Children of the Promise

by Dean Hughes

  So all the world seemed an enemy. The bombs that dropped may not have been intended for Anna, personally, but they might as well have been. And most Germans would report the Stoltzes if they somehow learned their actual story. Certainly Brother Stoltz was a traitor by almost everyone’s definition, and his family was just as bad for supporting him.

  The raid didn’t last long that night. It was not the beginning of the long siege Anna had feared. She was soon tramping back upstairs, where she fell asleep again almost instantly. But at breakfast, she felt numb. She would work a twelve-hour shift that day, and spend it typing and processing paperwork. All of it was so routine and uninteresting to her. And the irony never exactly left her that she was helping to make bullets that could possibly be used against the man she wanted to marry. In the night she had felt her anger toward those bombers, but when she could think beyond her immediate danger, she feared even more the German or Japanese soldiers who might be shooting at Alex somewhere else in the world.

  “Papa,” Peter said, as he sat across from his father at the breakfast table that morning.

  “Yes.”

  “How long do you think the war will last?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the Allies will cross the channel this year—and the Russians seem to be pushing our troops back in the east again. But I don’t see an end in sight.”

  Peter was leaning forward, his hands on his forehead. He wasn’t eating. “When can we be normal people?” he asked.

  “We’re normal. We merely have to be careful.”

  “I have no friends. I have to stay home all the time.”

  Brother Stoltz leaned back in his chair. “I know, Peter. It’s difficult for you. But we can’t help what’s happened to us. We’re lucky to be alive.”

  “Blessed to be alive,” Sister Stoltz said.

  Peter didn’t move. After a time, he said, “I want my own name back. I want to say what I think to someone. I’m sixteen, and I have to live like a little child—always home.”

  “Peter, I’m sorry. But what can we do?”

  “You don’t have to work for the underground—helping Jews. At Hitler Youth they tell us all the bad things Jews have done. I don’t know why we have to take chances for them.”

  “Do you believe what you hear there, Peter?”

  “I don’t know.” Peter sat up straight and looked at his father. “I have to say what they say, or they will know what traitors we are. I say it and say it, and after a while, I don’t know what I think.”

  “Peter, we are not traitors,” Brother Stoltz said.

  “Of course we are,” Anna said.

  “We’re not traitors to our people. We’re traitors only to the Gestapo, to Hitler.”

  The room was silent. Everyone knew all this. But Anna understood how tired poor Peter was, how much he needed to be accepted somewhere by someone.

  “I’m sorry,” Brother Stoltz finally said, “but I’m going to keep helping the underground. If I can save a few lives, I’m going to feel much better about myself when this war finally ends. Or if I die, I’ll be able to face the Lord.”

  It was a noble thing to say, and Anna agreed, but she looked at Peter, and she was sure she knew what he was thinking. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want his father to die. And he also didn’t want to go on living this way.

  A few days later Anna came home a little after the others. When she walked in, she could see that Peter and her parents were upset about something. They were sitting in the living room, and Peter had a resolute, angry look in his eyes. He had grown so much in the past year, changed so much; he looked more combative, more determined than she had ever seen him before.

  “Was ist los?” Anna asked. What is wrong?

  “Papa wants to bring Jews into our house,” Peter said, rather too loudly.

  “Please. Be still,” Brother Stoltz said, and Anna heard her father’s anger. He looked at Anna. “It’s an emergency. They may not have to stay long. We could keep them in the attic for a time, just as the Hochs kept us. Peter seems to have forgotten that without the Hochs we would not be alive now.”

  “I haven’t forgotten that. But if we’re caught, we’ll all be killed. Why can’t someone else take them?”

  “Who? There are so few who are willing—few who can even be asked. And we have this attic. We have enough food. We can do it.”

  “What about bombing raids?” Anna asked. “The attic is the worst place to be.”

  “I know that. But it’s also the last place the Gestapo would expect to find them. And these people have no choice. They have to take the gamble.”

  “Peter’s right about the danger,” Anna said. “But I think we should do it.” She was looking at Peter, trying with her eyes to say to him, “Don’t be selfish. Rise to this.”

  Peter slumped down in his chair. “They’re Jews!” he said. “They’re not like us. I don’t want them here.”

  This was stunning. Brother Stoltz jumped to his feet, and for a moment Anna thought he was about to strike Peter. But Brother Stoltz said, “Have you forgotten our friend, Brother Goldfarb? Can you remember how he cried and thanked us—only because we gave him a few vegetables? And what did the Gestapo do? They took him away and locked him up—for nothing. For being a Jew.”

  “Peter doesn’t mean what he said,” Sister Stoltz said. She got up and walked to him, and then she knelt by his chair and touched her hand to his hair. “He hears so many things. It’s all very confusing.”

  Peter pulled his head away from her touch, but he didn’t say anything, and Anna was sure he was confused.

  “The simple fact is, they are coming tonight. Soon,” Brother Stoltz said. “And Peter, you will treat them with the respect they deserve.”

  Peter said nothing.

  It was Anna who said, “How can they be brought in without being seen? Shouldn’t they wait until after dark?”

  “The people I work with know about these things. Moving about at night is the most dangerous thing a person can do. The family will walk through the front door, in daylight, and not look suspicious.”

  “Won’t our neighbors notice that they haven’t left?”

  “Only if they get suspicious. That’s why it all has to seem an ordinary visit.”

  Anna thought about that. She often saw people come into a building, but she didn’t really watch to see whether they left unless she had some reason to notice. But the idea of it—harboring Jews—was terrifying. There was no surer way to draw the vengeance of the Nazis.

  As the Stoltzes ate their evening meal, they spoke very little. Peter was being sullen, maybe even stoic, but he still looked unhappy, and now that Father had taken his stand—and had quieted Peter’s objections—he seemed nervous himself. So was Mother.

  The Stoltzes were still at the table when the knock came—quick and light. Brother Stoltz started and then got up quickly. He hurried to the door and let the people in without saying a word. Anna saw that the family was young—a couple with a little boy.

  “Welcome,” father said. “Are you all right?”

  The man and woman stood stiff and unsure, and they glanced around. The little boy was leaning against his mother’s legs, his face against her skirt.

  “We’re called the Niemeyers,” Brother Stoltz said. “It’s best if you know us by that name, I suppose.” He was trying to sound friendly, but the tension was obvious in his voice.

  “We’re the Rosenbaums,” the young man said. He was very Germanic looking, with light brown hair and a strong jaw. His wife was small, pretty, with dark hair and eyes. She was wearing a simple gray dress and was carrying a purse strapped over her shoulder. “This is Benjamin. My wife’s name is Hannah. Mine is Herbert.”

  “Please. Sit down. We’ll make a bed for you in the attic later, but stay with us here for now.”

  “Thank you,” Hannah said, but she seemed tense as she led her little boy to the couch. Little Benjamin leaned against his mother, pushed his face against her side.
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  “Is there any way to look out and see whether anyone is watching?” Herbert asked.

  “Yes. Of course,” Brother Stoltz said, and he walked to his bedroom, which looked out on the front street. When he returned, in only a few seconds, he said, “I couldn’t see anyone out there. I don’t think we need to worry about that.”

  “That’s not certain,” Herbert said. “They know better than to show themselves.”

  “Yes. We know about that. We’ve been in hiding ourselves.”

  “You’re not Jewish, are you?” Hannah asked, and Anna heard some concern in her voice. But maybe, right now, everything worried her.

  “No. We’re not. But Jews are not the only ones hiding these days,” Brother Stoltz said.

  Sister Stoltz walked over to Hannah and patted her shoulder. “We do understand what you are going through,” she said.

  Anna saw some relief come into Hannah’s face, her wide eyes softening. “We were able to bring only what I have in my purse,” she said. “And Herbert has a few personal things in his pockets. A razor and—”

  “It’s all right. We have enough,” Sister Stoltz said. “And gradually, we can get some things you will need.”

  “We’re not to stay here long,” Herbert said. “That’s what we were told.”

  “Probably not,” Brother Stoltz said. “We are not perhaps the safest people to be with . . . in the long run. But everything should be fine for now.”

  “We had to go somewhere,” Herbert said. “Neighbors had gotten suspicious where we were.”

  No one seemed to know what else to say. Peter was sitting straight in his chair, and he was avoiding eye contact with anyone. Anna had been standing behind him, but now she walked over to the couch. She sat down next to little Benjamin. “Good evening, Benjamin,” she said. “May I be your friend?” He peeked at Anna, and then he tucked his head against his mother’s side again. “How old is he?” Anna asked his mother.

  “Three. He’s shy at first. But he likes to be noisy, once he relaxes a little. It’s been so hard to keep him quiet. He doesn’t understand, of course.”

  “That’s so difficult,” Anna said. “By the way, my name is Anna, and my brother is named Peter. Those are our real first names. You might as well know them.”

  “You’re so beautiful,” Hannah said, and her voice seemed natural for the first time.

  “Oh, thank you,” Anna said, “but that’s exactly what I wanted to tell you.”

  Anna felt something good between the two of them. She knew that Hannah wasn’t much older than she was, and Anna had been cut off from almost all contact with young women. She liked the idea that the two of them might be friends, at least for a time.

  “Benjamin,” Anna said again, “we’re happy you came to stay with us.” He continued to hide his head.

  “Could I get you something to eat?” Sister Stoltz asked. “Have you eaten tonight?”

  “Actually, no,” Herbert said. “We hate to impose, but I do believe that Benjamin is hungry.”

  “Oh, of course. I know you must be thirsty, too, in all this heat. Will you come into the kitchen? That might be easiest.”

  And so the Rosenbaums went to the kitchen, and so did the others, except for Peter, who stayed in his chair.

  Sister Stoltz was more in her element now, serving food and fussing over the Rosenbaums. The tension began to ease. Little Benjamin ate rather heartily and began to look around at the Stoltzes, even if he still wouldn’t say anything.

  After everyone had eaten, Sister Stoltz climbed a ladder into the attic, and Hannah followed. Anna went along too, and they arranged a bed on the floor. There was a small window, which was now emitting the last of the day’s light but seemed to let in almost no air. “I’m afraid this won’t be very comfortable for you,” Anna told Hannah.

  “It’s fine. I can live with the heat if we can only stay safe.”

  Sister Stoltz said, “I wonder whether we couldn’t let you sleep in our living room. The couch would be better for you, and Peter could come up here.”

  “No,” Hannah said. “If someone came in the night, we couldn’t hide fast enough.”

  “We spent many months in a basement,” Anna said. “We were cramped, but we’re still alive.”

  For the first time, Hannah let her emotion show. She blinked away some tears. “It’s Benjamin I live for. If I can keep him alive, I can accept . . . anything else.”

  “But no one would take the life of a little child,” Sister Stoltz said.

  Hannah gave her a quick, surprised look. “Oh, Frau Niemeyer, you have no idea what is happening now.”

  Anna felt a chill run through her. The thought of anyone hurting little Benjamin was too appalling to think about.

  When the women climbed down from the attic, Anna found that the men were talking about the same thing. Brother Stoltz looked at his wife and said, “Herbert tells me that all the Jews being arrested are now being hauled on trains to Poland.”

  “I thought they were doing that before.”

  “Yes. Here. But now they’re being transported from France and Italy and Denmark—anywhere the Nazis have power.”

  “Where are they keeping so many people?” Sister Stoltz asked.

  “They’re not keeping them,” Herbert said.

  Everyone knew what that meant. But Sister Stoltz said, “Surely, they can’t. . . .” She didn’t want to say it. “Not so many people.”

  Herbert spoke softly. “We hear things. We don’t know everything. But in Poland, people are being dragged from all the ghettos, and they aren’t coming back.”

  For the first time Peter spoke. “This could be lies. How could so many people be killed?”

  “It’s not lies,” Herbert said. “People have watched Jews being forced onto trains. And some of the Poles who are trying to do what they can to help us—people like you—they know the whole story. They say that at some of the camps, Jews are shot down—men and women and children—and buried in mass graves. In other camps, the Nazis are using gas. They keep the young people, who can work, but they kill the rest, and then they burn their bodies in ovens. They say the ovens are going all day and all night—every day.”

  Peter was sitting up very straight now, his eyes trained on Herbert. “In Hitler Youth, they told us that such stories are lies—stories told by Jews to make the Führer look bad.”

  “Peter, I haven’t been there,” Herbert said. “I haven’t seen it. So I cannot say for certain. But you know as well as I do that very few Jews are left in Germany. Where have they all gone? And why were they taken away? Hitler means to rid the world of us. He says we’re mongrel dogs who must be destroyed. And he doesn’t mean only me and my wife. He means little Benjamin, too.”

  Anna saw Peter take a long look at Benjamin.

  “Peter,” Herbert said, “I’m an ordinary man. All my life I’ve lived in the Jewish section, in Berlin. That was not exactly my family’s choice, I suppose, but we were content to be there. So was Hannah’s family. We never harmed anyone in our lives. I was learning the jeweler’s trade, and I wasn’t making much, but Hannah and I got married, and we were managing to get by. The only thing we want is to raise a family, be decent people—the same as anyone. Now tell me, what’s our crime? Why do we have to hide? And tell me Benjamin’s crime. How could anyone want to hurt him?”

  “What kind of people could hold so much hatred in their hearts?” Hannah asked. She put her arm around Benjamin, but she was looking at Peter.

  “We won’t let it happen,” Sister Stoltz said. “We’ll keep you safe.”

  “I wish it were that easy, Frau Niemeyer,” Herbert said. “But the Gestapo never . . .” He stopped and glanced at his wife. “But maybe the war can end before too much longer.”

  The problem was, everyone knew that wasn’t true. The better part of a minute passed before Peter got up and walked to a desk at the end of the room. Anna was worried. She didn’t know whether Peter was clinging to the things he had heard
at Hitler Youth. She thought he was going to pull out his schoolwork and turn his back on the Rosenbaums. But he got something from the desk drawer, and then he came back. He walked toward Hannah and Benjamin, and he knelt down in front of them. Peter had a little toy truck in his hand. “Benjamin,” he said, “would you like to play with this?”

  Benjamin looked at him for a time, and then he nodded, and he took the truck in his own hand. But he only looked at it.

  “Come with me,” Peter said. “We’ll play.”

  Benjamin nodded, and then he slid off the couch.

  “Where did you get the truck?” Brother Stoltz asked.

  Peter took Benjamin’s hand, and they walked to the end of the room where Peter’s desk was. “I found it in the bombed-out house where we lived. I just . . . decided to keep it.”

  Anna knew he was embarrassed to admit to this; he was too old for such toys. But he knelt down with Benjamin, and he made a sound like the roaring of a truck. Benjamin laughed, and he pushed the little wooden truck across the hardwood floor.

  Chapter 18

  Bobbi hadn’t seen Richard for more than a week. He hadn’t come to church, and he hadn’t called or stopped by since the night they had taken the drive together. On the way back from the north shore that night he had chatted casually with her, but then, at her door, he had said, carefully, “Bobbi, I wish I had met you at a different time.” That was all. If he had added, “And I hope I can see you when I get back” or “after the war,” she wouldn’t have felt so bad. But he had merely walked away, and now he had made no attempt to get in touch. She wondered whether his ship had already sailed.

  Then, on a Friday afternoon, she got a call from him at the hospital. By the time she was able to walk to her station, Mary Pindetti, the nurse who was sitting at the phone, told Bobbi, “He couldn’t wait. But he wondered whether he could take you to dinner tonight. At seven.”

  “He couldn’t wait?”

  “No. But he sure has a nice voice. He told me, ‘Tell her seven. I don’t think she knows what time 1900 is.’“