All God's Children (44 page)

He spoke to Anja in Danish, all the while flicking his eyes toward Beth and smiling.

“Edvard has arranged for transportation to take us to my grandparents’ farm,” Anja explained. “The closest doctor is miles away, but the local midwife will bring whatever Josef needs to continue treating your wound.”

Beth saw a couple of soldiers wearing German uniforms climbing the steep hill to the village. “We don’t want to put your grandparents or the midwife in danger,” she told Anja. “Perhaps…”

Josef pulled her closer against his side. “It’s all arranged, Liebchen. Edvard has even offered us his cottage for the time it takes for you to regain your strength.”

“And then what?” She had not meant to voice the question aloud, but there it was. “The island is occupied, and if anyone becomes aware of how we…”

“We’re safe here for now, Beth. Let’s just take the time we have to rest and get you well. Then we can think about what to do next.”

A fresh wave of exhaustion washed over Beth, dampening her uplifted spirits. The reality was that in spite of the idyllic scene before her, they were not yet free from the fear that had dogged them for months.

As if sensing the change in her mood, Josef wrapped his arm around her and helped her cross the deck to the dock. “Come, let’s go bring Anja’s grandparents the good news that their granddaughter is not only safe—she has come home to them.”

As it turned out, Anja’s grandparents—Olaf and Ailsa—were the ones to bring the best news of all. Once introductions had been made and Anja had briefly told them what had happened to them—and to her late husband and daughter—Olaf handed Anja a letter.

“It came after we had lost all contact with you.”

“Open it,” Ailsa urged. “Perhaps it is good news.”

Beth saw a Belgian postmark on the envelope and a return name and address. Anja began to weep as soon as she saw the return name on the envelope. “It is from the woman in the red dress,” she told Beth. “The woman at the church who took Daniel.” Her hands were trembling uncontrollably, and she sobbed. “I can’t,” she managed to say as she thrust the letter into Beth’s hands. “You read it.”

Beth slid her thumbnail under the flap of the envelope and removed the single sheet of paper inside. “It says, ‘Your package arrived safely on the twentieth and is a wonderful addition to our garden, thriving and blossoming as you hoped.’ It’s signed simply ‘Hannah.’”

Anja reached for the letter and scanned the contents. A smile of relief replaced her tears. “It’s Daniel,” she explained. “Hannah was taking him to Belgium to a convent outside Brussels where they run an orphanage. That’s the garden and…” She peered closely at the date stamp on the envelope, and once again her features darkened. “When was this sent? Months ago now—nearly a year. What if…”

Olaf hugged his granddaughter until her wails of distress had settled into shuddering sobs. “We will find him,” he assured her.

“Come,” Ailsa invited. “Let’s go inside. The midwife will be here soon, but we have invited some Friends to join us in silent worship—we have much joy in our hearts.”

“Of course.” Beth had almost forgotten that if Anja followed the faith of the Friends, it was likely that her family did as well. And if she had needed any more evidence that she and Josef were home—at least for the moment—the invitation to sit in silence with other Quakers for the first time in months was more than sufficient.

Josef and Beth settled into Edvard’s small cottage. They passed the time reading aloud to each other, visiting with Anja and her grandparents, and planning the future neither of them could be certain they would ever know. As their days on the island lengthened into weeks and November passed and December brought more snow, Josef was surprised to find that the daily worship meetings with the Danish Quakers brought him a sense of peace and hope unlike anything he had ever experienced in his restless life. Even as a boy he had always felt as if he was expected to manage any challenge that came his way on his own. His father had insisted that Josef address any conflict without the help of his elders. It was a policy that Josef knew his mother had often disagreed with, but his father had been adamant. “How do you expect the boy to learn?”

The memory of that made the lengths that his father had gone to— even jeopardizing his own career—to save Josef and Beth even more remarkable. Often as Josef sat in silence with the others, his thoughts turned to his parents, and he wondered what price they must have paid when news reached Munich of the Sobibor revolt.

One day when he had gone down to the docks to sit with Edvard and mend fishing nets, he asked the fisherman if he would be willing to do him one more favor.

“One more. Ten more.” Edvard shrugged.

“I would like to contact my parents and let them know that Beth and I are all right. It is too dangerous for me to write them directly, but if you…”

“Write your letter, Josef, the way you want me to put it, and I’ll take care of it.”

Late into the night as Josef and Beth sat beside the fireplace in Edvard’s cozy cottage, they worked on the letter. What could they say? What should they not say? How much information was enough but not so much as to cause problems?

It was Beth who reminded him of the coded letter that Anja had received. The return address had been a general mail address that was not tied to any specific place, and the message had been brief and to the point. “Surely in his position your father is well used to reading between the lines, Josef.”

In the end they decided to compose the piece as if it were a business exchange.
The two barrels of herring you requested are in storage for the winter
.

“Should we say where?”

“They’ll know from the stamp and return address.”

Josef ran his hand through his hair. “We need something more specific. My father will see this and simply dismiss it as a misdirected letter or a ploy to get his business.”

“What if…” She frowned, unable to complete the thought. But then an idea occurred to her. “Josef, there must have been a time when you were a boy that your parents had some pet name for you. What was it?”

Josef sighed. “Can you honestly imagine my father calling me by any name other than the one he had chosen for me?”

“Your mother, then.”

Josef thought for a long moment, and then he smiled.
“Sepp—she
called me Sepp. It drove my father to distraction, and I think that may be why she continued to do it from time to time even after I left home. It was always said with such affection….” His voice trailed off as he remembered those happier times.

“But your father would recognize it?”

Josef shrugged. “I suppose. What are you thinking?”

“What if the letter said, ‘The two barrels of Sepp herring you requested are in storage for the winter’? Perhaps we could put the name in quotes or italics or something to make it stand out.”

“It’s worth a try. And we could add a line—something like ‘Please approve by return post.’ Then if we get a letter, we’ll know my father understood the message.”

“And if we don’t?” Beth hated to ask, but it was important to know how Josef would react.

“If there is no response, then either my father missed the reference, or he understood it and chose to ignore it.”

Beth knew full well that in spite of Josef’s attempt to remain stoic, the very idea that his father might ignore a message from him was devastating.

“He will respond,” she said. “Think how he risked everything for you after your arrest. And he warned Uncle Franz and arranged for us to be married and…”

Josef cupped her cheek tenderly. “You have such faith, Beth—you always see the good in others. How do you manage that, especially after everything you’ve had to endure? Everything I’ve put you through?”

“I chose to be with you, Josef, so whatever came after that was part of that decision. I love you, and I would rather be with you in the worst of circumstances than separated from you under the best of conditions.”

“But did you stop to consider what being with me meant? You are the daughter-in-law of a high-ranking Gestapo official, Beth. How can you make peace with that?”

“I did not marry your father—I married you. Besides I was raised to believe that the inner Light that guides us all dwells in every person. We have only to be still and wait, and eventually God will show us the way.”

“Even men like my father?”

“Oh Josef, surely you can see that he is doing the best he can manage. Imagine how torn he must have been when forced to choose between loyalty to the country he loves—the country you both love— and defending your actions. Actions that went against everything he believes. And still he found it in his heart to forgive you and to stand with you in your darkest hour.”

Josef studied the draft of the letter they’d been working on for hours now.

“Your father will most assuredly recognize your handwriting.”

The idea seemed to inspire him. “We should include some mention of my mother—that will get his attention.” He bent over a clean sheet of paper and started writing. A few minutes later he handed the paper to Beth:

“It’s perfect,” Beth said.

Josef nodded, but Beth did not miss the way he read the words again as if searching for some flaw.

“And after we deliver the letter to Edvard, we will sit in worship and pray for God to hold your parents in the Light and lead us all to a day of reunion once this terrible war is ended.”

The more Josef participated in the silent meetings attended by Beth, Anja and her grandparents, and a few of their neighbors, the more he found the kind of inner peace and understanding that he had sought almost from the day that Hitler had taken full power. At first his thoughts focused on regrets about the unfinished work of the White Rose. But then he considered the incredible courage it had taken to organize and execute the escape from Sobibor, and he began to see a connection. A positive connection, as if the road might be hard but it was indeed the right path.

The realization excited him, and at one evening’s meeting for worship he found himself on his feet and ready to speak for the first time. In other meetings others had sometimes spoken aloud, their observations always followed by a respectful return to silence before anyone else spoke. Other times the group sat in silence for over an hour, and no one said a word. No one had spoken on this day, but Josef felt as if he had to say something.

“I am a stranger here,” he began. “A stranger from another land and a stranger from another faith, yet I have never experienced such a sense of community—of friendship and caring and concern. I am so very grateful that I have come to this place. Beth has lived among Friends all her life, and it is through her that I have been brought to this Meeting.” He hesitated, looking at the small circle of friends gathered around the fireplace in the fishing cottage while outside a northern wind whistled warning of a coming storm. “I do have a concern, and it is that Beth and I were not able to be married in the traditions of her faith. Even so, I ask that you hold us in the Light as we hold each of you in the Light to face whatever the future may bring.”

He sat down, and as was their custom, no one spoke or reacted in any way. He closed his eyes. Part of him hoped he had not embarrassed Beth or spoken out of turn. And then he felt Beth’s fingers close around his, and he knew that the instinct to speak out had come from within— and it was absolutely right.