A shrill squeal of brakes announced the arrival of a train. Johann watched as the cars slid past him, each more slowly, until at last the entire train came to a full stop with a heavy sigh. The doors of the second-class compartment before him opened. He looked for Eva Münch, his point of contact for the last two transfers, and soon her distinctive maroon bowler hat appeared. Eva quickly descended the metal stairs to the platform, then turned to help her charges navigate the steep drop. One girl, probably about twelve, though it was hard to judge from her small, undernourished frame, and then another, much younger, maybe five years old. “Good morning, Eva,” Johann said as he walked up to them. “So good of you to bring my nieces down south. Did you have a comfortable trip?” Although there were no soldiers nearby that Johann could see, the pretense was best initiated immediately, for the benefit of anyone within earshot.
“Very comfortable, Pastor Wiessmeyer, perfectly fine. No trouble at all,” Eva replied. The older girl gripped Eva’s left hand tightly, and the younger girl hid behind her sister. The only thing visible about the younger one was a yarn-haired cloth doll that dangled from her hand. “Nadzia, Pola, do you remember Uncle Johann?”
Cautiously, the older girl, Nadzia, extended her free left hand to Johann. “Hallo, Uncle,” she said shyly, obviously uncomfortable with the foreign language.
Johann took her hand gently and patted it. Then he knelt down so he would appear less threatening. “You are even more beautiful than I remember, Nadzia. And I’m sure Pola is too, if only I could get a good look at her.” The compliment and kind tone weren’t enough to entice the little girl out from behind her sister’s long skirt. “But I can wait.” He stood back up. “Come, girls, we should be going. The train will be pulling out again soon, and Eva needs to get back on.” He gave Eva a quick embrace and whispered, “Parents?”
“Mother, father, and baby brother killed somewhere en route. I don’t know how.” Johann grimaced as Eva reached into her purse and handed him two documents. “Here are their identification papers. You have the necessary exit visas?”
“Yes, all is ready here. Thank you, Eva. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Please do.” Eva straightened her hat and turned to the two girls. “Być grzeczne.” In a different situation, Johann might have laughed at Eva’s telling these girls to be good. They looked far too scared to do anything other than what they were told.
Now he had to confront the first hurdle: getting the girls past the security checkpoint at the station exit. He took a moment to survey the station hall and was glad to see more commotion than usual, due to the convergence of out-of-town guests arriving for the Weber concert and merchants arranging for its smooth execution. Travelers crisscrossed the stone floor, suitcases and hatboxes in hand, slaloming around trolleys. All paths merged at a tall arched entranceway, beneath which four soldiers armed with machine guns stopped everyone to check papers. Johann herded the girls into a line of people shuffling toward the exit and folded down the lapels of his coat so that his clerical collar was more visible. The older girl, Nadzia, stood in front of him, with her younger sister pressed against her. Johann put his hand on Nadzia’s shoulder, trying to channel reassurance and comfort to her through his touch. It would be helpful if the girls didn’t appear nervous and frightened as they passed through the checkpoint, though if they did, he was ready to attribute any negative reaction to their exhaustion from a long train trip.
“Papers!” A young private with the posture of a broomstick ejected one arm from his body, while his partner kept a machine gun level with Johann’s chest. The two girls immediately moved behind Johann’s coat. Johann offered the soldier the papers Eva had given him, and the man flipped through them, glancing at the photographs and then resting his attention on the page with their biographical specifics. “These girls are from Dresden?”
“Yes, my sister lives there,” Johann lied. “They are my nieces.”
“Lots of bombing going on up north,” the private said, looking around Johann’s back. “Isn’t that right, little girls? Bombs! Fire!” He bent over so that his face was level with Nadzia’s. “Ka-POOF!” he shouted, splaying his hands outward into their faces and making both girls shriek and duck underneath Johann’s coat. The travelers in line behind Johann glared at the soldier with disapproval, but no one dared say a word.
If Johann’s teeth had been more tightly clenched, they would have cracked and splintered. “Are we free to go?” he asked, measuring his words deliberately.
“Of course, of course, go!” The young man chuckled, handing back the papers and waving them past. “Always fun to play with the little ones, right, Metz?” He looked to his partner with the machine gun. Metz did not appear amused by the prank. At least not everyone’s humanity was straitjacketed by a uniform, Johann thought.
News of the Führer’s visit had succeeded in drawing the attention of most of Blumental toward the Meerfeld road, so Johann’s trip through the town’s northern neighborhoods went largely unnoticed. Thick banks of fog drifted from the Birnau forest over the road to the East Blumental station, allowing Johann to take that leg of their journey a little more slowly, camouflaged by the gray mist. Midway through town, the younger girl, Pola, began to stumble as she was pulled along by her older sister. Johann picked her up and carried her in his arms. Too exhausted to maintain her fear of him, Pola wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his chest. By the time they reached the small train station, she was fast asleep. Johann quickly looked behind the building to make sure Max wasn’t around. There was no sign of him. Johann carefully laid Pola down on one of the long wooden benches in the silent, empty waiting room, then took the doll he had been carrying inside his coat and placed it under her right arm. Smiling shyly, Nadzia lay down too, curling up her body so that her feet touched Pola’s. Johann took off his coat and draped it over both girls as a blanket. He felt a small measure of relief. “You will be safe here, I promise,” he told Nadzia. The girl nodded, but whether it was because she understood or just because she was grateful that they could rest, he didn’t know. In the distance, the bells of Birnau chimed twelve o’clock. He kissed the top of Nadzia’s head and left the station.
It was time to deal with the briefcase.
– Twenty-Six –
Rosie couldn’t believe her luck. After lunch, Mutti had completely forgotten about Rosie’s nap. Everything was off schedule: breakfast was early; lunch was late, and not even warm. Instead, Oma had hard-boiled the few eggs that Lara found in the chicken coop and set them out on the dining room table with berries and carrots and cold potatoes and other leftovers from yesterday and told everyone to take what they wanted but not to bother her in the kitchen while she and Mutti were baking. Taking one of the eggs, Rosie had gone upstairs to see if Opa wanted to play hide-and-seek, but he was busy sending telegrams.
Rosie was about to take Hans-Jürg down to the lake to check for swan nests when Sofia asked her if she wanted to go look for refugees at the train station. When Rosie said she didn’t know what refugees looked like, Sofia told her to look for children who were wearing their old clothes, the ones that Mutti had given away. That made Rosie excited, because maybe whoever was wearing Rosie’s pink polka-dot shirt would give it back if Rosie asked nicely. She still missed that shirt and she knew it wasn’t too small, no matter what Mutti said.
Sofia decided they should go to the main train station first, since there were more trains there. The main station was swarming with German soldiers. They looked like large gray ants with helmets. They were stopping people before the people went in or out the doors. Travelers were pulling out papers and handing them over—identification papers, Sofia told Rosie. It was because the Führer was coming to Blumental, she explained. Everyone looked angry to Rosie. A very bad mood was hanging in the air, something dark and short-tempered, something that had infected all the people around her.
Sofia pulled Rosie over to the side of the station. “We don’t have
any papers, so we can’t go in.” She pointed to the pile of wood stacked into a neat and convenient staircase under a nearby window. “But we can still look.” Rosie nodded. She started climbing up the pile. “Do you see anything?” Sofia made her way to the top of the woodpile and stood next to her sister.
“No,” Rosie said, peering through the panes. “Just lots and lots of people with suitcases.”
“I wonder where they would be hidden,” Sofia mused, pressing her face close to the window.
“Are they hidden? Why?” Rosie didn’t understand why a refugee would have to hide.
“I don’t know, but Pastor Johann said they needed a hiding place, and Mutti said something about hiding things under people’s noses,” Sofia said. Rosie frowned at Sofia. Now her sister just wasn’t making sense. But that happened sometimes with Sofia. She saw things that other people didn’t, like her blue space. Sofia had tried to describe it to Rosie once, something about swimming and floating and being in a watery cocoon in a world of blue. Rosie had no idea what she was talking about. The only thing Rosie saw when she closed her eyes was blackness. And sometimes reddish streaks, if she closed them tightly while looking up at the sun.
Many of the people in the train station were dressed in uniforms, some with lots of colored ribbons. Her opa’s uniform had a lot of colored ribbons on it, plus some pretty metal pins. Rosie once asked him if she could have them when he didn’t need them anymore, and he said that she could. Then he said he might have to give some of them to Lara and Sofia too, if they wanted any. That was only fair, he reminded her. Opa was big on being fair.
“You two, on the woodpile! Get down from there, now!” an angry voice shouted.
Startled, Rosie almost fell off the logs. She turned her head to see a German soldier motioning at them with his rifle. Rosie was not afraid of soldiers—there were too many of them around to be afraid of all of them. This one was short and round, and the helmet on his head made him look like a turtle walking upright. “He looks like a turtle,” Rosie said to Sofia, not moving. But Sofia was already hurrying down.
“Well, he’s a turtle with a gun, Rosie, so come on,” Sofia urged. Reluctantly, Rosie turned away from the window.
“You shouldn’t be wandering around the station without your parents!” the soldier barked. “Go back to your parents! Go!” He waved his rifle through the air as if to herd them toward a pair of imaginary parents. Nodding earnestly, Sofia pulled Rosie off the woodpile and rushed her along, away from the swinging rifle.
“Maybe we can wait until he goes away and then look some more,” Rosie said, not ready to give up on the refugees quite yet. Sofia shook her head.
“No, I’m pretty sure they’re not in there,” Sofia mused. “They must be in East Blumental.”
The two girls began running east along Hauptstrasse, past Herr Roch’s jewelry shop, past Fräulein Beck’s dress store, and more quickly past Herr Eigen’s pharmacy, because he was grumpy with children and gave off waves of formaldehyde whenever he moved. As they neared the Mecklen bakery at the next corner, they both slowed, partly to catch their breath, partly to savor the aroma.
“Let’s go in and see if Frau Mecklen will give us a cookie,” Rosie suggested hopefully.
“She doesn’t give me cookies anymore,” Sofia said. “I’m too old.”
“But she might give me one, because I’m not old,” Rosie said. “And I’ll split it with you.”
Sofia smiled. “Okay, but I’ll wait out here. You go in and choose.” Rosie skipped inside as a bracelet of little bells announced her entrance. Rosie loved the Mecklen bakery. It was her favorite store in Blumental, because it was warm and yeasty, and it had big glass display cases. Back when the Rosenbergs had this bakery, the cases were filled with marzipan animals and chocolate ladybugs wrapped in brightly colored tinfoil. Frau Rosenberg always let her and Sofia choose a marzipan animal when they came over to play with Rachel. Frau Rosenberg could make almost any animal out of marzipan: pigs and cows and mice and sheep, and once she even made a giraffe. The only animals the Mecklens ever made, back when there was enough sugar to make marzipan, were pigs. Another thing about the bakery was that there was always somebody there whom Rosie knew. Rosie liked most people, even the ones who constantly expressed surprise about how fast she was growing. As long as they didn’t try to pat her on the head or pinch her cheek.
Regina Mecklen was a pincher, but today she was standing behind the display case, too far away to reach Rosie’s face. She was chatting with Frau Schmiede, bending forward over the counter and laughing at something Frau Schmiede had just said. Sofia and Rosie had decided long ago that nobody could really find so many things as funny as Frau Mecklen seemed to, and they began to gauge the sincerity of her laughter by the degree of squinting in her right eye. Today, it was clear to Rosie that Frau Mecklen wasn’t really amused by Frau Schmiede’s gossip, because her right eye was still open enough to wink at Rosie as she approached.
“Ja, ja, he was just here this morning, picking up an order of bread for the evening’s festivities,” Frau Mecklen said.
Frau Schmiede clucked sympathetically. “Such an enormous amount of work for you and your sisters, dear Regina. But all to the good, all to the good. When does the Führer arrive, do you suppose?” Rosie was only half listening, her face pressed to the display glass. She was gazing intently at the coconut macaroons and the buttery schweineöhrchen, flaky pastries curled in the shape of pigs’ ears. The macaroon was her favorite, but Sofia didn’t like macaroons. The word Führer reminded Rosie of her purpose, and the fact that Sofia was waiting, and that they still had to get to East Blumental before it was too late.
“I’m going to see the Führer,” she blurted out. “The Führer is coming to our house this afternoon! And pretty please, may I please have a cookie?” At Rosie’s announcement, Frau Mecklen’s head snapped in the girl’s direction. In an instant, the baker abandoned Frau Schmiede.
“Oh, my dear sweet child! Of course you can have a cookie, of course!” She hurried over to the end of the display case and motioned for Rosie to come to the other side. Frau Mecklen’s mouth now expanded to its maximum width, stretching her entire face around an array of yellowing teeth. If she could see anything out of those slit eyes now, Rosie thought, it was a miracle. “Help yourself, dear, help yourself to any cookie you want. You are a lucky, lucky girl, to have the Führer at your house, you know. When is he coming?”
Rosie reached into the display case for one of the schweineöhrchen, one with its tips dipped in chocolate. “We’re supposed to be back in time for afternoon coffee,” she said, waving her arm at the door to indicate Sofia’s presence outside.
“Oh, afternoon coffee! Of course, that’s very civilized. I’m sure your entire family is very excited,” Frau Mecklen said. Rosie watched her, fascinated that Frau Mecklen was able to speak without relaxing her mouth. “But what time, my dear?”
“Sometime this afternoon,” Rosie said, heading quickly toward the exit. Bells jingled as Rosie called out, “Thank you, Frau Mecklen!” And just like that, she was back outside, with the door closing heavily on Frau Mecklen’s plaintive cry.
Rosie glanced around for Sofia. Her sister was not on the street corner. Rosie looked longingly at the schweineöhrchen and carefully pressed her thumb and forefinger into the base of its buttery spirals, then shifted it from her right hand to her left to lick the melted chocolate from her coated fingers. “Rosie!” Sofia’s voice called to her from down the street, near the marketplace. “Rosie, come help me!” Rosie turned her head to the right, where the voice was coming from. There, in front of the fountain in the Blumental marketplace, she saw Sofia struggling with what looked like a brown suitcase. She ran down the street to join her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Sofia put down the case she had been dragging across the cobblestones. “I found Pastor Johann’s briefcase.”
Rosie looked more closely at the object Sofia was wrestling with. It w
as just like the little bag Opa used to take with him each morning when they lived in Berlin. He said he kept important papers in it, but all Rosie ever saw come out of it were the lollipops he used to bring home for the girls. “Where did you get that briefcase? What’s in it? And how do you know it belongs to Pastor Johann?”
Sofia sighed and sat down on the closure flap at the top of the case. “I don’t know what’s in it, Rosie. I was waiting for you outside the bakery, and I was looking up the street and saw Pastor Johann walking over to this bench here, next to the fountain. He was looking around, like maybe he was waiting for someone, but then he sat down on the bench. He kept checking the briefcase lock. And then after a bit he stood up again and walked away. Without the briefcase.”
“Maybe he forgot about it,” Rosie said. “Grown-ups are always forgetting things.”
“Well, then, we should try to get it back to him,” Sofia said.
“But our cookie is melting and we need to eat it soon,” Rosie stated, trying to focus Sofia on more important issues.
“You eat it,” Sofia said. “I’m going to get this back to Pastor Johann.” She stood and picked up the briefcase with both hands. “Oof!” She exhaled as the briefcase thumped against her right thigh. Rosie took a seat on the wooden bench nearby, and she put the tip of the schweineöhrchen into her mouth, closing her lips around the edge of the chocolate and sucking on it while she watched her sister. Sofia had made it almost all the way across the marketplace with the briefcase when a familiar voice boomed out behind Rosie.
“Oho! What are you up to?” Rosie turned around a moment before Erich lifted her up off the bench and held her dangling in the air above him. She kicked her legs at him and pretended to be cross, though it was hard not to giggle.
The Good at Heart Page 21
