Springtime of the Spirit (29 page)

A conductor came through the cabin door, assuring everyone they would soon be traveling again and not to worry.

Christophe followed him to the back of the train car.

“Are there troops up ahead?” he said, just loud enough over the rumble of the train pulling forward to be heard by the conductor.

He turned to Christophe, an expression of surprise on his face. “Why do you ask such a thing?”

Christophe shrugged, and the gun on his shoulder rattled against the back of an empty seat.

The conductor, an older man, glanced from the gun to Christophe, then patted his shoulder. “The war is over, my friend.”

Christophe shook his head. “Not here.”

The conductor gave a single, sad nod, then said he would find out why they’d slowed so mysteriously. He walked back through the car, toward the front of the train.

Christophe took a seat once the train started moving at a greater speed again, and since he had his pick of several empty ones, he chose to sit near the front vestibule. For several minutes he watched the door to the cabin ahead, no longer bothering to look out the window. Until he heard another complaint from behind.

“They’ve switched tracks,” someone said, loud enough for all to hear.

The surprise around him gave way to panic before Christophe had even moved to the seat behind him, one that held a better view of the land they passed. The claim was correct; they’d switched tracks and were no longer going east, toward Munich. They were headed south, toward the Alps, and Switzerland.

32

Annaliese barely tasted the bread. Not that it was tasteless—certainly in the past couple of years she’d been served worse. But even if it had been the finest bread the best German baker could produce, she wouldn’t have enjoyed it.

She was trapped. Jurgen and Leo were right. Until they could find a safe place for her, she was stuck where she was. Amid several hundred men. And two right in front of her.

“What about the house?” she asked. “Huey and Bertita are still there, aren’t they?”

“There is no room left,” Leo said. “We’re no different from anyone else suffering at the hands of greedy capitalists. Before we left to come here, we willingly opened our doors to those who’ve been taken advantage of. You missed quite a lot, Anya. Even now, Leviné is implementing our fairness goals, despite what the remnants of the last republic is trying to do against us. Do you know the bankers removed every bit of the cash from their vaults? Even the plates for banknotes. They’ve shut off the supply of food, too. But they’ll see. We’ll prevail because we have the numbers behind us. The people.”

“All of the people, Leo?” she asked quietly. “Maybe the bankers were trying to protect the people who’d invested in them.”

Jurgen swiped at his mouth after a drink from his cup. “Anya is a bit peeved at us, Leo. We haven’t taken the time to share with her how our thoughts and goals have grown, so she isn’t entirely with us. Yet.” He looked at Annaliese. “It’s the natural progression of society, what we have in mind. Capitalism is for children, for greedy, self-centered infants who haven’t yet learned to share. The future will be better, Annaliese; you’ll see. For all of us.”

She looked at the bread still in her hands, considering his words, but not about capitalism. Was that all he’d heard her say, that they hadn’t shared
their
beliefs enough to convince her? What about listening to hers?

For a moment she considered answering him, posing questions, having a discussion about what really was best for society. But she knew it would do no good. Jurgen was only good at speaking, not listening. Instead, she asked, “If they shut off the supply of food into Munich, then where . . . ?”

Jurgen finished what was on his plate. “Confiscated from those who’ve always had too much, from right here in Munich. It was the least we could do.”

Annaliese thought of the woman in working-class clothing who’d gone into the aristocratic house in the neighborhood where she’d been made to get off the train.
As if she owned it,
she recalled thinking.

Evidently she did. The people owned it all now.

“I doubt everyone will accept fairness if it’s forced on them.”

“There will be an adjustment period, of course. New ways take time to settle in. But they’ll see. It’s best for all of us.”

She thought of her parents, of how hard her father had worked. She’d hated him for turning to armaments, but before that he’d produced metalwork for tools and parts other manufacturers used. To produce things everyone needed, from coffeepots to toys.

Annaliese had allowed herself so little thought of her father, but now thoughts of him came freely. A day had come when someone with a gun could tell him he must follow new rules. There was no longer any private property, only public. No one family should profit any more than another. In essence, her father’s talent, his risk and ingenuity, his labor, would be rewarded no differently than the least of those who worked for him.

Didn’t the Bible talk about such things? that the least would be greatest; the last, first? Perhaps God liked some of the ideas Jurgen and Leo and Leviné wanted to implement. Greed
must
be a sin.

But was it really greed that drove men like her father? Had he really worked so hard in order to cheat others? Giving what he’d worked for to those who hadn’t worked for it at all—for whatever reason—made less sense to her now, seeing it in action. Throwing people from their homes, confiscating their goods, had never been her idea of fairness. She’d only wanted to make sure everyone was given the same opportunities, no matter how people dressed, whom they knew or didn’t know, how they spoke, or what they looked like.

She’d only wanted to level the opportunities, not level results from those who put forth different efforts.

Jurgen caught her eye, and for a moment she was tempted to speak her mind, try convincing him away from what he obviously believed. He gave her one of his old, familiarly charming smiles that he must believe she would still welcome, and almost reflexively she wanted to give him one in return. Automatically, like the way she’d once taken on his beliefs. How naive she’d been.

“Leo,” she said softly, “I would like help finding Christophe.”

He stopped chewing. He looked from Jurgen to Annaliese, then back to Jurgen. “I thought . . .”

“No.” Jurgen glanced again at Annaliese and to her surprise he didn’t appear annoyed, or even surprised, that she hadn’t waited for him to bring up her request. For the first time, he looked as though he wanted to do something that wouldn’t serve him—but wanted instead to see her happy. “She’s chosen Christophe, not me. And because we love her—both of us, you and I, Leo—we’ll help her. Won’t we?”

“Well, I . . . I don’t know where he is. How would I? He left that night some weeks ago. We haven’t seen him since.”

Jurgen frowned at Leo. “I thought you spotted him once when you were rounding up more men that day. Didn’t you tell me you gave him that letter? the one that came from Annaliese’s parents?”

Annaliese looked at Leo. “There was a letter from my parents? Was it for me?”

Leo shook his head. “No, it was addressed to Christophe. It seems he came to Munich to find you—to stay with you—at their request.”

“Yes, that’s true. So . . . you read the letter?”

Leo had the grace to look momentarily embarrassed. “Yes, we thought the content might tell us where either you or Christophe might be so we could get the letter to one of you.”

“And where is the letter now?”

Leo stood, taking his empty plate and reaching for Jurgen’s, then placing them on the corner of the table. “Now that you mention it, Jurgen, I do recall having gotten rid of it. I was going door-to-door, scrounging up every last man for help. I did spot Christophe. I remember now. He was with Ivo, I think.”

Annaliese stood. “With Ivo? Where?”

“Here in Munich. More crowded than ever, I thought at the time.” He turned back to them, away from the table where he’d left the plates. “It was his mother’s flat. You recall, Jurgen, we used to visit there when Ivo first joined us.”

Annaliese ignored Jurgen’s nod and faced Leo. “Will you take me there?”

Jurgen came up behind her, stroking one of her arms. “Leo will send someone for Christophe, to bring him here. Won’t you, Leo?”

She could go to Christophe. She could go right now, this very moment. “But—”

Jurgen was already shaking his head, hushing her. “It’s too dangerous, Annaliese. You can wait for him here.” He sighed. “Soon things will be better. When our ways have been accepted. Then the streets will be safe, even for babies. You’ll see.”

* * *

Christophe jumped off the train when it slowed as it reached the station of a village in the foothills of the Alps. Here he was, miles out of the way. He knew he wasn’t the only one inconvenienced, but he was probably the only one who would dare go against the orders of the free corps army and travel the rest of the way to Munich by foot.

All of Munich must be surrounded by troops from other parts of Germany—or soon would be. He’d learned from the conductor that White troops, loyal to what was left of the ravaged but official German army, had already been fighting the Red Communist army in Dachau, north and a bit west of the city. That was why the train had been diverted, to keep clear of what was certain to be another battle—unless the Communists in Munich surrendered their arms without a fight.

He shifted his pack onto his back, keeping the rifle easily accessible, along with the pistol in his pocket. It was late already, but he would have to find a place to sleep somewhere along the way. Spring had brought weather warm enough to use heaven as a roof once again, and for that Christophe gave thanks.

Even as he begged God to help him find Annaliese—if she was still in Munich.

33

Annaliese scrubbed at a stain on the cement, wishing she could banish her worries the same way she could banish the smell. She wondered where some of the men had gotten enough vodka to make them vomit. Maybe it wasn’t alcohol at all that had infected them the night before. More likely it had been fear.

Men. Confined, bored, tense. Waiting. Probably much the same way they’d been in France for the past four years. Thank God she’d been too young to be expected to do this sort of work then—or worse, as a nurse having to tend wounds and blood.

A bang sounded from somewhere and she jumped from knees to feet. She stood staring at the door, fully expecting armed men to reappear—who knew from which side of this conflict. But nothing happened. The door didn’t even open. The bang could have been anything, but whatever it was, it wasn’t an attack on this building.

Since the men had left that morning, only their tension remained behind. Leo and Jurgen and a handful of men around them, serving as guards, inhabited the warehouse now. Word had spread like morning birdcalls that a White army had been gathering around Communist Munich, that the men behind the red flags must defend the city, defend their dreams for the future. For the hopes of everyone of lesser means.

Annaliese told herself to be sorry they’d marched off, knowing if there was to be a battle, some undoubtedly wouldn’t return. But the moment the warehouse cleared except for the scant remnant, she’d breathed her first easy sigh since her arrival the morning before.

Yesterday she’d waited eagerly for Christophe to come to the warehouse. She’d taken a chair outside the tent, opposite ones that Jurgen and Leo sat in. She’d let them talk about the battles that had taken place in the past weeks. How Leviné had taken charge of the councils, how easily he’d gathered an army of ten thousand men to guard Munich and protect its newly proclaimed Communist state. How he’d had anyone voicing resistance to the new regime arrested. They talked, too, of the tragedy of those who’d already died in street battles when men loyal to the Communist ideals clashed with those who didn’t see the future as brightly and clearly as Leviné and those like Jurgen.

But she’d barely listened. She kept looking at the door, each and every time it had opened.

Never once did Christophe’s familiar outline enter.

It wasn’t until well past dark that the men sent to find Christophe returned, telling Leo that he’d been at Ivo’s but wasn’t there anymore. He’d left Munich, but Ivo knew neither where he’d gone nor when—or if—he would return.

So all night Annaliese had planned how she would leave. She would ask Odovacar to take her to the train station in the morning. If she could find a train to take her outside the city, she would go home. Surely that must be where Christophe was now. Little wonder. Munich was another battle site these days, and she knew he’d had enough of that. At least he must be safe, far away from whatever threatened to explode inside this city.

But shortly after dawn, before she could even leave the tent, Odovacar had been summoned along with the rest of the men. She’d nearly burst into tears. And then she’d prayed. She must wait, and wait she would. The moment she could get away, though, she would say good-bye to Munich and not look back.

In the meantime, she scrubbed.

* * *

Christophe slipped to the edge of the marching army, an army he knew only too well. Not a single one of them asked him any questions. They looked no farther than the make of his rifle and the cut of his boots to know he was one of them.

The outskirts of the city were deadly quiet, as if it had been evacuated. He knew it hadn’t been. Outsiders might not be gaining easy access into Munich, but he hadn’t seen a mass exodus, either. They were there, hiding away in their homes, in much the same way so many French had hidden when Germans had marched through in August of ’14.

That it was Germans hiding from Germans wrenched his stomach. How had this happened? Hadn’t they had enough, the same way he’d had enough? When would it be time to stop fighting?