kitchen chair, swirling water in his coffee cup. The walls of the small room closed in on him. In the living room, Gisela reclined on the couch, her head back, mouth open. At least she had given in to sleep. Light from the marble-based lamp spilled onto her hair, which shimmered gold.

  He wanted to bang on the wobbly table. Why hadn’t they been able to locate her mum? More than anything, he wanted to erase the worry and fear clouding her eyes. She stooped like an old woman. Was this what war did to them?