From Dust and Ashes (17 page)

Michaela thought for a minute. “Oh, I don’t know. Well, maybe I would. It’s really too soon to even think about that. I suppose the feelings I have for him could grow into love. But get married? Move to America? That seems too much to think about.”

Lelia patted the baby’s back. “I think about it.”

Helene raised one eyebrow, then placed a hand on Michaela’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that now. Just sign the letter and be done with it. What about ‘With care’?”

“I like it.” Michaela moved the fountain pen across the paper.

Lelia leaned back on the bed and hummed to the baby. The sound of raindrops tapped against the window.

“Oh, the laundry!” Helene rushed from the room.

“I’ll help,” Michaela called after her. She placed the letter on the table and followed.

The rain fell on their heads in fat drops as they scurried outside.
Too many questions. Too many changes
, Michaela thought as they worked quickly to get the clothes off the line. It was true that many romances had blossomed immediately after the liberation. Numerous weddings took place at the displaced person’s camp and around town every day. Still, it seemed too soon. Michaela had concerns as countless as the falling raindrops. And serious questions that couldn’t help but dampen her spirit.

Michaela yanked the last of the laundry off the line, then noticed Helene. Her friend’s face was tilted to the sky, her eyes closed. Raindrops fell over her cheeks like tears. Michaela tugged on Helen’s shirtsleeve, and the two hurried into the house.

“What were you doing?” Michaela asked, squeezing the moisture out of her hair.

“Looking for answers,” Helene said flatly.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, Michaela, I’m so confused. Maybe it’s just my mixed-up emotions after just having a baby, but that thing about Wagner and the castle keeps bothering me.” She took a half-wet towel from the pile of laundry and patted her damp head. “What was Friedrich doing when he taught Anika that chorus? I mean, he hardly spent any time with his daughter, and that’s the one thing he chose to teach her?”

Michaela wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders. Helene smelled like baby and wet hair. “Why don’t we pray? God has all the answers, and it seems we both could use some about now.”

Helene nodded and knelt next to the kitchen table. Michaela joined her. Real tears wet their already-damp cheeks.

Twenty

JULY 20, 1945

H
elene knew the time had come for her to tell Anika about Friedrich’s death. Her father had gone into town. Michaela was already in bed. And Josef sat with Lelia on the front porch, his interest in the girl having won out over his disgust of Helene.

After Helene tucked the blankets around Anika, she kissed her soft cheek. “My lamb, I need to tell you something, but first I have a question. And I need you to answer Mutti truthfully, all right?”

Anika nodded.

“What did your father make you promise not to tell me?”

The little girl pressed her lips into a thin line.

Helene took a deep breath. “Sweetheart, your father …” She blinked away the tears that threatened to flow. “Your father has died, my dear. Do you know what that means?”

“It means he’s not coming back. His body isn’t alive anymore. People buried it.”

“Who told you that?”

“Opa. He say Papi still loves me. Even if he’s gone. He always love me.”

Helene tried to swallow, but her throat felt thick. Her father never ceased to surprise her. “Your opa is right. Your papi loved you very much.” She stroked her daughter’s silky hair. “But now that he’s gone, it’s all right for you to tell me his secret. In fact, it could help me a great deal.” She looked into her daughter’s innocent blue eyes. “Does it have to do with the song?”

“Ja.” Anika kicked her feet under the blanket. “Papi say he going away. He say when he come back, we live in a house big like a castle. I be a princess, and he buy me pretty clothes. And we listen to music together.”

Helene stroked her daughter’s head.
Why should that be a secret? Didn’t all fathers like to imagine such things with their daughters?

Perhaps there was some hidden truth behind his words, and Friedrich had resources she didn’t know about. Helene hated to think of where he could have obtained such riches. No, maybe Anika had just been confused.

“That’s everything?”

“Ja,” Anika said simply. “He say you didn’t know about surprise.” She yawned. “Now you sing to me? Sing me one of your songs?”

Helene knew which songs Anika meant. Songs from her own childhood. Songs she had sung to Anika from birth.

“Sing
‘Stille Nacht?’
” Anika asked.

“But ‘Silent Night’ is a Christmas carol.”

“I know.” Anika snuggled deeper under her blanket. “But I like it.”

Helene sighed. “If that’s what you want.”

Anika clapped her little hands.

“Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,”
Helene sang.
“Alles schläft, einsam wacht. Nur das traute, hochheilige Paar. Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar. Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh’. Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh’.”

Before the last line was sung, Anika was sound asleep. Helene sang the song again, this time for herself.

Heavenly peace
. That’s what she needed. Peace from all the questions. From all the uncertainty surrounding Friedrich.

As she sang the chorus a third time, Helene prayed for exactly that.

Michaela stood in front of the full-length mirror as Helene fretted about. Her body was fuller now, but only slightly. Her hair longer, but not long enough. It curled behind her ears in an easy wave.

She smiled at her image, then frowned. She was alive. She had friends and an admirer. She should be excited. Why wasn’t she?

Perhaps it is because of Georg
. She thought of all the days she had dressed and primped solely for the look of admiration in his eyes.

“It’s not the latest style, but the color does compliment your eyes.” Helene removed the last pin from the waistband of the simple, short-sleeved frock that buttoned all the way down to the hemline. “There.” She stood back for a better view. “I think that will do just fine.”

A knock sounded at the door and both women jumped.

“He’s here,” Michaela heard herself saying. Anika’s voice cried out the same from the other room. Michaela glanced at the stack of letters that sat on the bedside table, a testament to the recent correspondence between her and Peter.
What will it be like to see him after two months?

Helene hurried to the door, then stopped. “You should answer it. I’ll go get the baby.”

Michaela twisted the knob. Anika hopped in anticipation beside her. She opened the door. “Peter,” she said as he pulled her into a hug.

Michaela pressed her cheek into his uniform shirt. With a deep breath, she took in the scents of soap, cologne, and summer sun.

Peter held her at arm’s length. “Let me get a good look at you.” He smiled, then noticed Anika at her side.

“Little Annie!” The young girl jumped into his arms. Balancing her on the crook of his right arm, he pulled a chocolate bar from his left pocket. “For you,” he said with a wink.

Michaela took a step back. “Please come in. Lelia is with Josef. Helene’s gone for—”

Before the words were out of her mouth, Helene entered the room with a sleeping bundle in her arms. A blond baby head and a tiny fist poked out from the blanket.

“The baby,” Peter exclaimed, setting Anika down. His booted footsteps crossed the room, and he peered down at the little face.

“That little Petar,” Anika said as she struggled to remove the wrapper from her chocolate bar.

“Petar,” he said. The name seemed to catch in his throat.

“Would you like to hold him?” Helene motioned to the living room.

“Would I ever,” Peter said. “Michaela’s written all about the little guy, but he’s even more …” Peter sat on the couch. “Well, more than I imagined.”

Anika stood at Peter’s side, and Helene placed the baby in his arms.

Peter glanced at Helene. “I’d love a dozen of these,” he said, trying various ways to hold the child.

“Sit here, Michaela,” Helene suggested. “Next to Peter.”

Michaela settled onto the cushion beside him. She watched Peter’s hands as they cradled the infant, amazed someone so strong could also be so tender. She remembered those hands cradling her when she’d been so close to death. He would be a good father someday.

The baby opened his squinty eyes. Peter laughed. “Why, just look at him, would you?” Little Petar let out a cry. Peter bounced him, but the crying only increased.

“I believe he’s hungry.” Helene lifted the baby, and he quieted. “I’ll go feed him. Anika, can you come get a clean diaper for me?” They left the two alone in the room.

Peter searched Michaela’s face. “I was hoping to take you out for some fresh air,” he said softly. He rose from the couch and extended the crook of his arm.

Michaela stood and put her arm in his. “I would like that.”

“That’s a lovely dress,” he said, opening the door for her.

“It was Helene’s. We had to make a few alterations, but it works.”

“Works? It’s fantastic.”

They strolled quietly down the street toward the little white church with the large bell tower and steeple. Michaela had often viewed it from a distance and even visited a few times with Papa Katz.

A low stone wall surrounded the church and outer buildings. Peter sat on it and pulled Michaela in front of him. He looked so handsome in his uniform. His hair seemed lighter than it had that spring. His smile more brilliant. He gazed admiringly at her.

“I’ve enjoyed your letters,” he said.

“I’ve enjoyed yours too.”

“You might have guessed something by now.”

She gazed into his green eyes.

“My thoughts are continually drawn back to this place. To the three remarkable women in that house. I have feelings for you, Michaela. I want nothing more than to spend more time with you. There’s something about you … I guess I’m just trying to say I think you’re pretty special.”

The leaves above them rustled as a warm breeze blew. A warm wind also stirred in Michaela’s heart.

“I was going to wait until we had spent more time together,” he said. “But I can’t wait. I’ve never been good at waiting.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “There’s a song I want to sing to you, but the words are in English. It’s by a guy named Bing Crosby. I don’t know all the lyrics, but the chorus is something like, ‘All day long I’ll be saying your name, and then for forever I’ll be doing the same.’ Something like that.” He hummed a few bars. “Anyway, I’ve only known you a short time, but what do you think the chances are for two people like us?”

“What are you asking?” Michaela pressed the palm of her hand to her neck.

Peter’s eyes seemed to dance. “I know we come from two different worlds, but I’d like you to consider thinking of me as more than a friend.” He slipped off the wall and faced her. “Michaela, is that too much for me to ask?”

Michaela felt a stirring inside her chest. Yet it wasn’t light and happy as she had expected. Something inside told her to wait. To give it time. She felt unsteady and unsure.

Michaela gazed into his eyes, so full of tenderness. How could this not be the right thing?

“I’m honored, Peter,” she said, “That sounds nice.”

Peter grinned and pulled her into a big hug. Michaela laughed and pressed her face into his neck. A man rode by on a bicycle and cheered.

Yet even as Peter released her, she felt the world spinning too fast. She pushed herself back.

“But wait.” She sat on the wall again. “I answered too soon. I must talk to you first. I don’t know what the future holds. For so long I didn’t even know if I’d have a future. I think it’s only fair that I tell you a little of my past. You need to know …” Michaela thought of Georg. His face. His tender kisses. Perhaps the love she still had for him was the reason for these feelings of uncertainty.

Peter caressed her hand. “You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to. I know horrible things happened during the war.”

“It’s not that. There are other things. Good things.”

He settled beside her.

“It’s about Georg.”

Peter’s boyish grin disappeared. “Is he still alive? Could he be out there somewhere? I’ve seen many reunions. I—”

Michaela shook her head. “No, he’s not alive. But before we become any more serious, I have to tell you what he meant to me.”

“I should have known there’d been someone else. A girl like you, someone so special … of course.”

Michaela fiddled with the buttons on her dress. She pictured Georg’s face. She thought of the way his hand had caressed her cheek, her neck. She remembered the feeling of her fingers in his thick, dark hair.

“I will start by telling you of my home. I have mentioned some of it in my letters. But not enough.”

Peter leaned in close, his face inches from hers. “I’m so sorry. I should have asked more. I’ve just been thinking about myself.”

Michaela covered his mouth with her finger. “I will tell you about my life. As a start, you must know who I was and where I came from.” She took a deep breath. As the air escaped, so did the words she’d been holding for so long. “I was born into a Christian, middle-class family in Bielsko. Bielsko is noted for its textile industry. They have an abundance of sheep, and electric power from the mountain streams.”

“I remember the first time I walked to the market with my mother. The large buildings with their domes and towers seemed enormous. A three-story courthouse is not that tall, but to a child it’s like a castle.”

Peter laughed. Michaela noticed the shadow of the steeple falling across them.

“My father’s church was much like this one.”

“He was a minister?”

“Yes, and a great one.” Michaela smiled, but the happy memory faded quickly. “That was before the war, of course.” She was quiet for a few minutes, wondering if her father’s church still stood. Oh, how she would love to walk through its doors again.

“I remember picnics to the countryside. Rolling hills. Clusters of leafy trees and lush grass. And I’ll never forget the autumns. In late September, the trees replace their green leaves with crowns of gold.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“It was. The people were all friendly and outspoken,” she rattled on. “Each neighbor was a friend, especially those from my father’s church. We were often invited to dinners.
Barszcz
, beet soup, for Christmas.
Pierogi
with meat and cabbage.”

Peter wrinkled his nose and Michaela laughed. He took her hand. “And what were your favorite things to do?”

Michaela lifted her face to the warm breeze. “I loved reading romantic poetry. My favorite poet was Adam Michiewicz. But my father said I shouldn’t only read Polish writers, so he picked up foreign books for me when he traveled, including fairy tales.”

“Cinderella, yes, I remember now.”

“I loved going to the theater. That was before 1939.” She shook her head. “On September 1, I was returning from my friend Gerda’s birthday party when German fighter planes appeared overhead. Two days later, on Sunday, they began bombing. Many people fled the city that horrible night. My family hid in our basement through the intense shelling. Many people we knew did not make it. In fact, Georg’s older sister was killed when the building she was in collapsed.”

Michaela shivered with the memory. “After they found her body, I went to the family’s home to comfort Georg. The house was filled with mourners. Suddenly we heard a tremendous roar. Two German soldiers raced down the street on a motorcycle crying
‘Heil Hitler.’
A red, black, and white flag fluttered from the window ledge of the theater down the street. I swore to myself I would never enter that place again. And I never did.”