Thank you everyone who posted comments on the story.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Detroit - Thursday November 23 1944
The stuffed roast turkey glistened golden brown on the platter while the surrounding dishes were a veritable array of culinary extravagance - melt-in-the-mouth mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, sweet potato casserole, glazed carrots and green beans and salad. Althea Miller-Wachinski gave a sigh of satisfaction. The cranberry sauce tasted as divine as only Lucy could make it. The two of them had slaved in the kitchen since early morning with Isaac and Edward keeping an eye on the kids and entertaining them.
The table was laid for six. A high chair stood next to Lucy for baby Winonah. It was a feast such as she hadn't had in a long time. Edward and Lucy and the children had arrived the previous day so she was happy to indulge them just like when they were kids and dear Henry, their father, was alive. Sighing, she blocked out all thoughts of missing Charles once again at Thanksgiving.
She was inordinately glad that Edward and Lucy had wanted to be with her this year although they lived in another state. This time of the year, sons, daughters, grandsons travelled great distances to be with their families. So many had gone off to war and so many never returned. During the First World War, many soldiers were listed missing in action, their bodies never found. It was always sad when a mother, a father lived in the vain hope that a son or grandson would one day return. Now she felt the same about Charles. What if he were listed as missing in action? Or dead? Then she berated herself for Charles would tell her never to lose hope.
She'd heard the noise of the boys all morning. Isaac had wanted to help in the kitchen, but Evan was constantly under their feet. Eventually she shooed them from the kitchen and ordered them to go and play outside. It was time, she thought, that they got some help, someone who could come in daily and assist in taking care of a boisterous two year old and as well as help her around the house. Isaac had broached the idea more than a year ago when she'd taken charge of Evan after his parents died. The little boy kept her very busy but she had been adamant that she could manage. She'd told him, "I raised three children and kept a good house without any assistance from outside. I can do this."
She had not taken into account her age, that however much she remained in denial, the body was a machine that was winding down. Now she was inclined to agree with Isaac. Edward and Lucy had help, mainly because Edward could not move very quickly around the house and two lively kids exhausted both of them.
"Mama, you're not getting any younger. While Charles is away, you need extra help."
She'd waived their concerns then but now it was time. She admitted ruefully she wasn't getting any younger, though cooking remained her one great passion which she could continue to enjoy.
The smell of good food wafted through the house. She heard footsteps from Edward's old bedroom. Ahead of them little Charlie descended the stairs noisily. They'd made sure the kids took a nap first before joining the others at the table.
Edward had phoned her, telling her that he'd received a letter from a certain Lamine Bhoutayeb, who'd written mainly about Katrine du Pléssis, the woman with whom Charles was in love. Charles had not given her much information about Katrine when he'd phoned her from Paris, except to tell her that he loved Katrine. She believed Charles, trusted his judgment and knew that she would love Katrine if she walked tomorrow through her front door. By now everyone knew that Katrine's husband and daughter had died during the purge of Jews from France. She wished she knew more about this young woman whom she hoped would become a permanent feature in Charles's life.
Now Edward wanted to read the letter at the table during their dinner.
When everyone was seated, Edward looked at Isaac, who nodded. In the past Edward had always asked for the blessing of the food. Althea's heart warmed at the gesture. She raised her glass as everyone looked at her.
"I am thankful that I have my family with me today. I miss Charlie, but I am sure he is alive and thinking of us on this day."
"Maybe if there's a lull in the fighting, their mess hall sergeants will be preparing meals for them to celebrate," Edward offered, his voice sounding hopeful.
"From what I know," said Isaac, "they will probably be on ration B or C which means they're eating something warm in the field. I'm quite sure they're celebrating, however meagre their meals."
"Amen," Lucy said, chorused by Evan who also said "amen" and little Winonah, hardly able to say "Mama", managed to say "men".
"Yes, men, sweetie!"
"I'm hungry!" complained little Charlie.
"You sound like your uncle Charles, son. He was a voracious eater!" his father said.
"What about you, Isaac?" Althea asked.
"I had no immediate family to speak of when I joined this one," he began. "I was married before but my wife died very young. I was a lonely man until I met your mother. I am thankful that she is in my life, that her children and grandchildren are mine too. It is a real honour."
Edward nodded sagely, saying, "It's an honour for us, sir, to have our mother be special again."
"Well," Lucy, began, "we all know how you keep her so young!"
"Lucy!" Edward exclaimed, blushing.
"Thank you very much, Lucy!" Isaac responded good-naturedly as he held Althea's hand. "What about you?" he asked.
"Mama died when we were young. Dad never married again. My sisters have married out of state. Dad is staying with one of them in Texas." Lucy looked at her husband and gripped his hand briefly. "We named our children for those who are not here with us today. I loved Winonah like a sister and I love Charles like a great brother. I am thankful that we can honour them in that way."
There were tears in Lucy's eyes as she looked at her husband.
"I rejoice in being alive," Edward began. "According to Mama and the doctors, I was not going to survive my illness as a child. But I did. I honour my own father who believed that nothing should stand in the way of progress. For that I am thankful."
"Isaac, I think you should carve the - "
"And me? What about me?" little Charlie piped up while Winonah banged with a spoon on the high chair and Evan cried he wanted ice-cream.
"What about you, squirt?" asked Edward, smiling indulgently.
"I want to be thankful too!"
"Well," Althea said, "you can tell us now, okay?"
"I got Uncle Charlie's name. I'm thankful!"
"Good for you!" everyone chorused. Charlie smiled broadly. "I can row!"
"Yes, now eat your food, sweetie," Lucy ordered in a gentle voice.
"Are you going to read the letter?" Isaac asked later when they sat, replete.
"Oh, yes," said Edward, "I'd almost forgotten."
"I haven't," Althea said.
"Nor I."
Very dramatically Edward retrieved the letter from the envelope, flipped it open and forgot about the photo that slipped out. Lucy ducked under the table to pick up the picture and handed it to Althea. Isaac had moved his chair closer to her to see. Then both of them gasped.
"I told you on the phone about the photo," Edward said, but Althea hardly heard him as she stared open-mouthed at the picture.
"She is beautiful..."
"Aye. They are a striking couple."
"What was the occasion?" Althea asked as she glanced at Edward before her eyes were glued again to the picture of Katrine and Charles.
While Edward explained, Althea gazed at Katrine in her blue dress with its narrow waist and padded shoulders. But it was Katrine's face that was arresting, her eyes so clear, staring directly into the camera. Her smile... Althea recognised the smile. It was the smile of mystique, of knowing something deep, something hidden, something alluring, of knowing him - Charles who stood next to her, his arm round her tiny waist. Charles whose face was without the strain, the barely contained anger he always exhibited when he was home. He smiled into the camera. Althea only felt her husband's hand on her shoulder as she burst into tears.
She had not seen her son so happy in a long time. Charles had never been happy, not since he'd returned from Fort McClellan in 1940 when he'd thought Lucy would wait for him. After that... So many things had happened. She couldn't stop crying, hardly hearing little Evan who started crying in sympathy with her.
"I miss him so..."
Then everyone got up, even Edward who grabbed his crutches, to stand behind her to hug her.
When she could recover from her tears she motioned that they all sit down again. "Edward, will you read the letter, please?"
"You sure you'll be okay, Mama?"
She nodded.
So Edward read Lamine Bhoutayeb's letter to her, in which he spoke of Katrine and Charles of her husband and daughter who had died at the hands of the Germans. He wrote how he thought that Katrine and Charles were in love and how he was concerned but also confident that they would not go blindly into a relationship, knowing the risks involved.
"Thank you," Althea said, wiping the tears from her face. "Now it's my turn - "
"What is it, Mama?" Lucy asked.
"Yes, what is it, Mama?" little Charlie parroted his mother.
"You remember I called you to tell you Charlie phoned from France and enquired after everyone's health and how he spoke to little Evan here?"
Edward and Lucy nodded, openly curious. Isaac Wachinski just smiled benignly while the children kept up their noise, banging forks on the table. Without looking at him, Lucy nimbly removed the fork from her son while Mama did the same with Evan.
"Charlie called me from Katrine's home in Paris." She paused to let her words sink in. Lucy gasped. Edward gave a sly grin.
"Katrine is in Paris?" he asked.
"From her home?" Lucy exclaimed.
"It seems so. They were together there for almost two weeks while he recovered from an injury - "
"Injury! Mama, you didn't tell us that part!" Edward berated her.
"I didn't want to worry you unduly. He said he was put on enforced leave."
"If he was out for two weeks, he must have sustained a severe injury!"
"I don't know the nature of it, Edward, but he stayed with her. She must have returned just after Paris was liberated. Anyway, he did say something that makes that young man - "
"Lamine."
"Yes, Lamine. His concerns about them were correct. Charlie told me he loves Katrine."
"He did?" Lucy asked.
"Yes. But he wouldn't say more, although I hope he'll tell us more when he can write."
"Next thing we know, he's going to write and tell us he married her.
Althea's eyes took on a new sheen. "Well, then I welcome her as my daughter, just as Lucy is my daughter."
"Thank you, Mama."
After that they ate dessert, the children clearly enjoying the ice-cream. They cleared the table and the women marched off to the kitchen to tidy up there while the men took charge of the children.
Edward remained thoughtful for the rest of the day. He prayed silently that Charlie would survive and return home.
St. Clair - December 1944
5th Infantry Division
10th regiment
Company A
December 21 1944
Dear Lamine
It is with my very deepest regret that I have to inform you that Eugene Linklater was killed in action. I was with him during his final moments and it was his wish that I let Sandrine know of his passing. He was a warrior to the end, for he died saving the life of another soldier. Eugene has fought with distinction and valour and I cannot stress enough how proud I am of him.
He loved Sandrine even though they had not known one another very long. He spoke of her often according to his friends and intended visiting her once the war was over. He even spoke of wanting to marry her.
I include in this letter his Red Diamond badge which is the insignia of the 5th Armoured Infantry Division, as well as one of his cross-rifles with the number 5 below it. I am sure Sandrine will want to treasure these small tokens in memory of a young soldier who protected her during the regiment's sojourn in St. Clair.
Please pass on to her my most profound condolences.
Yours sincerely
Captain Charles Anson Miller
Lamine had brought Brigitte with him to Sandrine's home. Sandrine didn't want to sit down, her whole body primed to receive a message of doom when she'd opened the door to him.
The letter, written in English, was translated by Lamine, and as he read, her distress had grown. Her eyes only registered pain, swimming with tears as she listened.
Her hand caressed her belly, a sob escaping when she felt the first kick of her unborn child.
"I loved him, Brigitte," she said, looking at her childhood friend.
"I know. All of us knew there was something very special between the two of you. I am so sorry that Eugene was killed in action."
"Captain Miller was with him to the end. I even think, the way I know him, that Eugene died in his arms."
"Thank you, Lamine. It is a comfort that he did not die alone."
She caressed her stomach again, tears sliding down her cheeks. "My baby will never know his father, but I will tell him everything of the man he was," she said. "He was generous, kind, protective of me, even when he didn't need to be."
Brigitte smiled. "I know what you mean. Captain Miller had a great influence on his men. They emulate him. Eugene thought of you to the very end, Sandrine, because he cared for you and loved you."
"I know," she said finally, smiling sadly.
"If your child is a girl, what will you call her?" Brigitte asked.
"Why, Eugenie, of course!"
Lamine laughed as he handed Sandrine the letter and the mementoes.
"I will keep this, for even though I might one day meet a man as good as Eugene, I would like my child to have a memory of her father."
"You are taking this very well, Sandrine."
"I am French," she smiled through her tears. "I live. I love."
Detroit - December 1944
Althea Miller-Wachinski folded the letter and sank down on the couch. Isaac sat down next to her. She unfolded the letter again and read it a second time. Then she read it a third time.
She wept. Isaac waited until her soft crying stopped. She gazed into her husband's eyes, the words she wanted to utter unwilling to come from her mouth.
"You weep, but it is good news? What does Katrine say?"
He did not read the letter, instead he waited for her to tell him, to speak, at least say something to break the barrier which her words seemed unable to cross. She continued to sob softly. Isaac was patient, as he'd always been patient with her.
He'd seen her through most of her recent traumas, and even when her first husband died, he'd treated her, for Henry's death had been sudden and she'd needed medical care. He had loved her a long time, been the family doctor since her children were very young. Never, while her first husband was alive, had he intruded on a personal basis, always keeping his association with the family professional. So he watched her kids grow up, been there when Edward was struck with polio, helping to bring the twelve year old back from the brink of death.
He'd admired her strength, her inborn fortitude and firmness with her children, always there for them, always just there. Like the good mother she was, their needs always came before her own.
Winonah was the daughter who resembled her so much it was uncanny, and when she died, something in Althea seemed to die too. The boys resembled their father with their Native American roots, even the two grandsons. But Winonah was everyone's favourite child, full of life. When Edward married, Althea said to him, "Now I have another daughter."
Katrine's letter must contain overwhelming news, but Althea had vowed she'd tell him rather than let him read.
"Will you tell me now?" he asked.
Althea opened the letter and for the third or perhaps fourth time, began reading, her voice still unsteady.
Dear Madame Miller-Wachinski
My name is Katrine du Pléssis. I am certain that you have been told about me by now. I know it sounds rather vain of me to say so, but I can assure you that I am not. Charles promised to call you from Paris. I can tell you he was a little reluctant to speak to you about us. It took some convincing but he finally agreed. I can also imagine he said very little!
As you also know, my husband and daughter died when they were taken prisoner by the Germans in 1942. It was a difficult period for me, and would have been worse were it not for the few close friends I have.
I met Charles when his regiment came to St. Clair to liberate our town. I did not like him at first because I thought he was too bossy. I was leading a resistance group in the town and was used to my own style of leadership. Until I met him. He can be very forceful. I am sure you know that. And angry. Very angry.
He saved my life and for that I am forever grateful. I own a restaurant, the Coeur de Lion- heart of the lion - and I can tell you if anyone has the heart of a lion, it is your son. I did not think I could ever love another man after my dear Joseph died. I fell in love with Charles. He loves me.
In Paris he was injured, shot through the arm, as well as hit by a bullet that ricocheted off his helmet. It left him concussed and confused. He arrived at my home quite ill and remained here until he reported for duty again on the 7 of September at Verdun.
I love your son, Madame. On the fifth of September, the day after my late daughter Célestine's birthday, Charles and I were married in a civil ceremony in Paris. We had opposing views about whether we should tell you. I am sure when Charles called you, he did not tell you. I told him I would like to inform his family of our marriage.
My parents died during the great flu pandemic in 1920 when I was but seven years old. I was raised by a great-uncle in St. Clair and he died in 1942. All I have now is Charles and my greatest desire is to be a part of his family and to be a daughter to you.
Yours very sincerely
Katrine du Pléssis-Miller
Althea remained quiet for a long time after she read the letter. Isaac could only smile inwardly at his wife's elation. Since she'd heard from Edward that first time when Charles had written him and told them about Katrine, she'd been secretly wishing that Katrine and Charles would become very close. That they had married was an unbelievable, fantastic shock.
None of them knew Katrine beyond what they had been told by the scientists at Harvard who'd requested that Charles look up this beautiful woman and find out how she was doing. Edward told them Charles wrote so many superlatives in his letter, they wondered whether she was an angel! Charles certainly did more than that. He'd fallen in love with Katrine and they got married in Paris. What a delightful turn of events that was! They sensed that Katrine was kind, generous and very firm with Charles. He grinned again. Normally no one could tell Charles what to do or to decide for his life. Now a woman, tiny as they could discern from the photograph Edward had shown them, could speak her mind and subtly let Charles do things he was reluctant to do.
Charles was in love. This was going to be an interesting thing to see once he and Katrine were actually here. He gave a little snicker just at the thought of having a ringside view of the battles to come between the two of them.
"Why are you laughing, Isaac?" Althea asked, retrieving two pictures from the envelope. "Oh, look at them!"
She forgot momentarily admonishing her gentle husband and gazed at the photos. One showed Charles and Katrine, dressed in a beautiful peach coloured frock that hugged her bosom and accentuated her waist, against the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower. Charles was in dress uniform. The other showed them outside a magistrate's office, Charles holding Katrine so close to him that Althea had tears in her eyes again.
"I have a daughter," she said in a teary voice. "Two daughters..."
"You are happy, Althea, my Rose of Sharon."
"I am," she said, "I am very happy. Now Evan will have a mommy and Katrine a little boy."
Cologne, Germany March 22 1945
Dear Charles
I wish I could be with you, or you were home with me. I miss you so much, but I am French, I will survive. I have followed the news reports and watched newsreels, tracking the movement of the Allied forces through the Ardennes Forest. By the time you receive my letter, you are probably in Germany.
I have written your mother a letter because you wouldn't tell her we are married. What is so secretive about that? Is it because we have not known one another long and fell in love? War does that, I seem to think. Young people make impulsive decisions and marry. We have and I remember how you said, "Let's do something really crazy". Is it so crazy to want to be with your beloved forever? I think not. I hope your mother and her husband receive my letter well, because I asked that I be a part of your family as a daughter. Now don't smile! I can see your dimples forming. You like the idea? I do.
Anyway, I visited St. Clair again to draw up new documents regarding ownership of the Coeur de Lion. You are now part owner of the restaurant, which will require your signature as soon as you are back in France. Lamine, Solange and the two of us. I feel reassured by the new arrangements.
Brigitte gave birth to a beautiful little boy whom they named for you. Smile. You are famous, courageous and heroic. Everyone names their offspring after heroes. Charles Bertrand Beaumont. Doesn't that sound flowing? Brigitte and Berry are ecstatically happy, with Berry declaring his son will ride for France in the Olympics one day.
Lamine received your letter and informed a tearful Sandrine Desmarais that Eugene Linklater had died on the battlefield, that he was a hero saving another soldier's life and that you, my gentle, angry warrior, held him in his dying moments. Sandrine is carrying Eugene's child, did you know? When Brigitte asked her whether she was alright given that her loved one died, she said, "I am French. I live. I love." She also said that if her baby is a girl, she'll call her Eugenie. Please, could you write Eugene's parents about the child?
The University of Paris has been superbly kind in giving me back my job. I started on the 1 October and am only now enjoying some vacation after a hard semester's work.
Please, write me! I miss you so much.
Your beloved
Katrine
Charles folded the letter and placed it inside his journal, in turn wrapping the book in plastic before putting it in his rucksack. He was collecting a growing number of letters and the phrase book Katrine had given him looked well thumbed. He learned and learned fast. Perhaps because he'd had a proficiency in studying Latin at school and University made learning another language easier. He hoped to conduct full conversations in French with Katrine once they were together again.
He hadn't wanted to tell his mother that he married Katrine. It was still too personal for him. They hadn't known each other long, but it was enough time to let love flourish deeply between them. He knew without a doubt that Katrine was the one for him, that she would love him as much as he loved her. Perhaps because they had both suffered terrible losses that there was greater depth and urgency in the way they connected to one another. Still, there were so many things they had to navigate, barriers to cross, but he felt confident that they'd be able to manage their lives.
He thought of the day they got married. They'd looked at the display of jewellery in a window and he'd seen the two rings. He'd felt instantly that the rings were meant for them. He wanted Katrine in his life, to grow old with her and she felt the same. In the deep of the night when she had nightmares, he'd sit up with her, whisper soft words of solace, cry with her until she fell asleep in his arms again. Sometimes he had nightmares, especially of his whole regiment being wiped out and he the only survivor. Yes, he was ready and Katrine was ready.
"Marry me, Katrine, and make me the happiest man in France."
The surprise in her eyes was instantly replaced by joy, for Katrine burst into tears and fell against him, in the middle of the Champs Élysées in front of not so curious onlookers. Why, they'd seen many proposals of marriage in public, Charles Miller and Katrine du Pléssis were not unique!
She was already wearing a pretty gown, and he was in dress uniform. They'd rushed home to get their documents and were at the nearest magistrate's office in less than an hour.
Katrine had given her little camera to a passer-by to take pictures of the two of them. They were happy. For once he didn't think two weeks or two months or two years ahead. The moment was what counted.
He was happy that she was back at the university teaching. He'd been in Joseph's surgery once and thought it looked more like a science laboratory.
He wasn't that much surprised that Eugene had fathered a child with Sandrine Desmarais. Eugene's mother would be informed, of that he was certain. The young soldier wouldn't have left St. Clair without giving his address to Sandrine.
He felt a warmth surge through him. Katrine did nothing by halves. He was now a part owner in a restaurant. He was proud of her, proud that she wanted to share her assets, the same as he would want to do for her. His Cadillac, almost brand new, was still in the garage of his home in Detroit. Evan was legally the owner of the car dealership which had belonged to his father and grandfather. As Evan's legal guardian and new parent, he'd have to make serious decisions on his son's part. But all that had to wait until the war was over and he was back in the States. Those were things he'd want to share with Katrine.
Sighing, he pulled himself back to the present, which was a makeshift tent serving as his office. The present was a makeshift tent serving as his office. They were roughly fifty miles outside Cologne, with still a long way to go. He had received his new orders, along with two promotions, first to Major then Lieutenant Colonel, ranks which he was deferring until hostilities had ended. His troops continued to call him "captain" since they were so used to addressing him that way and for now he was happy with that, although his pay grade changed.
He studied the paper which Colonel Drake had handed him, a directive from General Patton. Two regiments - the 10th and 11th - comprising almost 400 men had to advance to Buchenwald and liberate the camp. Other battalions were headed to other camps in Germany.
"Buchenwald, Captain?" asked his new second-in-command, Andrew Hemmings.
"We're about 217 miles from the Buchenwald camp. It's going to be a long slog. We'll take all available trucks and six wheelers. I don't think we'll meet with much resistance as the 9th and 91st have already advanced northwest and further east, heading for - "
"Berlin. The hub of German High Command."
"Yes. Now Buchenwald is a large camp, one of the largest in Germany. Mortality rate is high. Very few if any escapees. My - ." Miller paused, clamped his mouth shut.
"Your?"
"My wife's first husband and daughter were taken prisoner but killed before they even made it to the camps or cattle trucks. She was only informed months later of their deaths."
"That is sad," said Hemmings. "I have a cousin - half Jewish - who lived in Poland. After 1940 we lost contact and had no reason to believe that he survived Auschwitz."
"Yes. Katrine's daughter was half-Jewish but that didn't stop the Krauts from killing her too."
They were interrupted by the approach of Sgt Jeffrey Holling, his radioman, who put his equipment down before saluting.
"Yes, Holling?"
"News from Allied High Command, Captain - uh, Colonel!"
"'Captain' will do...for now..."
"Yes, sir! Sir, Buchenwald camp is a death camp. Inmates are incinerated after they die."
"I know that."
"Yes, sir. General Patton sends his regards and says to tell you to go kill them sons-of-bitches for murdering innocent men, women and children."
Hemmings looked at Miller and Charlie smiled broadly. Patton remembered him!
"He says to tell you to do him proud as an ugly American son-of-a-bitch."
"He really said that, Holling?"
"I'm only paraphrasing what he said, sir. He used more colourful language."
"Well, let him know we're going to do the US proud when we liberate the camps."
"Will do!" Holling saluted again before traipsing off with the equipment.
"I have to say it is a real honour working with you, Captain," said Hemmings.
"Don't thank me too soon, okay?"
"Are you kidding? Word about your exploits have spread through the regiments and other divisions. I twisted my colonel's arms to work alongside you."
Miller nodded, smiled and promptly removed Caesar's Gallic Wars from his top pocket. He opened at his favourite page and began reading in Latin, much to Hemmings' surprise.
Consuesse enim deos immortales, quo gravius homines ex commutatione rerum doleant, quos pro scelere eorum ulcisci velint, his secundiores interdum res et diuturniorem impunitatem concedere.
And Hemmings replied with "Huh?"
Buchenwald March 27 1944
It smelled of old urine, old body odours, old walls, old excreta, old everything in the cell. He'd been rudely introduced to the unliveable conditions in the camp a few days after Christmas. Now all he could do was read, languish in squalor, read again and think of Daisy, of Zannah and of the day he almost killed Günther Götze. He wished he had killed Götze because that was how enraged he was that day. He would gladly have seized that dubious honour of doing something every other senior officer in Buchenwald had wanted to do for almost two years.
Love, he decided, could make a man do things he either regretted or rejoiced in if that deed meant saving the life of another human on earth. Mainly, he thought, the very belief that one should do no harm to a fellow being had been in his blood from a very early age. It was a principle he had lived by since he was able to stand up straight in his father's office one day, to explain why he didn't want to pull the wings off a butterfly. His father had nodded and said, "That is the law by which you live. Never forget that."
Since his childhood, he could not hurt or injure a fly, drown new-born puppies and kittens like he'd heard some people did or tear the wings from butterflies. Nor could he ever imagine that one man could be evil incarnate. That was what he always imagined as a child, that there must be some goodness in every man.
He learned the hard way that der Führer, like many dictators in the history of mankind, could have honourable intentions which, when executed, resulted in the obliteration of a race or the degradation of humankind. But there was nothing honourable in which der Führer contrived the enslaving and murder of so many thousands of people.
Surely there must be many who, like him, could not endure or accept participating in the practice of atrocities such as he had seen in Buchenwald? His brother Konrad was one of those who, like him, could not allow others to suffer.
Since he had been sent to Buchenwald, he had recoiled from these practices and had endeavoured to lessen the degree of abuse to which especially women in the camp had been subjected.
Mein Kampf.
They'd thrown the book into the cell after they'd thrown him into it, ordering him to read it in order to reacquaint himself with der Führer's ideology, a philosophy he privately believed was flawed in its execution.
His incarceration in the camp's prison cell was not merely because he'd struck a superior officer, but because they'd roundly declared that Buchenwald had failed to harden him. He'd been sent in the first place because not even in the Jugend could they tarnish him with a nature so depraved; he'd gasped silently many times at the atrocities committed here. He was not a true son of the Reich they claimed, but merely a freiherr who wanted to look the part and look good in the uniform of the Wehrmacht.
Helmut sighed. He'd read the book over and over and tried to find a single motive that honoured Hitler, against the background of what was happening to the Jews, political prisoners, radicals, dissidents and Gypsies. Like the very reason they accused him of "looking the part", so the book became more and more the ideals of a deranged man.
He was to be released within days. Already he was told by Herr Schiller, the camp doctor, that a number of prisoners had escaped. He had known it would come to this. The Allied Forces were moving all over Germany was what Schiller told him. Soon they would enter Berlin and it would be all over. He'd heard from Schiller that the Allies had crossed the Rhine, that Germany's last natural barrier into its heartland had been breached.
What was happening to the inmates of the camp when many guards had already fled? What of Daisy and Zannah? He worried constantly about them. He hadn't seen Daisy since his incarceration. His last message to her had been that she keep Zannah safe. He dreamed often of them, especially Daisy whom he could not in all of creation turn away from him. What happened to her in the camp could not be held against her, for like every inmate, every political prisoner brought in on flimsy charges, every Jew and Gypsy, she had no way of defending herself and the choice to do so had been removed from her with ugly, terrifying aggression.
Sighing, Helmut thought about that day, three months ago, the day he'd told Daisy Ginsberg that he loved her, how his heart sang when she finally acknowledged her own feelings for him. Rudely interrupted by a shot being fired, they ran outside and witnessed terror in its ugliest form.
Never in his entire life had he been so blindingly angry...
December 26 1944
Daisy stood in his arms and he felt how she shivered. He trembled too from the overwhelming emotion that filled his being. She felt so thin, yet she exuded strength. When the war was over, he was going to woo her properly and ask her to marry him.
He'd whispered into her hair "I love you..."
Then they heard a shot being fired.
"Gott im Himmel!" he cried as Daisy practically jumped out of his embrace. She frowned heavily.
"It could be fired in the air, Helmut," she'd said.
"Or not."
That was when they both realised that Zannah had not returned from her violin lessons with Maestro Dobrinski who usually accompanied the child to his quarters.
"Zannah!" both of them cried out, hoping the shot fired had nothing to do with her.
Helmut walked out of his house, followed by Daisy.
"Stay here," he ordered her.
"No, I must see that Zannah is safe."
Helmut hesitated only a moment before he relented. They quickly made their way down the long road. In the distance they saw someone lying on the ground. His heart racing wildly, Helmut started running, Daisy following. When he reached the stricken man, he gave a sharp gasp. Snow had fallen during the night and blood was seeping into it, staining the white.
"Mein Gott! It is Maestro Dobrinski!"
Helmut paused long enough to note that Dobrinski had been shot through the head, blood still flowing from the bullet hole. Next to the dead man lay the Tononi Zannah always played, the case open.
"Zannah! Where is Zannah?" Daisy cried frantically. Some inmates on their side of the great fence were already sauntering towards them as Helmut got to his feet. Some of the women approached Daisy and nodded severely. She knew instantly that another plan had to be set into action, as soon as they found Zannah.
"Stay here, Daisy. I mean it!" Helmut ordered as he rushed to a certain house not far from where Dobrinski was shot.
It could only be Götze, the thought raced through him. None other. Most of the officers and enlisted soldiers had eased away from their crude acts against the women when they knew investigations were in progress. Götze had wanted Zannah from the very beginning. He'd given the child one look that day and decided she was to be his little torture toy. He had stopped Götze then. He was going to stop Götze again.
Helmut was out of breath when he reached Götze's abode, the snow crunching under his boots. Already he could hear Zannah's frantic weeping - a child in great pain.
"Götze! Sie verrückt Bastard! he screamed as he kicked down the door of the house, heading straight for the bedroom. Officers' houses were all designed the same...
He had only an instant to register the scene in front of him. Zannah on the bed, her legs wide apart, the long furrows scored down her legs turning red, Götze unzipping his pants, a look of pure evil and lust on his face. Little Zannah, the beautiful child who played his Tononi like none he had ever heard, a little child who had no parents, an orphan in an orphan world, almost incoherent with fear.
"No! Please do not hurt me!" Zannah cried.
Something snapped in Helmut that moment. He forgot about butterfly wings, dead insects, drowning newborn puppies and kittens. He forgot the words of his dear departed father who instructed him that humanity could only aspire to its highest honour if it treated its animals and humans with love, caring and respect, things that would define him as a man if he made those attributes part of him.
Zannah lay splayed on the bed, Götze's hand burrowing between her thighs, his pants already halfway down his legs.
In one swift move Helmut covered the distance from the door to the bed, pulling Götze roughly off the child and dragging him outside into the road. Götze just about had time to pull up his pants as Helmut hauled him into the road. Across the way inmates look on in dazed curiosity. Two senior Wehrmacht officers fighting over a child.
"Bastard!" he bellowed as Helmut pulled his arm far back and landed a sucker punch against his captain's jaw. Surprised by the force of the blow, Götze had little time to recover. When he did, Götze stared with shock just as the second hard blow landed against his jaw. Like a demon possessed, Helmut beat Götze, punching him over and over. Götze tried fighting back, but Helmut got more and more enraged, the captain's bloodied face a trigger that caused him to swear loudly before landing another blow with all his might. Helmut made sure his captain never reached for his Luger.
"She's only a child!" he cried as he floored Götze. "A child!"
"You had her too. Don't lie, Von Wangenheim! She was good between the legs!"
"Never! I never touched her, nor any other child, girl or boy, "Du Missgeburt!"
Helmut never noticed that Daisy had entered the house and came out with a sobbing Zannah whose legs were bleeding.
"You are a traitor!" Götze cried feebly. "Ein Reichsverräter! You deserve to die!"
"If it means saving a child from your corrupt clutches, I will gladly protect her with my life! A real pity I could not save every child in the camp who has been through your filthy hands!"
With that, Helmut landed one final punch in Götze's face. He could feel something break as Götze spit blood and then a tooth. With a sick moan he sank to the ground unconscious. Trembling with rage, Helmut straightened up and turned to look for Daisy and Zannah. Daisy had already vanished into Herr Doktor Schiller's medical ward with the sobbing child.
He rushed to Schiller's room where he saw Zannah lying on one of the beds, the doctor tending to the child.
"You know you will be put on report, Helmut."
"I know and I accept the consequences. I will tell you Herr Schiller, it has given me great pleasure beating that scum of the earth."
Daisy gave him a pained look as he touched Zannah's cheek. She continued to sob and when she saw Helmut standing so close to her, ignored her and the doctor and threw herself in Helmut's arms, weeping loudly. He felt the regret coursing through his body for not protecting Zannah enough. Now her safety meant more than taking lessons. Dobrinski was dead. No doubt there were other prisoners who possessed brilliant skills. Right now, Zannah's safety meant everything to him.
"Take care of her. Her lessons will have to stop for now. You understand what I am saying? I shall tell them that her injuries were so severe that she too died by Götze's hand."
Daisy nodded. "I know what to do, Helmut."
To which Schiller raised an eyebrow as he looked first at Daisy then at Helmut. Helmut smiled grimly as he reached to touch Daisy's cheek.
"Yes, it is what you think, Herr Schiller. Whatever the consequences, I pledge my love for her."
"That is good, Helmut, although I think your grossmutter Adelheid would not have approved."
"I know. But Grossmutter has passed on. We are in the world of the living. I make my own decisions."
Old Schiller nodded. "We are each entitled to love regardless of allegiances."
They had waited for Daisy to leave with Zannah, with medication to treat the deep scratches on her legs. He didn't want to know where the women took the children, but he felt reassured that Zannah would join them soon and she'd be cared for. He shuddered to think what would have happened had they not arrived at the scene, or arrived too late. Still, little Zannah had been traumatised by Götze's over eager fingers. He experienced that flash of anger again just thinking of Götze trying to rape the child.
Half an hour later Helmut was arrested. He went willingly, offering no resistance when Götze regained consciousness and beat the hell out of him, avenging him for losing face in front of all his junior officers. Helmut was thrown in a cell used for their own misbehaving soldiers. Although he'd struck a senior officer, he knew that was not why they threw him in jail. All of them, it seemed to him, had wanted Günther Götze disposed of and preferably dead. Götze, like his predecessor Karl-Otto Koch, should have been sentenced to death. Günther Götze was to them an embarrassment because he went too far.
Daisy Ginsberg was excited today. She'd heard from Herr Doktor Schiller through one of the women who worked for him that Helmut was to be freed within hours. She had been yearning for his release ever since he had been jailed that awful day in December when he almost beat that vile Capitaine Götze to death.
If her opinion counted at all among the camp population of German staff and officers, she would have told them that she was glad the fiend got what he deserved. Truly deserved, although she would not have been so astounded if Götze had died that day in the heart of winter. She had only been able to glance at the evil man whose face had been beaten to a pulp. Her heart had rejoiced when she saw him so bloodied, so beaten, so afraid!
Afraid!
That was the emotion she had tried to divine ever since that day, a word or phrase which had eluded her for a long time, thinking what Götze looked like that day just before he'd dropped unconscious to the ground.
She had so many things to tell Helmut, although she also sensed that he knew of the turn of events at the camp during the last few days. He would be apprised of greater details once he had spoken to the camp Kommandant, Oberstleutnant Johann Gaertner. Kommandant Gaertner was a little like Helmut, his goodness not that very obvious to see. But he had made many concessions around the camp, although she understood in a way that the conditions did not improve much. In fact, they had worsened especially after some of the men in the barracks escaped.
Her heart had raced two days ago when she heard about their daring escape from Buchenwald, for they were not good men, she had been told. They were prisoners who had very few moral codes as one of the women told her. They too, had helped some of the German soldiers in raping the women. They were gone, but she was very concerned about what they'd do when they hit the nearest towns.
Before they escaped, some of the German officers also went missing from the camp. She was dying to know what Helmut thought of this new turn of events or what he knew. She'd wanted to bring Zannah from the little barracks where they were kept hidden but thought it better to leave her there. The situation had not changed for the better. Daisy doubted if it would.
She looked up at the sky. For early April in a new year, the sun was bright, spring was in the air. It felt to her that the women and men in the camp had suddenly woken from a deep slumber. She pulled her face. Deep slumber? Some of them never woke up, too ill, too emaciated, too mistreated, too susceptible to the viruses that plagued them every year. But she was glad the terror of the icy cold had seeped from her body. She raised her face to the sky, thanking God once again that she was alive. She remembered when she arrived at the camp, how she instructed Zannah to do whatever it took to stay live.
There was a lightness in her step when she entered the house of Helmut von Wangenheim. Then she gave a loud gasp of surprise.
"Helmut!"
There he stood, resplendent in uniform, at attention. His eyes were bluer than she remembered them, his hair flaxen, neatly brushed and parted at the side, exactly as der Führer envisioned all his men in uniform. Her heart overflowed with love, a love she had never even dared to express. How could she? She was the whore of Buchenwald and he an aristocrat in the service of the Reich.
When he opened his arms, she rushed into them, drawn in a hug that nearly crushed the air from her lungs. But she did not mind if she had broken a rib. She was in his arms, inhaling his cologne. He held her in a close embrace for a long time. He'd missed her, was what she felt in the trembling of his body against her, in the way his lips pressed into her hair. Only this morning she had asked one of the women to help her with cleaning her hair, and a new dress the women had sewn. He would not let her go even when she began to wriggle in his arms.
"I cannot breathe," she complained happily.
"And I cannot get enough of you being in my arms at last."
"Please do not kill anyone soon so you'll be thrown back in that horrid jail!"
He held her away from him, looking deeply into her eyes. She gave a sob before lunging herself against him.
"I can see that you have missed me as I have missed you, meine geliebte."
She lifted her face to him, her eyes full of tears as his mouth descended gently on hers, a fire springing inside her, blinding sparks behind her closed eyelids. She gave a sob when he lifted her in his arms and carried her to his bedroom.
"You cannot know," he said, his voice trembling, "how I have dreamed every night and every day of you, lying as you are there, waiting for my body to join with yours."
And she looked up at him, her whole being ready to receive him, all the doubts, all the old things that had happened to her in the camp evaporated in the morning sun as he joined her on the bed.
The light filtered dimly through the window of his bedroom, even though it was only 0500 hours. Helmut lay awake, had been awake for a full half hour. Daisy lay snuggled against him, her breathing even, restful. Perhaps - and he knew it had to be so - she had never slept fully or properly or slept with the freedom of just being free.
It was different, now. A new world had opened up to them, one in which they briefly shifted the old woes and coming impediments aside. It was the now that mattered, the heady moments in which they rejoiced their new, exciting union.
He thought of the previous day when they had exploded together on his bed. She had lain there, much like he supposed her stance was for those Germans whom she serviced.
"We are equals in this, Daisy," he had said in a voice heavy with need for her.
"I know. Let me welcome you..."
He had known women, some of those who were willing to trade their bodies for nothing more than a loaf of bread, when he'd killed a few snakes and pulled the wings off a butterfly. By the time his eyes had opened, he knew that he'd steer forever away from those base acts which satisfied nothing but lust.
He'd looked at Daisy's naked body after she'd taken off her dress and after she'd taken off his jacket and pants. He experienced a sense of drowning in her beauty, her soft, taut skin, her clear, smooth thighs and legs. Only for an instant, as she lay with her arms above her head, had he seen her identification tattoo on her arm and remembered her position as an inmate. He had raised himself over her and closed his eyes as his lips pressed against the tattooed number.
"I love you, Daisy Ginsberg," he murmured as he nudged her legs. She'd given a cry as their bodies joined and all through their lovemaking she had wept brokenly as she found herself unable to contain her body's reaction to her orgasm.
Afterwards, she had rolled away from him and wept as he had not seen her weep before. He let her cry, for he knew that she would speak when she was ready. He had lain beside her and wondered at the magnificence of loving her.
Later she'd turned to face him, her eyes still teary but with a sheen of joy in them.
"For a long time, Helmut, my body did not belong to me. It was a tool, a vessel, you know?"
He'd nodded, his eyes without accusation, filled only with understanding.
"There was no feeling, no passion, no compassion. There was nothing. And sometimes I wondered if I would ever feel loved again, feel as though I could give my body willingly to a man who would take that body and worship it."
Then they had made love during the day and remained in the house. He had come out a day earlier and his duties would only resume today. Sighing, he pulled the still sleeping Daisy closer to him. Daisy only opened her eyes then gave a little whimper of pleasure as they felt the passion overtaking them again.
It was good, Helmut von Wangenheim decided, to love without reserve.
Over the next few days they enjoyed one another's company. Günther Götze was nowhere to be seen. Herr Doktor Schiller had been tight-lipped about the camp captain's whereabouts. "He will not trouble you again, if that is your concern, Helmut," the doctor had responded when Helmut asked him straight out. Helmut had nodded, only too glad because he thought Götze was afraid of him after that beating that day.
"You do not think he ran off with other soldiers, Helmut?"
"Then he is a bigger coward than I thought."
After which they closed the subject on Götze and went about enjoying themselves. Helmut still didn't want to know where all the children were, although he was assured of their safety.
They couldn't wait to be together in the evenings. They learned a lot about each other. Daisy had been a teacher of mathematics in a town outside Paris, married Victor Emmanuel when she was quite young. They had a daughter Suzannah whom they called Zannah for short. Her daughter had died before her very eyes. Sometimes, even now, almost three years later, she still dreamed of her child lying dead in the tall grass, blood spurting from a wound to her head. Suzannah was never a healthy child, her movements slow. They'd spotted easily that she would not be of any use to the cause of the Reich.
She accepted that Victor had died in the labour camps, that her life, such as it was, had to move forward without him. Now that Helmut was in her life, she feared nothing. Her friends in the barracks recognised her new status. They were not envious of her. Rather, they were more concerned about the homes they'd lost, all their property, their art works, jewellery, gold. Their concern was whether they'd be able to go home.
Her concern was that she made a new home for herself and Helmut. Who knew, one day they might even have a child!
Then one day he came home to tell her some news. The look on his face was serious. She was instantly worried, for it looked like he wanted to weep.
"What is it, Helmut?" she asked as she pressed him down on the couch.
"It is my brother. Konrad was a member of the Deutsche Cavalry Regiment." There was a long pause in which Helmut swallowed at the thickness in his throat.
"You have a brother?" she asked, surprised, for of all the things he told her, he never spoke about his family.
"He - he killed himself, Daisy, before the Allied troops entered the town. He...is dead..." Helmut repeated, as if he couldn't believe the news that had been given him by Oberstleutnant Johann Gaertner. "I did not think Konrad would do that..."
"I am very sorry to hear that, Helmut." She wanted to hug him, but he resisted her attempt to console him. Her hand dropped to her side, so she waited for him to speak again. He was clearly very unsettled by the news. It was war, he knew the risks, even if those risks involved the nearest and dearest.
"What will you do now? You have other family?"
"My mother Helga and sister Erika von Wangenheim. They live on the family estate in Munziger."
"You have an estate?"
He looked at her. Daisy wondered for a moment what went through his mind. Then he nodded.
"Where - where does that place us?" she asked, suddenly anxious about a future with him.
"I return to Munziger and run the estate, perhaps. I do not know, Daisy."
"Was Konrad the elder son?"
"Yes," he sighed.
"A Baron? Freiherr?"
"Yes."
"Do you inherit the title, Helmut?"
"Yes, Daisy."
She patted his thigh and gave a gentle smile, one that warmed his heart.
"Les choses sont comme elles doivent être..." she said, her voice full of hope. Helmut looked at her, understanding her words.
He hugged her close and whispered, "It is as it should be..."
In that moment they heard a scuffle outside. Helmut experienced a feeling of déjà vu, a terrible feeling that though it would not be the same, it sounded the same. They heard people running, soldiers and inmates, soldiers shouting at the top of their lungs.
The rushed outside. Men were pointing to the lookout tower at the far end, near the Buchenwald gate. Then another shot rang out. Even from where they stood, Helmut could see the soldiers on duty hanging over the rail of the tower. They heard more shots and Helmut knew instinctively that all the other towers were targeted. How had they ignored the droning of aircraft overhead? The bombs landed at the far north end of the camp. Had they been so happy that they were not aware that the camp was under attack?
His brother's warning by telephone to him the day after his release was that the Allied troops were advancing faster than anyone realised. His brother Konrad von Wangenheim who preferred to kill himself than face any consequences of the war and their own part in it.
"What now, Helmut?" Daisy asked.
"Now you go to your barracks and stay with the women and the children they care for. It is the end, my beloved."
"The end?"
"For me. Pray for me, will you?"
They had no defense. If bombs hit the northern corner, then they'd destroyed the armaments factory and about a hundred German soldiers.
Kommandant Johann Gaertner had also come outside and joined Helmut.
"It is the end for us, Von Wangenheim. There is no point in fighting now."
"I understand, Herr Kommandant Gaertner."
"I am tired, Von Wangenheim. The end seems highly desirable."
Then the two most senior officers of Buchenwald waited as the Allied troops marched down the road from the Buchenwald gate.
END CHAPTER SIXTEEN