Springtime of the Spirit (37 page)

“Tell that . . . to God . . . on my behalf.”

And then he closed his eyes.

44

Annaliese walked with Christophe at her side, her hand in his. They’d barely spoken since seeing to Jurgen’s body, entrusting him to the local authorities. She and Christophe were as vague as they needed to be about how the murder had taken place, explaining that Annaliese had merely helped him from the train and the other man had come up behind them. She squashed the betrayal in her claim of not knowing Jurgen, and yet she told herself she really didn’t, not anymore. The Jurgen she knew wouldn’t have stood by and allowed innocent victims—even capitalists—to be shot for no reason. The shooter had been taken away in custody, and she would let that man identify Jurgen. They had left their names and addresses, but with homes in Braedon, Annaliese hoped to be spared anything that had happened in Munich.

They’d also been quiet during the wagon ride Christophe had been able to arrange that took them nearly all the way to Braedon. She guessed he hadn’t been as stunned by Jurgen’s death as she had, but she welcomed Christophe’s solemn sympathy in the touch of his hand, the crease of his brow, the way she knew he silently prayed when he bowed his head and closed his eyes, opening them only to look at her.

Soon their walk would end at the mansion her parents occupied. Christophe had told her they weren’t alone there anymore, that they’d taken in a number of bourgeoisie from the city. She was glad of that, even though she would have preferred a more private homecoming. A quiet place to ask her father’s forgiveness.

The gate to the mansion was in sight now, the boundary to the home her parents would soon leave behind.

“Thank you,” she said quietly to Christophe as they walked.

“For . . . ?”

“For coming after me.” She was glad when he stopped, taking advantage of their last moments alone to bring her into the circle of his arms. “And for not giving up on me. I’m not sure I would have been so persistent for someone like me had I been in your shoes.”

Christophe smiled. “There is a verse in the Bible, one I would like to read with you many times in our lives ahead.” He kissed her before adding, “It says love
never
gives up.”

Then he took her hand again, with the other pulling a key from his pocket. “To the lock on the gate,” he told her. “You can thank your mother for sparing us a climb over the wall. This key used to belong to the guard.”

Inside the gate, they walked down the lane toward the mansion. Annaliese looked at the house that she’d hated, knowing its luxury had played a part in sending her away. But right now she imagined nothing more than those within it. Her mother was here. And her father.

No sooner had she finished the thought than the front door burst open. There, not walking but running in spite of a gown that limited her gait, was her mother, coming toward her with open arms.

Annaliese ran too, and in a moment they embraced more tightly than they had since she was a child. “Mama!”

Christophe stood by and with a sob her mother pulled him near, the three of them clasped together.

Then Annaliese saw beyond them. At the doorstep was her father. His impairment was instantly noticeable, but when he called her name, she thought nothing could sound more lovely.

Epilogue

“Are you sure you won’t come with us, Annaliese?” her mother asked. “You need not even pack—it’s done for you. It wouldn’t take Christophe long to gather some of his belongings. What could be more exciting than a honeymoon in America?”

Annaliese threw a glance at the last trunk to be carried out the door, knowing most of the ones that belonged to her waited in the library, where they had been since her mother had packed them. She’d opened only one trunk since returning, but it could easily be collected and added to her parents’ belongings, which were right now being transported to the carriage outside for the first leg of their journey to America.

The houseguests had already bid their good-byes, amid grateful tears for having housed them in such a time of need. But now they had disappeared, allowing the last of the family farewells to take place in private.

Annaliese slipped her hand back into Christophe’s. Her husband. “I’ll keep my trunks handy,” she said, “and once everything is settled here—the factory, the houseguests, the house—we’ll come. At least for a visit.”

That would have to be enough. Even now, as her father stood nearby, leaning on his cane, she almost wished she could accompany them.

But as eager as she was to restore her relationship with her father, it was probably best to allow more time for forgiveness—on both sides—to take hold. It had been two days since she’d come home, two days of happy reunion with her mother, including a wedding as hasty and exciting as any of those that had taken place before the war. Both she and Christophe had wanted to share the occasion with them, so the decision not to wait had been simple. Yet these couple of days had only allowed a gradual easing of awkwardness between Annaliese and her father.

Besides, there was much to be done here. The guests were already looking for other accommodations, but no one knew how long that might take. The government might be ousting Communists at that very moment, but it could be some time before Munich was safe again.

All of Christophe’s holdings had to be settled too, making it impossible for them to leave Germany even if Annaliese were fully convinced she wanted to. It was hard to leave a place she’d struggled so fiercely to help mend.

Her mother took them each by the hand. “I know you want to make a difference, and I admire you for that. But don’t ignore what’s best for you. It isn’t getting easier to live here since the war ended; it’s only been harder. Think of your children, should God bless you with some.” A new thought seemed to surprise her. “Oh! And as your children’s grandmother, don’t I have a right to want them safe? and within reach to love?” She squeezed Annaliese’s hand. “Promise me you’ll do what’s best for them, even if that means coming to America.”

“It’s time to go, Edith,” her father said from the threshold. His vision truly must be improving from what had been described when Annaliese first returned. Already he was walking toward the light of the open door.

They followed him outside and Annaliese’s heart fluttered as for the first time she seriously envisioned the possibility of going to America. How could she face the prospect of having children without her mother nearby to help? She knew Christophe was ready to leave Germany; Nitsa was already in America, and he was likely even more eager than Annaliese to see his sister again.

Maybe—someday—she could leave. If she were ever convinced she’d really helped their homeland toward a better future.

She hugged her father and then her mother, losing her own battle with tears when her mother lost hers.

“We’ll come,” Christophe said, taking his turn to hug Annaliese’s mother. “Have I ever failed to bring your daughter to you?”

Annaliese wished she could laugh, grateful for Christophe’s promise. But when her parents disappeared inside the carriage and it rolled down the lane, all she had were more tears.

She waved even though they surely could no longer see her.

“We’ll see them again,” Christophe said gently, pulling her close. “One way or another.”

She nodded. It didn’t matter how much time passed until then, no moment could be more painful than this one.

They’d barely made it to the porch before sounds of another carriage slowing at the gate drew her attention. She waited for it to pass, but the sound stopped altogether. Then she heard someone alight, followed by the bark of a dog.

“Were your parents expecting more guests?” Christophe asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“Let’s see who it is, then.”

When Annaliese was close enough to see the driver, dressed in a uniform that was somehow familiar, excitement bubbled in her breast before she even knew why. Where had she seen that emblem, the one that tied his employer to a fine home in a village several miles east of Munich? And was that dog’s little yap somehow familiar?

“Meika!” Annaliese let go of Christophe’s hand, hurrying past the coachman. She rushed to the side of the carriage, pulling open the door just as Meika and Schatzi nearly tumbled into Annaliese’s waiting embrace.

“You—you’re here!” She laughed when Schatzi wiggled between them, alternately licking Annaliese’s and Meika’s faces. “Oh, I’m happy to see both of you! I have so many things to tell you.” Annaliese pulled herself away just as Christophe came up behind her, and Schatzi issued a firm, high-pitched bark. “If only you’d come yesterday—you could have been witness to our wedding. Meika, this is my husband.”

Meika extended her hand while holding Schatzi away from him with an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid he doesn’t like men. He’s quite the ladies’ dog.” Then she eyed Christophe with an approving nod. “So you’re Christophe. Yes, Annaliese described you well enough for me to have pictured you correctly. I’m glad you were able to find one another. It’s why we came to Braedon, to make sure Annaliese made it safely beyond Munich. I was so worried about her!”

Christophe put his arm around Annaliese. “For good reason. You’ve probably heard about the fighting there.”

Meika nodded again, but Annaliese put a cautioning touch to her friend’s shoulder before petting Schatzi again. “You shouldn’t have risked traveling. If I’d known you were on your way, I’d have been the one worrying. Why didn’t you take your motorcar? It would have been faster.”

“We would have, but my driver said he was afraid we wouldn’t be able to find fuel. So we took the coach and stayed clear of the city. Up until a little while ago, we had quite an impressive escort—a contingent of free corps, patrolling the roads.”

“Probably hunting fleeing Communists,” Christophe said.

“They made me feel entirely safe,” Meika said. Then she turned back to the open door of the carriage just long enough to pull out a folded newspaper. “Accounts of the battle are in here. But there is something else, Annaliese. Something I wanted to show you. The moment I saw it, I knew I shouldn’t ignore the prompting to come see you.”

She handed Schatzi to Annaliese, then unfolded the paper on the floor of the carriage at the open door. Meika ignored headlines that Annaliese glimpsed about street battles, turning to a page nearly buried in the back. At last she found what she was looking for and refolded the paper so the article was displayed.

“Look here—you’re quoted in the newspaper!”

Confused, Annaliese glanced between Christophe and Meika, clutching the dog closer. “I’m quoted?” She swallowed hard. “Not linking me to Jurgen?”

“No, he’s not mentioned at all. Look, it’s from the German Women’s Association and they talked about your pamphlet! They quote you directly, about how at long last women have a voice, and that such sentiments should be noted around the world. As far as America! Do you know women don’t yet have the vote there? At least not from coast to coast. It’s to be brought up again in their Congress any day now, and this writer goes on to suggest their government should read
your
pamphlet to see why it makes sense to use the talents and insights of the female half of any population.”

Annaliese cast Christophe a merry glance, exchanging with Meika the newspaper for Schatzi. She’d been so focused on German politics that she hadn’t realized women had no voice in America’s ballot boxes. What a transition the world had ahead, now that women were finally being heard. Even women in the wilds of America. How exciting would that be, to help with such a change?

Perhaps she could! American women weren’t so very different from German ones, were they?

Christophe’s wink told her he was already following her line of thinking. And his English was so much better than hers. . . .

Author’s Note

The setting for this novel is a volatile and complicated time in German history, one I attempted to share from a simple affection for history rather than scholarly authority. My hope is to present a glimpse at the conditions in Germany following the Great War, a time that served as the foundation for so many of the horrors that followed. There are, without doubt, many facets of that time in history left out of this story. For those omissions, whether intentional or otherwise, as well as for any misinterpretations of this time period, I offer my sincere apologies and a hope that the characters did their job to entertain.

There are, however, a few factual details mentioned in my story that I found interesting and wanted to elaborate on:

• Kurt Eisner and Eugen Leviné were actual historical figures, and both played prominent roles in Germany’s history at this time.

• Kurt Eisner’s assassination left the Socialist regime in disarray, providing enough chaos to inspire Eugen Leviné to attempt a Communist revolution in Bavaria. During the course of the revolution, Leviné accused a number of wealthy, prominent citizens of Munich of being counterrevolutionaries, succeeding in murdering eight of them by having them shot. After his arrest by the free corps, Leviné was sentenced to a firing squad and died crying, “Long live the revolution.”

• The free corps ushered in their own reign of retributive terror, matching and in some cases surpassing the damage the Communists had done.

Writing this story reminded me how deep the passion for politics can run, particularly if the values and freedom of an individual are threatened. It also reminded me that a public voice can make a difference if we don’t lose hope. At the very least, the challenges of this time and place in history prompted me to pray more often for our own country and its leaders and to be thankful that we have avoided such horrors because our government is of the people, by the people, and for the people.

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