Chapter 3: A Rock and A Hard Place

We had been walking for a few hours now, leaving our peaceful town and beautiful lake behind. As sad as it was, I was glad to go. Maybe Switzerland will be just as nice… I've only ever heard about it briefly, so none of us really know what we're getting ourselves into. Trusting father is the only real option we have.

"Mother, how long will it take for us to reach Switzerland?" I asked, clutching her hand as we stepped over a freezing little stream running from an opening in the mountain.

"A few days I suppose," she replied, not looking down at me.

Instead, she had her eyes on father. She was probably thinking the same thing as me. Would he get us there? Or were we following a lost hope? I've never doubted someone as much as I am now, probably with the possibility that not all of us will make it. The older four are fine, they know the world much better than Marta, Gretl and I, which makes the knot in my stomach tighten slightly. Poor Gretl is only five, she'll perish up here without the help from father and mother. And what if they themselves grows to tired to go on? We'll either be stuck up here, starving or freezing to death, or we'll have to return to the town, where they'll punish us all… Kő és kemény hely... A rock and a hard place, I think that's what the Americans say…

"I know that look," mother whispered, "Please, don't worry, Brigitta. Your father will not stop fighting until the day he dies. I promise we'll get all of you, and I mean all of you, out of this situation."

"Mother," I whispered, and she looked at me, "May we sing our favourite things?"

She smiled at this, squeezing my hand, then left my side to go and talk to father. He looked down at me, eyes going soft, and nodded. She beckoned all of us over, pulling out her guitar, and told us all to sit on the rocks.

"I'm sure you all remember how it goes," she began, tuning the guitar whilst talking.

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens, brown paper packages tied up with strings, these a few of my favourite things," father began quite softly, enough that we nearly didn't hear him.

"How do you know father, you weren't in the room when mother sang it to us," Marta asked, her smile large and contagious.

"No, but I could hear you. I have to say, Maria, you did a wonderful job on keeping our children calm," his eyes twinkled mischievously, and I dare say I have never seen that look before.

I held onto the edelweiss mother had given me, my nose an inch away from their white tips. It swayed elegantly in the wind, it's sweet, overpowering smell making my head spin a little. And although I never did sing along, I felt comforted by the melody coming from my parents' and siblings' voices.

Well, the peace did last… until a rumble overhead could be heard. It wasn't thunder, the skies were clear all around. No… it sounded more like a roar. But that's impossible, you don't get lions and bears in the sky… unless. Liesl gave a small gasp, pointing up at something in the sky. A group of birds… wait, not birds. Planes. Father raised his binoculars, then dived to the ground, hidden in the tall grass. We all did the same, and I managed to retrieve the binoculars from Friedrich's side.

On the side of the planes, painted in red and black, was the swastika. The Nazi symbol. Said to be a sign of 'good fortune' or 'well-being'. To us, it was a sign of death…