Songbird Under a German Moon (28 page)

Mickey's rejection couldn't compare with the sorrow—and even fear—she felt after Kat's death, but the pain was almost as acute—just in a different way. It seemed to stab the tender place in her heart where she'd tucked away her dreams.

Her dreams were something she'd held inside for as long as she could remember, and in the last year when she'd entertained at the canteen, it all seemed to be building to something greater—a wider audience for her songs.

Betty thought she'd achieved the pinnacle of her dreams when she came here, and although she had a lot to learn, she'd never expected Mickey to reject her as he had today. The sharpness of his words and disdain in his eyes made her question if she had any value. She thought she'd done well, but maybe the applause was more because she'd shown up.

Added to all that, she wondered why Frank hadn't been around.
Does he still care? Has he given up on me? Has he found someone else?

Maybe I've fooled myself. Maybe it's time I face reality. Fame isn't achieved overnight. True love isn't birthed within the span of a plane ride, jeep ride, six songs, and one date.

Realizing she'd let naïve, romantic ideals run away in her mind and heart made her feel empty and aimless. Or rather, it intensified the emptiness that lingered in the shadows of her soul. Feelings she'd tried to ignore.

Betty got back into bed and curled onto her side, pulling her blankets up under her chin. Thankfully, the shuffling underneath the floor had stopped. She took in a deep breath and then blew it out slowly, trying to think back to when she started feeling this way. The more she thought about it, the more she realized the aimlessness most likely started when she'd set her mind on singing for the USO. That made no sense. The USO meant she was doing what God had created her to do, right? From the time she was a child, everyone had told her that her voice was given to her by God. Not a Christmas pageant was held without her singing an angelic song. She'd sung in every school play. She sang because it sounded good and brought smiles to other people's faces.

When she was moved from the factory to the canteen, she gladly used her gift for a greater good. And when she heard about the auditions with the USO, it seemed right in line with what had been happening. She could bring smiles to more soldiers—those who longed for home. But it was only here, now, that she realized she'd never really prayed about it. She'd never sought to see if this was what God had planned for her life. If this was where He wanted her to go.

The fear that had been there moments before transformed into remorse. She rose and moved to the light switch, turning it on. Then she hurried to her dresser and pulled out her Bible, taking it back to bed with her.

Did I miss Your path completely, God? Am I completely off track?

She opened her Bible and turned to the bookmark she'd put there the last Sunday service before she left home. She looked again to the verse she had underlined, Psalm 37:7. “‘Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him,'” she whispered.

“Wait patiently? Is that what I was supposed to do, God? Did I run ahead?” She thought about that for a few minutes—trying to still her mind enough to think about God and how He saw the situation. She pictured her Heavenly Father looking down on her. Watching her smile as she sang. It seemed as if it would make Him happy to see her using her gift to bring smiles to others.

She also considered if she'd intentionally forced her will—pushing even though she felt God telling her to stop. She didn't think so. Even when her family questioned her decisions, she never felt as if she disobeyed God by pursuing the USO.

Of course, there was the way she handled it. Perhaps she could have figured out a different way to plan for the trip. A way that wouldn't have made her parents worry. She could have figured out a better way to treat her friend too. It wasn't very kind the way she made her take a bus to come get her car.

Lord, I'm sorry. Forgive me for not treating people as kindly as I could in my haste.

She had been selfish in the small things, but Betty felt her heart
had been in the right place when it came to singing. She truly wanted to bring joy to others, rather than build up her own name and find fame. She hadn't acted immorally to get this job—as many young women did in Hollywood. Yet, maybe in all her attempts to sing and serve she'd forgotten what it meant to care for others in small ways. More than that, she'd forgotten what faith was all about. She'd taken too little time to build a relationship with someone special—a loving God.

Meet Me. Come to Me.
She felt the words whisper in her soul.

“Lord, maybe being part of the USO
is
what You had planned. But maybe there is more than that. Are You asking me to quiet down and be prayerful before You?” She thought about how much she enjoyed seeing Frank and spending time with him—and that was only someone she'd known for a week. How much more should she enjoy spending time with God, praying to Him, thinking about His love, imagining His smiling face?

As she sat there, her back leaned against the wall, Betty considered the times over the past week when she'd said quick prayers to God, seeking His help. She'd prayed for safety on the plane. She'd prayed for comfort after Kat's death. She'd even prayed for answers about what really happened. But thinking back now, those were reactions more than communication. Sure, God wanted her to turn to Him, but maybe He wanted more. Maybe He wanted her to see Him there too—with her. Maybe instead of giving her an answer, He wanted to
be
the answer, the protection, the peace.

Is that what You want, God? Is that what You're trying to tell me?

Betty tried to remember what Pastor Lambert had preached
on her last Sunday at home. It was something to do with trusting God—or at least she thought that's what it had been about. She remembered she'd worn her favorite red dress and the choir had sung her mother's favorite hymn. They'd gone to her aunt's house for lunch and… Betty let her mind wander through the weeks prior, trying to remember any sermon she'd really listened to. Trying to remember any moment when she really felt connected with God. Maybe she'd been keeping God at arm's length longer than she thought.

The thing was, she'd been able to get by with that then. Or maybe the emptiness had been more manageable, since her life had been filled with so many other good things.

But now?

Now she didn't know how she'd make it through the day if she continued to keep God at arm's length. She wasn't in a safe, protected place anymore. She wasn't surrounded by people who loved her singing whether she did a good job or not. She didn't know what waited for her outside the front door. She needed God as she'd never needed Him before.

She placed her Bible on the dresser, hurried over and turned off the light, and then jumped back into bed, snuggling under the covers again. And as she closed her eyes, Betty realized how needy she was. Yet now she saw her need differently. In all those places she felt scared, empty, and incomplete, she knew God would come in and fill them with Himself. Even as she lay there thinking of Him, she felt His sweet, gentle presence seeping in—filling her to overflowing, as He'd promised.

And even though nothing had changed on the outside, knowing God was with her flooded her with more of His special, supernatural peace than she'd felt in a very long time. Even though Kat's bed was empty and the world outside could be harsh, God gave her an assurance that He was there. And that if she looked to Him, all would be well—if not always outwardly, then deep in her heart.

Frank spread the photos on his bed, looking at them in the mid-morning light. Art had been up and out of the house early, shooting photos of buildings at various stages of cleanup and construction.

When Frank wasn't watching the Festspielhaus from afar, he'd looked at the photos a dozen times over the last few days. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't put his finger on what.
Kat looks too peaceful.
For some reason he thought she shouldn't look that peaceful. But the thing that bothered Frank the most was the fact that there seemed to be no trauma on her body. There was just that one small bruise. No cuts. Nothing.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe she did walk into the pond and drown herself.
If someone had done this to her, Kat would have put up a fight.

Yet even as he thought that, something inside told Frank to keep looking for the truth. To not give up. He'd prayed about it a lot—trying to decide what to do. In fact, the only time he wasn't thinking about what had happened to Kat was when he was in class. He and two hundred other guys had hopes of getting their high school diplomas before shipping home. Sometimes he felt like
a dope for being there, trying to learn algebra again. Still, he'd stick with it. He knew where he wanted to be, what he wanted to offer, before he got more serious with Betty.

A knock sounded on his door, and Frank jumped.

“Hey, why is the door locked? You got a girl in there or something?” Art called.

“No—just trying to nap. Don't want to have any bad Germans getting me while I'm snoozing.” Frank gathered up the photos and slipped them under his blankets. Then he strode to the door, unlocked it, and stepped back.

Art had a sly look on his face, and he quickly glanced inside the room as if expecting to see a girl there. He walked in with a disappointed look.

“I don't know why you're so concerned—why you think you need to lock the door.” Art chuckled. “You'd just be
another
body in their books—in their morgue. It's not like they haven't seen enough around here already.”

“What do you mean ‘another' body? They haven't found another body, have they?”

“I'm not talking about the suicide. I'm talking about the fact they're still pulling bodies out of the rubble. One guy I was talking to, working with the clean-up crews, said they unearthed three hundred German soldiers caught in their barracks by American bombers. Been there since April. What a mess.”

“I wonder if I was on that bombing run. I seem to remember flying over this area.”

“I wondered the same thing.”

“Actually, I don't understand why we don't have more murders—problems,” Frank said. “Maybe whatever happened to Kat was because she was at the wrong place at the wrong time. The Festspielhaus is surrounded by forests. Who knows who's lurking out there?”

“So you really think it was something more than suicide?” Art asked. “I talked to Denzel, and he said your thinking that way is a bad idea. He told me what went on down in his office.”

Frank crossed his arms over his chest and turned to the window. “Did he tell you how he just sat there and didn't stick up for me? Didn't say a word?” Frank tried to keep his voice calm. He'd already talked to God about his feelings of betrayal a number of times, and didn't want to stir up those angry feelings again.

Art sat on his cot and removed his boots. “If I were to go with my gut feeling, I'd side with you. There's a lot more going on in those woods than anyone realizes.” He leaned back on his bed and put his feet up. “I was talking to a guy today who supervises whole work crews of former German soldiers. Just him, his gun, and one hundred prisoners-of-war.”

“So how's it going? Does he have many
Volkstrom,
soldiers, running away?”

“There were some, he guessed. But for every one he loses, he gains three more.”

“I don't understand. How is that possible?” Frank sat on his bed, being careful not to disturb the photos.

“Well, every day the prisoners get a hearty breakfast, they work all day, and then we feed them a good meal at night too. That's more food than the average German citizen gets—and it's far more than
those former German soldiers have, hidden in the woods. That soldier said they head out with one hundred and then he counts them when they come back—99, 100, 101, 102…”

“I wonder how many more are out there?” Frank shook his head. “All it takes is one guy with a big grudge to do something like what happened with Kat.” Frank rose and tucked his .45 Colt into the wooden holster. “There's not a person in town who admits they were a Nazi, but I have a feeling it's the quiet before the storm. Hatred doesn't disappear just because somebody signed a peace treaty.”

“So, where you headin'?” Art yawned.

“First mess, then class, and then the Festspielhaus tonight.”

“Oh yeah, I heard about that show to honor Kat. I think I'll try to make it. I might try to sneak in Magdalena. She told me she was interested in seeing a show.”

“I'll look for you there.” Frank opened the door, glancing to where the photos were hidden. Art had never messed with his things before, and he hoped that would still be the case.