by Dean Hughes
For the next few days the Stoltzes spoke of little else but their new joy. They waited for Alex’s letter, and when it came, they read it together:
Dear Family:
I hope you got my telegram and know by now that Peter is here in Frankfurt, not just alive but looking very well. He thought his best chance to find you was to locate the Frankfurt branch and see whether President Meis or other members knew where you were. So he made his way to Frankfurt, asked around until he found someone who knew where the branch met, and finally located the building. We were holding sacrament meeting when he walked in, and at first I didn’t know him. He’s grown into a man—a handsome young man—and even though he looked rather ragged in his old clothes, he still looked strong.
You need to know that Peter has been through a lot. Just as Heinrich suspected, he fought the Russians in the east, and he barely survived. He was very sick at one point, and I guess he almost died. There were times when he had more or less given up on God, religion, and everything else, but he does believe that God preserved his life. He suffered beyond anything you can imagine from the cold and hunger, and from the constant exhaustion. His entire regiment was killed off, a few at a time, and he thinks he may actually be the only survivor. Eventually, when everything was turning into chaos, he ran from the army—which he never wanted to be part of in the first place—and a farm family took him in. The husband in the family had been killed in the east himself, and when the war ended, Peter didn’t feel that he could walk out on the woman and her children. He worked the farm for them until the family fled the Russian zone, and then he worked in a coal mine to provide for them. He wanted to search for you sooner, but he waited until the family was managing on its own.
There’s something else you need to be careful about. He’s convinced that what he did was wrong. He went into the army to save his life. He thought he could hide in the military and somehow avoid the killing. But there was no way out, once he was in, and he ended up fighting the “enemy,” even though he thought he was on the wrong side of the war. He now tells me that he should have gone to prison or accepted a death penalty rather than kill for Hitler. I’ve talked to him about that, and so has President Meis, and we’ll keep talking, but when he arrives in London, you may find that he’s still ashamed. He told me that he has feared for a long time that you would all be disappointed in him, perhaps not even want him back. I’ve told him that isn’t the case, but he’s having a hard time justifying his actions to himself. He’ll need a lot of love and support from you.
I’m working today to find transportation for him. I’d like to see him get to London for Christmas, but travel is not easy in Germany right now. He may not be able to make it quite that soon. Without my help, he probably wouldn’t be allowed to leave the country, but I can cut through a lot of red tape—or at least I think I can. It’s possible that he could be held up for a time getting the proper papers. But I’ll do all I can. Don’t be too disappointed if he doesn’t make it for Christmas. Just know that he’ll be there soon.
I told you before that Kellerman has been arrested. I heard this week that he will go on trial some time this winter. For now, he’s in prison. Gestapo agents are not always punished harshly. Most of them claim that they were only doing what was expected of them, and they aren’t responsible for their actions. By now, you’ve been hearing that from all those Nazi thugs being tried in Nuremberg. I think, in Kellerman’s case, that his actions were so heinous that he will be held accountable. I’ll be certain to be included as a witness when the trial comes. I have no idea what’s in the man’s heart, if anything, and I don’t want to be his judge, but I do want the court to know the effect his actions have had on all of you.
My status with the army hasn’t changed. I’ve stopped bringing it up with my CO. It only makes him angry. But still, I’m hoping that before long someone will recognize that the army has asked enough of me. I’ve always thought that within a year from the end of the war in Europe I would get my release. So let’s hope that at least by May I’m with all of you, maybe in Utah.
I hardly know how to tell you what it was like when Peter walked into our meeting. I didn’t recognize him until I saw that he had recognized me, and at that moment the sacrament was being passed, so we merely sat and stared at each other, both of us about to burst with emotion. But he still didn’t know I was his brother-in-law. He was almost floored when I told him, and he was excited to know you were all well and that he has a nephew. I think he will be all right, in time, but he’s suffering from the usual difficulties soldiers face, and in his case, much more. Be patient with him, and more than anything, reassure him. He needs to know that you love him.
Merry Christmas, everyone. Give Gene kisses for me. I’m proud of his every achievement. He’s certainly a prodigy. With your German blood in his veins, he’ll probably start writing symphonies any day now. I thought for sure I would see him by now, and it’s not easy to send Peter off and not be able to come home for Christmas myself, but let’s take heart in the thought that this is surely my last Christmas away, and now we can trust that everyone will be together next year.
Love,
Alex
The Stoltzes were together in their little living room, Heinrich and Frieda on the couch, Anna in the chair across from them. They each took a turn at reading the letter a second time. “I’m tempted to write to Peter right now,” Brother Stoltz said, “but I think it might be better if I wait and talk to him. The boy needs to know that he has nothing to be ashamed of.”
“But neither do you,” Anna said. “Both of you have to leave the war behind now.”
“I know. I know.” But Anna could hear in his voice that there were still plenty of doubts left. And for Peter, things had to be worse.
Gene crawled to Anna and grasped her leg. She picked him up and held him close. She knew for certain now what she had only suspected for the past few days: the ordeal wasn’t over, not entirely. Peter had more to deal with, more to overcome. What she found herself thinking was that she didn’t want the aftermath of all this pain, of everything her family had been through and all that Alex had suffered, to be passed along to Gene somehow.
***
Peter was worried about the things he would have to tell his family, but still, he wanted to see them, wanted to go “home.” Before he left Germany, however, there was something he needed to do. He needed to visit the Schallers one last time. He could write, but he wanted to see them, tell them good-bye. He didn’t know when he would return to Germany.
Alex seemed to understand. He arranged for a ride in an army truck that took Peter to the border of the American zone. From there Peter was able to catch a train to Hannover, and then he hitched a ride with a British military truck. He ended up walking the last few miles to the farm, outside Hildesheim, just as he had done when he had departed a couple of weeks before, but he didn’t mind that. The day was cold but bright, and he was happy to be getting back to where he still felt most welcome.
By the time he had arrived, the sun, setting very early this time of year, was almost gone, and the cold was deepening. At Frau Heiner’s house, Peter had always come and gone without knocking, but he didn’t feel comfortable doing that now. He didn’t want to frighten anyone. So he knocked on the front door. It was Thomas who opened it, and then who shouted, “Katrina, you can stop crying. Peter is back.”
Peter stepped inside and then walked toward the kitchen. By then Katrina was rushing out the kitchen door. She almost ran into him. “Peter!” she gasped, and she reached for him.
But he didn’t take her into his arms. He knew he shouldn’t do that. He patted her on the shoulder, reaching over her extended arms. “How are you?” he asked.
She let her hands fall to her sides. “Are you staying? Will you live here again?”
He didn’t want to be abrupt about all that. He wanted to tell her gently. So he only said, “I located my family. They’re in London. It’s quite a story how I found out where the
y are.”
Clearly she knew what that meant. He saw her draw in a quick little breath and then fight hard not to show her disappointment. “It’s good you found them,” she said.
“It was a big relief, to know they are all right.”
She stood still, her arms still limp at her sides, her bedraggled sweater showing how thin she was, how little flesh covered her ribs. “You have new clothes,” she said, maybe aware of her own.
“Alex got some for me. This is an army coat. And trousers.”
She nodded.
“Is your mother here? And Frau Heiner?”
“They’re in the kitchen.”
“I’ll tell you what happened—all of you.”
She nodded again and stepped aside, letting him lead the way. Frau Schaller and Frau Heiner were sitting at the kitchen table, but they hadn’t started to fix dinner. Peter knew that Frau Schaller would have returned from work only a short time before. She stood up when she saw Peter, walked to him and hugged him, kissed him on the cheek. “What a joy to see you back,” she said.
“I found my family.”
“You did? You’ve seen them?”
“No. They’re in London. And my sister is married to a missionary I knew. She has a little boy. I need to tell you the whole story.” Frau Schaller smiled, but she glanced toward Katrina, and Peter could see her concern.
Peter shook hands with Frau Heiner and then sat down at the table across from her. Katrina sat down next to him, and Frau Schaller walked around the table and sat next to Frau Heiner. Thomas and Rolf had come in too, but they remained near the door, as though they weren’t sure how long they wanted to stay. Peter told the story without much detail—how he had found the meeting place and then seen his old friend Bruder Thomas.
“He was the missionary who taught you about the Mormons, wasn’t he?” Katrina said. Over the past few months Katrina had asked Peter everything about his life, and Peter, somewhat reluctantly, had filled in more and more details. For one thing, Katrina knew a great deal about Mormon beliefs now, and she seemed to accept them. Or at least she accepted Peter—with his beliefs.
Peter told them all about his stay in Frankfurt and the telegram that Alex had sent.
“Have you heard from your family yet?” Frau Schaller asked.
“No. There hasn’t been enough time for a letter to get here.” Peter looked down at the threadbare tablecloth, and he was surprised at what it made him feel. It seemed as though
he was abandoning these people—his family of sorts. Everything here—the coal-dust smell he had carried into the house, the bare light bulb that hung over the table, the worn floor—was part of him now, and good.
“So what will you do now, Peter?” Frau Heiner asked.
Peter didn’t look at Katrina, not even at Frau Schaller. “I’m going to go to London just as soon as I can,” he said. “I want to get there by Christmas, if it’s possible.”
“And then what? Will your family return to Germany?”
“No. They plan to emigrate. Alex’s family is trying to clear the way so that they can go to Salt Lake City, in the western part of the United States.”
“Where the Indians live,” Thomas said.
“Alex said there are some Indians, but they’re not like the ones you see in the movies. They don’t wear feathers.”
“Rolf and Thomas know nothing of movies,” Frau Heiner said. “They only know how boys play.”
Peter sneaked a peek at Katrina. She was staring ahead, her thoughts obviously far away.
“That’s the Mormon city, isn’t it, Salt Lake City?” Frau Schaller said.
“Yes. It’s where Alex lives.”
“Do you want to live there? Or do you want to come back to Germany?”
“I don’t know. I would rather live here, I think, but I’ve been away from my family for a long time. I want to be with them again.”
“Yes. Of course. But in time, you might want to return, don’t you think?”
Peter knew he needed to talk to Katrina alone and discuss some of these matters. He could feel what he was doing to her, announcing all of this so dispassionately. “It’s possible. I can’t say for sure. I just don’t know what I’ll do.”
Frau Schaller was nodding. Katrina was still staring. “All the same, this is good,” Frau Schaller said. “We must make you some dinner. How long will you stay?”
“Just tonight, and then I have to go back to Frankfurt.”
“I understand. And I want you to know, my job is going very well. You helped us through the worst, and now we’ll do fine. We’ll never forget you. We’ll think of you as a savior to us, always.”
“Thank you. But if I helped you a little, it’s not nearly so much as you helped me. I was almost finished when you took me in.”
“No, no. You would have found a way.”
“I might have found food somewhere else. I don’t know. But I was broken down, inside, and you helped me get better.”
“Peter, all we did was love you. And no one could help but love a boy like you.”
But that was more than Peter could imagine. He didn’t want to cry, not with Thomas and Rolf already prepared to laugh at all this talk, but it was difficult to think that he could leave these people and never see them again. He looked at Katrina, more openly this time. Tears were running down her cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them away.
“Listen, while we fix a little something, why don’t you and Katrina go out to the living room where you can talk a little.”
“All they want to do is kiss,” Rolf said, and he and Thomas began to laugh.
“Rolf! Don’t say such a thing,” Frau Schaller told him. But then she said, “The living room isn’t very warm, but go out there. And Rolf, Thomas, go and get some air. You’ve spent too much time in the house today.”
The boys were laughing again, but at least they didn’t say anything. They grabbed their coats from the pegs by the door, and they headed out the back way. Peter was embarrassed by all of this. He had tried so hard to avoid the idea that he was Katrina’s boyfriend, and yet everyone in the family thought of him in that way.
Peter followed Katrina to the living room, still wearing his army jacket, and they sat next to each other on the couch. Katrina switched on a floor lamp, but the room was still mostly dark. Long ago Frau Heiner had sold off most of her furniture, and this old couch and lamp were almost the only pieces she had left. They sat alone, like a little oasis, on a bare wood floor.
“I’m happy for you,” Katrina said. “It will be so good for you to see your family.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying.”
“Then why are tears running down your face?”
She wiped the tears away with the palms of her hands. “They’re not,” she said. But then she asked, “Will you ever come back?”
“I don’t know.”
“You won’t.”
Peter looked away from her. “I don’t know whether we’ll really go to America. And if we do, I don’t know whether I’ll like it. I might want to come back.”
“American girls are beautiful.”
Peter didn’t want this. “Katrina, you’ll have a hundred boyfriends between now and the time you get married. You’ll laugh at the thought that you ever . . . thought of me this way.”
“You know that isn’t true.”
“No, I don’t know it.” Peter rubbed his hands down his pant legs, felt the stiffness in his thighs. It had been a long day.
“Do you like me, Peter?”
“You know I do.”
“For a friend. That’s what you always say.”
“That’s right. And that’s how it is. You’re very young and, as you always tell me, so am I.”
“I’ll always love you.”
“Katrina, don’t say that.” He looked away from her. The room was all shadows, and they were sitting in this bit of light as though they were separated from everything.
“That’s what Mama says—that I shouldn’t tell you how I feel. She says I should not pay so much attention to you, and then you will like me more. But I can’t do that. I can never hide the things I really feel.”
“You’re sixteen. Feelings change.”
“I’m seventeen.”
“Just barely.”
“That’s still how old I am. And Mama says I’ll be pretty someday—that I won’t always be skinny and flat chested. Then you’ll like me better.”
“Katrina! I’m not like that. I don’t like a girl just because of her shape.”
“Then what do you like them for?”
Peter was in a trap. The truth was, he had never known other girls, never had the chance, and he had certainly never liked anyone as much as he liked Katrina. “I don’t know. I like a girl for . . . everything. The kind of person she is. “
“How is my everything?”
When he looked at her, she was smiling, wide and childlike. “I like you, Katrina. You’re funny. I like how honest you are.” He hesitated, and then he added, “And you have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
“Really? Do you mean that?”
“Yes.” He was looking into her eyes now, and he was sure he was telling the truth.
“Peter, please come back. At least come back and see me once, when I’m older. See if I’m pretty. See if you like me.”
“I’ve seen you, Katrina. I know you. I’m not worried about that. But I don’t know what will happen. I might end up staying in America the rest of my life. I don’t know whether I could ever afford to come over here.”
“You said you might not like America.”
“But I might. I just don’t know.”
“I could live either place, Peter. I would like America.”
“I don’t want to talk about this. We can’t make plans. Too many things are uncertain.”
