Fire and Steel, Volume 2

by Gerald N. Lund

  “It’s not that far from here,” Paula said.

  “The building is just one block north of what they call the Frankfurter Ring, which is a main street there. It will be very easy for people to find me and bring their trucks there for repair.”

  “That sounds wonderful, Hans,” his mother said, as pleased with how happy he was as she was that they had found themselves a home.

  Hans looked at Emilee. “Tell Mama your news.”

  “What?” Inga asked.

  “I found a job at a hospital. I start on March 1st.”

  “Really?” Inga exclaimed. “That’s wonderful news, Emilee.”

  Emilee nodded. “It’s closer to downtown, but it’s just half a block from a trolley stop. And there’s a trolley stop on the Frankfurter Ring road, so I don’t have to walk far on either end.”

  “I am very proud of her,” Hans said.

  Emilee smiled in embarrassment. “It helps to have your godfather, who is a hospital administrator for the army, writing your letter of recommendation.”

  “Oh,” Inga said with a start. “That reminds me. I have a letter for you, Hans. From the army.”

  “What?”

  Inga got to her feet and went over to where she had left her purse. A moment later she returned and handed Hans a letter in a brown envelope. He looked at it closely and said to Emilee, “It’s from First Battalion Headquarters.”

  “From Colonel von Schiller?”

  “It doesn’t say.” Hans ripped the envelope open and extracted a single sheet. Unfolding it, he glanced at the bottom of the page. “Yes, from von Schiller.”

  Emilee turned to Inga and Paula. “He was his commanding officer up in Berlin.”

  Hans scanned the letter quickly and then looked up, staring at Emilee.

  “What is it?” she exclaimed, not liking the expression on his face.

  He looked down and started to read:

  Lieutenant Eckhardt,

  Greetings from the First Battalion. Hope this letter finds you well and happily married. Congratulations to your beautiful Emilee as well.

  “That’s nice,” Emilee said.” Hans nodded and went on.

  Things here in Berlin are still somewhat chaotic. But I am happy to say that the Army High Command has finally decided to step in and take whatever action is necessary to stabilize things in the Fatherland.

  Which brings me to the purpose of this letter. There is much concern here with what is happening in Bavaria. The “People’s Republic,” set up last November by Kurt Eisner, is tottering like a house of cards. If it falls, it could take all of Southern Germany with it. This concerns the Army General Staff greatly. Therefore, we are being recalled to duty and are reinstituting the Freikorps regiment. More to the point, our regiment, and possibly one or two others, are preparing to come south and help stabilize Bavaria.

  Hans looked up. The three women were staring at him. “They’re coming here?” Emilee asked. “To do what?”

  Hans shook his head and continued.

  I know that you are recently married and anxious to start your mechanic’s shop, but this is as serious as what we saw in January. Therefore, I am asking you to take command of C Company once again, if only long enough to see us through this crisis. The pay will be the same, and will be paid in advance.

  If you accept, your first task will be to recruit men for your company. C Company is down to less than fifty men at present. I’d like to bring the company up to its full strength of about two hundred men.

  “My goodness,” Emilee breathed.

  Lieutenant, I am once again extending my invitation to become a career army officer, but this offer is not contingent on that. I know you have other career plans, and if you are committed to them, I do not wish to interfere. But I beg of you to seriously consider accepting this command. As a native Bavarian, you must be very concerned about what is happening in Munich.

  Please consider this request with the utmost gravity. I value your leadership skills highly. And—though this is unfair of me to say—I would remind you about where you might be today if it weren’t for my intervention. You may take a few days to consider it. However, I must know no later than the 25th of this month so I can make other plans if necessary. Please telegram your decision to the address below.

  With warmest regards to you and Emilee,

  Colonel Stefan von Schiller, Commanding Officer, First Battalion, Black Eagle Regiment

  For almost a minute the room was silent. Hans read over the letter again, nodding or shaking his head as he did so. When he looked up, Emilee gave him a questioning look. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “Well,” she said slowly, “he’s right about you owing him a debt of gratitude.”

  “And he’s right about Bavaria being in a crisis,” Paula added. “Wolfie is gravely concerned.”

  “And three hundred marks is three hundred marks,” Hans added.

  “It would be that much more you could put into the garage,” Inga said.

  Hans gave the three of them a searching look. “I can’t believe that the three most important women in my life are encouraging me to rejoin the army.” His face was dark and gloomy. “I swore with a vengeance that I was done with war, done with combat, done with the army.”

  “I know,” Emilee whispered. “So it’s your choice.”

  Inga spoke up hesitantly. “It’s Saturday today, Hans. And Sunday tomorrow. I’d guess that your colonel is not in his office over the weekend. What if you take a few days to think about it?”

  Hans glanced at Paula and then at Emilee, who said, “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Hans. Take some time. And then, whatever you decide, you know that I’ll support you in it.”

  Gretl and Bruno had sat quietly through all of this, sensing the gravity of the situation. Now Hans motioned to them. “Would you two help me unpack our things?”

  Hans stood, thrusting the letter into his pocket. “I don’t want to think about this right now.”

  As they clunked up the stairs, Paula turned to Emilee. “Well, that was not good news.”

  “No.” For a moment, Emilee was tempted to explain what had happened to Hans on that last day of combat in Berlin but then decided she shouldn’t be the one to do that. So she changed the subject and spoke to Inga. “Let me tell you about the place we have found.”

  “Gut. I am anxious to see it.”

  “The landlord is meeting us there at six tonight so we can sign the paperwork.”

  “Wolfie will be home by then,” Paula said. “We planned to go too.”

  “The flat is upstairs,” Emilee went on, “and the shop is on the main floor. It used to be a welding shop, so it’s going to take some work to fix it up. But it has large swinging doors that are big enough to bring in even a medium-sized truck. The landlord is letting Hans and Wolfie clean it out before we actually move in.”

  “I’m anxious to see it,” Inga said.

  “What about tomorrow?” Paula asked Emilee. “A few days ago you said something about wanting to find a church and attend services. Inga and I are going to our church, but we’d be happy to help you find a Lutheran church. Or, if you wish, you can just stay here. Hans and Wolfie will be working in the shop all day.”

  “Or,” Inga added, “you are welcome to attend the branch with us.”

  “Yes,” Paula said eagerly. “We would love to have you come with us.”

  “I. . . . Would that be all right? Do they let Lutherans come?”

  “Of course,” Paula said with a laugh. “Anyone is welcome to attend our church.”

  “All right. I think I shall go with you. That would be nice.”

  Paula was elated. She turned to Inga. “Wolfie can drive us there on their way to the shop. We don’t want to be carrying eighty pounds of cheese with us that far. The weather is supposed to be good tomorrow, so we can walk home afterward while the men are at the shop.”

  “Why is your chu
rch called ‘the branch’?” Emilee asked, somewhat tentatively. “I thought Hans told me you were Mormons.”

  For a moment both looked startled, but then Inga chuckled. “We are Mormons, though the actual name of our church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

  Inga laughed. “Hans teases me about that. He says that’s why we don’t have more members than we do. The name is so long, people can’t remember it.”

  Paula went on. “We call a local congregation a ward, just like some towns or cities have wards, or neighborhoods, in them. For us, a ward is the equivalent of a parish. It is a local congregation.”

  “Oh,” Emilee said slowly, not sure how that answered her question about the branch.

  “But,” Paula went on, “a congregation that is not large enough to be a ward is called a branch of the Church. So instead of the Munich Parish, we attend the Munich Branch.”

  “Oh, that makes sense.” Another moment’s hesitation. “Will you tell me what I need to do?”

  “Just sit and listen,” Paula responded. “We do take the sacrament—like the Eucharist or communion—but you don’t have to take it unless you want to.”

  “Other than that,” Inga added, “we just sing hymns and have the branch president or other members talk to us. And have prayers, of course.”

  Emilee smiled and nodded. “I think I can handle that.”

  February 16, 1919, 8:50 a.m.—Munich Branch, LDS Church, Sofallingstrasse 23, Munich

  When Wolfie slowed the car and pulled it over to the curb in front of Die Gelbe Zwiebel, Hans turned and gaped out the window. “This is it?”

  Paula laughed. “Yes, Hans. This is it. The Yellow Onion Restaurant.”

  Even Emilee was taken aback. “You meet in a restaurant?”

  “No,” Inga said, not disturbed at all. “We meet in a large room over the restaurant. That’s why we meet so early. The business doesn’t open until noon on Sundays, and we’re finished and gone by then.”

  As they got out, Emilee could see that the place was closed, but the smell of beer and food was in the air. Gretl and Bruno shot away as soon as they were out of the car, heading for a set of steps that ran up the west side of the building. Paula called after them. “Gretl, stay with Bruno. Don’t let him get too rowdy.” Gretl waved as they disappeared into the upper hall.

  As Wolfie and Hans got the heavy wooden crate out of the trunk, Paula turned to Emilee. “When I first started learning about the Church, we met in the home of one of the members. But as we got more people, they found this room to rent each Sunday.”

  Inga came up beside them. “The first time I came here with Paula I had the same thought. ‘A restaurant? Really?’ But once inside, as I was looking around wrinkling up my nose and being critical, a thought suddenly came into my mind.”

  Curious because that was exactly what was running through her mind, Emilee turned to her mother-in-law. “What?”

  “About when Christ was on earth. On the night before His death, He met with the Twelve in an upper room. And where was that upper room?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure that I know.”

  “That’s the point. Jesus sent two of the disciples into the city and told them to watch for a man carrying water—which I suppose would be quite odd, because the women were the ones who got water from the wells. So they followed him to his home and asked if they might come there with Jesus to observe the Passover. So we don’t know where they met that night or even whose house it was. But we know where it wasn’t. They didn’t meet in a cathedral, or even a parish church. The cup they drank from and the plates they ate off of were most likely made of wood. When you think about it, most of His sermons were given outdoors.”

  She smiled at her daughter-in-law. “And as all of that rushed through my mind, I had this thought, ‘So this was what it was like in the first days of Christianity? Small numbers, humble surroundings. Probably with children in the congregation, wandering around and interrupting things.’”

  Emilee nodded. “Thank you for that, Inga. I had never thought what it must have been like for those first Christians.”

  Hans and Wolfie were lugging the crate up the stairs now, so the women started after them. As they reached the top landing, a man came out to greet them. He was a tall and slender man in his late fifties or early sixties. He had light blue eyes made wider by the wire-rimmed spectacles he wore. He was balding and clean shaven, and the smile that he wore was genuine, warm, and welcoming. “Bruder Groll,” he boomed, “and what have we here?”

  “About eighty pounds of cheese, Präsident,” Wolfie answered with a grin.

  Hans added, “Feels more like a hundred and eighty. Where would you like it?”

  The man was startled, and his eyes turned to Inga. “Schwester Eckhardt, is this from you?”

  “Ja, Präsident Schindler. From our family in Graswang. It is for the branch.”

  Tears filled his eyes as he motioned for Hans and Wolfie to carry it inside. “Just put it up front in the far corner, where the other donations are.” As the men moved inside, he came over and gripped Inga’s hand. “It is so good to see you again, Schwester Eckhardt. But this—” he motioned toward the disappearing crate. “How can we ever thank you for such a gift?”

  “When I told my husband that it was for the members who are in need, I asked him for two rounds. He gave me four. We are blessed to live on a dairy farm, Präsident.”

  “Your husband is a good man. Tell your family how grateful we are.”

  Wolfie and Hans reappeared at the door. Wolfie said, “Präsident, do you remember my nephew, Hans Eckhardt? He stayed with us off and on before the war.”

  “Ah, ja.” He stepped forward and shook hands with Hans firmly. “Guten Morgen, Hans. It is good to see you again.”

  Hans smiled and nodded, but from his expression, Emilee guessed he did not remember meeting him before. Wolfie turned. “And this is his bride of about three weeks, Frau Emilee Eckhardt. They are staying at our home while they find a place of their own here in Munich.”

  The man came over and took Emilee’s hand. His grip was firm but not crushing, and his pleasure at meeting her was evident. It was one of those faces that you liked almost instantly. “May I call you Schwester Eckhardt? We call ourselves Bruder and Schwester because we believe we are all children of the same Heavenly Father. But I would not want to offend you.”

  Emilee was taken quite off guard by his openness. “I . . . No, I don’t find it offensive.”

  “Gut.” He gestured toward the door. “Come in, come in. Willkommen.”

  “We’ll be off,” Wolfie explained. He kissed Paula on the cheek and then asked, “Are you sure you want to walk home? I can come and get you.”

  “I’m sure,” she said, glancing up at the sky. “It is going to be a pleasant day. We’ll be fine. You and Hans stay as long as you need to. We’ll have supper in the oven when you get home.”

  9:30 a.m.

  At the wedding, both Emilee and her family had been surprised at how similar the Catholic service had been to their own Lutheran weddings. But here at the Mormon church, things were dramatically different, and that was putting aside the fact that they were meeting in the upper floor of a business. It was much less formal than she was used to. President Schindler and two other men—Paula said they were his counselors, another odd title—sat behind a small table with a portable wooden lectern on it. And none of them wore clerical collars or robes. The congregation had about thirty-five people, with a surprising number of those being younger children, even down to babies in arms. In their congregation back in Pasewalk, younger children were not forbidden, but neither were parents encouraged to bring them, lest they disrupt the reverence of the service. Here from time to time, children would speak aloud or start to cry, and one of the parents would try to quiet them or take them out.

  The next surprise was that when the services began, Gretl and Bruno, who had been excitedly mingling with the other children, came over and
joined their mother without being asked and then sat quietly listening to the service. For the rambunctious Bruno, that was quite amazing.

  Also, the congregation was far more varied in their dress than Emilee’s parish in Pasewalk. There were a few men in suits, white shirts, and ties, and their wives wore nice dresses—nothing particularly fancy, but definitely more than a house dress. There were several women who had no men with them. The group was made up mostly of working-class people. Their clothing was clean but plain and worn. And they had that same gaunt look that she had seen on the faces of Jakob and Anna Litzser and their children, and yet they too seemed happy. She also noticed that there seemed to be no established seating. In most churches, the wealthy contributed sufficient money to have pews named for them and reserved exclusively for them and their families, even if they were not in attendance. It seemed strange in a way, and yet it impressed her, too. There were no visible signs of ranking here.

  The most surprising thing to her was that everything was done by the congregation. President Schindler stood up and welcomed the people there and announced the program. Then an older woman came forward. She gave a number in the hymnal, hummed a note, and they sang without accompaniment. But what really shocked Emilee was when two older teen boys offered the prayer on the Eucharist, the emblems of Christ’s body and blood given to the congregation. She was even more unsettled when two more boys, barely in their teens, passed those emblems to the people instead of President Schindler. In a way, it seemed almost sacrilegious. How could someone who was not an ordained priest or minister do that? It was quite unsettling to her.

  And so it continued. After the sacrament was finished, the president called on two members of the congregation to speak. One was a woman about Emilee’s age, a young war widow with two children. The other was a soldier recently returned from the war. The woman spoke of how God had sustained her in her loss. The soldier spoke about the challenges of maintaining his faith in such adverse circumstances and then testified that he was actually stronger now than before he went into the army. Both were quite touching, but Emilee could scarcely take it in. Members of the congregation giving the sermons?