The Plum Tree (10 page)

“
Ach
Gott.” She took his hand. “I’m so sorry. Do you have anything left?”

“My father hid some money beneath the floorboards behind the toilet in the upstairs bathroom. They didn’t find it.”

“Is there anything you need? Something I can get for you and your family?”

“A one-way ticket out of the country?”

Christine stiffened. She knew Isaac and his family would be safer someplace else, but she needed him here. She needed to see his face, to hear his voice, to feel his strong arms around her. The minute the thought crossed her mind, she hated herself for being so selfish. “Have you heard from any of your relatives?” she asked.

“My father’s sister sent a letter from Lodz three weeks ago, but we didn’t receive it until yesterday. She said at first, Polish Jews were ordered to wear armbands with the Star of David, but then they were forced into ghettos. Men who tried to resist were shot, and her husband was one of them. She and her three children were sharing a bedroom with eight others. She wanted to know if there was anything we could do to get them out of there. She said it would be her last letter, because they were no longer allowed to receive or send mail. My father sat down and cried, and my mother wouldn’t even look at him. She still thinks things are going back to normal. She thinks Hitler will be too busy with his war to bother with us, and we’ll be all right as long as we do what we’re told.”

“And what do you think?”

He lowered his eyes. “I think we have to stop this.”

His words fell over her like an icy veil. “Stop what?”

“We have to stop meeting. If we get caught, it’ll be over. For both of us. With the curfew, it’s just too dangerous. Someone might follow me. We can’t do this. I won’t come anymore.”

Christine covered her face with her hands. She had known this day would come. Still, she felt nauseous when he said it out loud, like she’d been punched in the stomach. His voice sounded cold and harsh, but when she looked up, his eyes were glistening.

“We’ll be together again soon,” he said, taking her in his arms. “And nothing will keep us apart. I’ll get in touch with you somehow. When it’s safe. I promise.”

She drew away and went to the overturned wine barrel, where she pulled off the red-and-white tablecloth and spread it out over the dirt-packed floor. Then, she stepped into the center of it, tears filling her eyes, and unbuttoned the blouse of her dress. He stood watching her, his lips pressed together, his head tilted to one side. She slid the top of her dress from her shoulders, pulled her arms from the sleeves, and let it fall to her waist. When she started to undo the thin belt of her gathered skirt, a low, tortured groan escaped Isaac’s lips. He rushed forward and buried his face in her neck, his strong arms crushing her arms to her sides.

“We can’t,” he mumbled, his breath warm against her skin. “As much as I want to, we can’t.”

“If I can’t see you,” she whispered in his ear, “I want this moment. I need something to remember you by, something to get me through this.”

He pulled the blouse of her dress over her shoulders and backed away. “I won’t,” he said. “I won’t put you in jeopardy. Someday we’ll be together, but not now. Not here. Not like this.”

Christine wrapped her arms around herself and sank to the ground, head hanging and shoulders convulsing. He went to her and pulled her to her feet, then held her and rocked her back and forth, as if she were a child. After a few minutes, he helped her put her arms back in her sleeves, buttoned the front of her dress, and wiped her wet cheeks with his thumbs. Then he picked up the tablecloth, turned it over on the ground, and got down on his knees.

“What are you doing?” she said, wiping her eyes.

He pulled a box of matches out of his pocket and lit one, waiting until it almost burned his fingers before blowing out the flame. Then, in the right-hand corner of the tablecloth, he used the burnt stick to write an oversized
C,
going over it again and again until the charred, black wood of the match was used up. She knelt beside him, her hand resting on his broad back, feeling his muscles tense and relax as he worked. He lit another match and added “& I,” then used six more to finish “C & I.” Beneath that: “1939.”

“Someday, we’ll come back here, together,” he said. “In the light of day. We won’t worry about anyone seeing us, and we’ll get this tablecloth. And when we get married, we’ll have it on our wedding table, beneath a giant cake and a thousand flowers.”

Christine nodded, swift tears falling from her swollen eyes. They stood and folded it, corner-to-corner and end-to-end, looking into each other’s faces as if burning each feature to memory. She pressed her lips together to stifle a sob, watching as he took his lucky stone from his pocket and pushed it between the folds of the tablecloth, then shoved the whole thing between the cold cement wall and the farthermost corner of a wooden potato bin.

C
HAPTER
6

I
n the middle of November, ration cards were delivered to every household by hand, names taken, papers inspected, and heads counted by two somber young men in camel-colored uniforms and nut-brown hats. The sheets of perforated paper were color-coded: red for meat, yellow for sugar and flour, white for dairy, brown for bread. They couldn’t be saved and used when needed, because they expired monthly, and they couldn’t be traded. Each family member was allowed, if the family could afford it, one pound of meat, nine ounces of sugar, fourteen ounces of coffee substitute, four pounds of bread, ten ounces of butter substitute, three ounces of jam, one and a half ounces of cheese, and one egg per week. Whole milk was reserved for children and expectant mothers, and anyone under fourteen was allowed slightly bigger rations. The somber men warned Christine’s mother that it was illegal to buy and butcher a pig, and that doing so would result in the termination of their meat ration cards.

They also informed them that to buy shoes and clothing, people had to apply for a permit. When Mutti asked how it was done, the men said that she shouldn’t bother, because permission was seldom granted. They left instructions for every household to gather scrap metal, paper, bones, rags, and empty tubes, then drop them off at the post office. It was crucial that all resources went toward the war effort, and it was every German’s patriotic duty to sacrifice.

As her family began getting used to the new system, Christine slowly stopped crying herself to sleep every night. But the instant she opened her eyes every morning and remembered that she didn’t know when she’d see Isaac again, misery plowed into her all over again. There were times when it took a good hour before she could crawl out of bed, her legs and arms weighed down with grief. During the day, she shoveled snow, scrubbed floors, washed windows, took over Opa’s job of bringing up firewood, and volunteered to stand in the ration lines for hours on end. It was all an effort to exhaust herself, so she’d be too tired to picture Isaac’s face, or think about what he might be doing, so she could sleep. It didn’t help.

In December, Christine and Maria got Farmer Klause’s permission to cut a Weihnachts
Baum,
Christmas tree, from the woods behind his barn. Hoping to surprise their brothers, they woke early on the morning of Christmas Eve to a fresh snowfall, every rooftop and branch fattened by thick, white clumps. They tiptoed downstairs and put Vater’s work shirts and pants on over their dresses and wool stockings, pushed their feet into extra socks, tugged thick hats over their heads, and draped knitted scarves over their noses. They helped each other get ready, the layers of bulky clothes making it nearly impossible to tie their shoes and button their coats. After they pulled on each other’s mittens, Maria waited in the hall while Christine retrieved a small ax from the cellar.

Outside, the sisters grinned at each other, an unspoken agreement to enjoy the quiet morning in silence. The air was cold and still, the only sounds the snow crunching beneath their feet and the distant chirp of winter birds. The sun sparkled like millions of tiny mirrors on the white expanse of blanketed streets, every post and fence topped by a plump, powdery cap. Without a word, the sisters trudged through the heavy snow to the end of their road, where, all at once, Maria burst out laughing.

“I don’t think Heinrich and Karl would recognize us even if they did see us leaving!”

“I know!” Christine said. “You look like a fat old man!”

“I feel like one!” Maria said. “I can barely move with all these clothes on!”

Christine laughed too, surprised how good it felt to have a light moment. For a second, she felt guilty; how could she laugh when there was a war going on, when she had no idea if or when she’d see Isaac again? But surely Isaac smiled and laughed occasionally; surely he enjoyed time with his family. If there was one thing she needed to learn, it was to live in the moment. Isaac would want that for her. She made up her mind to try now.

“I hope the boys have a good Christmas, despite everything,” she said. “I wonder what we can do to make it special.”

“Let’s look for the biggest tree we can find!” Maria said.

“They would love that!” Christine said. “Remember the time Heinrich picked out that gigantic tree, then stood there crying because Mutti said it would never fit in the living room?”

“It was twelve feet tall!” Maria said.

“I know, and Heinrich howled until we let him pick out another one.”

“Then he picked out a tiny one because he insisted on dragging it home by himself. Wasn’t he only about four years old at the time?”

“
Ja,
but he was already a little man, trying so hard to be big and strong like Vater. Remember the Christmas we all piled in Farmer Klause’s horse-drawn sleigh and drove through the countryside?”

Maria smiled. “I’ll never forget it. It was magical. I can still hear the bells jingling!”

“You’d been begging for a horse, and it was the closest thing Vater could get to surprise you.”

“It was the best Christmas ever. Maybe we can do that for Heinrich and Karl. They’d love to go for a sleigh ride! The weather is perfect and the snow is deep enough!”

“I’m afraid Farmer Klause sold his sleigh a long time ago. He needed the money.”

“Oh,” Maria said, her shoulders dropping. “It was the most beautiful sleigh I’d ever seen. Remember it was shiny and black, with gold trim and red cushions?”

“
Ja,
it was beautiful,” Christine said. “My best Christmas memory was when I was eight. I was going to the dressmaker’s with Mutti on Christmas Eve. It was just the two of us, and we were picking up some new material. You’re probably too young to remember, but Oma made us matching dresses that year. I was so excited about Christmas, and about picking out the material with Mutti. On the way to the shop it started snowing—these huge, slow flakes drifted down from the sky—and I just remember feeling so happy.”

Maria took Christine’s mittened hand in her own. “Don’t worry, you’ll feel that way again someday. I promise.”

Christine forced herself to smile, blinking against the moisture in her eyes. She didn’t want to ruin the moment. It felt good to bring up happy memories, almost giving her hope that somehow, everything would work out in the end. “Remember the time Mutti dressed up as Christkindl?” she said. “She was giggling so hard her nose was running. We all knew it was her!”

Maria laughed. “
Ja!
She borrowed Herr Weiler’s long, red nightcap and used rags to make a beard. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her laugh so hard. She wasn’t very good at fooling us, but it was a wonderful time. Oh! That gives me an idea! Let’s use ashes from the woodstove to leave footprints next to the tree. We’ll tell the boys Christkindl left them when he brought their presents!”

Christine nodded, and the sisters walked faster, hurried on by their growing excitement. At the edge of town, they crossed a snow-covered field toward Farmer Klause’s woods. Inside the forest, loose flakes drifted down from the towering spruce, encircling the girls in a quiet, soft snowfall. Christine and Maria examined every evergreen, scrutinizing the shape of the branches from every angle, looking them up and down to find the perfect specimen. Following rabbit and fox trails, they found a clearing, and, right in the center, a wide, young spruce.

“This is the one!” Maria said. “It will fill the entire corner of the living room!”

“Heinrich and Karl will love it!” Christine said, kneeling to examine the trunk.

Maria held the lower branches out of Christine’s way and, after several practiced blows, the tree was down in minutes. Each sister grabbed a low limb, and they dragged the spruce across the field, the stiff branches scratching a wide path through the drifts. Trying to synchronize their strides as they hauled the heavy tree up a hill, they had to stop every few minutes to catch their breath. Every now and then, one of them would lose her balance and fall to her knees, while the other laughed and helped her up out of the snow. Eventually, they took off their scarves and stuffed them in their coat pockets, sweating from the exertion.

After dragging the Christmas tree home through the snowy streets, the sisters set it up in the corner of the front room, wrapping a white sheet around its base to look like snow. Normally, they would have had a short evergreen, one that would sit on the end table and, even with the star on top, still fall short of touching the ceiling. This spruce went from the ceiling to the floor, its branches nearly reaching the dining table.

When the boys came into the room, Heinrich’s eyes went wide.

“It’s the biggest Christmas tree ever!” he shouted.

Karl put his hands over his open mouth and edged closer to the evergreen, moving in slow motion, as if he wanted to make the moment last.

Maria knelt beside him. “Do you like it?” she asked, putting her arm around his small shoulders.

Karl smiled and nodded. “Can I touch it?” he said.

Maria kissed him on the cheek. “Of course you can! It’s your tree!”

“I’ll bet we’ve got the biggest Christmas tree in Germany!” Heinrich said, his voice filled with pride.