The Gathering Storm (9 page)

Mama sighed with relief. "Well, then. How can you love a man who threatens to tell your father everything?"

"I thought the very same thing. Cruel."

"But young Varrick. Can't you just see how he could be helped through this difficult time by a mature young woman who sees things as they are?"

I considered her suggestion. "I like Varrick. Once I thought I loved him. Perhaps I did in a way."

"Maybe you'll find a reason to love again, Loralei Bittick. Just don't give up hope. Aren't I certain the Lord has some fine young man for you to love?"

"How old is Eben?"

"Perhaps twenty-seven or twenty-eight, I would guess. Thirty?"

"Mature."

Mama looked at her hands a long time before she answered.
"You cannot know the life of a man like Eben Golah. Few know him
well. Your father knows his history but tells me nothing about him. Perhaps he is too old for you. I do think so. If he is ten years older than you, think of it. When you are my age...forty-six...wouldn't he be fifty-six?"

A shocking thought. "Oh, dear. So old." I lay back on my pillow. I felt as though my soul was purged. I rubbed her hand. "Thank you,
Mama. I have felt very alone until this morning."

Mama winked. She seemed so very young in that instant. I marveled that my own mother did not look even close to her age. "Between us girls, eh? I'd hate for your father to ever
think
I wanted to marry a fellow who lives in Hollywood."

Just as Mama's American citizenship protected my father's interim ministry in Germany, my U.S. citizenship became a cherished treasure that might somehow save lives.

As I completed my studies at the dining room table late one night, men I had first met at the White Rose Inn discussed the saving of even one Jewish life.

Bonhoeffer, Eben Golah, and members of the desperate Jewish community, including Varrick's father, Mr. Kepler, used my mother's citizenship as an example. The Nazis still feared American opinion. As long as America remained neutral, the Third Reich could do whatever they liked. The Nazis were not eager to offend Americans by preventing Jews or German opposition from leaving. The marriage of a Jew to an American might open the way for an entire family to emigrate to the U.S.

I heard Mr. Varrick say, "The only way now for a German Jew to
obtain a visa to the U.S. is by marriage to an American."

Bonhoeffer said, "What we need is a surplus of American men and women willing to marry."

Varrick's father immediately cried, "My son Varrick has great affection for your daughter Lora, Pastor Bittick! Could we not consider—"

Then Eben added, "Robert, the marriage of your daughter to young Varrick could possibly open the door for all the Kepler family to escape. Would your daughter Lora consider such an arrangement?"

I felt the blood drain from my face as I heard my name on Eben's lips, emanating from behind the door panel of Papa's study.
Marriage?

Mama came out of the kitchen door. She was drying her hands
on a dishtowel. Her jaw dropped, and her eyes grew wide. She looked
at me, then stared at the door. She lapsed into English and said in her strong Texas accent, "Are those men discussing what I think they are discussing?"

I nodded and closed my book. "Oh, Mama."

"Marry you off like a mail-order bride?" She threw the towel onto the table and untied her apron. "I'll set those fools straight." She started toward the door.

I stood. "Mama, don't. Don't! They're right!"

She turned on her heel and stared at me as the dialogue behind the door continued. My heart pounded.

"What are you saying, Loralei Bittick? Marry a young man you don't love so he can get a visa to America..."

"So he can be free? Oh, Mama! Yes! Yes, I'll do it. I'll marry Var
rick in a minute, if he wants to. This is the first time I've felt...like I can do something. Don't you see? I will!"

Mama's beautiful lips curved in a knowing smile. "But Lora, you don't love him, do you?"

I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Did I? Did I love Varrick? Or was I still hanging on to some shred of hope about the older man in my life? Was I still dreaming of Eben?

"Jesus," I whispered, "help me know what to do."

Mama put her arms around me. I cried a little on her shoulder.
"I...like Varrick. A lot. Maybe love. I mean, I think I could love him.
But that's not the point. The Kepler family...all of them. If this is the way—"

She stroked my hair. "You are amazing, Lora. You know you are, honey?"

I nodded. Suddenly I was no longer helpless. I could make a dif
ference in a world gone mad.

"I'll tell them," I volunteered. "If Varrick Kepler will have me for
a wife—I mean, if it's okay with Varrick—it's okay with me."

And so, in March 1938, Varrick and I were married by my father in a
quiet ceremony witnessed by an American newsman named Shane
Dean, who was on assignment in Berlin. My parents knew him well.
His report of our wedding was sent by wire to the American newspapers. It was illegal in Germany for a non-Jew to marry a Jew, but my citizenship put the issue outside Nazi jurisdiction. An article was printed in the
New York Times
pronouncing that true love had even overcome the racial laws of National Socialism.

Varrick and I spent our first two nights holding hands on a slow train carrying us to our honeymoon across the German border to Kitzbuhl, Austria. The newsman also rode on the same train as we and in the same carriage, in case there was trouble from the authorities.

His presence and our marriage certificate, combined with my American passport, made the crossing uncomplicated. From Austria, the plan was for Varrick to go on to Switzerland without me. We would meet again later. I would return to Berlin to start arranging papers for his family.

The Nazi border guards who inspected our exit documents sneered at our youth and the fact that we were on a honeymoon.

"Where are your skis?" laughed one fat fellow with a Hitler moustache as he flipped through our papers.

His companion, a florid-faced civil servant, jibed, "They are not interested in the snow. They are only going to Austria to keep warm."

I felt myself blush. Varrick held my hand tightly. He did not look them in the eye. I spotted Mr. Dean leaning forward, as if to spring into action if there was any trouble. Our identity folders were tossed back in Varrick s face, and I heard the guard mutter the word "Jude" as he left us.

We entered Austria. Shane Dean, en route to Vienna, clasped our
hands and wished us well as we disembarked. He warned Varrick: "Get out of Austria as soon as you can. The Anschluss is coming. Soon Austria won't be safe for you either, American wife or not."

Hours later, we were riding in a sleigh on our way to Kitzbuhl. I could not look at Varrick's face. I felt like a child and he looked at me like a man—hungry and filled with desire. Our hotel room was grand, nicer than anywhere I had ever stayed before. The heavy furniture had marble tops. The room had mirrors on three walls: enormous, gilt-framed, glass panels reflecting not only whoever stood before them, but the entirety of the chamber, including the four-poster, canopied bed.

"No, don't open it. Just leave it for now," I heard Varrick say.

While Varrick tipped the bellhop for bringing up our bags, I wandered about the room, touching everything: table, chair, lamp,
curtains, as ifrehearsing the reality of where I was... and how my life
had irrevocably changed. I needed to prove this was not a dream, but I also wanted to remember it all. If I was to leave my love, my husband, my Varrick, so desperately, painfully soon, I wanted to carry with me an exact image of our first night together.

When I glanced up from playing with a silver candy dish, I saw Varrick staring at me. On his face was a mixture of wonder and... something else. Something that frightened me and thrilled me, both at the same time.

"The manager sent up a bottle of champagne," Varrick said, flourishing the dark green bottle. "Would you like some?"

"My father doesn't approve," I said, then stopped at the absurdity of what I had said. I was a married woman; a woman grown, no matter if the calendar might assert otherwise. "Yes," I said with a toss of my head. "I think I would."

Varrick struggled with the wire cage over the cork and then just as he succeeded in removing it, the cork shot out of the bottle and bounced off the mirror near my head. As Varrick ran to hold the gushing wine over a pair of glasses, we both laughed and laughed.

It was a very good thing to laugh just then—a very good thing indeed.

After passing me a glass of champagne, Varrick sat on the edge of the bed. He took a swallow, then patted the mattress for me to join him there.

When I did so, he smiled at me, the same shy smile I had seen when I had first met him. "To you," he said, raising his glass.

"To us," I replied, clinking the rims together. "To being together
again soon, and to never being parted, ever again."

Several quiet moments passed, with Varrick gulping the champagne and me sipping gingerly. I didn't really like the taste but would not tell him so. He started to say something several times, pausing as if searching for the right words.

At last he said, "Do you, I mean, do you know...did your mother
tell you—"

"How a married man and his wife behave with each other?" I replied in the best grown-up, matter-of-fact voice I could muster.
I still squeaked a little, and color rose in my cheeks. "Yes, of course. I
bet I've known longer than you have." I instantly regretted saying that. This was not a school competition to prove which of us was smarter. "What I meant to say is, yes, my mother and father are very much in love. She explained to me what that means...in the way you mean it too."

Varrick looked incredibly relieved. "I'm so glad! I mean, well,
I had
that
talk with
my
father, but he kept saying how when I married
you...oh, yes, I've always known this day would come! How when I married you, I must not be impatient. How I should not scare..."

"Varrick," I said, setting the tulip-shaped glass on the night-stand. "Stop talking and kiss me."

He sighed happily, put his arms around me, and pulled me close. After that everything was just as it should be...perfect in every way.

Three days into our planned honeymoon Shane Dean unexpectedly reappeared in Kitzbuhl. "The Anschluss is happening...now!" he said. "The borders are closed. Varrick needs to get out immediately. I'll set it up for tomorrow morning."

Suddenly our time together was shattered. We said our most intimate, personal good-byes long before the sun came up on departure morning. I promised myself I would not beg to stay with him. I would not make this separation any more difficult for my husband than he was already experiencing.

When dawn came, I was not sleeping, but I could not bring myself to wake him. My arms wrapped around him, hugging him fiercely. I committed to memory every bit of him in the way I had sought to record the room.

All too soon it was time to rise, dress, and pack. We would not leave one moment earlier than necessary. Still, the time flew by, despite every angry glare I gave the clock.

As if there were no Nazis, no possible pursuers, no danger to our families, we acted like the final act of his escape from Berlin was the beginning of a cruise to the South Seas. Varrick adopted a different air than I had seen in him before. He appeared ready and able to do battle with any threat. In between moments of looking fierce he stared at me, drinking me in and embracing me with his gaze.

I also had a part to play. I made certain luggage tags were securely
attached. I contrived for every mission to carry me past Varrick near
enough to touch him.

I touched the curl of hair on the back of his neck. When I adjusted the angle of the fedora he wore, I stroked his forehead. When nothing else suggested itself, I plucked imaginary lint from his sleeve, then let my fingers rest on his hand. "I love you," I whispered.

"I love you, and...I cherish you," he returned.

The porter came, and we silently followed our luggage to the lobby. My throat, already constricted with emotion, contrived to tighten even further at that. We uttered hopeful little glimpses of what our future life would be like.

"We'll have a place of our own," he said.

"You can finish school," I offered.

"We'll raise our own vegetables on—how do the Americans say it?—a bit of garden.'"

"Flowers," I insisted. "Flowers too."

All too soon Shane Dean arrived to assist Varrick in crossing the mountain to safety. There were others assembled who would pass into Switzerland today. Varrick stroked my cheek in one final embrace. "I'll see you soon," he promised.