All God's Children (2 page)

The doctor’s hair was close-cropped and the color of real coffee laced with real cream—neither of which Beth had enjoyed since her last visit to America five years earlier. His eyes, spotlighted by the sunlight pouring across the polished wooden floor of the cramped study, reflected the green of a Northern Wisconsin pine forest. But there was something more than the startling color. An underlying and indefinable intensity belied his polite reserve.

And as she studied his features, she realized that although Josef Buch was listening politely to her uncle, he was also studying her in return.

“Josef was one of my students, Beth,” her uncle explained when he’d finished reading aloud the passage. “I’m afraid whenever he’s around he challenges me to prove my point in any discussion.”

“My uncle has so many former students stopping by these days,” she said, speaking in German as she always did in the presence of visitors, especially ones in uniform. “Former and current. Our home is a regular café for his students. We are always pleased to welcome someone new.” She wondered if the man had come because word had gotten out about the meetings for worship held here for the small group of Quakers still living in Munich or perhaps about the literary soirees her uncle held for students and fellow faculty members from time to time. In spite of the need to maintain a low profile, Uncle Franz insisted that some things could not—should not—be changed.

She gave up trying to guess why this man in uniform had come. She had worked hard to fight the natural paranoia that came with all the changes and uncertainties they’d had to endure over the years. Why not consider that perhaps the man had simply stopped by for a visit or to bid a favorite teacher farewell before leaving to take up his military duties? “Are you on leave, Herr Doktor?” She blurted the first thought that came to mind.

“Josef has served on the western front in France and has now been given permission to return to the university to complete his medical training,” Uncle Franz explained. “You two should have much in common, Beth. Josef studied in Boston. I expect that explains his command of English. You were there, what, Josef? Two years?”

“Three.”

“And now here you are back home again in Munich, albeit after a small detour to perform your military duty.”

“I’m afraid that I was asked to leave your country,
Fräulein
. But I did enjoy my time there.” His tone revealed no anger or disapproval regarding his deportation.

“Will you stay for dinner, Josef?” Franz invited. “Afterward we can get you properly settled.”

“I don’t wish to intrude, and I do not expect
Frau
Schneider to prepare meals for me as part of our agreement,” Josef replied.

They were all speaking German, but somewhere along the way Beth felt as if she had missed some key piece of information.
What agreement?

“Josef is going to board with us for the time being, Beth,” her uncle explained as if he’d recognized her confusion. “We’re going to set him up in the attic.”

It was not uncommon for people to make room in their home for a
Studentenbude
. Franz and Ilse were fortunate to have the top-floor apartment and the extra space of the attic above, but there had been no discussion of such an arrangement in their home. “I see,” Beth said when in fact she did not understand at all.

“These are hard times for everyone, and Josef has agreed to pay rent and share his rations with us.”

“That would…”

Her uncle turned to the doctor. “Beth moved here to stay with us several years ago after my wife took ill following the birth of our daughter. A nervous condition that is chronic, I’m afraid. I don’t know how we would have managed had she not agreed to come and stay. Our daughter, Liesl, would be lost without her.”

Beth studied her uncle closely. He was talking more than he usually did, interrupting her before she could speak. Perhaps he was nervous after all.

“You live here then?” the doctor asked, his intense gaze still focused on her.

“She shares a room with our daughter.” Uncle Franz’s laugh was a little forced. “And I may as well tell you right now, young man, Frau Schneider will not tolerate anything less than strict chaperoned visits between you young people.”

Beth blushed and wished that her uncle would just stop trying to explain everything. There had to be more to the story of why Josef Buch had suddenly appeared in their house than her uncle was admitting. She cast about for some way she might learn more without appearing too inquisitive. But before she could come up with some offer to help, a door slammed at the far end of the corridor, and her always-boisterous cousin Liesl came running down the hall.

“You’re finally back,” she cried as if Beth had been gone for days instead of an hour. “Can we go to the park?” She hopped up and down.
“Bitte, bitte, bitte!”

Liesl had been born when Beth’s aunt and uncle had given up any hope of ever having children. To complicate matters, Liesl had always been an unusually high-strung and active child whose mood swings and short attention span were more than Aunt Ilse could manage. As Aunt Ilse’s struggles to cope with her child and the world around her had increased, so had the scope of the responsibilities Beth now shouldered in the household.

She placed a calming hand on Liesl’s shoulder. “I am here, and we will go to the park tomorrow after the meeting for worship.”

Again Uncle Franz was quick to explain. “Our family regularly holds meetings for worship here on First Day—what you refer to as Sunday. We are members of the local Religious Society of Friends—Quakers, Freunde.” Beth was stunned to hear her uncle offer such information so freely. For so many reasons they had become increasingly cautious about revealing anything related to their personal lives or religious beliefs to those they did not know. And student of her uncle’s or not, this man was certainly not someone they knew well.

“We have a guest, Liesl,” Franz continued, nodding toward Josef. Beth was glad for the diversion, knowing that the stranger in uniform would claim Liesl’s full attention.

“My name is Liesl, and I am eight,” the girl announced as she took a step closer and gazed up at the doctor.

Beth was moved to see how Josef immediately seemed to grasp that Liesl was not a typical eight-year-old. He crouched down so that he was more on a level with her and offered her his hand. “And I am Josef Buch. I am twenty-six. I am pleased to meet you, Fräulein Liesl Schneider.”

Liesl frowned as she studied his outstretched hand. “You are a soldier,” she reminded him. She snapped her heels together and offered him the salute of the Third Reich.
“Heil
, Hitler,” she bellowed, her right arm stiff and raised to the prescribed level.

In the stunned silence that followed, Beth heard a glass shatter in the kitchen and realized that her aunt was no doubt listening to everything they were saying. Beth took hold of her cousin’s outstretched arm and guided her through the sitting room across from the study toward the closed door that led to the kitchen. “Come. Your mother needs our help.”

The one thing about life in a German home that Beth thought she would never become accustomed to was the way doors between rooms remained closed at all times. She understood such vigilance at this time of year when the days turned cool and the nights could be quite chilly, but closed doors regardless of the season only added to the atmosphere of isolation and a certain undercurrent of fear that these days permeated every facet of their lives. Once inside the kitchen, she realized that Josef Buch had not returned Liesl’s salute—a detail that only added to her confusion about the true purpose of his presence in their home.

She swept up the broken glass while Ilse settled Liesl at the kitchen table with a saucer of apple slices. All the while, Beth’s aunt whispered warnings that Beth should say and do nothing in the presence of this man that might give him information he could use against them.

“Why is he here?” Beth asked.

“How should I know? The point is—”

“Beth, tell me a story,” Liesl begged as she popped the last of the apple slices into her mouth.

“Not right now,” Beth replied. She was determined to return to the study and learn more about this sudden change of events. She handed Liesl a piece of paper and the stub of a pencil. “Draw me a picture,” Beth said, “and I’ll tell you a story about it before bedtime.” Liesl loved to paint and color and draw, and the activity always calmed her. The little girl bent to her work.

“Perhaps I should take them some tea,” Beth suggested.

“I suppose. He might think it odd if we aren’t hospitable in the usual way,” Ilse replied, casting furtive glances toward the closed door beyond which they both could hear the murmur of male voices. “Use the good tea cups,” she added.

Beth made the tea and placed the pot on the tray with the cups and saucers. Ilse poured a little milk into the cream pitcher and got spoons for stirring and the sugar bowl. Then she opened the door and watched as Beth carried the tray back to the study and tapped on the closed door.

“I brought you tea,” she said when Uncle Franz opened the door and stood aside to let her pass. The doctor was sorting through a stack of books, setting aside one or two that seemed of interest to him. He placed the rest in the limited space available on the already-overcrowded floor-to-ceiling shelves.

“May I help?” She avoided looking directly at her uncle’s former student. While Beth had been preparing the tea, Aunt Ilse, through whispered comments, had made clear her view that the man was surely a government spy. Her aunt’s litany of fears and anxieties—for her child, herself, and most especially for her husband’s career as a professor at the university under this new regime—was ceaseless these days.

“Danke, Liebchen, aber
I think perhaps there is something you might rather do,” her uncle said with a twinkle in his eyes. “If you check under that stack of books there, I believe you will discover a letter from home.”

Beth gave a yelp of delight as she set the tray on the library table that also served as her uncle’s desk and foraged through the mail, all thought of their new boarder cast aside. “It’s been weeks,” she said, hugging the envelope to her chest. “Please excuse me.” She stepped into the hall, and as she turned to close the door, she added, “It was nice to meet you, Herr Doktor.”

“Josef,” her uncle corrected. “He’s part of the family now, and there’s no need to stand on ceremony, right Josef?”

“I don’t wish to make anyone uncomfortable,” the doctor replied.

“Josef then,” Beth said. “And I am Beth.” She gave him a polite smile. Her uncle’s insistence on the informal use of the man’s given name was odd in a society where a bit of reserve between new acquaintances was more the tradition.

“Now don’t get all caught up in replying to that letter,” Uncle Franz called out to her. “You’ll need to set an extra place for supper and help your aunt. Josef has agreed to join us, although he insists that there be no special attention given to him.”

Beth understood the underlying message. Any slight change in their routine could upset Ilse to the point where she would take to her bed for the remainder of the evening. It had happened before. And having the doctor share their meager evening meal was just the sort of thing that could send Ilse over the edge.

“I’ll just go read this. I can answer it after Liesl is in bed,” she promised.

In the small bedroom that she shared with her cousin, Beth kicked off her slippers and slid her thumbnail under the flap of the envelope. Using her toes, she pulled the straight-backed rocking chair closer to the late-afternoon light streaming through the single window that overlooked the small courtyard in back of the apartment building. She smiled as she settled into the creaky old chair for a long-anticipated taste of home.

The letter had already been opened and crudely resealed. When she removed the thin pages, she saw several places where her mother’s words had been blacked out—censored. Was nothing sacred to these people? Not even an innocent letter from mother to daughter?

She held the pages up to the daylight streaming through the window, trying to recover the words some government person had decided were threatening or seditious.

Beth let the letter dangle from her fingers as she stood and stared out the window. The sun reflecting off the autumn leaves that had seemed so glorious earlier was blighted now by gathering clouds. She had so longed for news of life at home—of her father raking leaves and her grown brothers leaping into the pile, then helping him to repair the mess they had made. She had longed for images of the neighborhood—Bertha Dobins walking her poodle down the country lane that connected their farms, old Mr. Remington leaning out the window of his rusty pickup truck as he offered Beth’s mother advice on putting up the last of the tomatoes. She wanted to hear of the pot roast her mother had prepared and of friends from her high school days who had stopped by to ask how she was faring and when she might return. She wanted gossip and news of what had been said at the meetinghouse that week. She was desperate for that taste of home.