by Dean Hughes
But even in the depths of all this pain, Brother Stoltz knew better. If he admitted anything, Kellerman would only use it against his family. He, himself, would soon die, and this pain could end, but he wouldn’t say anything the man could use against his wife and children.
Suddenly Kellerman struck him across the face, maybe with the night stick, maybe with his fist. Brother Stoltz only felt the smashing pain, felt himself falling backwards, and then he saw flashes again and felt a terrific pain in the back of his head as he struck the floor.
His next awareness was of something cold in his face, and he was coughing, choking. Someone had dumped water on him, and the pain was flooding back, the confusion. He felt his arms jerk, both at the same time, and then he was slammed back into the chair. But he also felt a kind of calmness coming over him. The pain was turning to numbness, and he knew he had passed the point of caring about that. He could not live much longer, he was sure, and then peace would come. He just had to resist saying anything. “Lord, help me,” he said inside his head. “Please save my family.”
“Now. I must ask you again, Herr Stoltz. Did you try to send secrets to these Americans? Simply say yes, and this will end. If you continue on this way, we will go after your family. We will bring them here, and we will let you watch as we punish them for your traitorous acts. Now say yes, admit to what you have done, and we won’t have to do that.”
“Lord, help me,” Brother Stoltz kept repeating, but he said nothing out loud. “Give me strength. Please protect my family.”
Suddenly something struck him across his knee, sending a new pain shooting through his leg. This fresh agony was almost too much. Brother Stoltz didn’t think of admitting anything, but he asked the Lord for mercy. “Please. Let me die, Lord,” he prayed, maybe silently, maybe aloud. He only realized that he was on the floor again when the men grabbed his arms and pulled him up, wrenching his elbow and sending the wild pain shooting through his body. He felt himself hit the chair again, but he couldn’t see, and the numbness was returning. He was sinking into unconsciousness when water struck his face again.
“It’s sad to see that a man cares nothing about his family,” Herr Kellerman was saying. “There are things we can do to them. There are things that my friends and I can do to your pretty daughter—things we might enjoy very much. Perhaps we should bring her here now. Is that what you want?”
Brother Stoltz didn’t answer. What he wanted to do was to strike this man just once before he died. But he couldn’t move.
“Simply say yes. Simply admit you are a traitor, and this is finished. Otherwise, we will go get her. And we’ll have our pleasure with her right here before your eyes.”
Brother Stoltz took a long breath, and then he said with the last of his strength, “You will answer to God for this.” Another pain struck him, somewhere. It was all jumbled now, and he felt himself slipping away, but he was relieved that the end had come.
The next time he felt anything, something cold but soft was on his face. And someone was speaking. “Can you hear me?” It was a man’s voice, but not Kellerman’s. Brother Stoltz had no interest in answering. This only meant more agony, not death.
“I have called for an ambulance. I’m bringing help,” the man said. “Hold on for now.”
Brother Stoltz was not sure whether he was in the same place. He forced his eyes open and saw a blurry face.
“Your wife came to me,” the face said. “She told me what was happening. Kellerman had no right to do this to you. I know the kind of man you are. If someone had insulted my daughter this way, I would have reacted the same way.”
From somewhere in the room came the hollow voice of Kellerman, subdued now. “He denounced the Führer. I will not put up with that.”
“I know what he said,” the man said, the one close to Brother Stoltz, and somewhere in the confusion it had become the voice of Herr Schlenker, the Stoltz’s neighbor. “His wife told me. He only said that Hitler would not allow such things to happen. That says he puts trust in the Führer.”
“No. She is lying. He said, ‘Even Hitler would not allow this.’ You know what he meant.”
“You are a shame to the Gestapo, Kellerman.” The voice moved away, and Brother Stoltz opened his eyes enough to see that Herr Schlenker had stood up. “These are not Jews or Slavs. These are good German people. I have known them for many years. You pushed your way into their home. You made filthy remarks about their daughter. Don’t tell me they are traitors. I know you. You seek opportunities to inflict pain. You are an insignificant man—powerless—and so you work your evil on anyone you can. You are disgusting.”
Brother Stoltz was praying again. “I thank thee, Lord,” he said, thinking mostly of his family. At the same time, he was frightened. More pain was now ahead of him.
When Brother Stoltz awoke, he knew that time had passed, not just hours but days. His wife was there, sitting by his bed, and she seemed like an angel, hovering next to him. “Frieda,” he said.
And suddenly her face was next to his, their cheeks together. “Oh, Heinrich. You’re back with us.”
“How long has it been?”
“Four days. They have given you morphine constantly. The pain was so terrible.”
Brother Stoltz felt the pain return to his consciousness but knew it had been there all along. The worst, now, was in his leg.
“Kellerman broke your shoulder and twisted the bones. The doctor has done the best he could to set them, but it’s not good. Your kneecap is broken, too. It will take a long time for all this to heal. But you are alive. You’ll be all right.”
“Did they do anything to you? Or to Anna or Peter?”
“No. I ran to Herr Schlenker’s house that night. I told him what was happening. He said it was wrong, and he stopped Kellerman before it was too late.”
The memories were streaming back now. He remembered Schlenker telling Kellerman that the Stoltzes were good Germans, not traitors. “He was wrong,” Brother Stoltz said. Even back then, at the time, Brother Stoltz had known that Schlenker was just as wrong as Kellerman.
“Yes, I know. He had no right to do those things to you.”
“No. It was Schlenker who was wrong. I am not loyal to the Führer.”
“Be quiet. Soften your voice.”
“I don’t want to soften my voice. We have to stop this.”
“Heinrich, Hitler is driving west. Holland has already fallen, and he is forcing his way to the coast through Belgium, driving back the French and the English. He’s having his way.”
“He must not win. People have to stand up for what’s right.”
“Please, Heinrich, don’t speak this way. We must say nothing at all. Herr Schlenker said it’s the only way we can survive. Anna has promised to send no more letters. And I have promised that we will be good citizens. Herr Schlenker trusts us. We must not do anything to change that.”
“Frieda, think what you are saying. What if I had been a Jew? Would Schlenker have saved my life then? He only did it because we are neighbors—Germans. But he is still with the Gestapo. He wouldn’t have raised a finger to stop Kellerman had he known what I really think of Hitler.”
“I know. I know. But . . .” She sat for a time, touching her husband’s cheek with her hand. Finally she said, “Heinrich, once Anna almost died, and we prayed. God let her stay with us. Now you might have died, but we prayed. And we have you back. Now we must be thankful. We must stay alive and keep the Church going. That’s the one thing we can do. That’s how we can show that we are thankful.”
“Frieda, don’t worry. I won’t do anything careless. But I can’t let this happen without doing something.”
“Heinrich, rest now. Sleep. You are still upset from all that has happened.”
Brother Stoltz decided he had said enough, frightened his wife enough, but he also knew that God would give him some chance, sooner or later, and that he would strike a blow against these Nazis who were spreading evil across the earth.
Chapter 23
On the first of June, Alex moved into a little apartment on Seventh East in Salt Lake. It had been nice to have Mom fuss over him and wash his clothes, but he had felt the need to take his life into his own hands. And everything had changed now. Al Rosen had finally gotten a contract, and the plant had airplane parts to produce. Alex was busy getting the operation under way. He had always been one to carry out his job, whatever it was, and putting in sixteen or eighteen hours a day—and sometimes staying at the plant all night—didn’t really bother him. At least the work took all his time and concentration.
Alex rarely saw the family except at Sunday dinner, which he always went home for. He and Wally finally had something to talk about. The government had announced by then that the first-ever peace-time draft would take place in the fall. A lottery would only select a few men in the first round, but the army, manned by fewer than 200,000 troops, would bulge to well over a million by the fall of 1941. Both Alex and Wally knew that the chances were strong that at least one of them would be taken.
Wally was thinking, after putting the decision off for a year, that he might go ahead and sign up with the navy after all. One spring night, on the dance floor, Lorraine had whispered, “Wally, I wish I didn’t love you. I should have broken up with you before I felt this way.” The words sent chills down Wally’s sides, and he had been blissfully happy for a few days, but it didn’t take long to realize that she had meant exactly what she had said. She did wish she didn’t love him, and she began to do more to distance herself. Wally was devastated. He had never studied enough for his classes, but in his discouragement he virtually quit trying. He showed up for his finals and passed all but one, but barely, and in truth, he didn’t ever want to go back to school. The military was looking like his only option.
Bobbi was spending her weekend nights alone, usually reading, and preferred to be in her bedroom rather than sitting with her parents, whose disappointment was so obvious. She did see Phil on campus fairly often. He seemed to feel a mixture of pity and animosity toward her, but outwardly he was friendly. He didn’t say anything about Ilene, the girl he was dating, but everyone else reported the latest to Bobbi—all the time. Rumor had it that Phil was already “getting serious.”
One morning, when Bobbi was in the LA, she saw David in the hall. He seemed solemn, maybe upset. “If you have a minute, I would like to talk to you,” he said in a business-like tone.
“Sure,” Bobbi said, and the two walked to his office. Bobbi was self-conscious about people seeing them together, but she was curious about what might be wrong. When they reached the office, he twisted his desk chair around and dropped into it. “I’m leaving,” he said. He pushed a lock of hair off his forehead.
“Leaving? When?”
“After finals. As soon as I can get ready.”
“Where are you going?” Bobbi sat on the chair by the door.
“I’ve been offered an assistant professorship at the University of Chicago.”
“But I thought you were staying here a few years.”
“That’s what I planned. But this came up. It’s a good opportunity for me, and it seemed for the best. I don’t want to see you anymore. It just makes life difficult for both of us.”
Bobbi understood that, of course, but David was the one person who understood why she had given Phil’s ring back, and he knew how sad she was about giving up English as her major. She had tried to make amends with her father by agreeing to go to nursing school in the fall. David thought it was a stupid concession, and Bobbi understood his point of view, but she wanted her father to know she was willing to accept his counsel.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I applied a while back, but I didn’t think anything would come of it.”
“Do you like the idea of living in Chicago?”
“I think so. Why not? I’m sick of this place.” He sounded lifeless; he was staring off across the room, looking at nothing.
Bobbi saw that it really was the end, and she began to cry. “I should have stopped all this before it happened.”
“Oh, Bobbi,” David said, “Sometimes things happen spontaneously. And when they do, people ought to enjoy the gift. But you won’t leave any room for that.”
“I’m sorry. I just—”
“I know! Let’s not go over all this again. I don’t want to see you before I go. I’m angry right now, and it’s probably better if we both remember that. I want to stay angry until I catch a train heading east.”
Bobbi stood up. “Okay,” she said, but the tears were flowing hard now. She felt in her skirt pocket for a handkerchief and found nothing. “I do hope everything turns out well for you.” She turned toward the door.
“Bobbi, wait.” He stood up. “I’m sorry. I’m being ridiculous. Let’s just say good-bye and”—he was walking toward her—“I don’t know. Chalk it up to experience.”
He was close to her, but he didn’t touch her. She whispered “good-bye” and turned to leave. But in that instant she seemed to be turning away from the last glimmer of light in her life. She stopped and turned back, touched his face. He pulled her to him and held her in his arms. “Bobbi, how can we hurt each other this much? Come to Chicago with me. Marry me. Let’s not think of all the reasons it wouldn’t work; let’s just make it work.”
She couldn’t think what to say, but she knew it was what she wanted. The other way, him gone and her in nursing school, seemed an impossible alternative.
“Bobbi, you know what you’re feeling. Don’t throw it away. Will you marry me?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you’ll consider it?”
“Yes.”
He took hold of her shoulders and pushed her away enough so he could look at her. “Don’t think too much. Don’t be wise.”
“I want this too, David. But I do have to think.”
“Bobbi, listen. There’s plenty in Mormonism I admire. I could do all right with it. I could even join, if that would make things better with your family.”
“How could you do that?”
“I would embrace all the things I do believe in—the way of life. I’d quit drinking. Go to church. Whatever.”
Bobbi smiled. She wondered whether he had any idea what he would be getting himself into.
“Bobbi, neither one of us can be happy without each other. I don’t know why, but that’s how it is. And we can’t turn our backs on that.”
Bobbi felt that was true, that she would never find anyone else like him.
“You need to make your decision right away. I’m going to leave in a couple of weeks.”
“I want you to go. I want some time alone. You get established in Chicago, and then—”
“Bobbi, don’t do to me what you did to Phil.” He cupped his hand under her chin and lifted it. “I can’t be that patient.”
“All right. But you have to give me some time—more than two weeks.”
“Okay.”
He tried to kiss her, but she said, “No, David. I can’t. I want you too much.” She walked out and shut the door between them.
***
Sister Thomas read the paper every day, and she clung to every quotation from public officials who claimed that the United States would only build armaments but never fight in Europe. The Germans had driven the English and French back to Dunkirk on the English Channel and had come close to obliterating the entire force. Only a monumental effort had saved the troops, as almost every ship and fishing boat in England had been put into service and, blessed by good weather, had crossed the channel to transport the soldiers home. A small force of British and French troops had held out against the pressing German army, and most of the soldiers had been evacuated. The “miracle of Dunkirk” had saved thousands of lives, but it hadn’t changed the reality that the Allies had been defeated quickly and easily.
Winston Churchill vowed to the English people “We shall defend our island, whatever the co
st may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender”—but Sister Thomas took note of the last words: “until, in God’s good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the Old.” Sister Thomas cringed to think what he meant: that the United States would have to save England.
On June 17, huge headlines in the Deseret News announced, “FRANCE QUITS.” Hitler’s forces had pressed straight
for Paris. Germany’s Blitzkrieg warfare, which used air cover, lightning-fast movement of troops in trucks, and powerful Panzer tanks, had overwhelmed the French, who were still using tactics from the World War.
When France capitulated, the question was, how long could England hold out? Hitler offered peace and seemed confident that England would give up without a fight. Churchill only stiffened his will, however. The “Battle of France” was over, he said, and the “Battle of Britain” was about to begin. The whole world was waiting to see what Hitler would do next. Would he cross the channel and fight England on its own shores? And if that happened, Sister Thomas asked herself, how long until America got involved? How long before her sons were involved?
For the immediate future, however, Sister Thomas was more worried about Bobbi. She and Bobbi had had some long talks lately, and Bobbi had been open about her attachment to David Stinson. Sister Thomas was feeling the need to make at least an initial attempt to help her husband understand Bobbi’s situation.
On a warm evening in late June, she was sitting on the front porch. The sun was going down, and she finally stopped stitching and merely gazed off to the west, where a few lumpy clouds were losing the last of their reddish tint. The crickets were making a racket, but she hardly noticed. She was trying to think how she could start the conversation with her husband. He was at his office in the stake building but would be home any minute.
President Thomas finally pulled into the driveway and parked in the garage out back. When he walked around the house and approached the porch, Sister Thomas could see the weariness in his face. But he did take off his coat and sit down next to her on the love seat, and Sister Thomas knew she might not get another opportunity like this. “How did your appointments go?” she asked first, hoping to get a sense of his mood.
