From Dust and Ashes (22 page)

Twenty-Five

AUGUST 1, 1945

T
he sky had just begun to lighten when the train chugged in. Like a dragon with smoke puffing from its nostrils, it roared closer, heaving to a stop with a drawn-out sigh.

Tickets had been issued for three to Hamburg, Germany. From there Michaela, Marek, and Kasia would receive new papers before moving on to Poland.

The Red Cross had provided traveling clothes, but they were much too large for the thin frames. Helene straightened the collar on Michaela’s dress, thinking that the travelers resembled children playing dress-up.

Anika clung to Helene’s skirt. Kasia rocked Petar in her arms as Helene pulled Michaela into her embrace, wrapping her arms around the woman’s sharp shoulder blades. The train whistle blew, and a cry caught in Helene’s throat. As they tearfully rocked in each other’s arms, the sky seemed to open up and a misty rainfall filled the air.

“Heaven is crying with us,” Michaela said.

Helene didn’t even attempt to answer.

Michaela finally pulled back, and the two examined each other at arm’s length. Helene stood tall over Michaela. Her shoulder-length blonde curls couldn’t be more different than Michaela’s cropped dark hair. Still, Helene knew Michaela was the beautiful one where it mattered most.

Helene gazed into Michaela’s face, trying to imprint the memory of it into her mind. Her eyes were red-rimmed and weary. Still, Helene never wanted to forget the love she saw there. The love that had made such a difference.

A man stepped from the train and hurried past them. Then a couple with a small child. Soon it would be time for Michaela to board.

Helene bit her lip. Kasia handed her the baby and said a word of thanks. Then, as if sensing the two women needed to be alone, the brother and sister boarded.

“Thank you for the shoes.” Michaela studied the sturdy brown boots on her feet.

“I told you I would find some,” Helene said with a tilt of her chin. “I’m sorry my father couldn’t come,” she added, refusing to believe this was really goodbye.

“We said our farewells at the house. I will miss him greatly.” Michaela squeezed Helene’s hand. “Even more, I’ll miss you. You saved my life. I can never repay you.”

Helene tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. She tried again. “I thought I was the one helping you. But I was the one saved. I only offered bread. But what you gave me—” Helene placed her hand over her chest. “What you gave me, I can never repay. The life you showed me lives here. I have found a new life. Your work here is complete.”

Michaela stood on her tiptoes and kissed Helene’s cheek. “That is the only reason I can let you go,” Helene continued. “God has called you to share this good news with others as you did with me.”

The train whistle blew again, and Helene took a step back. Michaela crouched before Anika. The young girl released her mother’s skirt and flew into Michaela’s arms. Helene glanced at those on the platform around her. After years of knowing her every move was being watched, she couldn’t help but wonder who at the station was observing this scene. What did they think of an SS child in the arms of a former prisoner?

Michaela’s lips moved, and Helene knew her friend was saying a prayer over Anika. Michaela stood and placed a hand upon Petar’s head and did the same for him.

“As soon as I arrive, I will write,” Michaela promised.

Helene nodded, pulling Anika toward her. “Go now. Before you miss your train.”

Michaela stepped through the train doors. Helene waved to Marek and Kasia in the window and caught a glimpse of Michaela’s face before the train rolled forward and disappeared down the tracks.

The platform still buzzed with the motion of dozens of bodies—serviceman, displaced persons, and villagers. Yet Helene felt more alone than ever.

She took Anika’s hand and hurried toward the house. The rain continued to fall, and by the time they reached the front door they were soaked.

She would bathe the children, dress them, feed them, and play with them. Perhaps she’d prepare a tea party with Anika and bounce her son upon her knee.

Still, Helene knew that her heart would not be there. Through the rest of the day and into the night, her thoughts would be with the train as it increased the distance between them.

That night, after her children were tucked into their beds, Helene lay awake, unable to sleep. She heard a train’s whistle and wished it signaled her friend’s return. She imagined the Red Army’s heavy-booted footsteps and willed them to stay away.

Austria had been carved like a side of beef, with the four Allied powers choosing their own cuts. St. Georgen rested north of the Danube—the border of the Russian zone. Only a river crossing away, Helene knew, dwelt the symbols of those carefree months after the war. Peter, Coca-Cola, bubble gum, and jazz music had receded to the opposite bank.

But God is with me, whichever side of the river I’m on
, she reminded herself.
And in Him I will trust
.

Later, during the darkest point of the night, a clamoring outside stirred Helene from her bed. She heard a woman’s scream, then men’s laughter.

Wrapping a blanket around her shaking frame, Helene approached the front window. On the small street that ran alongside their house, a Russian jeep was parked with its headlights off. The men’s shouts were directed at a helpless young woman. They pulled her into the jeep, then sped away.

Where are they taking her? What will they do?
Helene stepped back from the window. She jumped when a hand touched her shoulder.

“It’s just me,” her father said. He tucked her under his left arm. A rifle rested in his right hand. “This is a gift from Peter,” he said. “Liberated from the Germans.”

Helene understood. “You warned me they were coming.”

Her father stepped to the window. “Thirty thousand of their comrades were killed in that compound on the hill. They’re here for revenge.”

“But the guards are gone. All those involved have left.” Even as the words spilled from Helene’s mouth, she knew it wasn’t true. She remained. And her father, who’d kept supplies for the Nazis, had stayed. Even the priest who once housed a dozen men was still there. Although most of these people had no choice at the time, they could still be considered sympathetic toward the Nazis.

A new oppression had come to their town. Helene snuggled deeper into her father’s arms.

The next morning, Helene’s father was gone when she awoke. She peered at the spot where the woman had been taken the previous night. The memory of her screams caused Helene to jump at the slightest noise. The streets were quiet now. But she knew, out there somewhere, the Russians lurked.

She fed her children and then gave Anika paper and scissors. As the girl played, Helene stood at the window, watching for her father. Finally she saw him, moving toward the house in quick steps, his brow lined with worry.

“It’s as we thought.” He quickly entered the room and latched the door behind him. “A group of prisoners has already been taken to Siberia.”

Helene gasped. “Prisoners?”

“Ja, those considered enemies of the Russian state. Nazi sympathizers. They’re accusing many of cooperating with the enemy. Those already taken are being sentenced. Only those who are ‘of service’ to the occupational forces will remain. Even now Russian tents are being set up where American ones recently stood.”

“How many of them are here?”

“The men you saw are only the tip of the sword. They have come to protect the borders. The full occupational forces have yet to arrive.”

Helene glanced at Anika, who was cutting a piece of red paper into the shape of a heart. She lowered her voice. “Are the borders closed?”

“Ja.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

Helene collapsed onto the chair.
I deserve this. I am an enemy
. But as soon as the words filled her head, others took their place. She could hear Michaela’s voice.
No, you are forgiven. Your slate has been wiped clean
.

In God’s eyes, perhaps, but not to the rest of the world. To the Russians she was simply the wife of a former guard.

“There is a way out.” Her father sat in the chair beside her. “It is risky, but it is our only chance.”

Helene stared into his gray eyes. He seemed so old. So tired.

“There are many who want to get out. Even Jewish survivors who are still weak. Farmers are rowing them across the river.” He placed his hands over hers. “I want you to go tonight. With the children.”

“In a rowboat? Across the Danube? But it is so wide and strong. Nein, it’s too dangerous.” She stood, then leaned against the table. “I can’t. If anything happened to them—”

Her father stood and placed his hands on her shoulders. “There is no other way. You know you will be found. Too many know. And even those most loyal can be bought … or threatened.”

“What about you?”

“I have already been sought out. First by the Nazis for storage, then by the Russians for men. They want to use our home for boarding.” He kissed her head. “As long as I provide a room and
schnitzel
, I will be taken care of. I am an old man. I pose no threat.”

“I can’t leave you again. I couldn’t bear it.”

“Be strong, my daughter. Think of the children. When things settle down, then perhaps I can join you.”

“Either you come too, or I’m not going.”

His eyes flashed vulnerability for a moment, and then the willful expression returned. “You don’t understand. There are dynamics I cannot begin to tell you about.” He held her face in his hands. “The Lord knows I’d do anything for you and for the children. But I cannot leave. Not yet. You have to trust me in this.”

The determination in his eyes told Helene he wasn’t going to change his mind. “But cross the river? Isn’t there another way?” Her thoughts went again to the man she had depended on so many times over the previous months. “What about Peter? Can we get word to him? Can he come to help?”

“Nein. From the moment of surrender, no U.S. soldier has been allowed into the Soviet zone. You must go. They are already collecting names. Names of former Nazis.”

“But even if I get across, where will I go?” Her father took a knife from a kitchen drawer and carefully sliced the stitching on the lining of his jacket. He pulled out a paper from inside, neatly folded, and handed it to Helene.

She unfolded the sheet and saw the seal of an American eagle. The date on the paper was two weeks old.

Dear Captain Standart
,

By my own witness, and by others of the Eleventh Armored Division, the bearer of this paper, Helene Völkner, compassionately helped the troops of our division in their efforts to save the lives of the victims of Nazi atrocities
.

In return for protection for herself and her children, Mrs. Völkner has agreed to cooperate with the U.S. Department of Investigation in their efforts to secure the names and ranks of SS officers and guards at Camp Gusen
.

If you have any questions about Mrs. Völkner, please feel free to contact me
.

Sincerely,
Sergeant Peter Scott

Helene held the paper to her chest. “You want me to disclose the names of the guards?” A knot formed in her stomach. “You’ve had this planned all along. You and Peter. You knew, when faced with danger, I’d have to comply.”

“We were hoping it would not come to this. We knew no American servicemen would be allowed in, but we had no idea the Russians would shut down the border to locals so quickly.”

Helene considered the danger of giving out such vital information. She thought of Arno Schroeder. His face, his taunts, his threats. He was just one man. There were hundreds like him who had disappeared, never wishing to be found. Many who would do anything to keep her silent.