Shadow of His Hand

by Wendy Lawton

  “You must thank der Führer for his kindness.” The guard stopped, but got a stony response. “You will work, but you will be paid—perhaps the only prisoners in the country to be paid—twenty marks a month.”

  Several women raised eyebrows ever so slightly as if to say they’d believe it when they saw the money in their hands.

  He picked up an enameled basin. “You can wash in a basin or out in the creek over there. Toilets are out back. They are open-ditch toilets, but you’ll get used to them.” He laughed. “You may not get used to the guards who like to hang out near there, but if you have to go badly enough …”

  Steffi shivered beside Anita in spite of the hot August day. Anita hoped her friend could toughen up enough to stand this. Steffi’s parents had sheltered her much more than Anita had been sheltered.

  “Like all of Germany right now, you’ll work a ten-hour day. If it rains, you’ll get a day off.” He laughed. “Unfortunately, it hasn’t rained all summer long.”

  “As soon as the cooks get set up, you’ll have dinner—a bowl of soup. They’ll also give you a slice of bread, but save that for your morning rations. You’ll have nothing more until your soup at noon.” With that the guard showed them into their quarters and spent most of the afternoon giving rules and more rules—few of which Anita could remember.

  As she made her way through the long line that night to get a ladleful of soup splashed in her bowl, she realized these would be hungry times. The grayish soup looked like dirty dishwater with wood shavings in it. It didn’t taste much better. She took the slice of bread and wrapped it in a hankie and laid it beside her pillow. Her stomach growled so fiercely, she longed to eat it, but she knew she’d need the strength to do a day’s work.

  In the morning, only a few crumbs remained amid the rodent droppings—rats had eaten her entire morning rations. Anita started work on an empty stomach. They dug ditches from morning until night in the hot August sun. The trenches were over six feet deep, built to stop Russian tanks from crossing into Nazi territory. Anita, at barely five feet tall, had all she could do to scramble out of the ditch at night.

  “How will we work like this on so little food?” Steffi’s hands were blistered and her face sunburned.

  “I don’t know. The only way we can do it will be with God’s help.” Anita prided herself on being strong and athletic, but every muscle in her body ached. “I keep hearing that the Allies are advancing and Hitler will be toppled. Let’s pray that’s true.”

  The work did go on and, if anything, the rations got lighter. Month after month, they all lost weight. The only bright spot in the camp was Anita’s Bible study held in the corner of the cow barn nearly every night. Some of the woman came once but did not stay; others who’d been strong Christians in Breslau became angry with God. Those who studied found their faith blossomed despite the work camp.

  Sometimes Anita worked alongside the men. They were not supposed to talk, but some guards were less strict than others.

  “I hear from some of the sympathetic farmers in the area that Germany falters in the war,” Rudi spoke in the lowest whisper.

  “Be careful. Any talk of the war progress is strictly verboten.” Anita had seen a man beaten and stomped for this.

  “I’m careful, but I keep my ear to the ground.” Rudi smiled. “There’s reason to hope.”

  Anita kept on hoping, but things at camp grew worse. The lice became so bad the women could hardly work. They wanted to tear the scalp off their heads. The guards finally managed to get some medicine for the lice. It seemed to work, but it burned their skin and everyone lost great patches of hair.

  Anita was glad Barthold had no mirrors. Her skin had tanned to a leathery brown from working day after day in the hot sun. She’d lost so much weight that every bone on her back stuck out; and now that she was half-bald from malnutrition and lice medicine, the picture must be complete. Don’t let me be ungrateful, Lord. I live and I still hope to find Mutti after the war. Let me continue to be Your witness.

  Several months into her stay, the guards announced that prisoners could use the telephone to call someone from their family. They could invite that person to visit at the camp next Sunday. For the first time since they arrived, hope and excitement infused the workers.

  Anita had no one to call but Vati. Would he even want to come? “Hello, Vati?” she said into the camp phone.

  “Anita? Is that you?” His voice sounded shaky. “They told me you were taken. Are you well?”

  “I’m at Barthold, near Schmiegrode. They gave us permission to invite family to visit next Sunday.” Anita couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  “May I come, Anita?”

  Her tears kept her from answering right away, but she managed to say, “Please.”

  People were lined up to use the phone, so Anita managed to say good-bye. He wants to come. She could hardly believe it.

  Vati came early that Sunday. Anita could see him waiting until the guards let him come into camp. He kept scanning all the women, trying to find her. She dared not raise her arm, but she willed him to find her. Look at me, Vati. Look at me. Finally their eyes met. She saw a brief look of horror pass over his face before he schooled his features. I guess I won’t win any beauty contests.

  When he finally joined her, he embraced her and held her gently for the longest time. Anita couldn’t remember Vati’s embrace. Had he ever hugged her before? He seemed uncomfortable when he realized how emotional he was.

  “I brought you food.” He held out his knapsack.

  “Come; let’s sit over here on the meadow.” She saw how happy he was to have brought food. It made her think about what Pastor Hornig had said about Vati showing love through giving.

  They visited until the guard announced it was time for the visitors to leave.

  “I’ll come back if they let me,” Vati said in a gravelly voice.

  They embraced once more before Vati left to walk back to the train. Anita watched him walk away until she could see him no longer.

  Valley of Death

  Do you hear those sounds?” Rudi crept up behind her as she put away her tools for the day.

  “The thunder?” She listened. “I’ve never been afraid of thunder.”

  “That’s not thunder.” He stopped while another thunderclap seemed to shake the earth. “Russian migs.”

  “How do you know?” Rudi amazed Anita. He seemed to know everything.

  “The German farmers around here are sympathetic to our plight. I made friends with one. Luckily, he has a wireless.” Rudi winked at her before slipping away.

  Anita sensed a change in the guards. They were tense and more watchful, but trainloads of prisoners continued to arrive each week. By November, Anita guessed that camp population swelled past five hundred.

  “Pack up your belongings,” the guard said through a bullhorn. “We’re moving camp. There’s no time to waste.”

  With almost no notice, they left Camp Barthold after more than three months there. It hardly mattered. The new camp near Ostlinde was much the same as the old camp—a little more crowded perhaps. They still worked ten-hour days, starting at five in the morning, but now they cut and stacked trees from the forest as a second line of defense behind the trenches they had built back at Barthold.

  Time continued to pass slowly, much as it did in Barthold—with work, very little sleep, and very little food. The one bright spot was Bible study. The deeper into winter it got, the colder it became. Anita couldn’t remember a month so cold as that January in 1945.

  “I’ve got news,” Rudi came up behind her in the forest.

  “You’re going to get us in trouble yet.” Anita loved to hear the news, but she knew the penalty.

  “How can we keep up our spirits if we don’t share good news?” Rudi’s eyes still twinkled. “The Russians advance on the Reich at this very moment.” He raised his axe and brought it down with a resounding crack.

  Anita could see that a guard came near, but she’d a
lready heard all she needed to hear. Keep Mutti safe until the Russians or the Allies liberate Theresienstadt. And let me make it back to her.

  The next time Anita and Steffi worked near Rudi, he managed to slip bits of information to them between guard rounds. “Bad news, according to the farmer near us. Some concentration camps have been liberated already, but what they are finding—”

  The girls worked along in silence for a time, waiting until it was safe for Rudi to talk again.

  “—Hitler mounted a massive extermination of the Jews in these last days. Six hundred thousand killed at Auschwitz alone in the weeks since we ’ve been here—”

  As they heard the crunch of a hobnail boot on the frosty forest floor, Steffi and Anita began to sing an old German folksong. Singing was one of the few things allowed. The guards thought it made the workers go faster. They kept singing, even when Rudi whispered to them. It covered his words.

  “The Russians may be at Theresienstadt … not sure. But things are much worse there than we thought.” He swung his axe high into the air and brought it down in a smooth arc.

  “Typhoid. My new friend heard on his wireless that Theresienstadt is now considered one of the worst camps—like Auschwitz and Treblinka.” He swung his axe for a while again until it was safe. “We need to keep praying for our mothers. … Miracle—we need a miracle.”

  Anita did pray.

  One night that January the guards called a formation at nine-thirty. The weather blustered and threatened snow, and the ragtag bunch of prisoners felt the wind cutting right through their thin clothing.

  “Pack your things. Immediately. We leave on foot in five minutes.” The guard seemed as confused as the prisoners.

  Again? Hadn’t they just moved from Barthold a couple months ago? They were trying to outrun the Russians. Anita could sense it.

  She saw Rudi smile from across the formation. In that moment, she knew that he and his brothers would use the confusion to slip away and escape. She silently sent him a good-bye. Be with my friends, Lord. Whatever they face, give them strength. He winked and then was gone. How did three nearly-six-feet-tall boys manage to slip away so quietly?

  She and Steffi didn’t have time to think about it. They packed as quickly as they could and joined the long queue of women preparing for the hike. Anita looked down at her worn wooden shoes. How she wished she had boots for this wintertime trek.

  “Anita, I’m not sure I can do this.” Steffi’s voice faltered.

  Anita didn’t know how to answer. She’d worked all day too. Could they make it? She honestly didn’t know. “Look up at those shadows across the moon, Steffi. Doesn’t it remind you of Pastor Hornig’s verse about God covering us with the shadow of His hand?” The cold air made Anita’s teeth chatter. “Let’s do the best we can and trust Him to protect us whether we can make it or not.”

  “I wish I had your faith, Anita,” Steffi said. “I feel like running and never coming back.”

  “I know.” Anita did know. She could hardly walk another step and the farther they went, the deeper the snow. “Just remember—no matter how bad things get, you’ll never outrun God.”

  Anita’s limping grew worse. Early on, she’d raised a blister on her heel. She dared not let on that anything was wrong. Guards preferred to shoot lame prisoners rather than deal with them. By the time they finally stopped, her whole leg was swollen and mottled.

  Steffi came and crouched down by her, handing her a note. “If anything happens to me, will you give this to my mother?”

  “Nothing is going to happen to you, Steffi. Stop saying things like that. You’re scaring me.” Anita felt close to tears.

  Steffi smiled at Anita. “I didn’t think anything scared you.” She sat quietly for a time. “If I were to disappear, this has the address of some friends in Bavaria where Mother could find me after the war.”

  Anita finally understood what she meant. “If you left, I would miss you terribly, but you know I would pray for you every day until I heard you were safe.” She put her arm around her friend.

  “I know.”

  After walking for days, they finally came to their new camp in the deserted town of Grunberg. The men and women were housed in empty buildings. At this camp they were assigned busywork—each day the prisoners walked more than a mile to a huge pile of rubble. Piece by piece, they had to move the pile to one side of the road and then move it back again.

  Just a few days later, Steffi was gone. No one saw her leave and nothing more was heard from her. How Anita missed her.

  “If I have to move this pile of rubble one more time, I may very well scream and bring all these SS men down on our heads!” Hella Frommelt said. She worked alongside Anita now that Steffi had disappeared. Anita had known Hella Frommelt since she had first joined Anita’s Bible study at Barthold. Working together, they grew closer and closer. Anita always smiled to look at this Hella—so different from Anita’s sister, Hella.

  “If screaming would do any good, I’d join you. Right now, screaming would feel good since the more I’m on my leg, the more it swells.” Anita lowered her voice. “At least busywork is better than helping Hitler’s cause against the Allies.” She stopped talking while a guard nervously hurried over to make sure they kept busy. When he left, Anita leaned in toward Hella. “If you look at the guards, you can read how the war’s going on their faces.” She could practically smell their fear as they rushed by.

  As she reached down for another piece of stone, the ground shook and the sound of cannon fire made them all put their hands over their ears. All but a couple of guards ran toward their makeshift headquarters.

  “It’s got to be Russian cannons.” The sound and the percussion reminded her of the Berlin bombings. Her stomach twisted at the thought. Someone had to stop Hitler, but Anita understood the cost. She pictured the devastation in Berlin. “Before this war is over, I fear that nothing will be left standing in Germany.”

  “Germany and Hitler must pay.” Hella said quietly.

  “You know the funny thing?” As if anything were funny. “God will call us Christians to forgive Germany.” Anita put her hands over her ears as the sound of another volley seemed to ricochet off the trees. “Besides, the German people themselves have little to do with the horrors perpetrated by Hitler—I wonder how many know what’s been happening? Look at these farmers here and near Barthold and Ostlinde. As soon as they saw what the Reich did, they did everything they could to help us.”

  “I know. If I live, my hardest calling will be to follow Christ in this.” Hella set the charred log she’d been moving onto the pile and sat down on top of it. With the guards preoccupied, why bother pretending to work?

  Anita sat next to her and propped her swollen leg onto a stone. “I don’t know how many times I read the story about when Jesus forgives those who crucified Him … but it wasn’t until recently that I began to grasp the enormity of that act.” Anita sighed. “Just think; it would be like walking into one of those gassing rooms at Auschwitz and stopping to ask God to forgive Hitler and all the guards—even the very ones pushing us to our deaths.”

  “I think it’s impossible unless you are God,” Hella said.

  “Or unless you have the Spirit of God inside you.” The cannon and artillery fire seemed to grow louder. “Do you think we should take cover or something?”

  “Go to the town. Return to your quarters.” A guard came from the direction of their barracks and began shouting orders. “Now! Hurry!”

  Another guard came carrying his rifle. He’d put a bayonet on the end. “March quickly.”

  The group of workers hurried back to the brick building that housed them in the center of Grunberg. Anita limped to keep up with them. As soon as the guards finished counting heads, they sealed the door. Anita found a spot at the window and rubbed at the grime on the glass, making a circle to see out. The guards ringed the building, bayonets at ready. Were they keeping the prisoners in or trying to keep others out? The crowded room was bath
ed in fear. Women sobbed openly.

  Anita’s leg throbbed. When the sliver of the moon cast a little light across the floor she tried to get a look at the leg—it seemed to be dark, almost black, and was hot to the touch. All this from a blister? Lord, not now!

  The bombardment continued. If the building were hit, would they be locked inside without possibility of escape? With the stories of Russian cruelty and reports of the atrocities they committed, Anita and Hella wondered if they should be more afraid of their Nazi keepers or of the Russian liberators. No one slept that night as the attack intensified.

  With morning light came quiet.

  The guards burst into the room with bayonets crossed. “Gather your things.”

  Anita tried to rise, but pains shot up her leg. How could she march again? Lord Jesus, You must make a way!

  As Anita limped out into the cold morning, there stood two old horse carts.

  “Get on, get on!” The butt of a rifle against her back propelled her forward. Hella, who’d already climbed onto the cart, reached both arms down and took Anita’s arm and pulled her up. The rough wood of the cart scraped her leg, and the pain nearly caused her one good knee to buckle.

  “Don’t let them see that you’re hurting, Anita,” Hella whispered.

  As the women settled, the drivers took off. Their driver was a Polish prisoner of war, pressed into the task. The carts rolled down the dirt road. Anita felt every bump and pothole. She clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut to keep from screaming in pain. Father … help!

  Anita must have slept since the sun had risen in the sky. They still bumped along the road. Those women who left behind husbands or friends cried softly. Others looked numb. The only guards were two SS on bicycles following at a great distance, absurdly trying to pedal through the deep snow.

  “Anita, are you awake?” Hella whispered. “Those guards can’t possibly keep up with us. If we escaped, they’d have to stay with the carts.”

  “You may be right. Let’s ask God to show us the perfect time.” Anita looked at the deep snowdrifts all around and knew their trail could easily be followed if anyone still cared to do so. As she spoke, their destination came into view—a deserted death camp with barbed wire around the fences.