Vienna Prelude (49 page)

As the train stopped momentarily in St. Johann, Elisa found herself scanning the platform for some glimpse of Thomas. She was glad she had instructed him to stay in the little village on the other side of the mountain from Kitzbühel. If he was followed, he would not be traced to her, and the haven for the children would be secure. She frowned and pulled the shade, suddenly aware that she did not want to see him until it was time, until they met one another at the chalet in the isolation of the mountain slope.

***

The children slept all the way to Kitzbühel. Elisa nudged them awake and helped them to sit up one at a time.

From their first hour in the apartment, Leah had taught them to call Elisa “Aunt Elsa.” And so that name came naturally to them. There was no effort in the title.

“Are we there, Aunt Elsa?”

“Almost to the mountains, Aunt Elsa?”

“How much longer, Aunt Elsa?”

“Just a few minutes longer, children.” Elisa smoothed rumpled hair and clothes. “And then a nice gentleman will take us on a sleigh ride to a chalet in the mountains.”

The little girl blinked at her and frowned. “And then will Mommy and Daddy come?”

Elisa gathered the girl close in a warm hug. She stroked the long blond braids and remembered how she herself was still waiting for her father to come home. For a moment she felt strong, invisible arms embrace them both. “You see those mountains, Gretchen?” Elisa asked gently.

“Of course!” The little girl sounded indignant. “I am not blind.”

Elisa laughed and hugged her again. “Your mommy and daddy can see them too. And every day they talk to God, who is bigger than the mountains, and they ask Him to whisper happy things to you. When you feel lonely, you must close your eyes tightly and listen to what they ask God to tell you.”

All three of the children closed their eyes at once, and words once whispered with a good-night kiss or a song sung heartily at a picnic by the river came to each of them.

“Can you hear what your mommy is saying?” Elisa asked. Three heads nodded in unison. “Good. Those are your words alone, children. You may whisper back to God and He will tell Mommy and Daddy what you say,
ja
?” Heads nodded again and the lips moved silently. “But you must not say those words to anyone else. Remember what we said? Like a game of hide-and-seek; we must not tell where we are going or where we have been.”

“Can we ask God to tell Mommy where we are?” the oldest boy asked seriously.

“Yes. And be sure and tell Him how beautiful it is. And that you are very happy.” Elisa mussed his hair. He did not smile.

“But I am not happy. Not very happy. I miss Mommy,” he answered. “I miss her hugs. I don’t know why I was sent away.”

A pain like a knife stabbed Elisa’s heart. She extended her arms and pulled all three of the children close to her. “Yes. And I miss my mommy and daddy too. Will you hug me? I need a hug to make me feel better.” Chubby little arms embraced her fiercely around her neck and waist and shoulders. Clean shiny hair and sweet-smelling skin brushed her cheeks, and as the three tried to comfort their new Aunt Elsa, they were themselves comforted. They stayed close for a long time and then drew back one at a time.

“Do you feel better, Aunt Elsa?” asked Gretchen.

Elisa nodded seriously, thoughtfully; then she smiled. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

All three children smiled at once; they were relieved that they had helped this kind and very beautiful woman.

“Me too.”

“So do I.”

“I feel better too.”

The train slowed to a stop, and outside in the corridor, the conductor called, “All off for Kitzbühel!”

Elisa smiled more broadly. “Then here is one more secret I will tell you. When you feel badly, find someone who feels worse than you, and do something nice for that person.”

“What if no one feels more worse than me?” asked the second boy.

“There will never be a lack of people who need hugs, and never enough people to hug them, Stefen. And when you hold someone who is sad, then that person will also embrace you, and you will feel better too.”

“All off for Kitzbühel!”

Elisa gathered their meager belongings and guided them off the train. She drew the sweet, clear air of Kitzbühel into her lungs and glanced quickly around the station. They were the only ones who had disembarked, and there, staring at them in wonder, stood Franz Wattenbarger.

His golden-red beard was a little fuller, his leather knickers were a bit more worn; but other than that, he looked exactly as he had when she had seen him last. Happily, he only seemed surprised at her appearance with the three children. There was not a trace of anger on his handsome face.

He pointed at her and then looked at a slip of paper.
You?
he mouthed.

She smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Hello, Franz.”

He strode toward her with his hand extended. “Elisa!” he cried. “I thought I would not see you again after the way I behaved. I thought I had driven the most perfect and beautiful guest forever from the Tyrol.”

“Oh, Franz!” She was so glad, so relieved, to see him. He pumped her hand, then stared happily at the children.

“You are the spinster aunt? And these are your—” He frowned slightly. The realization flooded him that she could not possibly be aunt to these children. Elisa was the oldest child of her own family and her brothers were certainly not wed! “Your nephews. And very pretty niece.” He did not ask questions. Instantly he knew there was some reason for the deception, and he played the charade expertly. It had become necessary to play such games even in the Tyrol. Without missing a beat, he chatted amiably as he loaded their things onto the sleigh.

Elisa asked him questions about his family, but he did not ask her about Anna and the boys or her father. She was grateful for his immediate grasp of the situation.

He teased the boys and jollied little Gretchen and talked about new calves and colts and a litter of kittens that would all become excellent mousers. Perhaps the children would each like a kitten to play with while they were here? Soon he had them all giggling shyly, and Gretchen cuddled up beside him and laid her head against his arm with the declaration: “I want to marry you when I grow up.”

Franz threw his head back in laughter. “Well, I am already taken, Liebchen! You are six months too late!”

Gretchen seemed momentarily disappointed. Elisa laughed with him. It seems she had wasted all her worry. Franz had recovered nicely.

“I knew someone wonderful would grab you up,” Elisa said.

“Mama said, the best cure for a broken heart! She is beautiful. And she can cook!”

“I never could cook. I would have disappointed you.”

“I consoled myself with that for a while after you left.” He looked at her sideways to judge her reaction. “Also, she can milk a cow and help deliver a calf.”

“Never!” Elisa laughed.

“
And,
” Franz added proudly, “she is going to have a baby. Mama will have grandchildren! She is delirious with joy! You know Mama and children . . .” He looked at the three sitting wide-eyed in the sleigh.

“Just perfect.” Elisa felt all the old guilt soar away from her. Franz had no regrets, no simmering flame. She was embarrassed that she had imagined him pining away up here in the mountains. He had been ready to marry when she had happened into his life last year, and she had been the closest available female. Now he talked to her as though she were an old schoolmate, a friend. She had always liked him before, always believed that he would make someone a wonderful husband. It simply could not have ever been her. “Congratulations, Franz. Yes. Frau Marta and grandchildren. And Herr Karl—your father will look just right with children on his knee.”

Of course, she had the hope that these three children would be accepted and loved and comforted as well. But she said nothing until after they had been fed and washed and tucked into the enormous feather bed with the carved vines that wound up the bedposts.

That night Frau Marta, Herr Karl, Franz, and his shy young wife Helene sat together around the table in the Herrgottseck. The time had come for all pretenses to drop.

“So now we have two Gretchens in the house,” Frau Marta said quietly. “Elisa, can you tell us please what this is all about?”

Franz’s arm was around Helene’s shoulders. “We know already, Mama, don’t we? We knew last year when Elisa’s father did not come.”

“These children” —Karl smoothed his long, drooping mustache thoughtfully— “they are not Austrian?”

“No.” Elisa leveled her gaze at the old couple. “They are Jews. From Germany.”

Nods of understanding passed around the table. “
Ja
,” Marta said sadly. “But you have taken a risk bringing them here. You knew that our Otto was—” Tears filled her eyes. “Certainly, last Christmas you noticed that he had pulled away from his family, from his God, and from Austria.”

“It was no secret,” Elisa acknowledged. “Two snowflakes—” She glanced at Franz, who knew instantly what she was talking about. “But I knew I could bring the children here, Frau Marta . . . because . . . because I knew Otto was not here. I saw him in Vienna.”

Frau Marta covered her mouth with her hand. “You saw him? We have not heard even a word since—”

Herr Karl continued for her. “He left us. Left home, you see. It was not right that he stay among us. And so he left.”

“Was he well?” Marta leaned across the table. “Did he speak to you? Anything?”

Franz looked gloomy at the mention of his brother. “Where did you see him?”

Their faces were so eager and concerned that Elisa knew she must not tell them
everything
. “I saw him on the street. Just for a moment. I had . . . fallen. He helped me up.” She swallowed hard. “But he was with men who are known for their politics. Men who support the Anschluss with Germany, and who openly hate the Jews.”

A look of resignation crossed their faces. “So,” Karl said, “since he is there, you knew you could bring the little ones here.”

“Yes. Just for a while. You see, things are so very dangerous in Vienna now. There are gangs of men—,” Elisa started to explain.

“We read it in the paper,” Franz said. “What was done in the Judenplatz. Terrible. . .terrible.”

“We can pay you, of course.”

The family looked embarrassed. She did not need to mention money. That was not a question. “We have food enough to feed a dozen children,” Karl replied quietly. “What more does a child require? A little love. Happy times. A warm, clean place to sleep. Mama has been tucking children into bed for nearly thirty years. My mother and grandmother and hers before her have rocked babes to sleep in this old house. By the grace of God, we can provide all that is needed for these three little souls, and a dozen more if you choose to bring them here.”

“Money is not required,” Frau Marta added. “We have lost a son. There is much love in our hearts for many more.” She raised her eyes to the crucifix above the Herrgottseck. “He says that if we offer a cup of cold water in His name to a child, we have done it to Him. Dear Elisa, bring the children! For Jesus’ sake I will feed them fresh bread and butter and milk and dumplings and strudel . . . oh! That I may feed the Lord through the lives of these little souls whom He loves!”

And so, that night it was settled. The Wattenbarger family would feed and house the refugee children until they could be sent along the line to the homes in Palestine or the schools that Baron von Rothschild had set up in France. They considered it a privilege, as though Christ Himself had come to share their home and their food.

Throughout the night, they talked about the best way to bring the children to the farm. No one doubted that there would be many more to come.

“It is best not to bring them here to Kitzbühel . . . perhaps to St. Johann, and then over the mountain. There is a place—”

“Yes, I know the place. I must meet someone there tomorrow,” Elisa said. Suddenly she was filled with the awareness that up to this moment, every footstep had been guided by a stronger hand than her own—even the footsteps that had taken her to the awful encounter in the Judenplatz.
What God has done is rightly done!
God had seen the desperate children and the evil darkness that would cover the earth. And He had provided some hope, a few small shimmering candles that illuminated a narrow path to safety. In that instant, she felt like weeping with relief. None of this was up to her. She had only to make herself available, and God would do what must be rightly done.

She looked up at them, her eyes brimming with tears. “I was afraid to come here. I knew it was right, and yet I was afraid—for foolish reasons.” She did not confess that she had been ashamed to see Franz again. “Now I am so grateful for you all.”

Frau Marta grasped her hand; then Karl and Franz and Helene clasped hands together in the center of the table. A sorrowing Christ gazed down on them from the crucifix as He alone bore the weight of the world’s approaching darkness. And there, in that sheltered valley, they made a covenant with light. They would shine when all else was black as pitch. They would shine until the eclipse of evil slid away.

34

Return to Germany

The sun was not up when Elisa climbed onto the sleigh with Franz and Helene. No one had asked her the purpose of her trip to the Ruppen-Alp, but Helene had offered the use of a fine pair of skis, as well as her own fur-lined boots for the journey.

A petite redhead, Helene seemed the perfect counterpoint to her handsome, well-muscled husband. She looked at him with adoring eyes and he returned the adoration. Elisa was confident that by next Christmas Franz would have fashioned his angels from another model. If Helene knew that Franz once loved Elisa, it did not seem to bother her now. When they reached the end of the snowy road at dawn, Helene helped her strap on her skis and then hugged her briefly and sent her off with a cheerful
“Grüss Gott!”

A full two hours of hard cross-country skiing lay ahead of Elisa. She had loved the sport as a child and as a teenager, but it had been two years since she had skied so far. She hoped to arrive before Thomas, but as she topped a little rise above the chalet, she spotted him standing outside the door beside his skis. It was not yet eight o’clock in the morning. She was hot and sweaty beneath her warm ski clothes. Thomas appeared refreshed and rested—and overjoyed to see her. He stepped out from under the eaves, and the morning sunlight shone against his thick black hair. She had always loved his dark hair and swarthy skin—perhaps because it was so different from her own. He looked no different than he had eighteen months earlier, when she had last seen him at the Bahnstadt in Berlin. How she had loved him then! And how torn she had been by him. Love and hate, fury and regret, had tormented her.