by Dean Hughes
“Or at least a football field,” President Meis said. He reached into his pocket then, and he found a large key, which he used to open the door of the Gasthaus. Then he motioned for Alex to step inside. “I have no presidency, only myself,” he said. “But I still come here before services, and I try to think what I need to do. And I pray. It makes me feel better prepared. I give the sermon almost every week in sacrament meeting, but for now, I don’t mind that.”
“Why don’t you have a presidency?”
“We haven’t been able to reorganize. For a long time, we didn’t even try to meet. The Miller family was bombed out. They moved away from Frankfurt. The Stoltz family left the area early in the war, and—”
“President Meis, I just realized—you don’t know. I’m married to Anna.”
“Anna Stoltz?” President Meis had pulled a chair away from a table and had been ready to sit down, but he stopped halfway. He was clearly astounded. “How can this be?”
“The Stoltz’s got out of Germany. They made it to London. It was during the time I was in a hospital in England.”
“I knew they were trying to leave, and I was afraid for them. Are they all right?”
“Peter didn’t make it out, and we don’t know where he is. You haven’t heard from him, have you?”
“No.”
Alex told the story, as briefly as he could, and admitted to President Meis that Brother Stoltz was also probably in Germany somewhere. But again, President Meis hadn’t heard from him.
“You have to understand,” he said. “It would be very difficult to find me. Toward the end of the war, all the registering of moves ended. Everything was in chaos. Our district president was pulled into the war too. He was on the eastern front, and his wife has heard nothing from him for a long time. He could be dead. There’s no mail right now, either.”
“Then you don’t know about President Grant?”
“No. What?”
“He died two weeks ago. I just found out myself.”
“Who is president of the Church, then?”
“George Albert Smith. He’s a good man. I’ve known him all my life.”
President Meis finally sat down, and he motioned for Alex to do the same. “You’re married to Anna—beautiful Anna. I knew she had feelings for you, but I never imagined anything like this could happen.”
“We’re going to have a baby, President. In less than a month. But I won’t be there.”
“Oh, my goodness. That is difficult. All the same, it’s good for us to have you here. We need your help. How long will you stay?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a year or more—unless I’m transferred to another part of Germany.”
“Could you speak to our members today? It would mean so much to them.”
Alex was taken by surprise. He looked away. “President Meis, I don’t feel worthy to do that. I need to hear good sermons, but I don’t feel ready to give any right now.”
“What’s happened? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know exactly.” He stuck his hands into his pants pockets and looked down. “I can’t really say that I feel the Spirit, President Meis. I feel as though I have to be rebuilt on the inside—like all these buildings.”
“We all feel that now. But we have to heal each other. No one can do it alone.”
Alex knew that was right, but he also knew what he felt about himself. “I feel all alone right now. I pray, but I get no answers.”
President Meis took a long look at Alex. He seemed so very much older now. He had been a strong man, always intense, but now he was thinner, more subdued, and the lines around his eyes had folded into deep creases. He had lost a tooth in the front. “Brother Thomas, listen to me,” he said. “We need you. Some of what you say sounds like self-pity, and there’s no time for that. We have to put things behind us and get the Church going again.”
Alex nodded. He thought for a time, and then he added, “Maybe I could speak to the branch for a few minutes. Maybe it’s what I need to do.”
“That’s good. I can’t tell you how much it will mean to our members.”
There was still some time before the people would start to arrive. Alex and President Meis had time to discuss the members of the branch, and Alex ached as he heard all the sad stories. Every family had suffered, and so many had lost sons or fathers—or both. Alex also had time to ask whether President Meis knew anything about Agent Kellerman now. “He disappeared,” President Meis said. “I used to see him about, and I hoped the day would come when some justice could be served. But I’ve been back here since January, and I have never seen him once. He’s certainly a marked man—with that wicked scar across his face. Wherever he goes, he can be identified.”
“He’s one man who ought to be punished,” Alex said.
When the members of the branch began to arrive, Alex found that he didn’t know them all. Some were refugees from eastern Germany—people who had fled the Russian invasion. A few were new converts, taught and baptized by the members, without help of the missionaries. But Alex did know many of the people he saw, and not one of them spoke to him without breaking down in tears. He hugged them all, talked with them, heard more of their stories.
The branch was not holding Sunday School yet, and they held their sacrament meeting in the morning. When President Meis stood, after he and another brother had blessed and passed the sacrament, he said, “You have all seen our beloved Brother Thomas—one of the great missionaries who served here with us before the war. He is a good man. He wears an American soldier’s uniform, and that may seem a little strange to the young people here. But the uniform matters nothing to us. He is our brother. He was our brother before the war, and is again after, but he was also our brother during the war. I know he never stopped loving us, and we never stopped loving him.”
When Alex stood, he felt the rightness of his being
there, and something awakened inside. It was not a powerful manifestation but a simple reassurance that he was doing what he ought to be doing. He told the members that food and clothes and blankets would come in time. The army was working on that, but he also knew that the Church would provide help as soon as it could get permission from the government. “During a war, there is always much hatred expressed,” he said, “but I have heard our members pray for our brothers and sisters in Germany many times during this war. I heard it in America and England and even in France. I’m not saying that the war has created no bitterness between our countries, but it has never split us apart as people who seek to follow Christ.”
Alex looked around the room. The light was natural, coming only from the windows. There was no electrical power to the building. But the people sat in the dim light, gathered around the big wooden tables, as though ready to share a meal. No one was dressed well, and some may have even been embarrassed by their tattered clothes. But everyone was sparkling clean, and even the children seemed intent to hear every word that Alex had to say. He knew he symbolized an end to them, and a beginning, and they were desperate to believe that better days lay ahead.
“I’m certain that no one here got through this war without wondering at times whether God had given up on us. But we created the war, not God, and now I know that he is waiting to welcome us back to him. I have seen horrifying things in these last two years. You have seen far more, and I know you are suffering now. But God is waiting for us to return to him. We must give him back our hearts.”
When Alex sat down, he tried to let his words sink in to his own mind, his own spirit. He needed to go home, needed to be with Anna, needed to see something other than suffering all day. It was so hard to find God in these ruins. Still, he had felt a wonderful comfort with these good friends, a sense that he did belong here right now. And that was something. There had been times in Belgium and France, and later in Germany with Otto, when he had felt utter despair that he would ever be himself again, but today he felt, not for the first time, but stronger than before, that it might eventually happen.<
br />
***
Anna was lying back in her hospital bed, resting now—tired, but very pleased. She had a son. Alex had a son. She had seen the baby only briefly when he was still all wet and angry, and then the nurse had taken him away to clean him up. She was waiting now, wanting to see him again, have a chance to hold him.
“He was pretty, wasn’t he, Mother?” she asked, in German.
Sister Stoltz took hold of Anna’s hand. “They only gave me a little glimpse at him,” she said, “but to me he was beautiful. His eyes were wide open, and big like yours were when you were born. And I have to tell you, that doesn’t seem so long ago to me.”
“Mama, I wish so much that Alex were here.”
“I know. And I keep wishing Heinrich were here. But Liebling, we know they’re both alive and well. And we know they will be coming back to us. We have to be thankful for that.”
“I am, Mama. I am.” But all Anna could think was that she needed Alex right now. This was such a strange time, so frightening. Her mother could help her with the baby, but she wanted Alex with her to share this time. She wanted him to know what she had experienced, to understand what it all meant. That was something he had missed, forever—just one more thing that they should have shared and couldn’t.
In a few minutes the nurse came in. She was carrying the baby in a little white blanket, wrapped up tight. She came to Anna and placed the bundle in her arms. For the first time, Anna saw the baby’s little face, at peace, quiet. His eyes were shut, and his face was still puffy and red, but she could see how lovely he was. She could see Alex in his chin, his jaw, even in his almost formless little nose.
“He looks so much like you,” Sister Stoltz said. “I thought there never was a prettier baby than you were. But this one might be.”
“He looks like Alex, I think,” Anna said, but suddenly Alex’s absence struck her full force. His war should be over. This wasn’t fair. She pulled the baby to her chest, gripped him tight.
“You might want to check him over,” the nurse said. “You know, just make sure he’s got all his fingers and toes, all the proper plumbing. We wouldn’t want to short change you in any way.”
Anna did want to see her little son, and so she set him on her lap, folded back the blanket, and inspected him closely. His little body was so wondrously perfect, every little fingernail a charm to her. But all the movement awakened him, and his eyes came open wide again. “Oh, yes, those are your eyes,” Sister Stoltz said.
And Anna did see some of herself in the roundness of his eyes. And it was that as much as anything that brought her to tears. There they were, both of them, she and Alex, brought together in this little person. She wanted him to be a wonderful child, a noble boy, a good man. She wanted to give him all the love he needed, all the guidance. But she wanted Alex. The three of them needed to be together.
Chapter 24
LaRue Thomas slept in late on the Fourth of July. She had been dancing at the Avalon with Reed the night before, and she had gotten home rather late. She was thinking of getting up, had been for half an hour, when her mother came to the door. “LaRue,” she said, “you need to start getting ready.”
“For what?”
“Our picnic. Remember?”
LaRue hadn’t remembered—until now. She had promised Reed that she would go swimming with him and his friends—the same group that had been together the night before. The whole gang was going to drive down to Saratoga Springs by Utah Lake.
“Your dad would like to leave before it gets too hot, so why don’t you get up and get ready.”
LaRue didn’t answer. She waited until she heard her mother’s footsteps on the stairs before she sat up and dropped her legs over the side of the bed, but she wasn’t sure what she was going to do. She didn’t want to argue with Dad this morning, but on the other hand she knew she would rather go swimming with her friends than go on this picnic he had thought up. She also knew that she’d better take her stand right away. She grabbed her seersucker robe, tossed it on, and then walked downstairs. She peeked into the kitchen, where Mom was frying chicken for the picnic and creating a wonderful smell. Dad was not there. He had probably eaten his breakfast hours before, and since he wasn’t reading his paper by the radio, he had to be in his office—where he spent most of his time when he was home.
LaRue decided to take the breezy, friendly approach and hope she could pull off a quick escape. She gave the door a little knock, waited for her dad to say, “Yes?,” and then opened the door a crack. “Dad,” she said, “I promised Reed I’d go with him and the gang today. But you have fun. Just leave me a little fried chicken.”
She quickly pulled the door shut, but she heard the pronouncement. “No, LaRue.”
She stood by the door a few seconds, but her decision was instant. She wasn’t going to let him win this one. If he hadn’t spoken quite so harshly—and authoritatively—she might have decided it was one of those times when she needed to back down, but his tone of voice fired something resolute, stubborn, inside her. She reached back and opened the door again, and by then he was coming around his desk. “Dad, I’m sorry. I made other plans.”
“Unmake them. I talked about this all week, and you never once said anything about having other plans. I want this to be a family day.” But the words were hardly out before he seemed to think better of the approach he was taking. He softened his voice and added, “LaRue, we need to get together—just the four of us. We don’t do that often enough.”
But it was that conciliatory voice that maddened LaRue the most. It was his attempt to cover his real reaction, which had come first. “Dad, I don’t see why it makes any difference whether I’m there or not.”
President Thomas stepped forward, through his office door, close to LaRue, and he whispered, “Beverly won’t have any fun with just us. You need to go, LaRue. It’s one of those times when you need to put the family first.”
But he couldn’t have chosen words that would anger LaRue more. “Oh sure, Dad. You mean, the way you always do?”
She saw him take that blow like a boxer. He flinched a little, but he didn’t back off. “Listen, LaRue,” he said, “I’ve told you many times that I’m sorry how busy my life is. You know I regret being gone so much. If I could—”
“Look, let’s not do this. It doesn’t matter. I really don’t care.”
“If you don’t care, why do you always bring it up?” His anger was building, too.
LaRue was struck by the question. It took her a moment to realize her answer, but when she did, her rage began to seep away. “I used to care, Dad. I don’t anymore. I won’t bring it up again.”
“Well, I care. I worry about it all the time.” But he seemed thrown off-guard by LaRue’s change of tone. His eyes disengaged from hers.
“Do you want to spend the day with us, Dad?” LaRue asked. “Or do you just think you ought to?” But there was no challenge in her voice now. It really was a question.
“How can you ask me that?” He still wasn’t looking at her.
“Why don’t we just be honest with each other,” LaRue said. “You don’t want to spend the day with me, and I don’t want to spend it with you.”
“That’s simply not true. Not in my case.”
“Oh, come on, Dad. You don’t like me and you know it. You haven’t liked me for a long time.”
Something like panic was in her father’s eyes now, and LaRue actually felt sorry for him. But she didn’t want to talk anymore. She turned to leave. “Wait a minute,” he said.
She looked back at him.
“Listen, honey, I know we’ve had our troubles over the years, but we’ve done better lately. Haven’t we? I’ve been very proud of you, the way your grades have been coming up—and the maturity you’ve been showing. I don’t tell you that enough, I know, but it is how I feel.”
LaRue was suddenly furious again. “That’s good to know, Dad. You do love me after all—as long as I get good grades.”
“I d
idn’t say that.”
“Didn’t you?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Well, that’s what I heard. So I might as well explain why I’ve been working harder in school lately. My only goal is to win a scholarship and go away to college.”
“What?” He was obviously taken by surprise.
“I want to go somewhere else to college, and I know you won’t pay for it. So I’m going to do it on my own. What I want is to get away from Salt Lake. But mostly I want to get away from you. That’s the whole truth of it. So what do you say? Do you still want to take me on a picnic?”
“LaRue, just calm down. You lose your temper, and then you say things you don’t really mean. What we need to do is sit down and talk about all this. Maybe you could go away to college. Maybe that would be a good thing. But that’s two years away.”
Suddenly LaRue had lost the high ground in the argument, and she couldn’t think what to say. But she didn’t trust any of this. Her dad still hadn’t heard her. “Dad, how could we change anything by talking? I know when someone doesn’t like me. It’s not that hard to tell.” She was starting to cry, and she didn’t want to do that.
“Honey, I have no idea why you’d think such a thing. I know I—”
“Don’t! Just don’t!” She spun away and ran from the room. What she had heard in his voice was his own lack of conviction.
LaRue dressed quickly and then hurried back downstairs. As she reached the front door, she heard her mother say, “LaRue, come back here. Where are you going?”
But LaRue stepped out and shut the door behind her. She wanted to talk to Cecil. She jumped off the porch and ran all the way to the corner. After that, she walked the two blocks to Cecil’s home quickly, stood on his porch, still out of breath, and knocked on the door. Sister Broadbent soon appeared. She was always a little more formal than LaRue thought she needed to be. “Hello, LaRue,” she said. “May I help you?”
“Is Cecil here?”
“Yes. Just a moment. Please come in and sit down.” But something in her voice also seemed to say, “I’m surprised that you—a girl—would come calling on my son.”
