The Good at Heart

by Ursula Werner

  “Put me down! I’m busy, Uncle Erich.”

  Erich held Rosie in the air for a moment longer and studied her face. “Busy? Hmm, yes, judging from the extensive map of chocolate around your lips, you have been hard at work on that cookie. What are you doing here all alone, Rosie?”

  “I’m not alone, I’m with Sofia. She’s over there somewhere.” Erich looked in the direction that Rosie waved her cookie. All of a sudden, he let go of Rosie and started running.

  “Stop! Sofia, stop! Wait! Put that down!” When Erich reached Sofia, he picked her up with one swoop of his right arm and held her tightly while he wrested the briefcase away from her. She cried out in protest and tried to reach for it, but Erich prevented her. After a moment, he placed the briefcase on the stones behind him, beyond her reach. Then he knelt before Sofia, holding both of her hands in his own and talking to her, too softly for Rosie to hear. Though Erich’s back was to Rosie, she could see his rib cage moving in and out quickly. Erich kissed Sofia on top of her head, picked up the briefcase, gave Rosie a wave, and walked away. Sofia ran back to Rosie.

  “What did he say to you?” Rosie asked. “Is Erich bringing the briefcase back to Pastor Johann?”

  “I don’t know,” Sofia answered. “He told me not to worry about it anymore.” Sofia looked off in the direction Erich had disappeared. “He said he would take care of it.”

  Rosie slid off the bench. “So should we go to East Blumental now?”

  The Münster bell tower chimed two o’clock. “No,” Sofia said. “We should probably go home. We have to be home for that stupid tea.”

  “But what about our clothes?”

  “Our clothes?”

  “The ones the refugees will be wearing,” Rosie reminded her. “I want to see if they’re wearing my pink shirt.”

  “I know, me too, but we don’t have time,” Sofia said. “I wanted to look for my blue dress. The one with the flowers.”

  “I remember that one. You used to wear it all the time.”

  Sofia looked into the distance dreamily as they started walking east toward home. “I loved that dress. I could stare at its skirt for hours.” Rosie giggled at the idea of looking at a piece of fabric for hours. Sofia was so strange sometimes. It was almost like she was from a different planet.

  – Twenty-Seven –

  The Führer’s men searched the house shortly after two o’clock. When the first fist rammed their front door, Edith was still in the kitchen assembling the Linzer torte, her hands caked in dough. Marina headed to the foyer. The moment she lifted the bolt on the door, it was pushed open, and four military guards stormed into the front hall. The leader, a squat, stern-looking man with a large bulbous nose, resembled the garden dwarf from their home in Berlin. He introduced himself as Commander Pilzer.

  “Madam,” Pilzer said in an unctuous tone, bowing with self-important precision, “we must secure the house. For the safety of the Führer and all inhabitants.” He looked around and huffed with disdain. “This should take only a few minutes.” Pilzer clicked his boots together and barked at the two men closest to the staircase, “You two! Up! Miesvol and I will take the ground floor.” As abruptly as they had appeared, the soldiers vanished, trailed by echoes of their stomping boots. A succession of light shudders in the wooden floor and rafters above allowed Marina to follow the soldiers’ progress through the bedrooms. Either because they had become expert in assessing danger at a glance or, more likely, because they did not really expect to find anything threatening in so insignificant and modest a structure as this little house, the search upstairs was swift. Downstairs, Miesvol and Pilzer swept through the kitchen and living room in an equally brief matter of minutes, slamming doors with violence. The last room they checked was the cellar, and it fell to Miesvol to climb down the narrow steps into the darkness. Marina had removed the lightbulb that morning.

  Three minutes later, Miesvol reappeared, rubbing his shin and brushing cobwebs off his shoulder pads. “Pitch dark down there,” he reported. “But all clear.”

  “Good.” Pilzer waved the two upstairs soldiers out to the porch. “You two monitor access from the back. Miesvol and I will guard the front.”

  Marina had not expected them to post guards at the house entrances. She felt dread settle on her shoulders like a leaden cloak. Offering to hide the refugees in their cellar had been an impetuous idea this morning, but Marina had been moved by Johann’s indecision and anguish. It was not a move she could take back now, so she did what she always did after acting impulsively: she sat down to consider the situation more carefully. Luckily, Rosie and Sofia had run off somewhere and were not in the house. And Pilzer, Marina realized, had not asked her how many children she had. That was fortunate. Perhaps, if there was a haphazard influx of adults and children into the house at various entrances, it would confuse the soldiers enough that they would lose track of numbers. Rosie and Sofia would most likely come back by way of the porch door. If Marina brought the refugees in through the front, past Pilzer and his colleague, it might not be obvious how many people were already in the house. She took a deep breath. “Right under their noses” was going to be very literal.

  By 2:30, Edith’s baking and tidying frenzy was complete, and she headed upstairs to rest. Now was the time, Marina thought, hurrying to the kitchen. She would have no better opportunity to sneak over to the East Blumental station. Assuming the refugees would be hungry, she grabbed a few leftover brötchen, a wedge of cheese, and a handful of berries. She kept her head down as she exited the front door, nodding only briefly to the two guards flanking it. “You will be returning soon, yes?” Pilzer demanded.

  “Oh, yes,” Marina assured him. “Just going to pick up the children.” Pilzer’s disinterested nod confirmed her hope that he did not consider children subjects worthy of his attention.

  The two little girls were asleep under Johann’s coat on one of the long wooden benches. They were curled end to end, feet touching just enough for one to notice when the other stirred. Marina had been poised to hurry the refugees back to the house as quickly as possible, but their tranquillity, and the fact that they were alone, made her pause. Until this moment, she had been so worried about the logistics of getting them from one location to another, so fearful of discovery, that she hadn’t let herself think of them as anything other than packages—precious and delicate, but packages nevertheless. Things that needed careful hiding and quick transportation. She had pushed back thoughts about what they’d been through, what horrors they had seen and experienced, for fear that her own maternal instincts might somehow compromise the entire enterprise. Johann had warned her against that at the very beginning, when she first joined his group. Now, as the two sisters lay in sinuous unity, their breathing synchronized in sleep, Marina took a moment to look at them. They did not appear all that different from her own girls. Marina guessed, from the older girl’s length and development, that she was about Lara’s age. Still so young. What inner reserves of strength and courage must this girl have drawn upon for her little sister’s sake? Any mother would be proud of such a daughter. But of course, this girl would not know that. Her mother was probably dead, or else she’d be with them right now. Marina’s heart crept upward into her throat as she imagined the girls’ mother—the despair of her last instant before darkness, knowing that her two girls would forever be without her, that she would never again be able to braid their hair, or wipe stray marmalade from the corners of their lips, or hold them close during a thunderstorm.

  Marina stopped herself. These girls were not her daughters. Her daughters were safe and cared for. Whatever these girls felt about their mother’s disappearance, however heart-wrenching, her own daughters hadn’t experienced. At least not so far. And if she met with Erich tonight? He had hinted yesterday that he might have to return to Berlin suddenly. Would she go with him? Last night she had been convinced she would, because she told herself that her girls would be all right without her for a short time. Erich had said the w
ar would be over very soon. He had said it with conviction, as if he knew something. As soon as the war was over, the children could join them. But there would be that short period during which she would be gone. What would her girls think and feel then? What was the cost to a child in losing a mother, however briefly? What would happen to a child’s worldview if her mother, whom she had always been able to count on, whose ubiquity was a given, suddenly vanished? The loss these Polish girls knew was vast; their entire family had been obliterated. Marina couldn’t let herself imagine it.

  The older girl’s eyelids fluttered intermittently, and she suddenly shot up on the bench and looked around the station, blinking herself awake. Seeing Marina, she immediately slid over and put her arms around her sister protectively. Marina knelt and smiled, speaking as gently as she could. She opened the bag to show the girls the food she had brought. “Hello, sweet girls, you must be hungry, yes?” She extended both hands, a brötchen in each. The younger girl immediately grabbed the bread and started ripping pieces off with her teeth. Her older sister waited until Marina pulled out the cheese and berries. Then she too ate. Marina wished she had more to give them. Perhaps she could sneak into the cellar later and bring them some Linzer torte.

  While the girls ate, Marina bundled Johann’s coat into her bag. Then she assessed the girls’ physical similarities to her own daughters. The younger girl had a wild crop of brown curls, like Rosie. The other’s hair was too dark to pass for Lara’s, so when they were done eating, Marina wrapped her own scarf around the older girl’s head to mask the difference. She didn’t have to tell the girls to keep their heads down as she herded them out of the train station: they did so instinctively. The three of them passed right by the large boulder at the side of the building, oblivious to the two pairs of eyes watching them.

  – Twenty-Eight –

  If Max hadn’t asked Willie to help him wash Pastor Johann’s church windows, promising to take him on a secret mission afterward, it would have taken him all day. Working together, the two of them finished early in the afternoon, and Willie immediately reminded Max of his promise, which was how they both ended up on the boulder staring into the East Blumental station. After twenty-four hours of lone surveillance, Max had decided that it would be more fun to look for spies with a buddy. Then, if you didn’t find anything, as Max hadn’t so far, your friend could help you fabricate an imaginary scenario. This afternoon, when Max climbed on top of the boulder and peered through the station window, he expected to see absolutely nothing. Instead, to his great surprise, there was someone on the bench! Max shrieked in disbelief and huddled under the window. “What? What is it?” Willie asked, scrambling up next to him. “What do you see?”

  “Shhh!” Max cautioned. “But look, Willie, look!”

  Willie looked. He inhaled sharply and crouched down beside Max.

  “Max! Is there someone underneath that coat? Who is it, Max? Is it a spy?”

  Max clapped a hand over Willie’s mouth. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “But it’s a big coat, so it must be a big man.”

  “We should go tell someone, Max. We should go now and tell someone, right away!”

  “No, Willie, wait a moment,” Max urged. “Let’s just wait a little bit and see if he wakes up.”

  “But what if he sees us?” Willie whimpered. Max pressed his hand against Willie’s mouth. The front door to the station was opening. In their excitement, neither Max nor Willie had noticed anyone approaching the building. The boys cowered under the windowsill, their eyes barely peeking over it. They watched in amazement as Marina Thiessen walked over to the large form under the coat and took a seat on the bench. To their further astonishment, she sat there as if nothing was the matter, as if she didn’t care that there was a spy sleeping right next to her.

  After a little while, Frau Thiessen touched the coat. And then Max and Willie were truly bewildered, as the large man under the coat, the person they thought was a spy, sat up and turned out to be two little girls! They looked harmless and slight. Max felt a pang of disappointment. He highly doubted that girls could be spies. Still, he and Willie watched, mesmerized and mute, as Frau Thiessen gave the girls some food. They didn’t appear to be talking, just eating. Then Frau Thiessen wrapped one of the girls’ heads in her scarf and they all left the station, the boys still hiding behind their large rock. When they were gone, Max and Willie stared at each other, too stunned and confused to speak. Eventually Willie broke the silence. “We have to tell someone.”

  “No, we don’t,” Max objected. “Besides, what do we tell them?”

  “I don’t know,” Willie said, insistent. “But something is going on. And the Führer is coming today. That makes everything important.”

  “But it’s Frau Thiessen,” Max said. “And those are little girls, how could they be dangerous?”

  “I’m not saying it makes any sense, but this is big, Max. It’s too big to keep to ourselves. We need to find someone who can tell us what to do.”

  “Pastor Johann,” Max said. Willie nodded emphatically, grateful for a plan of any kind. The boys raced back to town, back to the church. Max rushed across the cobblestones of the Münsterplatz, with Willie only a few steps behind, and rounded the corner into Hauptstrasse. In that instant, he slammed into Gisela Mecklen as she was leaving the bakery. Fortunately for Gisela, her frame was large enough to withstand the impact of Max’s slight skeleton flung against her. Max, however, stumbled back and fell to the ground, disoriented for a moment.

  “Careful, boys, careful!” Gisela scolded. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  “Frau Thiessen just picked up two strange girls at the East Blumental station!” Willie blurted out as he ran up. Gulping for breath, Max struggled to find his voice.

  Gisela Mecklen’s attention immediately zeroed in on Willie. “I’m sorry, what did you say about Frau Thiessen, Willie?” Still coughing, Max waved his arms to keep Willie from saying anything more. But Gisela Mecklen placed her body between the two boys and clamped her hands on Willie, forcing him to look up at her. “Now, Willie, please repeat what you just said.”

  “Well, I—I—” Willie stammered, trying to look around Gisela’s hips to find Max.

  “You saw Frau Thiessen at the East Blumental station?”

  “Yes, that’s right. That’s all.” Willie’s upper body shifted back and forth, as he tried to catch Max’s eye, but Gisela shifted her ample bottom to block his line of sight.

  “And there was someone with her. Who was it?”

  “I don’t know,” Willie admitted. And then he gave up. Because he did want to tell someone. He needed to tell. “Two little girls. Very little. I’ve never seen them before. They’re not from around here.”

  “And what did Frau Thiessen do?” Gisela asked.

  “Nothing. She gave them some food. And then they left.”

  “They left? Where did they go? Did you see where they went?”

  “No,” Willie said. “They went around the other side of the station and down the path to the lake.”

  “Hmm,” Gisela mused.

  Max took the moment of Gisela’s hesitation to step around her body and grab Willie’s hand. “Willie and I really need to go now, Frau Mecklen. Really.” Before she could stop them, the boys ran off.

  Gisela Mecklen stood still, deep in thought. Marina Thiessen was far too close to Johann Wiessmeyer. Frau Thiessen needed a warning; she needed to back off so that Sabine could claim the bachelor for herself. The Liaison for the Enforcement of National Socialism was good at warning people. The LENS had, in the end, done slightly more than warn the Rosenberg family about the dangers that Jews faced in being too prominent in society. But at least the Mecklens now had the bakery location they’d coveted. And Gisela felt certain that, whenever the Rosenbergs were released from whatever detention camp they were being held at, they would not return to Blumental to disturb her family. As for Marina Thiessen, well, her father could protect her from any real consequences
of her reckless behavior, whatever it was. But at least she would be warned, and she might stop all these kaffeeklatsches with Pastor Wiessmeyer. Gisela went back into the bakery and opened the cash drawer, where she kept a list of important telephone numbers. Then she headed over to the post office.

  – Twenty-Nine –

  All day long, Edith tried not to think about the Führer and his imminent arrival. The day’s agenda hung over her like the prediction of an afternoon storm: dark skies and low-hanging clouds, visible if she looked but best ignored until absolutely necessary. Edith had focused on each task at hand, or perhaps the task immediately thereafter, deliberately looking no farther into the future than that. Upon awakening, breakfast for the girls: brötchen, marmalade, the leftover berries from yesterday’s coulis, milk. Then on to the baking with Marina: dough for the strudel, latticework for the Linzer torte. Flowers from the garden: a few sprigs of floribunda roses for the entrance hall; daisies for the table on the patio, in case he chose to sit outside. But probably not, he was an indoor man, preferred artificial lighting. So a large bouquet for the coffee table. Recycle what she could from yesterday’s luncheon arrangement, add some delphinium, more roses. Then it was lunchtime. Set out more food. Send Lara for cream from Gunther. Girls gone. Oskar useless, smoking his pipe outside or working upstairs at his desk, sending messages from his field telegraph. Final tidying; she only hoped she could remember tomorrow where she was stashing all these extraneous bits—unattended pieces of mail, forgotten keys, one of the children’s books, a hairbrush, ponytail holders. Something important was certain to go missing, but she could not worry about it now.

  And suddenly it was time to dress. Thankfully, even the dressing allowed her to maintain distance from the occasion, for it required no thought. Edith had only one suit, the Chanel crepe that Oskar had brought back from Paris more than a decade ago. For Edith, its advantages were twofold: it fit, and it was comfortable, though she had a brief moment of concern about wearing wool in the summer. The collar of her mother’s Belgian lace blouse was a complement to its narrow lapels. If it got too warm, she could take off her jacket. Quick brush-through of the hair. Pat the curls and waves in place and hope for the best.