Like a Rose

A single white rose, the flower petals dripping dark blood, was tightly clenched in my fingers. Its smooth ingrained surface with needle-tipped thorns and velvet soft petals reminded me that life was precious; life was fragile like this rose. The usual night noises of the woods surrounded me, reminding me that no matter who died, life went on as it always has, hardly acknowledging those who returned to dust. Taking in a deep breath, I listened mutely to the crickets that played their song, to the night birds calling out to their companions, and to the bleating of the sheep from the farm down the road. I simply stared . . . stared at the gravestone marked:

Wilhelm Keitel

Loving Brother

June 3, 1924—February 26, 1942

I knew father would never visit, let alone care what my eldest brother's grave stone said, but part of me wished and hoped that father would come anyways, just to see his son.

As I stood at the gravesite, an eerie calm wrapped itself around me, and somehow I couldn't accept the fact that he's gone. All I felt was the calm assurance that Wilhelm was still in Italy, fighting for Nazi Germany, the country he loves so dearly he would do most anything to protect it, even serve in Hitler's army. A sad smile parted my lips as the smell of kaffee filled my nose. I could see the hall with its rich colored carpeting and see the two men guarding the door to a room where my father was. I can hear them laugh . . . .

Laughter . . . there was so much laughter. The doors to the large dining hall spread open like wings while two Leibstandarte in their Erdgrau, or earth-grey, uniforms stood at rapt attention. As I approached, however, they stopped me, asking for my name.

"Lieselotte," I replied. The bodyguards exchanged glances. "Look, my Vater is in there, General Keitel. You can ask him if you like."

"What is a young girl like you running around for?" One of the guards was burly and gave off a mock authority. He wore the usual black uniform of Hitler's SS, his shoulder sporting a totenkopf.

I didn't reply, instead looking at him with a defiant manner. The burly guard then motioned for his companion to leave, to go see if what I said was true. While we waited I stood there, laughing inwardly at his stupidity. Minutes passed, and when the other guard did return, he whispered something in the burly man's ear, his face paling at his companion's news.

"My apologies, Fräulein. I did not recognize you," his words spilled from his lips quickly, nervously. He was afraid that I would say something to my father.

"What is your name," and looking at his neck I saw he sported a single mark on his collar, making him an Untersturmführer.

He paled again, looking to his companion for help. The Waffen-SS system was difficult to rise in without a recommendation from one's superior. As a personal guard for Hitler himself, it would be even more challenging because he was hard to please.

As I defiantly lifted my head, I stared him down, then proceeded into the conference room where the men's laughter continued to flow. Upon entering, my father saw me and motioned for me to join him. I took the empty chair beside him and flinched as he hastily ushered me forward, towards the country's most loved and despised man.

When I was at the head of the table, my eyes downcast and breath short lived, I sensed the hush enveloping the room as a bad sign. After a few minutes, I carefully looked up, meeting the Führer's direct gaze. His lips curled into a smile then, but the smile never reached his eyes.

"What a lovely daughter you have, General."

The atmosphere was thick.

"She's the spitting image of her mother," my father said with a twitch of his mustache. My mother was not a topic easily discussed in public. Father felt his personal business was meant to stay at home. And I rightly agreed with him. It was never certain what the Führer would do next and he wasn't one for not getting his way, by any means possible.

"Führer," Eric Koch, the civil commissioner, spoke up.

"Yes, back to business," Hitler replied, his eyes still trained intensely on me.

Uneasiness crept up in my stomach and I excused myself for the restroom. As I headed in that general direction, I passed a few others who were accompanying the General's. Amongst them were a few women, all too old for me to hold an interesting conversation with, and undoubtedly the wives or mistresses of the Generals. But in the corner, sitting in one of the chairs along the wall was a boy, a year older than I, who I knew quite well. He was the son of Commissioner Koch and was named Niklaus. He was tall with dark brown hair and startling blue eyes that followed me as I passed, making my heart skip.

After spending several minutes calming myself down in the restroom, I headed out into the dining hall, thinking about seeing Niklaus's eyes on me again when I heard an eruption of arguing and a few yells. Startled, I shrank back to the wall, my leg bumping a chair that was next to me. To my right Niklaus chuckled, his voice inaudible over my father's loud protest.

"Absolutely not!"

"I want Russia," Hitler replied without emotion. He seemed calm, the perfect image of someone in complete control.

"Russia is gathering forces, if we cannot successfully obtain England . . . ."

A loud bang sounded—Hitler's fist hitting the table—making me jump back against the wall again. There was more laughing from Niklaus, causing the heat of embarrassment to touch my face.

"I don't care," the Führer raged, "I want the Soviet Union and I will have Operation Barbarossa carried out as planned, regardless of what you think. You've been wrong before, Keitel, and I won't have this operation go bad or fail because of your uncertainties."

Looking over to Niklaus, he motioned to the chair next to him and I reluctantly sat, glad to be as far away from Hitler as possible. It wasn't safe to be around him when he was in one of his moods.

"So, Lieselotte, you're father decided to bring you along again, eh?" Niklaus' mischievous grin made me curious. What was he up to now?

"I'm guessing it's the same reason your father brought you here as well, am I right?" I smiled as he frowned. "He had to make sure you stayed out of trouble. We all know how rebellisch you are."

"Yes, just as we all know how schön you are. Lovely enough to get away with your rebellion," he winked. Motioning closer to me he whispered, "I bet you're worse than me. Let's be partners."

I couldn't help laughing. Shocked, Niklaus withdrew and mumbled something under his breath. "Niklaus," I said trying to breathe, "If we were partners, my Vater would think we were getting married."

He racked his fingers through his dark hair. "I have no problem with that."

I furrowed my brows and said, "Of course not, you'd marry me any chance you could. And I'd much rather hand you over to those Englanders than marry the likes of you."

It was then that I noticed no one was talking. The room had gone silent and my father was studying me with an emotionless expression. The Civil Commissioner was fidgeting in his chair while Hitler was near the door, a commander whispering something to him.

It was at that moment I chose to dutifully join my father's side, ignoring Niklaus' smirk. When the Führer returned to his seat a few minutes after, I tried my best not to let my hatred for him show.

Hitler had made his point concerning Operation Barbarossa it seemed so the meeting continued with little resistance and few words. At the end, my father had me meet with him in the hall just outside the conference room. I was at a small table where kaffee was and poured him a cup.

"Lieselotte," he sighed. "We have a situation."

I handed the warm, delicate cup to him, which he took gratefully.

"Günther is missing, and . . . ." he took a deep breath. "Wilhelm is dead."

My heart stopped for a fraction of a second at his next words. I fought to think, to wrap my mind around what he had just said.

"When did this happen?"

"I received the message a few days ago," he admitted distractedly. Taking a sip of the kaffee, he began to walk towards the other side of the room, as if he were going to go back to the conference hall.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I questioned harshly.

"I didn't want to believe it when I read it," he paused. Then, looking over to the other Generals who were chatting with their family, he said, "I thought you would like to know."

My immediate reaction was fury, then the energy from my anger drained me, causing me to fall back into a chair a foot behind me. I sat there, staring into the empty hall, too numb to do anything.

A woman in a dress suit rushed over, her blonde hair in a tight bun, face masked with concern. "General, we have . . . ." she went on about a security risk, something someone sent over the code lines. I couldn't focus on the words being exchanged; my mind was trained on Günther and Wilhelm.

What had happened to them? Where was Günther now?

Now, at the grave of my eldest brother, Wilhelm, holding a bloody rose, I thought back, back to that day father had given me the news and I couldn't help not crying. I didn't bother to wipe them away, knowing no one was here but me.

My brothers had been in Italy when father had gotten the news. So, Wilhelm's remains were recovered from Italy where he and Günther were stationed and brought here, to this humble grave in the mist of our home, covered by the woods which we shared as an escape from reality when we were children. Wilhelm would often hunt in these woods during the fall, usually dragging Günther with him, both of them not knowing I would follow at a distance so I could admire my brothers hunting skills.

"Why have you left us," I whispered, suddenly feeling quite alone. "Why did you have to die? I hate you, I hate that you left me here, alone with Vater. Who will protect me from his temper now? You should've never gone in." A small laugh, filled with crazed indifference struggled its way from my throat. "But of course it's not your fault. Günther was forced by Vater, it was only natural for you to go in to make father happy, even though nothing ever pleases him. He's almost as intolerable a person as Hitler, even if he disagrees with much of the Führer's plans." Large tears were sliding down my cheeks, the chilled air making them feel like ice-lets too cold to move, like the rest of me felt. My breath came out in ragged puffs of white and vanished as if they never existed, just like my brother. No one would remember him, no one but me. Father didn't even cry. He went about his business as usual, heartless and fixed in his ways, a springing tyrant, rising from the ashes like a phoenix.

Bracing myself against a tree, I let old childhood memories that pushed their way into my mind enclose my being. I wasn't ready to give in quite yet to the reality. My brother couldn't be dead, could he? Just months ago he was home, smiling and laughing with us at the supper table, his joking manner prodding Günther and his usual means of revenge. They were two brothers bent on torturing each other when left alone to their vices, and two brothers united when father returned with orders on his lips. And me; yes, when it came to me they were two brothers: responsible, enigmatic, carefully behaved, and most of all, loving. They protected me from father, from his angry tirades and rage-filled rants that led to glasses being thrown against the walls and tables being overturned about the house. That was on a good day. On a bad day, when father would drink in his sorrows, he would blunder in a stupor in his chair, going on about Hitler and his rise to power while he was on the sidelines; a mere General, treated without regard. He often spoke out loud, as if the Führer were standing before him in the room, listening to his complacencies and complaints.

After that, father would feel satisfied with his conversation with the pretend Führer and search for my mother, who had left a year ago, declaring she was tired of his ambitious banter about world power and dominance. She didn't want any of it, so she went to stay with her sister in Munich.

I came to my senses immediately. I was back in the woods near our home. I once more felt the cold wind hitting my face, smelled the rose in my hand, and heard a branch snap. I jumped, whipping around to face what had been behind me only to see a doe, gracefully lift her head and stare at me in alarm. I quietly laughed at my fear, blinked away my tears and returned to the matter at hand. Except, the doe bounded off in my peripheral and I felt the presence of another person at the same moment. My heart leapt as I stumbled backwards, brushing off the hand that had landed on my shoulder, while the rose fell on the fresh mound of earth covering Wilhelm's body. Splayed out on the leaf covered ground, I sighed with relief. Standing before me was no stranger.

"Günther," I breathed, taking the hand he held out to me, "you scared me."

He laughed, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. The falling sun just caught the gleam of sorrow in them before it vanished, leaving a hollowness in my core. He was home, but the danger wasn't over yet.

"Why did you come back? If they find you," I started, but couldn't finish because I couldn't bring myself to say it. They will kill you and you'll be in a grave next to our brother.

"I had no choice," he said taking a step towards me. "They took us hostage, the Englanders. They . . . ." Günther's face took on a far off expression that worried me.

"Where did they take you?" I pried, feeling chills crawl along my skin. I was afraid of what his answer would be, but I felt a dire need to know.

"We were fighting and Wilhelm fell; he got nicked by a bullet. There were shells coming every direction we looked. I couldn't see over the trench . . . ." He slid down the side of the tombstone, his eyes so sad, holding so distant a look, I decided to curl up next to him and hug him, comfort him like mother would when we were children.

"When the noise stopped, and everything was deathly silent, Wilhelm smacked me on the shoulder, telling me to man up. I hadn't even noticed the tears falling at seeing the blood on him. He said it didn't hurt, that he barely got grazed, so I told him okay, asked what we were supposed to do now." Günther shuddered and I laid my head on his shoulder, holding his freezing hands in my warm ones. "That's when the Englanders came. They charged at us and we were pushed back towards the mountains, towards rough ground. There were too many for us to fight off, and Wilhelm and I were forced to surrender along with half the men left of our unit, well, the half that were alive anyways. Most all of them were sprawled out, death in their eyes or pain. The wounded were shot on command from the Englander's leader.

"I watched them aim their gun at Wilhelm and I panicked, I yelled at them, told them not to hurt him, we'd cooperate. And they laughed, pushing me with the barrel of the gun."

"I'm so sorry, Günther." A wayward tear slipped over his cheek, unnoticed. When he turned to look at me, a sad smile parted his lips and he reached out, wiping a tear from my face that I hadn't even felt.

"Please don't cry, Liese," he said before continuing, "We were put in a building torn up by bomb shells and rapid gunfire. We were told that prisoners of war were traitors. That if we try to escape, both sides would shoot and we'd die. The English left him and me in a room alone, tied up and barely conscience. They had beaten us with the butts of their guns, and Wilhelm told me we had to get out of there. It was hard to believe just hours ago we had been on the battle front, winning, and then we were prisoners of the enemy." The cold wind howled as the sun fell over the peaks of the trees. Before long it would be nightfall and the darkness would completely envelope us. "We could hear them torturing other prisoners. Some who weren't even army men, but German spies who had somehow joined English ranks. The Englanders yelled at them, asked them who they worked for, how many spies they had in our company. But they never answered."

I shivered. "How did you get away?"

His sad smile was replaced by a sly grin, but it faltered a second later.

"A man; he was German, but dressed as an English man, he came into our room, and told us he was going to help us. He said he knew our Vater, General Keitel, and that he was working for our motherland." He shuddered and I looked up at his face. It was ashen and his eyes held a hollowness that caused me to pale. "He helped us get out. He told us to run and not look back."

"Then, how did Wilhelm . . . ." I couldn't finish the sentence because deep down I still didn't want to accept Wilhelm's death as reality.

"We almost made it to cover when an Englander spotted us. He shot at us, but missed. That was when another shot rang out followed by the Englander's cry. I looked back and saw the man fall, victim of a bullet. Not far behind him was the man who had set us free. He waved at us to keep going, but," his voice cracked and he began to sob, "he never saw the English men behind him. He was gunned down. Wilhelm saw and being the honorable man he was, he felt he had to avenge his death, saying we would not be free if it were not for his bravery. So, we went around their base, found a few vehicles and Wilhelm made me promise to make a run for it if he didn't return. I promised, but I didn't understand, not at first. There was a huge explosion and I waited, but Wilhelm never showed up. So, I ran, knowing I had no choice but to uphold my promise."

I was too shocked to move.

I gripped his hands tighter in my grasp. He squeezed back, looking at me through thick lashes matted with tears.

"I'm sorry," he said through a lurching sob.

I waited patiently, letting him gain control over his sadness and pain. And when he finally spoke, I couldn't help but cry along with him. Wilhelm had sacrificed himself for his brother, for the honor of the man who saved them, and for his country.

Our brother, who; until his death, had always been fervent for Hitler's cause. Wilhelm had always been in support of father's politics and views for power. He had always wanted to be in the Führer's army, always wanted to bring justice and peace to our nation, but as devoted as he was, nothing could break his love and brotherly bond for Günther and me. We always felt that, but perhaps Wilhelm felt the need to prove it. And his death had meant more than just his love for us, but also his belief that we deserved to be free, to live a long life and survive the heartache of war.

"He did this so you could live, brother. So we could be together, so we could be free German's, survivors of this war." I spoke gently, knowing he needed to know it wasn't his fault.

"He died because of me," he sputtered out in shock.

"No!" I took his hands which were limply in his lap. "He died to give you freedom and life. You didn't make his decision for him. He wanted to give his life for yours," I said firmly. "He died an honorable death!" Saying Wilhelm was dead cut deep into my mind, making my voice waver. I cleared my throat, trying to gather as much courage as I could. "He died an honorable death," I repeated, this time more firm. I had to accept this reality; I had to accept that he was really gone from our lives, the brother we love.

He looked at me, silent tears sliding down his face, eyes weary, and said, "What are we going to tell Vater? He'll blame me for this."

"How can you be sure? You know how he is. He will-"

"Wilhelm was his son." He replied bitterly. "His favorite son."

"Father will have to accept what Wilhelm chose and realize he has a responsibility for his children who are left. He can't abandon us, especially you."

"But I'm a traitor, I ran away."

I smiled sadly. "No, Günther, you are the son of a General in Chief. He has power and the Führer's favor is with him. He will convince Hitler by telling him the truth of what happened and Wilhelm will be honored for his bravery. You will not be disgraced, nor will our family be. You are going to get through this."

"They tried to turn them over, you know?"

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The Englanders, they were recruiting German spies, we heard them. They were trying to get them to double-cross their homeland. Wilhelm said if it were him he would refuse to betray his country. And I couldn't help agreeing with him, no matter how much I hate Hitler, I couldn't denounce my homeland."

"I hate Hitler too, but we have no choice. No one else is going to take over the power our country needs," I said thoughtfully. "So we are left with very few options."

"Yes, indeed."

There was a lull of silence. Night birds called out; the wind pushed on our forms leaning against the tombstone. I drew in a deep breath before standing.

"We must tell Father," I said at last.

Günther nodded quietly. His tears had finally subsided and he was thinking again. I knew that, without him, I would be alone, never knowing what had really happened to my brothers in Italy. I appreciated Wilhelm for all he had done, for the great example he had given of what a brother should be like. I only hoped that father would appreciate Wilhelm as I did, and that Günther would learn from this. Take Wilhelm's example to heart and become the man he was meant to be.

Wilhelm was nineteen when he was taken from us, and in two years Günther will be the same age. He will walk in the shoes of a brother lost, but never forget how he was saved out of brotherly love. And I will never forget him. And no matter what happens to me, I will always love him simply because he is my brother.

The last night I was given with my brother, Günther, we walked to our home where our father sat in his chair, eyes staring into the fire in the hearth, his hand gripping a bottle of beer. I explained to him what had happened while Günther told him how he escaped, how Wilhelm had died for honor. Father listened, though how much we weren't sure. There was another meeting with Hitler that week and I was once again accompanying Father.

As it turns out, he did talk to the Führer, but things did not turn out as they should have. Hitler deemed my brother a traitor, and I was forced to stay while my father was shut down one request after another. By the end of the meeting, we had accomplished nothing and we returned home, I with heart. Father immediately went to drink away his sorrows, babbling on about how Hitler had taken both his sons from him, while I silently slipped out the door.

The dirt covering Wilhelm's grave was frozen from a light frost that had settled over the land earlier that morning. Günther was leaning against one of the trees just beyond the tombstone, his hands in his pockets.

"You can't stay in Germany," I said.

He nodded, already knowing what was coming.

"Hitler wants me dead, because he claims I am a traitor." It wasn't a question, only a confirmation of what he had already assumed.

"Yes," I drew the word out, somewhat afraid of what I said. I felt like I was the one sentencing him away forever, not Hitler.

He turned to me then, a sad smile brushing over his lips, and said, "Do not worry about me Liese. I will come back, when the war is over."

"You mean if Hitler is dead?" I pointed out. "Otherwise you would not be able to show your face. Regardless of the war being over, as long as Hitler is in power you will have death following you."

In answer, he reached into his mantel and produced a white rose. The blood had been wiped off of it and the mere sight of it made me cry. I covered my face with my hands, afraid to watch him leave, willing him to stay with my mind, yet knowing he could not.

"Liese," he whispered to me. When I lowered my hands, i noticed the pain in his expression. "I promise, we will see each other again. Until that day, I want you to promise me something."

"Anything," I choked out nodding my head enthusiastically.

"Promise you will do whatever it takes to stay strong and wait for the day we can meet again."

"I promise," I said, not knowing that we would never have another conversation again. A year later, Father was in a conference meeting with another General and I was allowed to stay home to clean and cook when a messenger came to our home. I received a letter from a woman named Sabine who had met Günther on his way to Spain. They had gotten married months later, but she claimed it was not meant to be because he was taken from her by German soldiers who were passing through the town. They were searching for traitors, spies, and Englanders seeking refuge with sympathizers. Before he was taken, however, he had told her about me, about how they would one day go to Germany and be with his sister whom he loved dearly.

Sabine told me Günther had not died a man fleeing from his problems, or as a traitor who had been captured by the English, but as a man who faced accusations with honor, knowing he was dying for the right of freedom. And I couldn't have agreed more.

Do not copy or take! I have the rights to this story which has been edited and published!