From Dust and Ashes (11 page)

Peter peered into the seasoned warrior’s face. “And my orders, sir?”

“I’m sending you to Limburg for a few days. Then I have an assignment for you in Czechoslovakia.”

“Czechoslovakia instead of Landsberg, sir?”

“I have a dozen guys who can take your place in Landsberg, but this trip to Czechoslovakia is vital. The camps are taxing us, and our supplies must be replenished. I’ve received information about a warehouse full of German medical supplies outside Prague. A medical officer is assembling trucks and men. They should be ready to head out as soon as you return from visiting your friend. They’ll need you along in case they face any opposition. I trust you, Scotty. Besides, that will give you a good three days to see Goldie. It will work better for everyone this way,”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Peter left with a salute, his thoughts on the way he and his buddy used to light up Las Vegas.

Later that day, as a jeep carried Peter across the border of Germany, all of Europe seemed to be on the move. Frail-looking men and women struggled on as if in mass exodus—some coming, some going. A few with carts, others on foot, all cradling their meager possessions as if they were rare treasures. Each hoping a better place awaited them.

How strange it was, Peter thought, that he had come through this war physically healthy and unscathed. Images flashed through his mind of young men who would never return home, and those who were still fighting in the Pacific.

Why them?
Peter wondered.
Why not me?

At the end of a long day’s travel, Peter’s driver announced their arrival at the town of Limburg. “Home of the famous cheese,” he proclaimed. Although wartorn, the town’s former beauty could not be denied. The half-timbered houses were still embellished with a wealth of carvings and sculptures.

The driver pulled up to a hospital, and Peter disembarked quickly. A nurse, tall and lanky, greeted him at the front desk with a crooked smile.

“Donald Gold?” Peter asked.

She examined her charts. “Oh, yes, here he is. Nice fellow. Too bad.”

“Too bad?” he echoed.

She clucked her tongue. “Typhus. It’ll be a miracle if he makes it.”

Peter felt his jaw tense.

The nurse started down the hall. “Follow me.”

The hospital, like almost everything else in Germany, had been “liberated” for use by the Americans. It was old, and one section had been destroyed by artillery fire. The area Peter was stumbling through seemed ready to crumble.

He followed the nurse into a dim room where a decrepit old man lay on the bed with his eyes closed. Peter frowned at the nurse, certain she had made a mistake. He was about to inform her of her error when a gruff voice called from the bed.

“What’s the name of Mickey Mouse’s girlfriend?”

“Minnie,” Peter answered, smiling at the old password used to flush out Krauts trying to pass as Americans.

One wrinkled eye popped open. “Hey, Pete.”

Peter stared at the old man on the bed. “Goldie?”

“Hard to believe, ain’t it?” Goldie’s voice sounded the same, but quieter, as if he strained to talk.

Peter neared the cot. “Hearing you were alive made my day.”

“Yeah, mine too.” Goldie laughed, but the laughter became a deep cough that rattled his body.

Peter pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to his friend. When the coughing ceased, Peter saw that blood stained the white fabric.

Goldie’s body was as thin as any Peter had seen in the camps. His hair had receded and two frail arms poked out from the hospital gown. Had it only been four months since he’d last seen his friend?

“They treated us worse than dogs, Pete.”

Peter pulled up a chair, still in shock.

“Eighty pounds. Can you believe it? Thank God Andrea doesn’t have to see me like this.” At the mention of his wife’s name, a moan tore from Goldie’s lips. His gnarled body trembled.

“She’s been writing me,” Peter said, “asking if I’ve heard any news. She’s been sick with worry. All she can talk about is how much she loves you and misses you.”

Goldie stretched out a thin hand and grasped Peter’s. “Whatever you do, don’t tell her you saw me like this. They’re sending me to England for a few months. Tell her I’m healthy, but they’re keeping me around for some rest.”

Peter didn’t have the heart to tell his friend that not even two months of care in England would bring his life back to normal.

When Peter didn’t answer, Goldie squeezed his hand tighter. “Promise me.”

Peter patted his friend’s shoulder. “She’ll never be the wiser. Before you know it, you’ll be jitterbugging just like the good old days.”

Goldie gave Peter a tired grin.

Peter searched his mind for a light subject. “Hey, how did the Peabody go? I’ve been trying to remember in case I find a pretty girl to dance with.”

Goldie moved two fingers along the mattress as if they were feet sliding across a dance floor. “Remember, you have to glide, not step. Glide, not step.”

Peter laughed. It felt good to laugh with Goldie again. He stayed with him through the night and most of the next day. Later, they swapped stories, just like the old days. Only this time, Goldie talked about his time as a prisoner of war. Peter, too, shared about their final stand against the Germans, the day they crossed the Rhine, and, of course, the camps.

But that first day, Peter joked with his buddy and they both laughed. More than anything, Peter needed to see his friend laugh. Somehow that seemed to guarantee Goldie would recover.

Eleven

MAY 25, 1945

W
arm wind, perfumed with the scent of apple blossoms, blew in through the open window of Michaela’s room. The calendar would soon flip from May to June, and she could think of only one thing: her father’s birthday. June 7 was less than two weeks away, and for as long as she could remember it had been the turning point of her year. June meant the end of school. It meant strawberries and cream. Lemon cake, three layers thick. It meant longer days and carefree sun-filled afternoons with her family. At least it used to.

Michaela twisted a piece of thread between her fingers and broke it off with a jerk. Her hand shook slightly as she worked the needle through the small garment on her lap. She heard the front door open and wondered whether Helene was coming or going. Over the last few weeks Helene had brought in bags from the shed for Michaela to sift through. They were filled with clothes, shoes, silk stockings, and sewing supplies.

Michaela didn’t ask where the items had come from, but she’d made herself useful by taking down hems on Anika’s colorful frocks and adding side panels to Helene’s clothes in an effort to keep her expanding waistline from popping buttons.

A few white petals blew through the open window, and Michaela thought of her mother’s practical summertime favorite, Karpatka cake. She rehearsed the recipe in her mind.

“Butter, flour, baking powder, water, eggs. Yes, four eggs,” she mumbled. Remembering little things like that had helped during the dark days in the camp. For some prisoners, remembering the past hurt too much. For her, it helped to think of life before the pain. The Germans had dragged her from her homeland, stripped her bare, even replaced her name with a number, but they couldn’t disrobe her faith or her memories. She’d kept them concealed deep inside. They were her inward smiles hidden beneath salty tears.

After one dress was done, Michaela moved on to a second. Anika’s voice called from the other room.

When Helene didn’t respond, Michaela quickly tied off her stitches, then laid the garment on her bed. Lelia stirred slightly, pushing a strand of hair from her face. Though Michaela guessed she was awake, the girl didn’t bother opening her eyes.

Leaning on the small table for support, Michaela pulled herself from the chair and eased across the room. Helene’s hand-me-down dress swung loosely on her frame as she moved to Anika’s bedroom and opened the curtains. Sunshine drizzled into the room. Anika wrinkled her button nose and reached out, playfully grabbing a handful of Michaela’s dress in her fist.

Michaela perched on Anika’s bed and allowed the girl to climb onto her bony lap. The child’s touch felt wonderful, warming her even more than the sunshine.

“Can we go for walk?” Anika asked, stroking Michaela’s arm.

Michaela laughed. “Is that all you think about?”

“
Ja.
”
Anika blinked. “And chocolate.”

“Well, at least you’re honest.” Michaela noticed how thick and foreign her words sounded compared to the young girl’s native German tongue. “Perhaps there will be no chocolate today.”

Anika grinned, obviously not believing this could be true. Peter had left, but many of his friends still worked around town. They delivered bread, transported displaced persons, cared for the sick. A few even took time to check on the occupants in the large yellow house.

“Ja, we can go for a short stroll. If it’s okay with your mother. But not too far.”

Anika tumbled from Michaela’s lap. “Choc-o-late,” she called as she ran down the hall.

Michaela mentally prepared herself for the vision of town. While Anika focused easily on the clean, neatly pressed GI uniforms, Michaela couldn’t get past the former prisoners. In small groups or alone, they clumsily staggered from place to place with white-wrapped Red Cross packages tucked under their arms.

The survivors’ thin arms dangled at their sides and their jerky movements seemed unnatural. They reminded Michaela of the marionettes that had performed in the theater near her home. The worst part was, Michaela knew she looked the same.

When she got to the kitchen, Michaela found Helene buckling Anika’s shoes. A bright yellow handkerchief was coiled around Helene’s head and a few blonde curls peeked from underneath. A mop bucket sat next to her. The kitchen smelled fresh.

“I hope you’re up to this.” Helene gingerly rose from her crouched position and rubbed her side. “If you’re at all too tired—”

Michaela squared her shoulders, trying to appear strong. “I can make it down the street and back, certainly.” She held out her hand for the young girl.

Helene put her hands on her hips. “I’m sure of that. But I would feel better if you had some decent shoes.”

Michaela examined the old brown loafers Helene had found for her. The soles were nearly worn through and offered little protection from the pebble-covered asphalt streets.

“Remind me to trace your foot later.” Helene reclaimed the mop with a flourish. “I’m sure I can find a better pair somewhere.” Michaela knew better than to argue.

Anika tugged on her hand. “Walk, walk.”

“Ja, ja, I’m coming.” A knowing smile passed between Helene and Michaela as the mop swooshed across the floor.

Not long after Michaela stepped into the street, she knew something was wrong. The town crawled with frantic movement as trucks, soldiers, nurses, and ex-prisoners jostled toward the camp.

She stood on her toes but could not see what was drawing the people.
Maybe I don’t want to know
. Her fingers tightened around Anika’s hand as they walked. The young girl protested and she loosened them slightly.

Toward the end of the block, near the camp, a group of men shoved past her. She recognized their uniforms. Former SS guards. It appeared they hadn’t bathed in weeks.

GIs corralled the motley group like shepherds herding scraggly sheep. Only these men weren’t sheep. They were wolves. Even as prisoners their presence was frightening. Michaela had to get away.

As she turned back toward home, a group of townspeople and dozens of former prisoners surged past her.

“Ziereis,” a man in the crowd called. Michaela halted. Commandant Ziereis had been the head officer over Gusen and Mauthausen. His name had been greatly feared among the prisoners.

Michaela could still picture his piercing stare as he inspected the fearful, bedraggled prisoners, daring anyone to confront him. Michaela had glanced into those eyes for only a fraction of a second, but even now, in freedom, the remembrance was enough to make her knees grow weak.

Michaela heard the name again as a man shouted and pointed. A few blocks away, the stream of people grew as they swarmed from the evacuation hospital to the gates of Gusen.

Michaela picked up her pace. She had to get back to the safety of Helene’s house. She had to get some space between her and that name.

Anika tugged at her hand. “Let go!”

Before Michaela could understand what was happening, Anika pulled free. Michaela spun around, as if in slow motion, and watched the girl’s small leather shoes pound down the street toward the camp.

“Anika, no! Stop!” Michaela’s heartbeat quickened as the young girl lunged toward the crowd. “No!”

Chocolate. She must be going after the Americans’ chocolate
. Michaela willed her body forward. The girl’s blonde tresses bounced as she ran.
Please, God, make her stop
.

Forcing her feet to move as fast as they were able, Michaela followed Anika as she skipped off the sidewalk onto the road. An army jeep screeched to a stop within inches of her. The girl paused for a second, then took off again.

“Anika!” Michaela pressed forward. She stumbled slightly, then caught her balance, hobbling on, ignoring the ache in her limbs and the shooting pain of her feet on the pavement.

“Anika, stop!”

Anika continued to run, calling out something Michaela couldn’t comprehend. The distance between them grew.

“Stop her,” Michaela called in German as Anika ran past two GIs. But the men didn’t respond.

People continued to swarm the gates, and now Anika was among them. Rocks dug into Michaela’s feet with every step. Her chest burned.

Anika was about to cross the threshold when a soldier grabbed her arm. “Let me go!”

Wheezing, Michaela approached them just as the GI lifted Anika into his arms. Michaela noticed concern on the man’s face. Then she recognized Peter’s friend.
Josef
.

His eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said over Anika’s cries. The girl in his arms squirmed to get loose.

Something hanging in the air to her right caught Michaela’s attention. She turned, then gasped. Just inside the camp gates, a man’s body swung between two poles. His bloated chest showed evidence of a bullet wound. His neck was stretched to an unnatural length. He was naked and rigid. Michaela quickly averted her eyes.

“Franz Ziereis.” Michaela’s trembling hands covered her mouth.

“Take the child and leave here.” Josef tried to put Anika into Michaela’s arms, but she didn’t have the strength to carry herself, let alone the child.

Michaela reached for Josef’s arm to keep from collapsing. Anika lunged, escaping their hold, and bolted away. Josef ran after the girl, weaving through the crowd.

“Papi!” Anika cried.

No. Helene’s husband can’t be here, can he?
Michaela had overheard he was dead.

Anika ran past an armed guard and darted through the slats of a temporary fence that surrounded a group of Nazi prisoners.

Josef was just about to grab Anika when the young girl flung her arms around the waist of a tall man inside the fencing. His blond hair was overgrown and ragged. An SS uniform hung from his wide shoulders.

Even over the noise of the crowd, Michaela could hear the girl’s cry, “Papi!”

The man scowled down at Anika from beneath bushy eyebrows. She shrank back. Josef pulled her into his arms as Michaela neared. Anika clung to Josef’s neck.

“Are you her father?” Josef asked the man in German.

“Nein,” the prisoner growled.

“That’s all I needed to know.” Josef wrapped his free arm around Michaela to hold her up and led her to the shade of a nearby building.

Michaela collapsed onto the ground, unsure of what to think, uncertain of what to do. The familiar odors of the camp pressed down around her, and she longed for a fresh breeze.

“How did this happen?” Josef knelt beside Michaela. Anika’s arms remained tightly wrapped around his neck.

Michaela tried to catch her breath. “We were walking and she slipped away. I tried to stop her—”

Josef shook his head. “Nein. Not that. How did she pull it off? An SS wife, pretending to be a helpful citizen?”

“Helene?”

Josef leaned close. “Don’t you see? This little girl thought that prisoner was her father. His uniform is that of an SS camp guard. Has Helene mentioned anything about her husband?”

“Not really.”

Though she hated to admit it, it made sense. The missing husband, the fine clothing, awkwardness at her father’s house. Helene was an SS wife.

Michaela curled her legs up to her chest and tightened her arms around them.

Josef patted Anika’s trembling back. “She must have thought she would be above suspicion,” he whispered. “She fooled us all.”

“No,” Michaela blurted out. “It can’t be.” She thought of Helene’s kind eyes and cheery attitude. It wasn’t an act. “Helene is a caring woman. She may be an SS wife, but entering that camp was a sincere act of compassion. She cares.” Tears stung Michaela’s eyes.

Josef shook his head. “Think of the bodies we’re burying. Helene’s husband was a part of that. That means she was too.”

Michaela didn’t know what to say. She knew nothing of Helene’s past, but she was certain of how the woman treated her now.

“We have to get you out of that house,” Josef muttered.

“I won’t leave.” Michaela lifted her chin. “She saved my life. I have no one else but her. I will go back to the house and ask her. I will listen to what she has to say.”

“Fine then.” Josef released Anika. “But she’s done getting help from me. She purposely hid this from us.” Josef’s eyes flickered with hatred. As he stood, Michaela noticed a Jewish star hanging from a chain around his neck.

Michaela grabbed Anika’s hand. “We need to go back now. Your mother will be worried.” She rose awkwardly and headed toward the road. It was clogged with people coming to view the hanging body.

Michaela rubbed her aching limbs. Feeling Josef’s arm grab hers, she turned to him. He pointed his chin at Anika. The girl was wiping away tears with the back of her hand. Michaela felt her chest constrict. She wanted to reach out to the girl, to comfort her. Instead, Michaela pulled out of Josef’s grasp and began the long walk home. With every step, she braced herself to face Helene.