Safe Haven (20 page)

She held tight to Liesl’s small hand. It worried her how stoically the little girl had taken the news of her father’s death.

“Papa is at peace now?” she had asked when Ilse returned from the hospital the day after Franz had been taken there. Suzanne had stayed through the night as she had promised, and her hands rested lightly on Liesl’s thin shoulders.

“Yes, Liebchen.”

Liesl had run to Ilse and hugged her, but instead of the wails of grief that Ilse might have expected, Liesl said, “We will be all right, Mama.”

Her daughter comforting her had been more than Ilse could endure, and she had broken down in sobs. Suzanne had stepped forward then and embraced both Ilse and Liesl. “Come and rest,” she said softly. “I’ll make you some tea. Liesl, will you help?”

All through the following days as arrangements were made, Liesl had remained stoic. Even now seated beside Ilse at the funeral, she remained dry eyed.

Theo introduced the service, describing the usual ritual for the many people there who had never attended a Quaker funeral. “A funeral in our faith is called ‘Meeting for Worship in Thanksgiving for the Grace of God,’ and it focuses on two things: honoring the life of the deceased and experiencing the presence of God’s spirit in this hour.” He glanced at the closed pine casket in the center of several circles of chairs and added, “Everyone who is so inspired may speak regardless of age, gender, or religious beliefs. In our faith all are equal in the sight of God. We ask only that you allow time for silence between each spoken ministry.”

Theo took his seat next to his parents, and the silent worship began. After several minutes, Franz’s sister, Ellie, stood and spoke of her memories of her brother when the two of them had been children in Germany. Her memorial was followed by more silence.

All Ilse could think about was that Ellie was talking about a stranger. Ilse and Franz had both been nearly thirty when they met at a reception at the university. He had been awarded a prize for his research, and the reception had been in his honor. Ilse’s friend who worked at the university had invited her to attend, and the moment she had seen Franz she had felt her heart leap.

In those days he had been so handsome and his eyes—always filled with kindness and curiosity—had met hers when her friend introduced them. He had invited the two of them to join him for a beer at the local
Gasthaus
following the event. Her friend had begged off, citing a headache, but she had insisted that Franz and Ilse go without her. He had walked her home and asked if he could call on her the following evening. Six months later, they had married.

She closed her eyes, remembering their wedding day, remembering the day—years later—when they had learned she was pregnant just when they had given up all hope of ever having a child and how Franz’s eyes had filled with tears of joy. She thought of the war years—the first war before she’d known him and then this one. She thought of the times she had wasted wallowing in fear and depression and regretted the worry and pain she knew that she had caused him.

Forgive me, my love
.

Breaking the silence, Joseph Smart talked about how Franz had embraced life within the fort despite the challenges. “He was a wonderful teacher and for many of you the key to learning our American ways and language. I believe he was happiest in the hours he spent organizing our little library. I know he preferred that to some of his other chores—shoveling coal in the barracks, for example.”

Ilse saw several people smile and nod.

“Franz Schneider was a gentle man and a quiet leader, and he will be missed,” Mr. Smart said and sat down.

More silence and then Gisele stood and recounted the time that Franz had told her of his involvement with the White Rose resistance group back in Germany. “I looked at this mild-mannered professor and could not believe what he was telling me, yet I knew of that group, and he was telling me things only a member would know. Franz Schneider was a hero for Germany who was hunted and imprisoned by the Nazis but who never forgot his native roots. There was a time when I—like many others—hated all Germans. Professor Schneider taught me the lessons of forgiveness and discernment.”

Ilse thought of how frightened she had been in the days back in Munich when Franz would leave for a “meeting,” and she knew that he was not speaking of a faculty meeting or meeting with other Quakers. How angry she had been at him sometimes for risking his life—risking her life and Liesl’s. But now she felt such a sense of pride that Franz had never surrendered to the terror and intimidation of Hitler’s thugs. In his view they had occupied his country as surely as they had marched into Austria or Poland or France.

After a long silence and as she had requested, her brother-in-law Paul was the last to stand. He removed a paper from his coat pocket and unfolded it then adjusted his reading glasses and cleared his throat.

“In 1693, William Penn—a devout Quaker and founder of the colony of Pennsylvania—wrote these words: ‘And this is the comfort of the Good that the grave cannot hold them, and that they live as soon as they die. For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity.’”

He refolded the paper, sat in silence for a moment longer, and then turned to Joseph Smart and offered him a firm handshake, signaling the end of the service. Director Smart walked over to where Ilse and Liesl sat. He murmured words of sympathy and consolation meant only for them. He was a good man—a man who had made it his business to attend every event that involved the refugees, regardless of their faith or traditions. Ilse thanked him for his help. “Franz so enjoyed his work with the library,” she said.

“He did us all a great service,” the director replied.

“Will we—my daughter and I—need to move to the women’s barracks?” Ilse asked. She had always been one to address practical matters as soon as possible.

“No, of course not. You and Liesl are still a family, Ilse.”

“Thank you.”

Director Smart stepped back to allow others to offer their condolences.

Ilse stood with Ellie and Paul and Theo as those attending the service stopped to speak with them. Because they were the only Quakers in the shelter and there was no gathering of the Religious Society of Friends in the Oswego area, most of those people who grasped her hands and murmured words of comfort were Jewish. It struck Ilse that in life’s passages—moments of celebration and sorrow—barriers of religion and politics disappeared. Everyone was on common ground, and that more than anything consoled her, for she knew that Franz would be touched by this outpouring of respect and even affection for him.

When the last person had left the recreation hall, heading for the cemetery in town where Franz would be buried, Ilse realized that it had been some time since she had seen Liesl. Her heart flared with familiar anxiety as she realized that with Franz gone, she and she alone was responsible for raising their child and keeping her safe.

“Coming, Ilse?” Ellie asked. “Paul is getting the car.”

“I just have to find Liesl. You go ahead.”

Alone in the hall, Ilse turned in a circle, not knowing where to begin to search for her daughter. Then she heard a single note struck on the old upright piano that had been pushed into a corner to make room for the circles of chairs. She followed the sound and saw Liesl sitting on the bench, staring at the keys.

“Papa wanted me to learn to play the piano,” Liesl said, her voice little more than a whisper. “I told him there was plenty of time for me to do that later.” Ilse realized that for all her taking on of American ways, Liesl had never called Franz “Dad”—he had always been her papa. Liesl started to cry and splayed her hands on the keys, striking a jarring chord that filled the empty hall.

Ilse slid onto the bench next to her and wrapped her arms around her. “You can learn now. You can do it in memory of Papa. Think how pleased he would be.”

“I’ll practice every single day,” Liesl promised. “Do you think Papa will know?”

Ilse hesitated. Some in their faith believed in an afterlife, and others did not. Ilse was unsure of her position on the matter, but she understood that the idea that Franz was somewhere watching Liesl play the piano gave the child comfort. “Yes,” she said, hugging her daughter to her. “Papa will know.”

As he drove to the cemetery, Theo kept reliving the service that had just ended. After explaining the tradition of the Quaker faith to the mostly non-Quaker gathering, he had thought of sharing his memories of Franz but decided against it. He had barely known his uncle. His sister, Beth, should be the one here speaking of the man she had lived with for eight years in Munich. But Beth was still in England awaiting permission to leave with her German husband and their daughter. Besides, Beth was expecting a second child anytime now.

His mind had wandered as first one and then another person rose to speak. Finally his eyes had settled on Suzanne sitting with Gisele across from the family. Theo was reminded of the conversation they had once had about faith. He’d been surprised to learn that she had been raised as a Quaker and even more surprised to learn that she no longer practiced that or any faith.

“How can you believe in a god who would allow a monster like Hitler?” she had challenged.

“I believe that every person is born with the spirit of God already inside and that it is our choice whether or not we bring that spirit into our daily lives.” He knew that she had believed the same thing but something had changed that, and for reasons he could not fully grasp, he thought it had to do with something far more personal than Hitler’s regime.

All during the funeral, he glanced up at Suzanne from time to time, trying to decide if perhaps she might once again feel the power of that inner Light. But she sat stone still with her hands folded in her lap and stared out the window behind him. It occurred to him that she had spent a good part of her adult life in Washington, and he wondered if the political world might not be partially to blame for her jaded attitude. Then he wondered if he won election to Congress and moved to Washington, would he suffer a similar loss?

After spending the night in the frigid apartment with Liesl and witnessing Ilse’s grief at the loss of her beloved husband, Suzanne had come to a decision. She was going to stay in Oswego and see this thing through to the end. If that meant she had no job—or income—so be it. She still had some savings, and perhaps Joseph Smart or the local newspaper would give her some part-time work.

Obviously the funeral was not the place to broach the subject with the camp’s director, but she could at least ask if she could meet with him. So when she found herself standing next to him in line at the meal Gisele and several other women had set up for the mourners when they returned from the cemetery, she asked if it would be convenient for her to stop by his office the following day.

“Another interview, Miss Randolph?” Smart smiled.

“Of sorts,” she replied. They agreed to meet at two the following day.

She would have to call Edwin and let him know of her decision, and she dreaded making that call at the boardinghouse where Hilda would no doubt be listening from the upstairs hallway. Perhaps if she made the call while everyone was at breakfast, the table conversation would make it impossible for Hilda to eavesdrop.

She was so engrossed with the details of carrying out her plans that at first she did not notice the man standing alone near the exit. There were dozens of guests all crowding around the buffet to fill their plates and share memories of Franz, but this man drew her attention by the way he stood half in and half out of the room as if he could not make up his mind.

He wore an overcoat that was too small for him, and he carried a fedora. He fixed his attention on Ilse, and Suzanne saw that he watched her with concern. There was something familiar about him, but she could not place him. She had interviewed at least a couple hundred of the residents of the shelter, but this man was not one of them. Still there was something.

She started across the room, weaving her way through the throng to reach the doorway. She wanted to get a closer look, and she had almost reached the exit when the way cleared and she saw that he was gone. She turned to scan the room and almost tilted her plate filled with food onto Theo’s shirt.