Springtime of the Spirit (34 page)

“To arrest anyone who didn’t agree with you—”

“To make the streets safe.”

“To
execute
members of the most prominent families of Bavaria—”

“That was Leviné, not me!” He leaned forward as if he would rise but didn’t. “They said he was doing what the Bible taught—the very book you tout!”

The words silenced Christophe, surprising Annaliese, too. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“They said there was a story in there about a husband and wife who weren’t sharing properly, as others were. They were living in perfect Communism, those people! But not this husband and wife. God struck down the two who only pretended to share what they had. Leviné—or someone with him—said no one should object to carrying out an example God set, for those who refused to share.”

Christophe stepped forward. “So the Communists are God, now? They decide who is to live and who is to die?”

Jurgen shook his head. “No! It’s only what someone said.”

“And you did nothing to stop those executions.”

“It’s true, he went too far. And so they’ll shoot him for it! But not me; I didn’t authorize any of that. I wanted only freedom—for all of us. Freedom to live in fairness.”

Christophe bent over Jurgen with a look in his eye Annaliese hadn’t seen since the night she’d awakened him from his nightmares. “Don’t,” he said, his face only inches from Jurgen’s. “Don’t speak to me about freedom. You want to tell everyone what to do, like a father of little children who don’t know what is best for them. To decide what to take from some and what to give to others. That isn’t freedom. Not the kind I fought for.”

Jurgen looked away. “I know you’ve never believed in helping others the way I do.”

“
Helping
others! With guns? With decisions they have no part in?”

Annaliese wanted to hear no more. Everything Christophe said made sense, and she agreed with him. But for all Jurgen’s faults, she’d never doubted his sincerity. The answers weren’t as easy as either man might think. She wished they were, because if she could condemn Jurgen for what he’d done—and maybe she could—then she might not have been able to hear the urging God was placing on her heart this very moment.

“Christophe, we must help him. You know that, don’t you?”

Her question was gently spoken, certainly not with as firm a tone as either of them had used. Yet it was loud enough to catch both men’s eyes. They stared at her, one in astonishment and the other with hope.

“Do you know what you’re saying? what you’re risking to help him?”

“I don’t believe he would’ve ordered anyone to be executed, Christophe. Do you really believe that of Jurgen?”

Christophe took a step back, turned away, rubbed a hand through his hair. “No,” he said at last, over his shoulder.

“Then we have to help him. Only God should decide whether or not he’s to die, not the free corps.”

Peace flooded Annaliese’s soul the moment she uttered those words. In this, she knew she was right.

41

“We can’t wait another day,” Christophe said to Annaliese. They sat across from one another, having just finished breakfast before the sun had even risen. Ivo and his mother were at the table as well, but the children were still asleep in their room, while Jurgen lay in the parlor. “It’s dangerous to have him here, and if you want to see your parents before they sail, we need to hope a train can take us out as soon as possible.”

Annaliese nodded; she knew he was right. They had no choice—no easy choice. Jurgen was barely recovered from his wound; they’d already delayed their departure another day for him.

“Let’s tell him.”

She took up a cup of coffee and some bread for Jurgen, then followed Christophe into the parlor. Ivo and his mother came along.

“What is this?” Jurgen asked with a smile. He was fully awake, sitting up on the sofa. “All of you to deliver one man’s breakfast?”

Annaliese gave him the hot coffee and hard bread.

“When you are finished with that,” Christophe said, “we’re leaving. It isn’t safe to wait any longer. You’ll have to walk on your own, possibly all the way to the train station if the streetcars aren’t running. When we’re there, if there is a fight for space on the train, you’ll have to fend for yourself. I’ll do what I can, but Annaliese is my first priority. Do you understand?”

Jurgen nodded.

Christophe still stared. “I want you to fully understand. If you are recognized, neither I nor Annaliese will protect you. We won’t give our lives for you.”

Jurgen’s gaze lingered on Annaliese. Christophe’s words were harsh, but she also knew they were true.

Jurgen sipped the coffee. “Perhaps it is better out there today. Last night was certainly quiet. Maybe the trains are running more regularly.”

“That’s true,” Ivo’s mother said, “about the streets.” The room Annaliese shared with Ivo’s mother overlooked the street, and being near a corner, they had a wide view.

“It only means the free corps are fully in control,” Christophe said. “They will be no help, and we won’t be armed.”

Jurgen frowned. “Not armed?”

“They’re not likely to allow rifles on anyone but their soldiers, and I won’t risk being suspected.”

He’d already shared that part of the plan with Annaliese, but she’d guessed it had as much to do with his unwillingness to take another life as the risk in being identified as a revolutionary.

“But I thought—since you have military-issue boots, a military rifle—you would present yourself as a free corps member. Perhaps I, too—”

“We have no way to act out such a charade if we’re questioned at the train station. No orders, no names, no information at all that I could present to prove I’m one of them. So we will go as bourgeoisie.”

Annaliese fully expected Jurgen to protest this as well, but he waited silently for Christophe to continue.

“I have a full suit for myself, and I will give you the shirt and the hat I meant to wear with it. You’ll have to go without a jacket. The stain is too deep on yours, even if the bullet hole can be sewn shut. But the weather is warmer today. Perhaps no one will think it odd if you go without.”

“And you, Annaliese?”

“I have the proper clothing.”

“We’re going to change now,” Christophe said. “Ivo will bring the shirt to you. Do you understand everything I’ve said? Are you strong enough?”

He smiled and leveled his gaze at Christophe. “I’ll have to be, won’t I?”

Christophe did not reply. He glanced at Annaliese, then left the room.

* * *

Christophe led the way from Ivo’s house, heading south under a sky that showed only a promise of morning.

“Shouldn’t we go the other way?”

But Christophe didn’t reply to Jurgen’s halfhearted inquiry. He could see the man kept up well, better than Christophe would have expected. He didn’t trust Christophe, though, and that was something Christophe had little intention of trying to change.

In fact, Jurgen was right. Heading south was not the most direct route to the nearest train station. The shortest walk would take them through the heart of the neighborhood they all knew best—where those of lesser means lived. Instead, by going a few blocks out of their way, they could travel through a more fashionable neighborhood. No one expected to be able to hire a taxi these days, but if one was to be found, it would be found in that neighborhood, not their own. At the very least, the streetcar was there.

And as intended, the clothes they all wore fit the upper-class neighborhood, not this one.

If he had allowed himself to look at Annaliese for more than a moment, he would have let his admiration show. She nearly looked like the Annaliese of the family portrait, even down to the onyx pin at her collar that winked light at him. Lovely. Happy, but as worried as he was about what this day might bring.

* * *

Despite all her worries, despite knowing there were thousands of men in this very city who wanted not just to arrest the man at her side but to execute him, Annaliese allowed herself a moment of enjoyment over the feel of the silk. In the past few months she’d told herself such luxuries went with greed, but she had to admit she’d missed some things she used to take for granted. Wearing Giselle’s pin reminded her that some of the things of this world really were lovely.

It was one of the things she would have to reexamine now, through the new lens of faith. When did enjoying the gifts God provided become something other than just that? something self-serving . . . even idolatrous?

She wanted to cling to such thoughts—mundane ones and serious ones, too—about God and faith and Christophe, thoughts even of her family, of the voyage her parents would soon take, of Christophe’s suggestion they might sail themselves. Not that she could really leave Germany, but knowing Christophe would do whatever it took to keep them safe, including leaving their home, made her trust him all the more. She wanted to fill her mind with anything but what might happen until they were free of this city.

She would have been worried even without the added complication of having Jurgen with them. He kept up without complaint, as if he weren’t still recovering from a bullet wound and the loss of so much blood. He stared straight ahead, looking almost the part of an upper-class gentleman if one didn’t look too closely at the weave of his pants. His shirt, however, despite the wrinkles and that it was a trifle taut across the shoulders, was of the finest quality, embroidered on the pocket with the letter B. It would be difficult to see that and still think him anything but well-to-do, especially with the elegance of his face and the color of his eyes that the hat barely hid. Annaliese had never thought his face fit the look of a peasant, and in Christophe’s shirt her assessment was proven correct.

Her gaze most often went to Christophe. He looked every bit the Christophe she’d known before the war, the one who was never late to church, who was always polite to her and to her family. He was more handsome than ever in the suit he’d worn on Sundays, and he certainly fit the part of a gentleman. The shirt he wore now was one of Ivo’s best, and although it was of inferior quality to the one Christophe had given Jurgen, there was nothing about it that seemed out of place with the higher-quality suit covering it.

He’d left behind his knapsack, two guns, and the rest of his battle garb. Klaus had helped shine his boots, so that unless one looked closely, they blended in with the suit as well. They did the same for Jurgen’s old shoes.

The day was uncommonly clear and warm for so early in the spring. And as expected, the streets were mainly quiet. Service on the streetcars was indeed sporadic, but they were able to catch one after a few blocks of walking. Christophe paid for all three of them. Whether because of the early hour or the condition of the city, there were several empty seats. She and Jurgen took spots next to each other, and Jurgen sank to the leather cushion with closed eyes, as if more relieved than he wanted to admit about being able to sit at last. Christophe stood next to them, one hand on the back of the seat, the other on the leather strap dangling from above.

Annaliese barely noticed the avenues they passed. There was little to see, anyway, except closed shops and old, tattered pamphlets rustling along the gutters. Even here, in such fine neighborhoods, the old flyers reminded her of all the words she and Jurgen had used trying to convince others their way of thinking was right.

She closed her eyes to all of that now. Instead, she prayed. It wasn’t until she felt the streetcar slow at the curve just before Munich’s main train station that she looked around again.

The wide, cobbled avenue was busier than the rest of the city had been. There were even a few motorcars parked, as always, just outside the station entrance. Because the hour was early, the gaslights above still had a glow about them, but they were dulling in comparison to the rising sun.

There were soldiers here too, milling rather than marching. Christophe led Annaliese and Jurgen away from the streetcar, but instead of keeping away from the nearest knot of soldiers, he walked up to them.

“Do you know if the trains are running on schedule yet?”

His voice was strong and bold, not a trace of the nervousness that ran through Annaliese—and, no doubt even worse, through Jurgen.

All of the soldiers studied them, but only one spoke. “They are running, but not on schedule. Have they ever run on time here in Bavaria?”

The men behind him laughed.

Christophe led them on their way, and the soldiers let them go.

“Was that wise?” Jurgen asked, once they stepped inside, among the columns of the station. His voice was terse, a little breathless. “Calling attention to ourselves?”

Christophe didn’t look at him. “Better to act the parts we’re hoping to fill instead of letting them confront us first. We’re bourgeoisie, grateful for them, remember?”

The station wasn’t nearly as chaotic as Annaliese feared. People walked about, and in between them a few soldiers wandered with bayoneted guns. They were like fish with great stingers swimming through the station, stopping now and then but questioning only people who were dressed to lesser means. “Where are you going?” she’d heard one soldier ask. “What have you been doing in the past few days?” Followed by a search for any weapons.

She was glad, then, that Christophe had shown the restraint he had in leaving behind his own weapons.

The largest groups were found at the ticket booths. Christophe chose a line behind an older couple at one of the two open counters. The woman’s hat was adorned with a tall feather, the man’s fedora trimmed with a miniature version of the same.

“Have you been waiting long?” Christophe asked, so friendly they could have been going to Oktoberfest rather than standing near streets still tense with remnants of a suppressed revolution.

“Just a half hour or so,” the man said.

Christophe smiled. “It promises a fine day.”