by Dean Hughes
“Yes, I suppose.” Mom sat for a time, and then she said, “Bobbi, are you absolutely certain this is what you want?”
“Yes, Mom. It’s what I have to do. You’re the one who told me not to marry him if I didn’t love him.”
“Yes, I know. I understand that. And I agree with you. But every time I see you two together, you seem so perfect for each other. And we all like him so much.”
Bobbi tried to see her mother in the dim light, but she could see only her dark shape, her head down, her shoulders slumped. She looked like a statue of a defeated warrior—a plump little warrior with curly hair tight around her head. Bobbi did feel sorry for her. It would be so much easier just to please her.
“What about this Professor Stinson? Is there anything to that?”
“No. Is that what Sister Clark thinks?”
“Yes. That’s what Phil told her.”
“Mom, I’ve told you all there is to tell. I like David, and he likes me, but there’s nothing going on between us.”
“That night last winter—just before Christmas—when you suddenly had to read papers for a professor. Were you with him that night?”
Bobbi was glad for the dark. “Yes.”
“Oh, Bobbi.” Sister Thomas’s head had gradually risen, but now she dropped it forward again.
“Mom, I’m sorry I lied. But that was the beginning and the end of everything. We talk once in a while now, but he knows as well as I do that it would never work. At least I’ve learned what love feels like—and I know that I don’t love Phil.”
“Bobbi, every time you open your mouth this whole thing sounds like a bigger mess to me.”
“No it isn’t. It’s a very simple matter. I was going to get married, and now I’m not.”
“Well, I’ll go down and tell your dad. And I’ll do my best to make him understand. But you might as well expect the worst. He’s not good at this sort of thing.”
Bobbi couldn’t help laughing. “Tell him I’m pregnant. Then, when you take it back, a broken engagement won’t seem so bad.”
“Bobbi!” But Mom giggled. “I almost think that would be easier on him. He understands how to deal with sin. It’s independence that he can’t handle.” She got up.
“Mom, maybe I should tell him.”
“No. I’d better talk to him first. Get dressed. If you hear an explosion, wait until it calms. Otherwise, give me fifteen minutes or so, and then meet us in the kitchen.”
“Are you going to mention David?”
“No. Not even Dr. Stinson. Your father can only take so much.” She laughed briefly, and then she left.
Bobbi got out of bed and put on a pair of slacks. She knew Dad hated her to dress that way, even on a Saturday morning, but it wouldn’t make a lot of difference today. She brushed her hair a few strokes and decided that was enough to get her by for now. She sat on her bed and waited, but she heard nothing.
After about twenty minutes, she walked downstairs and into the kitchen. Dad was seated at the table. Mom was standing at the stove, cooking eggs and bacon. Dad took a long, serious look at Bobbi. He already had his white shirt and tie on. “I want you to think some more about this,” he said. “Phil deserves that much. I won’t fool myself and pretend I can talk you into anything, but I want you to give this whole thing some serious thought and prayer before you cast everything aside.”
Bobbi sat down at the table and in a soft voice said, “Dad, you’ve trained me all my life to pray about my decisions. And now you assume that I’ve made this one on my own. This is the hardest decision I’ve ever made, but I do believe it’s the right one, and I’ve prayed about it every day for months.”
He was watching her all this time, but his face didn’t soften.
“I love you, Dad. I respect you. I try to do what you teach me. All I can tell you is that I don’t love him, and I’m not going to marry him.”
“Barbara, just tell me this. What is it you want? Tell me one quality Phil lacks. Tell me one fault he has—of any consequence. Tell me the name of one young man in this whole valley who would make a better husband.”
“I only prayed to know what I should do, Dad. I didn’t ask God for a list of better prospects.”
Dad didn’t like that, and Bobbi could see it, but he was trying hard not to lose his temper. Mom had probably given him plenty of advice about that. “Barbara,” he said, “are you sure you haven’t gotten some romantic idea in your head that fireworks have to go off when you meet the right man?”
Bobbi thought about that for a time. “Actually, Dad,” she said, “I think it’s just the opposite. Phil is so good looking and so romantic that I let some of that cloud over what I really felt about him.”
“Which is what?”
“Dad, he’s not genuine. He says the right things. He looks right. He even does what is right. But it’s all on the surface. I don’t trust what he says to me.”
Dad was staring now. “I don’t see that at all,” he said.
“I know. But that’s what I feel when I’m with him.”
“And you think you’re going to find someone who is genuine?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
Dad leaned back in his chair. He was obviously running everything through his mind. “Barbara,” he said, “I think this forces some other decisions in your life. I don’t feel good about paying for you to study literature. I’m not sure it’s having a good effect on you—and I don’t see the value in it.”
“Dad, we’ve talked about all this before.”
“Yes, but I feel different about it now. I think there’s a strong chance you’re going to have to make a living for yourself. It would make a lot more sense to switch over to education—or nursing—like I’ve said all along.”
“Is this my punishment?”
Dad didn’t like that. He pushed back his chair and stood up. “I care what happens to you, and I’m looking way down the road. Nothing you’re doing right now makes sense. Passing up a young man like Phil is a huge mistake. And getting a degree in English—without a teaching license—will do you no good at all. You can study whatever you want, but after this term, I’m only paying for something that will get you a job.”
“Al, wait a minute,” Sister Thomas said. “This is no time to make a decision about something like that.”
President Thomas looked at Bobbi, but he spoke to his wife. “I don’t know why not. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time—the same as Barbara has been thinking about Phil. And I’ve come to a conclusion—the same as she has. I see my daughter making a big mistake, and maybe I can’t stop her, but I don’t have to pay for it.”
Bobbi stepped around the table to her father, who was standing with his arms folded. She put her hand on his forearm. “Okay, Dad. I’ll think about all that. I’ll go into teaching or nursing—or I’ll find a way to pay for my studies myself.” Bobbi saw him react to those final words, and she wished she had never said them. “But Dad, remember how you felt the day you married Mom. That’s how I want to feel when I get married. That’s not such a bad thing, is it?”
She saw him soften. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he did something that Bobbi had never seen him do. He picked up his suitcoat and left the house—without eating his breakfast.
Chapter 22
It was early evening on a rainy day in May. The Stoltzes had eaten their evening meal of potatoes and cabbage and bread—since meat was hard to come by these days—and now they were sitting by their radio, with the sound very low. German troops had driven westward on May 10, 1940. They had taken Holland without much difficulty, and they were slicing through Belgium with terrifying ease. Nazi broadcasts reported the victories in glorious rhetoric, leaving the impression that few, if any, German soldiers were meeting death in the campaign. The Stoltzes knew, however, that they could learn more by listening to the BBC reports, which were broadcast across the continent in German. By law, Germans couldn’t listen, and doing so was dangerous, but Anna h
ad the impression that many people did.
Then a knock, hard and persistent, came at the door. Anna was instantly frightened, and she saw the same fear in her father’s face. She knew of no one coming to visit, and this was not the knock of a friend. Brother Stoltz turned off the radio. “Stay here. I’ll go to the door,” he said, and already the knocking had begun again.
Sister Stoltz let her husband go, but she and Anna held the kitchen door open and watched. Brother Stoltz opened the door only a crack, but a loud voice announced, “I must come in,” and a man pushed his way into the room. Anna saw the long black leather coat. Gestapo. “I must speak with your daughter,” the agent said. He glanced around, and then he spotted Anna and her mother in the kitchen doorway.
“My daughter? Why would you want to see her?” Brother Stoltz asked. This was not a good tone to take with the Gestapo, and so Anna stepped into the room. She felt the man’s eyes on her body as he studied her up and down.
“My goodness,” the officer said. “No wonder your American friends liked what they saw here.”
“What do you want?” Brother Stoltz demanded to know. Anna stepped to her father’s side and took his arm. She wanted him to be calm. And careful.
“We know about your many meetings with foreigners, Herr Stoltz. We are very concerned when we see these things happen. We are forced to watch people like you very closely.”
“Who are you?”
“Oh, excuse me. Have I been rude? I am agent Kellerman. Gestapo.” The man was wearing no uniform, but every German knew the coats. He flashed a badge in front of them.
“Our meetings were with missionaries from our Church,” Brother Stoltz said. “Those young men have returned to the United States now.”
“Yes. You are a member of a sect, as I understand it. An American sect.”
“We’re members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“I thought you were Mormons,” Kellerman said, and he smiled, his thick lips pulling back, showing his blunt teeth.
“Some people use this name for our Church, but it’s not the correct title.”
“Oh, it isn’t? I’m very pleased that you corrected me about this. I wouldn’t want to be in error. Would you also correct me if I am wrong about another matter? Your daughter now writes letters to America. She keeps up contact with these foreigners. Is that also a falsehood?”
“She may have written, but—”
“I have written. I don’t hide that. The young men were my friends. I have sent letters to them.”
“And what do you tell them, young lady? Do you tell them about conditions here? Do you spread lies? Do you speak against the Führer? Do you perhaps talk about troop movements, or weapons . . . or any such matters?”
“No. I don’t.”
“And how can we be sure of that?” He reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out several letters, all in air-mail envelopes. They had been opened. “We can stop your letters, you see, open them and read them. But how can we know your intentions? And what if one slips by us? Perhaps you employ a code to communicate secrets. This is what concerns us.”
“I didn’t know there was a law against writing letters to America,” Anna said. “I won’t write any more.” Her mother and Peter had come into the room now. Sister Stoltz stepped close to Anna and put her arm around her waist.
“A law against writing to America? Certainly not. But we must be careful. We are at war, you understand.” His voice had risen, his heavy face filling with color. “Americans help our enemies make war against us. How can it be good for you to communicate with such people?”
“The young men are her—”
“Young man. One young man. A young man who defied the Führer, who refused to salute our flag, who may have been here for reasons other than the religious ones he claimed.”
“That is not so,” Brother Stoltz said. “I assure you, he taught his religion, and he is a fine young man—with great love for the German people.”
“It was only that,” Sister Stoltz said.
“And . . . I assume . . . this fine young man had great love for this German girl.” He eyed Anna up and down again. “Did you give him . . . favors to make him love the German people so much?”
“Herr Kellerman,” Brother Stoltz said calmly but with a hushed intensity in his voice. “I must ask you to leave now. My daughter will write no more letters to America.”
Kellerman stepped closer to Brother Stoltz. “I will decide when to leave. You will not decide for me. If you make a whore of your daughter—let her sleep with foreign pigs—that is up to you, but don’t think you can insult me without reprisal.”
Anna grabbed her father’s arm, tried to stop him as he stepped forward, but it was already too late. “You are the pig,” he said. “You will not speak this way about my daughter.”
“No, Heinrich. Don’t do this,” Sister Stoltz pleaded. She also stepped forward and took her husband’s other arm.
“And what will you do to stop me?” Herr Kellerman pulled his nightstick from his belt.
Brother Stoltz was shaking with anger. Anna tightened her grip. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “Let this go.”
But Brother Stoltz said, “You have no right to come into our home and speak to us this way. Even Hitler would not grant you that right.”
“Now you have said too much. Now you have shown yourself to be the traitor I suspected you were. You will come with me.”
Kellerman stepped toward Sister Stoltz and pushed her away. Then he grabbed Brother Stoltz by the arm.
“No. Please,” Sister Stoltz said. “This is all a misunderstanding. We are good citizens. We want no trouble. She won’t write again.”
“You stay back, Frau Stoltz. And you, come with me now.” He pulled at Brother Stoltz’s arm.
“I have no intention to go with you.” Brother Stoltz pulled his arm loose and stepped back. “I have only said—”
Suddenly the nightstick flashed, striking Brother Stoltz viciously across the right shoulder. He dropped to his knees and cried out in pain, and then he fell forward and rolled onto his side. He tucked his arms close to his body and let out a dreadful moan. Anna knelt and grasped him around the waist. “No. Please,” she was crying. “He only meant to defend me.”
Sister Stoltz also knelt next to her husband. “Oh, Heinrich,” she cried.
Somewhere in the background, Peter was pleading, “Don’t hurt him anymore. Please, don’t hurt him.”
“All of you move back—instantly,” Kellerman demanded. And then he grabbed Brother Stoltz by the elbow and jerked. Brother Stoltz let out another cry of agony, and then he clambered to his feet. Anna saw how white his face was, the sweat collecting on his forehead. He hunched forward and gripped his elbow tight against his body. His breath was coming in long, labored gasps.
“Now, Herr Stoltz, you will walk quietly from this room. And the rest of you will stay back.” He pushed Brother Stoltz, who stumbled forward and then managed to walk out the door. Kellerman followed, and then he stopped in the doorway. “You are not likely to see this man again. He is a traitor. The rest of you, of course, are no better. Don’t think you have seen the last of me.” He closed the door.
Anna had gotten to her feet, but her mother was still on the floor, bent over. Anna and Peter knelt next to her, and all three gripped each other. For maybe half a minute, they clung to each other and said nothing, but Sister Stoltz had begun to cry out loud, the sobs wrenching from deep within her. “He’ll come back,” Peter was saying. “He’ll talk to them, tell them he’s not a traitor. It will be all right.”
But Anna said nothing. She didn’t doubt for a second that Kellerman would carry out his threats. As the door had closed behind her father, it seemed to her that he had been swallowed, that there was no coming back, and life couldn’t possibly go on.
But her mother stopped crying, seemed to gather her strength for a moment, and got to her feet. “I know someone. I will talk to Herr
Schlenker. He’s with the Gestapo. A high officer. But I’ve known him all my life. He’s not like this Kellerman.”
She hurried into her bedroom and then came back with her raincoat. “I’ll go now,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do. Pray for me. And pray for Papa. I must hurry.” And she left.
Anna and Peter knelt together, and they did pray. Anna clutched Peter next to her, and she pleaded with the Lord that another miracle could come to their family, that somehow their father could be saved and brought back to them.
Brother Stoltz was sitting on a wooden chair in the center of a little room. He was so full of pain that he could hardly think, the horrible ache running down his arm and side and up his neck right into his brain. The slightest movement sent fierce, stinging pains shooting in all directions.
Kellerman was standing in front of him, and on each side were other men dressed in civilian clothes. “Herr Stoltz,” Kellerman said calmly, almost tenderly, “you have already made it clear that you have no loyalty to the Führer. We know you are a traitor. And so we can only assume that you and your pig of a daughter are sending secrets to America. If you want to save your family, you must admit to this.”
“It’s not so,” Brother Stoltz said. “We have done nothing wrong.” He was leaning forward and trying to hold perfectly still. He shut his eyes and tried to let the pain quiet.
Suddenly he felt a blow on the side of his head. The impact sent flashes of light through his brain and sent him sprawling on the stone floor. Pain exploded everywhere. He tried to curl up and hang on, but two of the officers grabbed him by his elbows and hoisted him back onto the chair.
“Please. Please,” Brother Stoltz was saying between breaths. He wanted to explain that his shoulder was broken, that he could feel the bones moving, but he couldn’t get that many words out.
“Simply tell us the truth,” Kellerman said, his face close to Brother Stoltz’s. “I cannot save you now. You are a doomed man. But I can save your beautiful daughter. Your wife. Your son. Simply admit what you have done.”
