From Dust and Ashes (13 page)

Thirteen

MAY 27, 1945

A
fter Michaela’s discovery, Helene tried to keep as low a profile as possible. It wasn’t that Michaela did or said anything to make her uncomfortable. But Helene sensed the awkwardness as easily as she felt the cold winds that blew in from the east. Michaela was polite, and Lelia had even started getting up and around more. Still, Helene wondered if things would ever be right again.

On the second day, Helene went for an evening stroll by the Danube. When she returned, her father and Anika were playing in the backyard. And inside, she discovered Michaela sitting on the sofa alone, her eyes red and puffy. Helene stepped closer, concerned that the woman’s fever had returned. Yet when Helene neared, she realized Michaela had been crying.

The woman’s frail legs were stretched in front of her, covered with a blanket Helene’s mother had crocheted. Michaela’s eyes were still sunken in and her cheekbones hollow. Yet there was something about her that made Helene want to risk breaking down the walls she’d so carefully built around her emotions.

Michaela patted the space beside her. Helene felt a chill pass through her. She moved to the sofa with awkward steps, then sat, straightening her blouse over her round stomach.

“I won’t say I’m not sorry to discover who you are.” Michaela’s voice broke the silence. “I have to admit I wanted you to say it wasn’t true. That our conclusions were mistaken.”

“I wish I could say they were.” Helene lowered her gaze. “I am what they say.”

“Can you tell me the whole story?” Michaela asked. “Help me understand why you would marry an SS camp guard?”

The words caused Helene’s heart to pound. She wet her lips and inhaled deeply, summoning the courage to relive her past.

“I was young and stupid,” she began. “Just seventeen when I met Friedrich.”

“Lelia’s age now,” Michaela whispered.

“My mother died years earlier, and my father seemed like an old man who didn’t understand me. We had to work hard to keep the inn going, and I resented him for it. It was busy in those days—before the Nazis came. There was always someone to cook and clean for. On weekends, when my friends went to the cinema in Linz, I had to stay behind to work.”

“It must have been difficult,” Michaela said.

“Ja. But I didn’t see it as hard, just constricting. I wanted freedom, and Friedrich offered that. Or so I thought.”

“Did you meet him here at the inn?”

“No, in town. At the beginning of the war. I was doing the daily shopping, and he and some friends were sitting on the front steps of the store. Our eyes met as I climbed the stairs. He was so handsome. Tall, with blond hair and a contagious smile. That is what drew me most, his smile.”

Michaela tilted her head, obviously intrigued. “Did he say anything when he saw you?”

“Not then, but later—on the walk home. He offered to carry my groceries. He asked my name, about my family, and a million other questions. It wasn’t until we arrived at my walkway that I realized I’d been talking the whole time.”

“When did you find out who he was?”

Helene tapped a finger against her lower lip. “Friedrich told me right away that he’d come to town with the
Waffen
SS. The war had already begun, and Hitler was building a work camp for prisoners of war. Friedrich guarded the construction site during the evening hours.”

Helene twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “The main camp, Mauthausen, had been on the hill for a few years at that point, but I really didn’t know much about it. I’d seen some prisoners as they journeyed from the work details back to the camp. At that time I thought a subcamp would be better for the prisoners because they would be closer to their work.” She shook her head. “How foolish I was.”

Michaela’s gaze was intent.

Helene took a minute, trying to decide how much to share. Finally she began again. “We started seeing each other every day after that. Friedrich would wait by the tree near the road and walk me to the store. Then he’d take me home again. None of my friends nor I knew much about the Waffen-SS or how it compared to the regular German army. He wore a uniform, was proud of his nation and willing to fight for its honor. He’d traveled in Germany and Belgium. I’d hardly left St. Georgen. I was stunned that he’d be so interested in me, and honestly, I felt an incredible need to have someone love me after so many years of just me and my father.”

Helene gauged Michaela’s expression but could not determine what emotion stirred in her eyes as she waited to hear more.

“The townspeople adored Friedrich,” Helene continued. “What they didn’t see, hidden behind the charming facade, was a haunted soul that could attack at any moment.” She paused, trying to quench the flood of memories. “Friedrich was like a pup you instinctively want to pet, yet if you stroke the wrong way, he’ll turn on you.”

Michaela pulled the blanket tighter around her.

“Of course, I was fooled in the beginning. I was sure he was my perfect match. But my father didn’t feel the same.”

“What did he do?” Michaela asked.

“One day he caught Friedrich sneaking me a kiss behind the apple tree. Father was furious. He dragged me inside the house. He said no daughter of his was allowed to find comfort in the arms of a Nazi! That took me by surprise. I didn’t know my father’s beliefs before then. At that time it was dangerous to go against Nazi ideals, so he thought it better I not know.”

Helene took a deep breath, amazed at all she’d just shared. The darkness outside and the lamplight within the room had transformed the window into a mirror, perfectly reflecting the two of them. Weeks ago they had resided on opposite sides of a literal fence. Today they sat together physically, but the barrier between them was thick.

Look at us, sharing the same sofa, a prisoner listening to the cares of a Nazi wife
. Helene only wished she had a more heroic story to tell.

“I left home and stayed with a friend. I swore I’d never come back. A few months later, when my Aryan heritage had been proven, Friedrich and I were married before a Nazi magistrate. Those first few weeks of marriage were everything I’d ever hoped for. Then one night…”

“One night?” Michaela’s gaze met Helene’s in the reflection.

Helene wrapped her arms around herself. Michaela placed a hand on her shoulder.

“The cattle cars couldn’t make it into camp. It had been snowing all day. I’d seen the cars before but never gave them much thought. They went in, they went out. I knew prisoners were loaded on them, and I just assumed they were enemy soldiers. But that night—”

Her voice caught and the words refused to budge. Michaela’s touch moved from her shoulder to her hand.

“I heard their voices,” Helene said finally. “Women and children.” Her voice faltered. Helene glanced at Michaela and noticed tears in her eyes. She felt ill.

“I’m so sorry,” Helene blurted out. “I didn’t mean to cause you to hurt all over again.”

Michaela brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t be silly. The hurt is there. It always will be. But crying is a good thing. My mother always said tears water the garden of your heart. If there were no tears, there would be no life.”

Helene thought about Friedrich’s lack of emotion in the last few years. His smile had vanished, and so had his tears.

“Friedrich pretended to sleep.” Helene rubbed her stomach. “But I could tell he was awake. I begged him to do something, but he refused. I put on my boots to try myself, but he wouldn’t let me leave. He pulled me away from the door and threw me across the room.”

Helene choked back a sob. “My husband died that night. The next morning a new man took his place. A man who didn’t flinch over the cries of dying children. One who could ruin lives without batting an eye.”

Helene’s fingers clenched into fists. “But I kept listening, kept seeing, kept living with the ache. I knew the moment I stopped weeping for the suffering, my heart would die along with Friedrich’s … and my soul with it.”

Helene turned to Michaela. “When Friedrich left for good, I—”

“You came to the camp,” Michaela said. “To us.”

“Yes. I finally had a chance to do something, to put into action what my heart had felt all along. Unfortunately, for many, it was too late.”

“You are brave.” Michaela wrapped a thin arm around Helene’s shoulder the way an older sister would. “And for that I owe you my life.”

“If I could have found a way to help sooner, maybe others would have been saved.”

“The Lord knows, Helene. He knew when the time was right. He knew when you were ready. He knows your heart. Trust in that.”

A breeze stirred the air, and Helene realized the window was still open. She heard the new leaves rustling on the aspen outside.

“Now I must admit something to you,” Michaela said. “There were many I should have helped. Whenever I see Lelia, I wonder if I could have done more for her family, or even mine. It’s easy to notice the faults of others while ignoring your own.” She squeezed Helene’s hand. “God brought us together. I know that.”

“I’ve never thought much about God,” Helene admitted. “Do you really think He had a part in bringing me to you?”

“I know He did.”

Helene rested her head against Michaela’s shoulder. “How?”

“You came during the darkest moment of my life. The Americans had too many prisoners to try to help, and Lelia and I were very sick. So I prayed. I prayed for an angel of deliverance to lift me out of hell.”

Helene’s heart stuck in her throat. The thought that she could be the answer to someone’s prayers astonished her.

“To be honest,” Michaela continued, “I was praying for death. Death surrounded me. In piles of bodies, in walking skeletons, in ash that fell on my head. I longed to become that ash, to be free from the pain. But instead, God sent you.”

“I’m far from an angel.” Helene rose. “You know that now.”

“God works in mysterious ways indeed.” Michaela smiled. “Perhaps He knew the prayer of your heart also. Maybe He knew you needed me as much as I needed you.”

Helene saw no pride in Michaela’s face. Yet it was true. Michaela had given her far more than she ever would have imagined. “I guess you can say we are each other’s answered prayers.” Helene closed the window. “An answer to a prayer I didn’t know I’d prayed.”

Helene gazed at the reflection. Their images shimmered through her unshed tears, and for a moment she caught a glimpse of the woman Michaela must have once been. Helene’s heartbeat quickened and a strange tingling shimmied down her arms.

Then Helene focused on her own reflection, and an even more amazing thing occurred. For through her tears, she saw not who she had been, nor who she was, but who she could be.

Arno stood on the edge of the woods, his hands clenching and unclenching. He’d seen the transport in the distance. This was his chance. His one shot. In the next few minutes he was either going to pull off the biggest ruse of his life, or he’d just signed his own death warrant.

Friedrich’s mother’s cottage was still visible from where he sat. Arno had to admit, he liked the old woman. She was everything her son was not. Kind, generous, witty.

After sending Henri to deliver Friedrich’s letter, Arno had stayed almost two weeks with Mrs. Völkner, saying he was Friedrich’s closest friend—which wasn’t far from the truth. The old woman had shared stories of Friedrich’s childhood and his time in service to his country. She even shared news about her daughter-in-law and granddaughter, although she hadn’t had the opportunity to meet either one.

“This terrible war keeps me from my grandchild,” she’d said in frustration.

He’d patiently listened to the woman’s prattling, then helped her with handyman’s work around the cottage. But Henri’s first assumption had been right. She knew nothing.

After the first week, the old woman began to show him Friedrich’s letters, starting back with his first SS training days at Dachau. The young, impressionable soldier had written of the inspiring Avenue of the SS, which faced Eike Plaza.

“It’s a wide two-lane road with a lawn down the middle,”
Friedrich had written.
“Massive administration buildings and barracks line the roads. Everything is neat and orderly and beautiful.”

As he read, Arno wondered why Friedrich hadn’t also mentioned the death camp and prison. Had he thought it too offensive for his venerable mother?

A stack of letters later, Arno learned Friedrich had indeed been stationed as a clerk in Vienna.
“We SS soldiers are held to higher standards and are subjected to the strictest discipline,”
Friedrich wrote during his first days in the service.
“I strive to do my job well.”

Arno continued reading. A few months into Friedrich’s stay in Vienna, the news took on a more social nature as obviously the young man discovered that the life of a respected solider drew the favor of many.

“Last night, I was treated to an amazing performance of Richard Wagner’s ‘Götterdämmerung’ at the State Opera. 217 people were in attendance, but I was lucky enough to enjoy row 12.”

It was foolishness. The later letters were filled with even more descriptions of useless daily activities and boring stories. Tales only a mother could choke down.