From Dust and Ashes (34 page)

As the train lurched forward, Helene realized she was leaving behind everything she once loved. “Goodbye, Friedrich,” she said, her voice hoarse, as she pressed her fingers against the glass. “I hope you find the truth before it’s too late.”

Helene pulled a thin, torn piece of paper from her pocket. She had removed it from her Bible just that morning.

To Helene
,

To help you on your journey of faith
.

Love,
Peter Scott

She held it to her chest, beginning to realize just how much faith this journey would require.

Before an hour passed, the children were asleep on her lap. Helene watched the lights from homes and automobiles flicker past until she too finally fell asleep. And as she slept, she dreamt that the swaying of the train was a thousand prayers rocking them as they made their final escape from the dust and ashes into the sky beyond.

When Helene woke, the sun was rising over the farms and meadows. She sat up with a start and checked her watch. She had missed it. She’d planned to pray for Friedrich during his final minutes, but it was too late. He was already gone.

Helene leaned back in the chair in stunned silence. Friedrich’s body would be taken to the small cemetery near the prison. But his soul? Only in eternity would she learn his fate.

The conductor’s voice sounded through the car, announcing their next stop. Helene realized that this
was
happening. Friedrich
was
dead. Her father far, far away. She would soon be in New York, alone with two children to raise.

Suddenly, Helene couldn’t hold back the emotions any longer. A cry burst from her—and she tried to muffle its sound with her trembling hand. Through her sobs she was aware of Anika awaking, and then Petar. She knew other passengers gathered around, attempting to calm her. But the flow of tears could not be dammed.

Her mind spun back to four years ago. When Friedrich had promised her the world. With his position, they’d have status and money, he’d said. But the only thing his position had brought in the end was heartache. Heartache for her, her father, her children. Even for Peter.

“Oh, God,” she sobbed. “You are all I have left. You’re all my children and I have left.”

She had no choice He had to be enough.

Michaela assessed the small group of people gathered around her. Kasia sat beside Marek in the shade of a large oak. Pawel and Rozalia tossed a large ball with Sabine. Even Filip had found a place among them after Michaela had approached him, offering her forgiveness.

Michaela smiled, realizing how much turning his acts of betrayal over to God had healed her own heart.

“Marek, can you please recite verses three and four of Galatians chapter one for us?” Michaela asked, running her fingers over the lush grass.

Marek cleared his throat. “Grace be to you and peace from God the Father, and from our Lord Jesus Christ, who gave himself for our sins, that he might deliver us from this present evil world, according to the will of God and our Father.” He paused, glancing at something behind her.

Michaela followed his gaze. Two men approached—the mayor from their town and another man, dressed in a dark suit and wearing a Red Cross armband.

“Michaela Perl?” the Red Cross worker asked, stopping before them.

“Yes?” Michaela stood. Had something happened to Helene, to Peter or Lelia? Or were they doing something wrong by meeting here?

The Red Cross worker gave her a firm handshake. “Sorry to interrupt, ma’am, but Captain Standart of the United States Army has brought to our attention that your father’s church building was lost in the war. Our organization is looking at the land, and we believe your property would be a perfect location for our new building. We would only need it during the week, and you could—”

“Are you saying you would build a church for us, at no charge?”

The man’s eyes brightened. “Of course, we’d have to clear the former structure first, but building could begin in a couple of months.”

Michaela covered her mouth with her hands. Her friends stood around her, asking a dozen questions all at once.

Marek placed a hand on Michaela’s shoulder. “Someone has friends in high places,” he muttered.

“The highest.” Michaela took a deep breath, inhaling the Polish spring air.

Tears streamed down Kasia’s cheeks as she lifted her hands in thanksgiving to God. “Just imagine,” she said, “a church rising from the ash.”

Michaela raised her hands as well, reveling in the Lord’s goodness and mercy. She felt her Shepherd’s hand upon her, upon all of them.

“Yes,” she said. “Just imagine.”

Peter wiped a stream of sweat from his brow. He gingerly lifted the canteen from the holder on his waist and took a long drink. Carefully returning the canteen, he took a deep breath of the thin, cold air. He readjusted his feet into his toehold on the marred rock face and clasped his gloved hands tighter around the rope that supported his weight.

“Are you ready to move on?” the voice above him called.

“Just one more minute,” Peter answered. His feet dug even deeper into the wall, and a few pebbles bounced free from the rock, tumbling down the 200-foot drop. Peter turned his head, taking in the feel of the strong mountain wind against his face.

Scanning the peaks that surrounded him, Peter was again awed by the wonder of God’s creation.

He looked up. His eyes glanced over the obstacles that remained, and then he saw it. Just above his guide, Peter spotted a low bush that seemed to grow straight from the barren rock.

“How amazing You are,” Peter whispered to God. Peter had come here for her, but he had been surprised at how much God had for him on this journey.

“Okay, let’s head up,” Peter called in German to the guide. His fingers pressed into the rock, searching for a hold as he continued to scale the mountain wall.
Trust the guide
, his mind kept reminding him.
Trust the guide
.

His legs ached as he continued upward. Then, for a moment, Peter was sure he caught sight of the glimmer of white amidst the brush.

“Up. Keep going up,” he coached himself, feeling the rope pull as his guide continued to climb. “Up, up, we go.”

Sure enough, Peter caught sight of it again. The dainty alpine flower.
Edelweiss
.

She’s worth it
, he told himself, remembering the Austrian ritual. Soon, Peter knew, he’d be leaving for the States. And maybe someday he would be sure of her feelings. Perhaps before too long she would find a way to let him know. But for now, he’d continue to travel the paths laid out before him. He’d wait. Wait until it was time to show proof of his devotion.

Forty-Two

SEPTEMBER 17, 1947
NEW YORK CITY

H
elene called in English to the boy toddling behind her. “Hurry, Petar, or we will miss your sister at the bus.” She swung open the front door of her tailor shop and adjusted the hands on the little plastic clock. “Back in 15 minutes,” it read.

Petar ran into her arms, and she swung the boy onto her hip. Although he was only two, he was almost too big to carry.

“We have to put you on a diet,” she muttered, poking his belly with her finger. “Too much apple pie.”

Petar laughed, and Helene joined in.

“What that?” Petar asked, patting her front apron pocket. Stuffed in with pins and a measuring tape, three envelopes poked out.

“Letters for Mutti,” she said.

“Oh,” he said with his mouth in a circle.

Helene mimicked the face, which made him giggle.

In addition to the monthly letters from Michaela and Lelia, for the first time in over a year and a half, she had received a note from her father. He was well. Busy feeding the Russians, he said. Though it was not written, Helene was sure he was equally busy resisting anything that threatened the good of his neighbors. And in a few years she hoped he’d consider joining her.

“Bus,” Petar called, as clearly as if English was his first language. Actually, it was.

The school bus was just pulling away. Anika stood on the curb, waving. Helene waved back, then paused as she noticed a man approaching her daughter. She couldn’t see his face, but she recognized his familiar gait.

Helene’s chest filled with warmth at the sight of him. She kissed Petar’s blond head and grinned to herself. Peter had come. He had not forgotten her, had not moved on.

Helene hurried her steps. Anika took the man’s hand. Peter approached Helene with long strides.

“Cowboy,” little Petar said, pointing.

Helene chuckled as Peter neared her. He did look like a cowboy in his Levi’s and cotton shirt. Then she noted his “horse” parked on the street. “That dusty old jalopy made it all the way here from Montana?” she asked. Her heart did a double beat at the sight of his smile. She had tried to picture his face many times during her months of healing and waiting on God. But now he was here.

“You’re worth every second on the road,” Peter said, his voice husky.

Helene gave Peter a hug, then pulled away. “It’s so good to see you. But what are you doing here?”
And how long can you stay?
she wanted to add.

He laughed. “My sister kicked me out. Annie told me to quit moping around and find you.” He held up a slim silver watch. “And when I received this in the mail, I figured you were giving me a hint. Perhaps you were saying the time was right?” Peter chuckled at his pun.

Helene felt heat rising to her face. She’d mailed the watch with the dimmest of hopes. But he’d received it and had understood. She lifted her arm, and Peter wrapped the watch around her wrist for the second time.

“How did you get my address?” he asked, his big hands struggling a bit with the tiny clasp.

Helene thought back to that night on the train, and Captain Standart’s note. “Oh, I have people in high places looking out for me.” She pressed her lips together, holding back the grin. “So it looks like you figured out my clue and decided to follow it to me.”

“Well, you’re no Swiss bank account, but—”

She gently punched his arm.

“What I meant to say is that you’re worth far more.” He pulled a small Bible from his pocket and opened it. A petite white flower was pressed between the thin pages.

“Edelweiss,” she whispered, her hands covering her mouth. “You remembered.”

“I’m yours, Helene.” Peter placed a hand over his heart. “If you’ll have me.”

Helene tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Ja,” she said simply.

Anika squealed and Petar clapped his hands, although Helene was sure the young boy didn’t quite understand what all the excitement was about.

Peter took the toddler in one arm and lifted Anika into the other. “That way?” he asked, tilting his head in the direction Helene had come from.

“Around the corner and straight to home,” Helene answered with a playful grin.

Helene lagged a step behind, soaking in the sight of Peter carrying her children. He had come back, and she had no doubt that soon they would be a family.

Helene sighed. During the dark days in St. Georgen, she never could have imagined this. She lowered her head, thinking back to the camp. To those horrible days past. Things were so different now. Better. She was free to live and to love. But she’d promised herself to never forget.

Helene caught up and draped her arm over Peter’s shoulder. “I can’t keep up with your long stride.”

“Don’t worry, pretty lady,” Peter said, slowing. “I’m learning to adjust my pace.”

Helene stared into Peter’s deep-green eyes. They were the same eyes she’d looked into when she first entered the death camp. Now, she was certain she could see new life in their depths.

The love she saw there reminded Helene of the love Michaela had first given her a glimpse of so long ago. An eternal love. One that would be in Helene’s and Peter’s hearts forever. A love that reached far beyond the dust and ashes.

A love that had saved her. Saved them both.