From Dust and Ashes (28 page)

But your dead will live;
their bodies will rise.
You who dwell in the dust,
wake up and shout for joy.
Isaiah
26:19
(
NIV
)

IN THE SHADOW

In the shadow of the tower,
I felt oppression, fear.
In the shadow I longed for escape.
Escape has now come—
Or has it?

Why do chains still bind?
Why do memories
Again draw tears?
I seek God, and He answers,
“Forgive him.”

But if I forgive, will wrongs become right?
If I forgive, will I then forget?
So I cling to my pain
Until the heaviness grows too great
And I give it to my Lord.

As He lifts the burden off my shoulders,
I look into my Savior’s eyes
And see my enemy reflected in Christ’s gaze.
He sits in darkness, hurting, alone.
“Now, go to him,” Jesus whispers. “Go to him.”

Thirty-Three

AUGUST 12, 1945

D
ark shadows melded with the night sky, making it difficult to tell where the land met the heavens. Even in the blackness Helene could feel they were moving into unknown territory, far away from all she knew.

The ribbon of the road wound upward, and the jeep followed as if on rails. Gnarled tree limbs waved in the wind. A sliver of moon illuminated Peter’s face. His strong hands gripped the steering wheel like those of a drowning man clinging to a life preserver.

The drive had been silent except when Peter offered her a blanket from the backseat. Helene had accepted, wrapping it around her trembling legs. She’d wanted to say something, and her mind tried out numerous combinations.

“Please, Peter, try to understand.”

“I’m sorry, Peter, there’s no way I could have known.”

“This is something I must do.”

But how could she verbalize her own jumbled emotions?

She considered asking him to turn around, to take her back to Gmunden, to pretend she had never seen the photo. But it was too late for that.

She needed to find Friedrich, to ask him why he’d deserted her, endangering the lives of their children. She had to look into his eyes to find out what had become of the man she loved, then hated, then mourned.

The jeep skidded around an especially sharp corner, and Helene gripped her seat to keep from sliding into Peter.

“Sorry,” he muttered, slowing.

“It’s all right,” Helene answered.

Around the next corner, the mountains opened up before them. Below, a gigantic lake glimmered like a sea of broken glass.

Peter cleared his throat. “I need to tell you that I won’t be around anymore. My work is done. I told the captain we have the information we needed. And because of the circumstances—well, things have changed.”

Helene didn’t know how to respond. While she should have felt relief at not having to revisit that place and those people again in her mind, she didn’t. And, even worse, how could she admit to herself that she would miss being with Peter, when that was no longer an option? Instead of trying to put words to her mixed-up sentiments, she remained silent.

“We’re almost to Germany,” Peter said.

“This will be my first time there,” Helene admitted. How many nights had she sat at SS banquets listening to the Nazis brag about the glory of the Third Reich? Now she would enter, not to see its renown, but to witness its ruin.

“Peter?” She studied his profile.

His eyelid twitched slightly but he made no other indication he’d heard her.

Helene faced the road again, rubbing the scratchy woolen blanket between her fingertips. Helene thought of her children. Thankfully Rhonda had agreed to watch Anika and Petar for a few more days. Still her arms ached to hold them, to be near them.

She thought of Friedrich. It was nearly four months ago that she’d last seen him. He had promised to come back to them. Now she knew the real reason he hadn’t.

Helene had finally broken free from his influence … or had she? Could she ever be free from the man who’d haunted her life so completely?

The sun was high in the sky as Arno watched through the filthy kitchen window. An army jeep approached with two occupants: the familiar GI and Helene. Arno snickered as he let the drapes fall.

He’d had enough gold to buy both this little shack near Landsberg and the clunker parked outside. The Audi DKW rattled when it ran, and its imitation leather seats were worn through in several places, but it would work for his purposes.

Arno had been foolish for allowing Friedrich’s wife to get away from him in Linz. He hadn’t known Henri would have such good aim with the brick. He’d merely wanted to scare her out of talking. He had no idea she’d leave town.

But as soon as he’d seen Friedrich’s face on the front page of that American paper, he knew she’d go to him. And he wasn’t surprised when it was the American who brought her. Arno wished he could see Friedrich’s face when he spotted Helene with her new “friend.”

“Henri,” Arno called. The boy sidled up to him from a shadowy corner of the room. “Watch the window while I pack the car. I don’t expect them to come back this way for a couple of hours. They might even stay a day, though I doubt it. Still, don’t let her get past you, no matter what. She can’t escape again.”

Peter’s jeep drove into Landsberg about noon. During the war the town had been one of Hitler’s top three command posts. Helene remembered Friedrich traveling here before, returning with stories of parade grounds and extravagant feasts in honor of
der Führer
. Hitler had once been imprisoned at Landsberg, before his rise to power.
And his men are here now
, Helene thought. Only this time they did not march through the streets as a well-designed war machine. Instead, each waited behind bars, separate, alone.

Peter parked near the prison and led Helene inside. Captain Standart had called ahead. A guard waited, offering to take Helene to her husband. Helene looked to Peter.
“Don’t leave me,”
she wanted to say. Yet did she really want him to be there when she saw her husband again?

Peter stepped back. “I have to move the jeep. I’ll follow shortly.”

Helene knew it was an excuse, but she didn’t argue. A guard led her down a long hall. Helene’s heels clicked and echoed in the silence. As they exited through the back door, the tall fencing loomed before them. Guard towers were stationed on each corner of the yard. Men mulled around, filthy and thin. They looked a lot like the prisoners they had once ruled over.

The guard called out Friedrich’s name. Many men turned around. In a far corner one man rose. Helene recognized his stride. His footsteps quickened when he saw her. Like a man lost in the desert, he ran to her as if she were an oasis.

“Helene, darling!” Friedrich’s filthy, hungry hands reached through the fence and caressed her hair.

Helene fought a strong urge to pull back.

“You found me.” His lips trembled.

Helene studied his face. He’d aged. Thick lines stretched from the corners of his eyes and mouth, and his hairline had receded. “I thought you were dead. Arno’s wife brought me a letter. She said you’d been killed.”

“I did that for your safety. Please forgive me.” He reached through the fencing and wrapped a blonde curl around his finger. “I believed if they thought I was dead, they would leave you alone.” The explanation tumbled from his lips, almost as if rehearsed.

“You did it for me?” she repeated.

Now, just when she thought she might have a good man in Peter, a love based not on childhood fancy but on triumph over hardships and sorrows, Friedrich was back, a humiliated and humble man, stealing her future. How could he say it was all for her?

His hands grappled for her through the fence. “You have to get me out,” he begged. “Please.” He pulled her into the metal meshing and kissed her lips, the wire pressing against her cheek.

“No, Friedrich, stop.” She pushed back from the fence.

The guard behind her cleared his throat. Helene spun around to find Peter standing there. As she beheld his face, Helene was sure she’d never seen more pain in a person’s eyes. Their green depths were clouded with a fog of unshed tears.

Friedrich cursed in German and spat at him.

“Friedrich, stop.” She glared at him. “Peter has been a great help to me. And to my children.”

“You mean
our
children,” Friedrich sneered. “We need no help from an American!”

“Peter is a friend,” Helene insisted.

Friedrich’s face calmed for a moment as he stared at Peter. Helene knew well how his mind worked. She could tell he was considering how to use her friendship with Peter to gain his freedom.

“You’re right, of course,” Friedrich said, instantly changing his tone. “Forgive me.” He gave Peter an American salute. “Thank you for bringing my wife to me.”

“So it’s true.” Peter crossed his arms over his chest as if trying to hold in his emotions. “Your husband is alive.” Without another word, he walked away.

Helene longed to follow, but should she? As she stepped toward Peter, Friedrich exclaimed, “Helene, you’re no longer pregnant.”

She placed her hands over her flat stomach. “You have a son.”

Friedrich’s face exploded into a grin. “What is his name?”

Helene swallowed hard. “Petar.”

Friedrich’s grin transformed into a sneer. “You named my son after the American?”

Helene stood her ground. “I named him after my friend.”

Vulgar curses flowed from his lips. Helene started to leave.

“Wait,” Friedrich called. “I need your help. There is something very important you must do for me. Something that can save us.”

Ignoring his plea, she ran to the building. She had to put some distance between her and that man. She raced back through the long hall. “Where is Sergeant Scott?” she asked the man at the front desk.

The soldier pointed to the doors. “He’s outside, ma’am. He said he would wait.”

Helene blasted through the door. Peter’s back was to her. “Peter?”

“Yes?” he said without turning.

“I’m so sorry. Could you take me back now? I need to leave this place.” She struggled to hold back her tears.

His shoulders straightened. “Are you sure? We just got here.”

“Please. I have to go home. My children need me.” What she didn’t admit was how desperately she needed them.

An hour later, as Arno finished packing, Henri shouted that the jeep was returning. The GI and the woman were already leaving Landsberg.

Arno jumped into the Audi and leaned out the window. “I’ll be back in a couple of days. Have everything ready.”

“Sure thing,” Henri said.

Arno placed a cap on his head and yanked it down to his brows. He started the sputtering engine, then pulled onto the road behind the army jeep.

“Now, little lady,” he said, changing gears and speeding up, “where have you been hiding?”