All God's Children (8 page)

And on this cold, silent night as she stood in the city center— Mariensplatz, so named for the large statue of the Virgin Mary in the middle of the square—she realized that she missed Josef. She pulled the pale blue, cable-knit woolen scarf her mother had sent as an early Christmas present higher around her chin and tried to ignore the hollow mocking sound her leather boot heels made on the wet cobblestones as she continued on her way. That sound had been amplified a thousand times over by the passing parade of soldiers routinely marching in lockstep through the streets and into this very square. Day after day and sometimes in the dead of night, they pounded the message of Hitler’s omniscient power into the very soul of Bavaria’s capital.

Beth forced her thoughts to focus on more pleasant images. She was only a few blocks from home, and for once she would not need to face her aunt’s condemning silence. With no one else at home, there might be enough hot water left to wash away the damp chill that seemed to have found its way into the very marrow of her bones.

She had spent the evening celebrating a friend’s birthday at the famous Hofbrauhaus beer hall, and in the relief of mindless conversation, good food, and beer she had lost track of time. She had missed the last streetcar, and if she didn’t hurry, she would be out past the government enforced curfew. She longed for the sanctuary of silence that she knew awaited her in the empty apartment, for the peace she always found in taking the time to look deep within herself and seek God’s guidance.

She turned a corner and heard male laughter. Half a block away, she saw two soldiers sharing a cigarette break under the shelter of the arches of the Neues Rathaus or New City Hall. In spite of dating back to the late nineteenth century, the building was called
new
because the original city hall—still standing—dated to 1310. There had been a time when such amazing historical facts had intrigued Beth, but on this night she entertained no such thoughts. Instead she focused on searching for an alternate route back to the safety of the apartment. If the soldiers stopped her…

She had one thing in her favor. Her long golden hair worn this night in fashionable braids pulled back from her face, her sky-blue eyes, and her willowy athletic body were all in keeping with the Aryan features so prized by the regime. More than once her looks in combination with her passable command of the local dialect had gained her the tentative smile or trust of a shopkeeper or passerby. More than once she had talked her way out of showing her identification by playing the role of the empty-headed female.

Still it had been foolhardy to take such a risk as she had taken this night. Had her aunt and uncle not gone away, she never would have agreed to join her friends. But the temptation to finally escape the pervasive undercurrent of fear that the city wore these days like a second skin had overwhelmed her good judgment.

She glanced around for some source of shelter and saw that she was within steps of a small gated park where she sometimes brought Liesl to play—the park where she used to meet up with her friend Siggy. Knowing the soldiers would continue their rounds sooner or later, Beth sought sanctuary in the park. She made her way to a half-hidden concrete bench in a far corner, a favorite hiding place for Liesl when they came here to play.

Determined to contain the fear and panic that threatened to overwhelm her, Beth concentrated on positive things. The bench was stone but plain enough that it reminded her of the simple wooden benches in the meetinghouse back in Wisconsin. That Wisconsin meetinghouse floor was constructed of wide wooden planks oiled and waxed to a mahogany patina. The ground here was black earth worn down by the shoes and boots of others who had sat in this same place.

Missing, of course, was the silent support and comfort that came with the presence of other Friends in an actual meeting for worship. From the time she’d first begun attending meetings with her parents, Beth had found such solace and assurance in that spiritual family that every Quaker relied upon to help in challenging times. That circle of fellow Quakers in Munich had dwindled to a mere half-dozen souls over the last few weeks as more families had left the city. Now there was just Beth, her uncle and aunt, and one other elderly couple and their widowed daughter.

In the darkness of the park, Beth bowed her head and willed herself to find the stillness. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the scent of the cedar tree that sheltered the bench, the hard-packed earth beneath her feet, and the surprisingly refreshing coolness on her skin of the sleet that had softened into snow. In her solitude she prayed for the Inner Light that all Friends sought to guide their thoughts and actions.

But a rustling to her right brought her alert. Streetlights were not permitted in keeping with the blackout, and she blinked several times as she adjusted her sight to the shadows surrounding her. Huddled in the corner behind the bench like stumps of a tree was a woman clutching two small children. Her eyes having grown accustomed to the darkness, Beth realized that the woman was watching her. She also caught a glimpse of the crude yellow felt star that Jews were required to wear. Beth motioned for the woman to remain silent. Meanwhile she crept back to the gate, hoping the soldiers had decided on a different route.

But half a block away, two cigarettes hit the street, glowed briefly, and went out as the soldiers readjusted their uniform caps and started walking in her direction. The woman was now standing next to her, and had Beth not put a hand on her shoulder, she surely would have tried to make a run for it.

What was the right thing to do in this situation?

She longed for the gathering of her Quaker family or at least her aunt and uncle so that they could pray silently until some discernment of the circumstances made God’s will clear for them all.
Waiting
was their way. Certainly when she had decided to hand over her papers to Siggy, she could have done with the counsel of others. “We do not act alone, Elizabeth,” Uncle Franz had gently chided her.

But this woman was in grave danger, and there was no time to seek the counsel of others—no time for waiting. For the second time she was going to have to make a choice without the traditional regimen of taking the matter to an appointed clearness committee or even her closest family members. Quakers simply did not make such momentous decisions as she was now facing on their own. The gathering of the community to come to consensus on matters of such importance was central to their faith, yet she felt that she was being led to help this woman and her children.

She squeezed her eyes closed and prayed for guidance.
Show me the way
. She had done no such praying when she’d handed over her visa to Siggy, and look where that had gotten her. She certainly could not afford to make a mistake here—a choice that not only might endanger this woman but could also place Beth and the rest of her family in further jeopardy because of her rash actions.

Please!
she pleaded silently.
The soldiers are almost here, and I don’t know what to do
.

The woman gripped Beth’s arm and motioned toward a fence at the back of the park. Apparently she was trying to say that she and the children would scale that enclosure and escape. Beth found herself focused on the woman’s ugly felt star, and in that instant she knew she had been given her answer.

“Schnell,”
she whispered, urging them to hurry as she herded the woman and her children back toward the corner bench. “Take off your coat and turn it inside out.” She knelt and began helping the oldest child—a boy with wide, dark eyes—to do the same. “Put this around you and the baby,” she instructed, handing the woman her scarf and thanking God that her mother had made it wide enough to serve as more of a shawl. “Hurry. They’re almost here.”

She could hear the two soldiers talking as they slowly made their way up the block, pausing here and there to peer into a darkened alley or doorway. As soon as the woman and her children were changed, Beth motioned for them to sit on the bench.

“If they come in,” she instructed in German, “we were here earlier and I dropped my key.” She took the key from her pocket and placed it on the ground under a pile of snow-covered leaves. “We realized it when we reached home and came back to search for it. What is your name?”

“Anja Steinberg.” The woman pulled the youngest child closer to her breast, covering the child with the shawl as her son huddled against her side.

“You are German?”

“Danish. My husband is German.”

Beth perched on the edge of the bench and waited. Each step that brought the possibility of discovery closer seemed to suck the breath from her until she thought she might faint.

The soldiers were now at the gate, but they barely paused before walking on without stopping. The baby stirred and whimpered. The leather heels clicking on the wet walkway came to a halt, and then Beth heard them moving back toward the park.

“Ach
, here it is,” she said in her normal voice as she rummaged through the leaves and produced the key just as the soldiers came through the gate and flashed a light over the scene. “It must have fallen out of my pocket when we were—”

“Halt!”

Beth heard the boy swallow a whimper and was surprised that her first thought was,
What kind of world have we made where a child of five or six knows better than to show his fear?

She positioned herself in front of Anja and the children as the soldiers entered the park and moved toward them. “I know this one,” she heard one say to his partner. “Professor—”

“Werner?” she ventured as she squinted up at one of the soldiers. “Is that you?”

Werner Ostmeir was the son of her uncle’s downstairs neighbor. He’d just turned eighteen when Beth had first come to Munich. Beth had seen him march off to war side by side with his dearest friend—a boy her age who had been killed in battle. She had mourned that young man’s passing and then rejoiced with Werner’s family at his safe return. Just before the United States entered the war, she and the rest of the family had attended Werner’s wedding.

“Fräulein,” Werner replied shyly. Then he straightened to his full height, some two inches shorter than Beth, and glanced at the woman and children. “Who is this?”

God continued to shower blessings on the situation as the light snowfall escalated into a near blizzard. Beth seized the opportunity to pick up the boy, and as the soldiers bent their heads against the driving snow, she started past them. “A cousin visiting from Denmark. I dropped our house key when we brought the children here to play earlier.” She continued to edge toward the gate, herding Anja along with her. “Perhaps your parents mentioned that my uncle and aunt are away and—Oh my, these children are going to catch their death. It was good to see you, Werner,” she called over her shoulder. She hoisted the boy higher on her hip and wrapped her free arm around Anja’s shoulders as she hurried away.

As they passed through the gate, she risked a look back and was relieved to see that the two men had taken refuge under an arbor. Apparently staying dry took precedence over questioning her and Anja. She gave a quick wave and hurried down the street and tried not to think about how she might explain this “cousin from Denmark” should Werner share that news with his parents.

    CHAPTER 5    

J
osef walked with the long, determined strides of a man on a mission. Fortunately the accumulated snow meant that the streets were fairly deserted and that his purposeful step raised no suspicions. He hurried on, anxious to bring Beth his news.

With the exception of one or two times when the two of them had been alone in the kitchen or sitting room, she had mostly avoided him. One evening he had returned to the apartment from a shift at the hospital to find the professor’s study filled with people—people who the professor introduced to him as colleagues and former students. Josef had not been fooled. Students and faculty members they might be, but more to the point, these were people who were at the very least outcasts under the new regime and at the very most people with whom so-called
good
Germans no longer associated.