Safe Haven (40 page)

“You are going to win that election, and we are going to be together, Theo Bridgewater. Get that straight right now.”

“I’d settle for one out of the two—the second one. I love you, Suzanne.”

“I know,” she said softly, and then she blew him a kiss as she always did to end their calls. He heard the click that told him she was no longer there and quietly replaced the receiver in its cradle. She claimed to believe that he loved her, but did she trust in that love—that it would be there for her no matter what?

Ilse was stunned by the news that Josef and Beth were being denied passage to America. In spite of Ellie and Paul’s assurances to the contrary, she felt at fault. If she had not sent the information to Josef, if she had refused to have anything to do with Detlef Buch, surely this would not have happened. Perhaps Gisele had been right, after all. But Ilse found it hard to believe that Detlef would be so cruel—not after all this time.

“You cannot take this on yourself, Ilse,” Gisele told her. “The man escaped all by himself. You did nothing to help with that.”

“Well, neither did Josef, and yet he and Beth are paying the penalty. I just wish there were something I could do.”

I wish Franz were here. Together we could always solve anything
. She felt her chest fill with her grief. It seemed as if since his death everything had gotten worse. The war had ended, but they were still here—still not free to make choices for themselves. And almost nightly Liesl quizzed her about where they would go, pleading with her to stay in America—as if Ilse had the power to make that decision.

“Will this nightmare never end?” she whispered, more to herself than to Gisele.

“Come with me,” her friend said, taking her by the hand as if they were schoolgirls again. “You need cheering up, and I have just the recipe for that.” She led Ilse into the building that had been converted into a performance hall for theatrical productions, the movie nights they held now and then, concerts, and lectures.

Several of the residents who regularly appeared in the shelter’s productions were gathered around the piano. They were all talking over one another, and Ilse had to wonder how they could possibly accomplish anything.

“I brought fresh talent,” Gisele said.

When Ilse realized that the actress was referring to her, she had to smile. “I cannot sing a note,” she protested.

“Not a problem at all,” Ivo, the man who usually led these productions, assured her. “At the moment it is your objective opinion that is needed. Come sit.” He patted the seat next to him on the piano bench. “We are developing a satirical musical. See what you think of this.”

He played an arpeggio on the piano and then nodded to the others, who referred to a song sheet. “We are in a cage without reason,” they bellowed. “We are in a cage, a golden cage.”

The chorus went on from there, and then one of the men sang alone. “Like a lion in the cage, we are losing health and mood. …”

The music stopped suddenly. “That’s as far as we’ve gotten,” Ivo said. “Any thoughts?”

All eyes were on her, and everyone was smiling hopefully as if she might actually offer them some viable idea. Their obvious confidence that she might gave her courage. “Well, I will say I never thought of myself as a lion—more as a bird—and an aging one at that.” She laughed and realized that she was already feeling a little better.

“If we divided the song into scenes,” Gisele suggested. “One when we first arrived and then after the war ended and then—”

“Indeed,” Ivo said. “Of course, it is the ending that will have to wait until the last possible moment.”

Suddenly the light spirits that had dominated the room dimmed as everyone’s smile faded. Surprisingly Ilse did not feel as if she had once again been cast into the depths of depression. Instead she felt as if she were part of a group—a community of people facing exactly what she faced. Some of them also had children who surely wanted to remain in the America they had come to think of as home. She was not alone. “Is there something I could do to help with the production?” she asked. “Behind the scenes, of course.”

“Costumes? Do you sew?” Ivo asked.

“Well, of course she sews,” one of the women huffed. “Have you not seen her daughter? Liesl is always beautifully dressed, and forgive me but one does not find such fine detail in the donated goods we are forced to rely upon.”

“I sew a little,” Ilse admitted.

“Excellent. We shall need everyone in the cast dressed in rags for the opening, and then as the show progresses they will become more and more presentable until at the end—”

“At the end we should each dress the role we played in life before all of this,” the man who had sung the solo suggested. “Doctors, merchants, lawyers, writers, performers—people who were educated and successful. Let’s show them who we were.”

“Who we are,” Gisele added, and everyone applauded. “I’ll help Ilse with the designs and sewing,” she added.

Just like that, Ilse found herself part of something that gave her joy and purpose. To some it might be just a silly little amateur production. For Ilse it was a lifeline.

That night as she sat with Liesl while the girl practiced the piano, her mind raced with ideas for transforming the actors in the production from a bunch of ragtag refugees into the proud, gifted men and women they had once been and would be again—if not here in America, then somewhere else in the world. She wondered if those men in Washington debating their fate would ever truly appreciate what they might lose if they held to their plan to send them all back.

“Mom?”

She had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t realized Liesl had come to the end of her piece. “What, Liebchen?”

“You were smiling. Were you thinking of Papa?”

“Not just then, but I do think of him often.”

“Me, too.” Liesl’s shoulders slumped. “I miss him so much.”

“So do I.” She wrapped her arms around this cherished child—her only child. “But do you know what? I believe that every time you play the piano, Papa is listening.”

“Do you think he is dancing?”

Ilse laughed. Franz had been a wonderful dancer. “Yes, Liesl. Papa so loves to dance, so you must play for him often. He would be so very proud of the progress you have made in your lessons in such a short time.”

“That’s what Nancy’s mom said when I played for them. She wanted to know who my teacher was, and when I told her it was you, she said that you could give lessons for money. She said you could earn a living doing that. That’s how we could make our way when we leave the fort.”

Ilse was stunned to realize that Liesl was thinking of such mundane things as how they might earn money. She had thought about such matters, of course, but it had never occurred to her that Liesl might have the same worries.

“We have to have some way to pay the bills,” Liesl continued. “I could maybe do some chores for people, but for real money—I mean now that Papa—”

Ilse held her closer. “Sh-h-h. This is not for you to worry about. You just concentrate on doing well in school and practicing the piano. I will see that we have what we need, all right?”

Liesl looked up at her and frowned, and Ilse realized that the child had serious doubts about her mother’s ability to provide what the two of them would need. “All right,” Liesl said finally, but her words lacked conviction.

That night Ilse sat at the table in their apartment long after the barracks had gone completely quiet except for the occasional footsteps in the hallway as someone made his or her way to the bathroom. On the table in front of her was the local newspaper, a pad of paper, and a pencil. For hours she had scanned the advertisements in the paper, gathering information about what it might cost to feed and clothe herself and Liesl.

Now she studied the listings for apartments for rent. Surely the prices in Oswego would be representative of others in similar-sized towns across the country. She wrote down figures and descriptions on the notepad. Tomorrow she would get a pass and walk or take the bus to some of the addresses. At least then she could see the exteriors of the buildings and the neighborhoods. She would also walk through a food market to get more information for understanding just how much money she would need to earn to care for Liesl and herself.

At the top of the page she had written, “Expenses if we stay in America.” After realizing that Liesl was worried about their future and their financial situation, Ilse had decided that the one thing she could do for her daughter was to give her a promise that if the government allowed, they would stay in America. Theo was right. Ilse could always travel to Europe to search for Marta.

So earlier that evening after she and Liesl had held their nightly abbreviated meeting for worship she had sat on the side of Liesl’s bed and tucked the covers around her daughter. “Liesl, I have made a decision.”

“What decision?”

“If the American government decides that we are allowed to stay in this United States, that is what we will do.”

Liesl threw the covers aside as she leaped up to wrap her arms around Ilse’s neck. “Oh, Mama, do you mean it?”

Whenever Liesl called her
Mama
, it brought back so many memories of when they had lived in Munich, of when Ilse had relied so much on Beth. It brought tears to Ilse’s eyes that something so simple as a promise that depended on the actions of others could make her child so very happy. “You understand that if the government says that we—”

“Have to go back, then we do,” Liesl said. “But oh, Mama, surely they will see how good we have all been. If we stay, will we move to the farm in Wisconsin?”

Ilse saw no harm in indulging in dreams for this once. “Would you like that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember the farm. Is it like the fort except with cows and chickens? But then where else would we go? Could we stay here in Oswego? I have a lot of friends here.”

“I know. If the Americans say we can stay, then we will have to decide together, but Liesl, there is always the possibility—”

“I know.” She sighed heavily, but then she grinned. “Every night from now until we know, I am going to pray really hard in our meetings for worship, and maybe—if God thinks it is for the best—it will all come true.”

“I think that is a very good plan as long as you also keep in mind that God may have another way for us, and we must be ready for that as well.”

Liesl kissed Ilse’s cheeks and hugged her hard before collapsing back onto the pillow, a smile on her face. “I can’t wait to tell my friends,” she murmured just before she drifted off to sleep.

Ilse had sat beside her for a moment longer and then gathered the newspaper and notepad and started to work. She would plan for staying in America, and if it turned out that Beth and Josef were to remain in England, that would be her second choice because it would be best for Liesl to be around family. But one day—once Liesl was settled—Ilse would return to Munich, for that was her home. That was where she had met Franz, and that was where her memories of their life together lived.

In spite of everything that was going on in her career, Suzanne felt consumed by a melancholy that she could not explain or shake. She missed Theo terribly and was beginning to wonder if in fact she did love him—could trust in his love for her. She lived for the day when the election was finally decided and he could move to DC, for although he appeared to have doubts about being elected, she had none. Who in their right mind would not see that this kind and gentle and incredibly smart man was exactly the kind of elected official the country needed?

“Suzie!”

She roused herself at Edwin’s shout and pulled a pencil from her hair as she grabbed her notebook and headed for his office. “Coming.”

She couldn’t help but notice that these days as she walked through the newsroom her colleagues went on with their work, accepting her presence as normal and right. It was quite a change from just a year earlier when they had deliberately averted their eyes and when she had been all too aware of whispered conversations that seemed to end abruptly whenever she approached.

Now she walked with complete confidence through the newsroom to Edwin’s open door. “You called?”