From Dust and Ashes (27 page)

As the sun came up, the racket on the streets died down. Peter’s thoughts returned to Gmunden by the lake. He’d first fled there after Lelia’s wedding, needing distance from one girl. Now he was going back there to help another woman find safety from enemies unknown.

On Monday morning, Peter picked up Helene at exactly 8:00. Two nurses had delivered food and household items the day before, and earlier that morning they’d come to watch her children. Although Helene knew her babies were in good hands, she still hated the thought of leaving them. What if someone tried to harm them while she was away?

“We’ll only be a few hours,” Peter assured her. “We can be back in time for lunch.” They stepped through the door, and Peter handed Helene a colorful scarf and a pair of dark sunglasses. “You’d better wear these, just in case.”

Helene tied the scarf over her hair and donned the sunglasses. Then she climbed into the jeep, feeling like an American movie star. Looking around, she realized that in the daylight Gmunden was the perfect movie setting. The water seemed more like an ocean than a lake. The morning fog concealed both the distant shore and the mountains beyond.

They drove to a dilapidated office building converted for army use, and Peter led her to a room at the top of the second-story stairs. A pad of paper and a fountain pen sat on a table. Two chairs faced away from the door. Sitting on one, Helene noticed that outside the tall window was a beautiful view of the lake. Birds covered the docks like a feathered carpet. Through the fog, the outline of a lone boat zipped across the water.

“Do you know who will be questioning me?” Helene thought of the kind captain in Linz and wondered how the new person would compare.

Peter sat beside her. “You’re looking at him.” He winked. “You’re my new assignment.”

“Really?” Helene gazed into Peter’s face. For the first time she noticed how light his eyelashes were and how perfectly they framed his green eyes. Helene picked up the pen. “Where do we begin?”

Peter straightened in his chair. “First, you need to make a list of every Nazi you can remember. Every guard and commander, their duties and where they lived.”

Helene squirmed in her seat. She wrote one name first. Arno Schroeder. She added a few more names, then paused as the realization of what she was doing struck her. Yes, these were the men who ran the camps, but they, for a time, had been her husband’s closest friends. With each name penned, she thought about their wives and children. Their humor, or lack thereof. She thought about their roles as camp guards, their work with the dogs, their supervision over the armament facilities in the Gusen caves. She filled one page, then another.

Helene paused, considering the engineers who had worked in the caves. Mechanics too, making sure the weapons and aircraft parts were up to standard. Should she list them as well?

Helene thought about Friedrich. She didn’t even want to consider what he would think about what she was doing.

Peter examined the list as she worked. Every now and then he questioned what she knew. When did that man arrive? Did you ever see him with the prisoners? When, approximately, was his last day of service? As he interrogated her, Helene saw Peter as the professional he was.

“Now, this is the important part,” he said. “I need you to think hard and try to imagine where these men would hide. Think about the parties you attended. The conversations over coffee. Did they ever talk about family in Germany? Did they discuss moving to another country? We have hundreds of former inmates who can give us names and provide detailed descriptions, but only you, someone on the inside, can give us clues to where they might have disappeared to.”

“I understand.” Helene scoured her memory. She pointed to one of the names. “This mechanic was from Holland—Amsterdam, I believe.” She indicated another name. “That guard has family in Berlin. I remember he received a postcard once, and Anika liked the photo on the front, so he gave it to her.”

Peter’s eyes brightened. “Good. This is exactly what we need. With information like this, the army is going to bend over backward for you.”

After a few hours of writing, Helene was exhausted. Her hand cramped. Her mind was weary.

“That’s enough for today.” Peter stood and stretched his arms over his head. “Let’s see how the kids are doing.”

When they arrived back at the house, one nurse was giving Petar a bottle. Anika and Peter disappeared into the backyard.

Helene thanked the nurses as they left, and her hands trembled as she stroked her baby’s cheek. It took a while for her to shake the helplessness, fear, and anger that revisiting those dark memories had invoked.

That is not my life anymore
, she told herself. Most of those men were gone. Some dead. Others imprisoned.

Still, many were unaccounted for, hiding somewhere. She touched the bandage near her eye.
There are others still out there. Watching. Like Arno
.

Helene laid the baby down for a nap, then joined Peter and Anika. Here in the mountains the weather was not as warm as in the valley. The cool breeze felt refreshing on her face and neck. Her skirt fluttered around her legs.

Anika raced around the yard, trying to catch the dandelion puffs Peter blew into the wind. Helene chuckled at the sight of them and sat on the back steps beside the woodpile to watch.

For a moment Helene imagined this was reality, and had been all along. She imagined Peter chopping firewood on a frosty morning. She pictured herself wrapping her head in a wool scarf and bringing him hot cider. He would sip it and laugh at her cold, red nose.

But in the quiet of that afternoon, she knew a different reality had been hers. Dogs barking, spotlights shining, voices shouting, prisoners crying. Instead of piles of wood chopped by her beloved, she’d witnessed stacks of bodies she’d never forget.

Thirty-Two

AUGUST 11, 1945

T
he subsequent days passed similarly to the first. Helene and Peter drove to the office building, and Helene wrote down as much as she knew, which was more than she had at first realized.

She remembered that two of the guards were cousins and had grown up in a small town near the Swiss border. Another guard was from a wealthy family who provided for his extravagant lifestyle. There were men who had enjoyed their cruelty and others who were known to let things slide. She told dates and events, mostly of the final months. They were not only the most recent, but also the most vicious as the guards became overwhelmed with the masses. Mauthausen and Gusen were the farthest camps from the front lines, and the Nazis had marched tens of thousands of prisoners there in an effort to keep their atrocities hidden from the Allies.

At the end of each day, Peter and Helene returned to the small cottage and spent a few hours playing with the children, sharing jokes and laughter. Peter and Helene also made it a habit to have dinner together and talk into the night about anything besides the camps.

A few times, Peter brought letters from his sister and translated them for her. He told Helene about his home in Montana, and the Rocky Mountains that ran down the western quarter of the state. He told stories about cowboys who worked on cattle ranches. And how schools, churches, and community organizations worked together for the war effort. He told her about the Indians who still lived on reservations, carrying on their old traditions. His stories were so interesting that sometimes even Anika stopped to listen.

When Saturday arrived, Peter broke the usual routine by surprising Helene at the door with flowers. “It’s the weekend. No work today,” he explained. “I brought a baby-sitter, and I’m taking you for a ride. We’ll be back before midnight, I promise.”

Helene was unsure about leaving Petar and Anika for so long, even though Petar was doing fine with a bottle. She was about to decline when a familiar face peeked around the door.

“Rhonda!” Helene exclaimed, pulling the nurse into a tight embrace.

“Look at you,” Rhonda said. “You have circles under your eyes. What has Scotty being doing to you?”

Peter raised his hands in mock defense.

“Well, you certainly do need some time away. And I’d love to help. Now, where’s that precious little girl of yours? I brought her a book I think she’ll like.”

Anika squealed with delight when Rhonda brought the brightly colored picture book out from behind her back.

Helene knew she couldn’t say no to Rhonda. So she kissed her children goodbye, slipped on her scarf and sunglasses, and jumped into the jeep.

Peter grinned as he started the motor. “Here we go.”

Helene settled in for a breathtaking ride. As they drove through the Alps, she was awed by the sharp peaks that jutted into the sky. They drove through tunnels drilled through the mountains and emerged to find quaint villages nestled between the folds of ridges, overlooking deep valleys.

“Want to hear some good news?” Peter asked after they’d been driving for a short time.

Helene nodded eagerly.

“Japan started peace negotiations with the U.S. yesterday. It sounds like the end is near.”

“So you won’t be going away?”

“Not anytime soon. Not that I know of, anyway.”

Helene lifted her face to the sun, soaking in its warmth. She was sure this was one of the most beautiful days she’d ever experienced. “I’ve never been to this part of Austria before,” she said, changing the subject.

Peter steered with one hand and shot her a carefree glance. “Just wait, baby. I’m gonna show you the world.”

Helene chuckled, but inside she questioned if there was some truth in the jesting. She had come to enjoy her time with Peter, but could he ever care for her as he had for Michaela? And if he could love her like that, would developing a relationship with him get in the way of her newfound commitment to God? As the wind whipped through her hair and scarf, hopeless questions spun through her mind.

It was too much to consider. So Helene decided simply to enjoy the conversation, the scenery, and her day with this wonderful man.

When they arrived at the town of Hallstatt that afternoon, they stepped out of the jeep, and Helene did a full circle, taking in the view around them. It was as if the small town rested in a bowl, with mountains all around and a lake in the middle. The houses clung to the side of the mountain and appeared as if a strong wind could blow them into the lake.

Peter guided her to a small building surrounded by army jeeps. Music drifted out through the doors.

Helene laughed. “You drove me all this way to go dancing?” She glanced down at her wrinkled dress that Peter had already seen her in three times that week.

“Actually, we passed about a dozen dance halls on the way, but I figured this was as far as I could come and still get you home before midnight. After all,” he added, grabbing her hand, “don’t you think the conversation and scenery were worth it?”

“Of course,” Helene said, following behind as he pulled her inside. Jazz music filled her ears. Helene didn’t understand the lyrics, but the tempo was intoxicating.

Young soldiers danced with nurses and local girls. But all Helene could focus on was Peter. She didn’t want to weigh her options anymore. Her heart told her what her mind was still trying to figure out. As Peter pulled her into his arms for a slow tune, she refused to second-guess herself any longer. When she snuggled her face into Peter’s neck, he held her even closer.

The time passed much too quickly. When each song was finished, they promised themselves just one more.

Finally, near midnight, they forced themselves to leave the dance floor, Peter’s hand engulfing hers. “The children will be missing you,” he said, kissing her forehead.

“Children?” she said dreamily. “What children?”

Peter laughed. “Stay here. I’ll get the jeep.”

Helene pouted as he released her hand. “Don’t take too long.”

He bounded a few steps, then stopped. He looked up at the stars for a moment, then walked back to Helene. “This has been one of the best weeks of my life.” He caressed her hair, then let a finger trail down her neck. “I’d like to talk to you about something on the way home. About my crazy, mixed-up feelings.” His face drew closer. “And about how I think I’ve finally figured them out. You’re amazing, Helene. Your strength inspires me.”

“I can’t wait to hear what you have to say,” Helene said, soaking in his words.

Peter kissed her lips. Then, before she could respond, he started jogging to the far side of the parking lot where the jeep was parked.

Helene sat on the bench outside the dance hall. The streetlamp that illuminated the sidewalk seemed dim compared to the star-filled night. Her chest felt so full she didn’t think it could contain all the happiness. Peter was in love with her. Even before he said the words, Helene knew it. She could see it in his eyes.

She’d told herself over the past few months that her attraction to him was because of his help during the dark days surrounding liberation. Now she realized that she had cared for him from the beginning. Cared in a way a woman shouldn’t care for a man unless he was her intended.

Helene sent a heartfelt thanks up to her Father in heaven.
Everything really is going to be all right. I know You’re taking care of me
.

She let her finger trace the pattern on the roughhewn wooden bench. Then she stretched her legs out in front of her, remembering the soft kiss that still tingled on her lips.
As soft as peaches
, she thought.

Across the parking lot Peter started up the jeep. Helene gazed into the night sky and wished she knew the name of the constellations. Maybe she’d ask Peter about them on the way home—after their talk, that is.

The music started again, and Helene felt the vibration through the wall. The wind blew slightly, as if joining in. An empty cigarette pack and a newspaper ruffled on the bench beside her. The newspaper was printed in English. The front page flapped in the breeze. She couldn’t understand the words, but the pictures caught her attention.

Helene peered at a center-page photo of a group of men. And in an instant, her warm, tender feelings washed away in a flood of fear and disbelief.

No, it can’t be
.

There in black and white was a photograph of ten camp guards. The second one on the right was Friedrich.

Helene grabbed the paper and stood to inspect the image under the dim lighting. Her husband was thinner than she remembered. A worried expression lined his face. He wore strange clothes. And his arms were pulled behind his back as if he was restrained.

Where did this picture come from? It was current, she knew. Taken within the last year. She noticed the faint white line of a scar across his cheek, caused by a bar brawl the previous winter.

Did the Allies take this photo upon his capture? Did they snap it as a record of the men they were planning to slaughter?

The approaching jeep honked. Helene jumped, pulling the paper to her chest.

Peter hopped from the jeep and dashed toward her. His feet barely touched the ground, and in the glow of the headlights she noticed a childish grin on his handsome face.

“Ready? It’s still a four-hour drive back, but if we leave now, we’ll beat the dawn.” Peter’s smile faded as his gaze met hers. “Are you okay? You’re white as a ghost. I was only gone a minute.”

Helene pushed the crumbled paper into his hands. Her voice quivered. “Tell me about those men.”

Peter stared at her a moment, then read the article. “It says they’re ex-Nazis who were captured on the German border. Some as early as April. Others only recently. They’re being held by the Americans in Landsberg, where they will face charges for—” He looked up, as if finally making the connection. “Helene, do you know these men?”

She nodded. Her stomach ached. “I don’t understand. They were captured? And they’re still alive?”

“That’s what it says here.”

“The date.” Helene pointed to the masthead, her voice cracking. “What’s the date?”

“August fourth. Last week.”

She sank back onto the bench. “It’s a mistake. It has to be.”

Peter sat beside her. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” He lifted her chin with his finger. “Is one of these men … your husband?” His eyes pleaded with her to say no.

“The tall blond one. Second from the right.” She covered her face with her hands.

Peter’s leg pressed against hers. She felt the warmth of his skin through their clothes. Only minutes ago that touch would have made her soul soar. But now, her soul felt paralyzed.

“But Friedrich is dead. That’s what I was told.”

Peter stood and started toward the jeep.

Helene rose and stopped him. “Peter, you have to take me there. I need to see him. I just won’t believe it until I do.”

“Are you crazy? They’re not going to let us in. Besides, it’s a full day’s drive … in the opposite direction of Gmunden.”

Helene squared her shoulders. “He’s my husband. I need to see him.” Her voice rose. “Don’t you understand? I have to know for sure.”

For the longest time Peter didn’t move. Helene watched his resolve languish away.

“I’ll have to call the captain to get permission.” He wiped away something on his sleeve cuff that didn’t exist, refusing to look at her. “And see if Rhonda can stay with the kids a while longer.”

“There’s a pay phone by the bench.”

“It’ll take a few minutes.” His voice was quiet. “Will you be okay waiting here in the jeep?”

“I’ll be fine,” Helene said, climbing into the passenger side.
Or will I?

Peter strode to the phone booth. Helene noticed the paper still on the bench where Peter had left it. For a moment she considered retrieving it, but changed her mind. She didn’t need the photo.

Friedrich’s scarred and weary face was already burned into her mind.