Children of the Promise

by Dean Hughes

  Frieda Stoltz seemed to have her own suspicions about her husband’s mission, although she never said so. She was nervous and therefore not easy to be around. She wasn’t irritable; she was merely preoccupied and silent. Days with her were tediously long and gloomy, and so it was always better to leave home each day, to be around other people.

  But London was frightening these days. V-2 rockets were hitting somewhere in the London area two or three times a day. The V-1 buzzbombs–or “doodlebugs,” as most Londoners had called them–had been pilotless aircraft that flew slowly and usually struck only after sirens had sounded. A person could hear a buzzbomb, estimate how close it was likely to strike, and often go about one’s business. But the V-2 rockets came any time of the day or night, came suddenly and without sound or warning. And they each packed a far greater punch.

  That was not to say that London stopped operating. People continued to go about their lives. During the “little blitz” in the spring, theater attendance had fallen off, but this fall Londoners were queuing up to see Laurence Olivier’s performance in Richard III. The West End cinemas had remained packed throughout the war, but even in the dangerous East End, the cinemas were full every night. Cricket and soccer matches drew enormous crowds; and on Oxford Street, in spite of shortages and rationed goods, the shoppers still filled the stores. Anna already loved the city and took strength from the persistence of its people. She had seen a similar tenacity in her own people, in Berlin, but the battering had finally been more severe, and Berliners had been forced to make greater adjustments. What Londoners talked about most was the end of the war. They insisted that the day would soon come when all this destruction and fear would end, and they went about surviving this latest horror with amazing stoicism.

  Anna and her mother went to church every Sunday. They loved singing the hymns again, remembering the way it felt to take the sacrament, to be joined with a body of believers. They were well accepted for the most part, and yet at times they felt a certain distance between themselves and the other members. Part of it was merely language, but there were layers of feelings that couldn’t be peeled away easily. What Anna always sensed was that the kindness she received was a bit self-conscious, as though it required special effort to befriend Germans. That was understandable but not as satisfying as she would have liked.

  Anna felt the same gulf between her and most of the other Londoners she met. They heard her accent, of course, and usually wanted to believe that she was Scandinavian or Dutch, not German. People obviously felt a certain unease about her origins. She was an open person, so she didn’t hesitate to say that her family had opposed the Nazis, and that always seemed to help. But in a shop or in making a first acquaintance, when she had no opportunity to explain, people would sometimes ask her where she was from, and then, when she answered, they’d seem uncomfortable and awkward.

  What Anna knew was that she had left her own land, her own people, probably forever, and that she might never be fully accepted anywhere else. And worse, she was–at least for the present–cut off from the ties she had to the few people who loved her without reservation: her husband, her brother, her father, and even, in some ways, her mother. It was entirely possible that she could lose one or even all of the men in her life, so she wanted to cling to her mother as at least one source of affection, but her mother’s own anxiety made that difficult.

  So Anna struggled. But she wasn’t one to give in to self-pity. She made the best of things, tried to cheer up her mother as best she could, and was friendly at work. Mostly by accident, the Stoltzes had found a flat in a part of London that was rarely threatened by the rockets. She had actually not felt so safe in years, and so, when she went to bed at night, she slept well.

  But then one night late in October, Anna was awakened as the concussion of a terrific explosion banged against her building. The house seemed to shift, and she heard the structure creak. She grabbed her blankets, held on, and then realized what had happened. A rocket had landed close, probably between her building and Regent’s Park. Within a few seconds she could already see the light of fires through her window.

  Anna slipped out of bed and ran to her mother’s room. Sister Stoltz was also up but seemingly confused, waiting. “It was close,” Anna whispered, and she took her mother in her arms. “But we’re all right.”

  “So many must have died,” Sister Stoltz said.

  Anna knew that was true, and she was ashamed that her first thought had been only about herself. “We need to help,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  Anna tried the light but found that the electricity was out. So the two dressed in the glow from the fire. Then they hurried downstairs and out into the cool night. They found that a whole block of buildings near Baker Street, one street over from their own, had been demolished. As they hurried closer, they saw nothing but confusion, with people running about, screaming, fire trucks approaching, sirens sounding.

  What Anna couldn’t see yet was something that she and her mother could do. She knew that very soon the rubble would have to be pulled away, that there might be people to save in the demolished buildings, but fires were still raging, dust and smoke still hanging over the debris.

  And then she saw a man inside a mostly destroyed house. He was at a first-floor window. The glass in the window was broken, and he was swinging a stick of some sort, breaking the remaining glass away. A man ran to the burning building, and then two more followed. Anna heard one of them yell, “Climb out. We’ll help you down.”

  But the man inside shouted something that Anna couldn’t hear. Then, in a moment, she understood. There was a woman inside, too, and the man was trying to help her out the window. The men on the outside, joined by a fourth now, all reached up, got hold of her arms as she came out head first. It was then that Anna saw that she was an older woman with white hair, that she was dressed in a nightgown.

  The woman let the men take her weight and lower her to the pavement below. And then they looked back to the man, who came out the same way. He was obviously the woman’s husband, a white-haired man himself. He had pulled on a pair of trousers, but he was barefoot and wearing his striped pajama tops, not a shirt.

  “We need to help them,” Sister Stoltz said, and she hurried across the street, with Anna following. As she approached, she shouted, in English, “Come. Come with us.”

  “We must wait, and go back for our things,” the woman was saying. “Everything we have is in there.”

  “No,” one of the men was telling her. “The fire must be put out first. You won’t be going back in there soon.”

  “But we need our pictures. All our papers.”

  “No, no,” her husband kept saying. “It’s all right. We’re alive. We’re lucky.”

  The woman stepped back and looked up at the building. The top floors had collapsed onto each other; flames were shooting up between the splintered timbers and the clinging roof tiles. “Where will we live now? Where will we go?” She asked.

  “Come with us. You can get inside, out of the cold,” Anna said.

  “Who are you?”

  “We live close by.”

  “Yes, love, that’s best,” her husband said. “Let’s get inside where it’s warm. In the morning we’ll come back and salvage what we can.” He began to walk, pulling her along through the scattered rubble on the street. But the woman continued to look back. She had begun to cry.

  Anna put her arm around the woman’s shoulders, patted her. “It will be all right,” she said. “You’ll be safe with us.”

  She and her mother led the couple to their building on the next street, and then inside and up the dark stairway. “We have no electricity,” Anna said. “I’m sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” the man told her. “It’s a place to sit down. To stay warm. You’re very kind.”

  Sister Stoltz managed to get a key into the lock and open the door to their flat. “Here,” she said, leading the couple into the dark living room. The light from t
he fires was enough to provide a silhouette of the furniture. The couple took a seat on the couch.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Anna asked. “We have peppermint tea, or–”

  “No, no. It isn’t necessary,” the man said. “You should return to bed. We’ll merely sit here and rest. We’ll be fine.” He had a deep, warm voice. Anna had glimpsed his face earlier, seen his big knob of a nose, his flabby cheeks, but his voice made him seem younger, handsome.

  “But I’m happy to make something.” It was Anna’s only idea; she wanted to help and didn’t know how to do it. Sister Stoltz had sat down next to the woman, and now she was putting her arms around her. “I’m sorry,” she said in English. “I’m very sorry.”

  Anna knew that her mother understood as well as anyone what the woman was dealing with–the loss of all she had. And the woman seemed to sense that. She let Sister Stoltz hold her in her arms, and she cried harder than before. She mumbled, “It was so loud, so terrible. I thought the building was coming in on top of us.”

  “Yes, yes,” Sister Stoltz said. “I know.” Anna knew that her mother had understood enough words to know what the woman was talking about.

  “Thirty-four years we’ve lived there,” the woman said, and she sobbed. She was a little woman, all roundness, but Anna was remembering the eyes she had seen: sharp, like rodent eyes, on the watch.

  “It’s all right,” her husband kept saying. “We weren’t even touched.”

  “But what of the others?” the woman said, pulling away from Sister Stoltz and looking toward her husband. “What’s happened to all our neighbors? Poor old Mrs. Grimsley upstairs. And the Browers, that nice young couple. Are they all gone?”

  “I don’t know, love. I don’t know. Maybe they survived somehow.”

  “Not on the upper floors. Everything was destroyed. How can the Germans do such a thing–send rockets in the night to kill old women and young couples? It’s all so wrong.”

  The woman began to sob again, this time leaning toward her husband, who took her in his arms. For quite some time everyone was silent. Anna was still considering the question: “How could the Germans do such a thing?” The issue was not that simple, she knew, but the question still disturbed her.

  Eventually the woman sat up straight, wrapped her arms close around herself, and began to find some control. Her husband found a handkerchief in his trousers pocket and gave it to her. She wiped her eyes and nose, and then Anna heard the resolution in her voice when she said, “I’m sorry to be like this.”

  “It’s all right. We understand,” Anna told her.

  “Please, tell me your names. You’ve been so kind to us. You’re not English, are you?”

  “We’re from Germany,” Anna said.

  “Germany?” the man said, obviously surprised.

  “Yes.”

  Anna feared the worst. During the silence that followed she knew that everyone was recalling what the woman had said.

  “Refugees?” the woman asked, her voice more gentle.

  “Yes,” Anna said.

  “Are you Jewish?”

  “No. We became enemies of the Gestapo. We had to escape.”

  “Just you and your mother?”

  “No. My father was with us. He’s away right now.” Anna didn’t want to explain any more than she had to–about Peter, or about her father.

  “Oh, my. I’m so sorry for what I said.” She turned toward Sister Stoltz and patted her hand. “After you were so good to us.”

  “It’s fine,” Sister Stoltz said.

  “My mother doesn’t speak English very well yet. But she understands many things.”

  “I didn’t mean all Germans. I hope you know that.”

  “We understand,” Anna told her.

  “You speak very well, dear.”

  “I’m learning.”

  “Tell me your names. We’re the Dillinghams.”

  “My name is Anna Thomas,” Anna said. “I’m married to an American soldier. My mother’s name is Frieda Stoltz.”

  “And where is your husband?”

  “In the Netherlands.”

  “Oh, dear. He must be a paratrooper.”

  “Yes.”

  “These are such terrible times.”

  Anna could hear more sirens outside, see the pulsing orange light of the fires reflecting off the walls. “We had to give up our home and leave everything behind,” she said. “So we understand what you feel tonight.”

  “And you must have lived through our bombing raids in Germany.”

  “We did. We were in Berlin during the worst of the bombing.”

  “Oh, my. What a war.”

  Sister Stoltz touched Mrs. Dillingham’s shoulder and said, “Stay with us.” Then she looked up at Anna and said, in German, “Tell them they can live with us. We have enough room for them.”

  Anna translated the words, but Mr. Dillingham said, “Oh, no. We won’t bother you long. In the morning we’ll check to see what arrangements we can make.”

  “So many have lost their homes,” Anna said. “There are no places to go, I think.”

  “There are temporary shelters. And then, in time, we’ll be placed somewhere. I’m sure we can manage. Others are doing all right. We have a daughter in Chelsea. She and her husband have only a small place, but maybe we could manage with them somehow.”

  “We have room, Mr. Dillingham. You can stay here as long as you have need.”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Thomas. Maybe for a day or two. And we could pay you something.”

  “I’m Anna, not Mrs. Thomas. And we want no money.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Dillingham said. “Thank you so very much.”

  The Dillinghams, as it turned out, did stay, and the “day or two” kept stretching. It was the best thing that could have happened for Sister Stoltz. It gave her something to think about, something to do. Her English improved much faster than it had before, and she and Mrs. Dillingham, who knew a little German, carried on some funny conversations, full of motions and pointed fingers, but they seemed to understand each other. Mr. Dillingham, who was retired, was a Civil Patrol volunteer, and he left each day to perform his duties. With Anna gone most days, Sister Stoltz and Mrs. Dillingham–Dorothy–had plenty of hours together.

  Mr. Dillingham was able to return to his and his wife’s flat after a couple of days, and he brought out most of the things that were valuable to them. Some of their pictures had been damaged by water, but the fire had never reached them. Mr. Dillingham was also able to salvage some other things–

  dining-room chairs, a chest of drawers, and end tables. The Stoltz’s flat, which was sparsely furnished, benefited a good deal from the additions.

  On Sunday Anna and Sister Stoltz invited the Dillinghams to go to church with them. They declined, but they were curious about Germans who were Mormons, a church the Dillinghams had always associated with America. And so they kept asking questions, and on the following Sunday they surprised Anna by agreeing to go.

  The congregation in the little hall that day, as usual, was a collection of London members along with a good many American and British soldiers and sailors, in uniform. Some of the soldiers were stationed close enough to attend most weeks; others were passing through on their way to the continent or on a weekend pass from a camp in England. The Dillinghams whispered to Anna that they were impressed with the quality of the people, so many seeming well educated, and virtually all of them so friendly. “We English aren’t known for our rashness when it comes to making friends,” Edward Dillingham whispered.

  After the sacrament was passed, President Wakefield introduced the speaker, President Newton, a member of the district presidency. He spoke about Lehi’s dream and interpreted the various symbols, including the iron rod. He described the way the world, in war time, was succumbing to temptation, letting those in the spacious building influence them toward sin. It was a good enough talk–although a little harsh on the sinners, Anna thought–but then he
said, “The world is currently divided into two great divisions. Good and evil. The Germans have chosen to align themselves with Hitler, who is in league with Satan. We are suffering in many ways, but at least we have the knowledge that whatever our faults and sins, we are standing on the side of right.”

  Anna didn’t exactly disagree with that, and she didn’t take offense. But then President Newton said, “There’s no question in my mind that the German people will be visited with devastation and destruction. They will suffer for generations to come for the evil they have brought to this world.”

  Anna saw her mother glance toward her, as though she were uncertain what she had heard, and at the same time Anna felt the tension in the congregation. President Newton didn’t know the Stoltzes, and of course all the branch members did.

  Anna tried to tell herself that President Newton wasn’t calling for revenge on all Germans. He was only speaking the truth, that Hitler had misguided a nation, and now the people of that nation would have to pay. She even knew that many

  of her country’s people had been only too willing to accept Hitler’s militarism, and that that was a sin. She simply ­wondered about President Newton’s tone, which sounded so judgmental.

  Anna was careful to say “Amen” when the talk ended. She didn’t want the members to think she and her mother were offended–even if she was just a little. She wondered what the Dillinghams were thinking.

  But then President Wakefield got up, announced the closing hymn and prayer, and said, “May I add one thought to what President Newton has said today. Recently we received a letter from the First Presidency of our Church. The brethren advised all members that when victory in Europe comes–as it certainly will before too much longer–we should not forget that there are faithful Latter-day Saints in many of the countries involved in this war. The presidency warned us not to wound the feelings of our brothers and sisters in defeated lands. We were asked to devote the following Sunday to prayers of thanksgiving, and then to ask the Lord for help in avoiding all wars in the future.”