My labor was very long and difficult—hours and hours of pain with no relief in sight. Everything that was happening to me was out of my control, and now even my body had turned traitor. It seemed to function without my help, possessing some instinctual knowledge of what to do, wrenching my child from me—I was simply along for the ride. But what a terrible ride it was. I vowed never to have another child if it meant going through this agony again, but Mama smiled and assured me that each baby got a little easier. When I screamed that I was being ripped in half, Oma told me that I was close to the end.
Then they laid my daughter in my arms and my joy overflowed. Her tiny, wrinkled face looked so much like Oma’s that I decided then and there to name her after my beloved grandmother. The bitterness I felt toward Friedrich was so strong, it never occurred to me to ask his opinion.
“I’ll name you Sophie,” I whispered. “My little Sophie.”
SIX
* * *
Friedrich’s draft notice lay on his dresser, unopened, for more than a month. He didn’t need to read it to know he would have to leave us soon. School reopened in September without him. He had told the headmaster that he’d been summoned for military service, but not that he was fleeing to America. The school authorities were kind enough to allow us to stay in the cottage until Fritz left, and they promised him a job when he returned from the army in two years. I still didn’t understand why Friedrich couldn’t sacrifice two years in the army for my sake, instead of making me sacrifice the rest of my life for his.
As my resentment festered, I started to pull away from Friedrich the way people pull away from a loved one who is dying, distancing themselves from the pain. I lavished all of my love on Sophie, who grew stronger and prettier every day. But the more I withdrew, the more Friedrich seemed to cling to me, desperate to preserve the fragile bonds that had grown between us during our brief year of marriage. As far as I was concerned, his decision had already severed them.
He was seated at the table beneath the barren bookshelf one evening, writing yet another letter to his cousin in America, when the notion came to me. “Fritz, why don’t you just leave now,” I said, “instead of prolonging this for two more months? You’ll go crazy sitting around the house for that long with nothing to do, and I’ll go crazy watching you.”
He carefully laid down his fountain pen and blotted the page before answering. “I promised you I’d stay as long as possible.”
“I never asked you to make that promise.”
“I know . . . but I thought that you would want me here.”
Tears stung my eyes. I rocked Sophie in my arms, even though she was sound asleep. “What I want doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“It matters a great deal.”
I waited until I could look up at him, dry-eyed. “Then I want you to leave. You’re ready to go, I know you are. Why drag it out any longer?”
He didn’t answer. I had been nurturing the hope that when the time came to leave, Friedrich wouldn’t be able to desert us after all; that the reason he hadn’t already left was because he was having second thoughts. But when he returned from posting his letter to America, he spread the map of his escape route into Switzerland on the table. I laid Sophie in her basket and peered over his shoulder at the map, wondering what he planned to do. Be ready with a cover story when you travel, Rolf had warned. I pointed to one of the towns circled in red.
“My aunt Marta lives in this village. You could tell the authorities you’re going to visit her.”
Friedrich exhaled. “I already told you, I’m not going to lie.”
“Then why not plan a real visit? It only takes a day to get there by steam ferry. Sophie and I could come too.”
“I won’t involve you and the baby.”
“I think it’s a bit late to worry about that,” I said curtly. “We’re already involved. Wouldn’t the authorities be less suspicious if you had your wife and child along?”
“Louise . . .”
“I’ll write to Aunt Marta. I’m sure she’d love to meet her new grandniece.” I picked up the box of stationery and envelopes that Fritz had been using and sat down at the table to compose my letter. I knew I was being stubborn, but why make it easy for him to desert us? I had it in my mind that Fritz would never be able to take his leave from us if we were in a strange village so far from home.
He exhaled again and rubbed his eyes. “Let me think it over.”
* * *
In the end, Friedrich reluctantly agreed to my plan and allowed Sophie and me to go with him as far as the Swiss border. A bite of frost chilled the air the morning we boarded the steamship that would take us up the Rhine, and as we pulled away from the wharf, Sophie and I took shelter inside with the other passengers. Fritz stood at the stern, watching our village grow smaller and smaller until it finally passed from sight. I knew he was saying good-bye. He had bid farewell to his family the evening before, pleading with them until late into the night to join him in America. “Sell your shop and open another one over there,” he had begged his father. “They need good butchers in America too.” No one from either of our families had made any promises.
By early afternoon we were more than halfway to my aunt’s village. The day turned unseasonably warm, and we sat in chairs on the deck of the ship watching farms and vineyards and church steeples slide past us on shore. I removed my hat to let the sun bathe my face. Sophie was asleep on my shoulder. The afternoon was so lovely I wished we really were on a day trip. If only this steady chugging upstream wasn’t taking Friedrich away for good. The fact that this journey was upstream seemed like a lesson in itself—he was fighting the current, taking us with him against the flow.
I closed my eyes, feeling drowsy in the sun’s warmth. I had only dozed for a moment when Friedrich gripped my arm.
“Louise . . .”
“Hmm?” I opened my eyes and saw two men in uniform—an officer and a younger soldier—slowly making their way across the deck. They scanned the passengers as if searching for someone, their expressions cold, unsmiling.
“They weren’t on the ship earlier today,” Friedrich whispered. “They must have boarded at the last stop.” We watched as they paused beside the young bank clerk from Cologne we had met earlier. The officer held out his hand, probably asking to see the identification papers, which all men of draft age were required to carry. Then they made the man stand while they searched his pockets and bags. All the color, tinged by wind and sun, washed from Friedrich’s face.
“No . . .” he whispered.
With perfect clarity, I saw that I could alter my future. I could keep Friedrich in Germany, cling to the life I loved. I didn’t have to be swept away to America against my will. The decision was mine to make, and I wouldn’t even have to say a word because Friedrich would never lie. The soldiers would find the packet containing his money, his emigration papers, the map marked with the trail across the border, his cousin’s address in America. I felt the power of control as I had felt the power of the ship when it had begun to move, plowing upstream against the current. I could fight the current too.
Now the soldiers were questioning the young medical student Friedrich had chatted with. The student seemed to be making light of the situation, smiling as he showed his identification papers and as he unbuttoned his jacket to be searched. But the soldiers responded with haughty efficiency. They had guns, power, authority. I tried to imagine Friedrich in a uniform, forced to act like these men, forced to aim a gun and kill. Then I tried to imagine him in prison, with real criminals.
My feelings toward Friedrich were like a tangled skein of yarn that I couldn’t unravel. I hated the choice he had made, hated his complete power over me as my husband. Yet he was a good man, a hardworking man, tender and affectionate. Part of me wanted to protect him, part of me wanted to punish him.
I cuddled my daughter, asleep on my shoulder, brushing my lips against her soft, sweet skin. Friedrich was her father. She needed him to provide for
her, protect her. I had no means of supporting Sophie without him.
What I was unable to decide for Friedrich’s sake became an easy choice to make for my daughter. I leaned my head near Friedrich as if to nuzzle his neck, as I had seen lovers do.
“Fritz,” I whispered, “give me your papers and the map.”
He didn’t move. One of the soldiers glanced our way as if scanning the deck for his next victim, while the other continued to interrogate the young student. I caressed Friedrich’s hand, lying clenched on his thigh.
“Hurry, Fritz.”
I lowered the sleeping baby from my shoulder to my lap. Sophie awoke and began to fuss, but I didn’t try to soothe her back to sleep. Maybe her cries would distract the soldiers. Men always seemed unnerved by fussing infants.
“The money too. Quickly.”
At last Friedrich summoned the strength to move. He bent over Sophie, speaking softly to her as he reached into his breast pocket for the packet containing all his papers and the money he had saved for America. He had tied up everything with butcher paper and string like a packet of pork chops. Leaning over the baby to conceal it from view, Friedrich slipped the packet to me.
I pretended to check Sophie’s diaper and slid everything into her knitted soaker pants. She wailed in protest. She hated lying on her back, and I knew if I lifted her to my shoulder she would stop. But as the officials approached, I wrapped her shawl around her legs again and allowed her to cry.
“Your identification papers, please.”
I wondered if they saw the tremor in Friedrich’s hand as he gave them over, or noticed the knotted muscle in his clenched jaw. I studied the officer’s face as he took his time reading. He was a thin, colorless man with pale hair and skin and eyes. He reminded me of a fish that lives deep inside a cave, far from the warmth of the sun. The touch of his slender hand would be as cold as an underground stream.
“I see that you are eligible for military service, Herr Schroder,” he finally said. “Have you received your draft notice?”
“Yes, I have.”
“How long ago?”
“It arrived the day my daughter was born. About a month ago.”
“Why haven’t you reported for duty?”
Friedrich hesitated. I almost spoke for him, but finally he said, “As I’m sure you’re aware, the government allows me three months to get my affairs in order before I’m required to report for duty.”
The officer stared long and hard at Friedrich, but my husband’s gaze never wavered. I prayed that the official wouldn’t ask him a more direct question.
“Your ticket, please.”
Friedrich fumbled in his coat pocket and produced our two round-trip tickets. Sophie was screaming in earnest now, the sound fraying my nerves. The soldiers seemed deaf to it.
“What is your business in this village?”
“My wife’s aunt lives there. We’re visiting her with our new baby.” Friedrich spoke only the truth, but it sounded stilted. The younger soldier pulled out a small notebook and a pencil.
“Your aunt’s name and address?”
While the soldier scribbled down the information, the officer eyed Friedrich as if he were a farm animal he was thinking of purchasing.
“Stand up,” he said abruptly.
They searched Friedrich in front of the other passengers, forcing him to raise his arms and spread his legs as they patted him down like a criminal. Their arrogance outraged me. One of them removed Friedrich’s wallet and counted his money, while the other leafed through the book he had been reading. His bookmark fluttered away on the breeze.
“Just what, exactly, are you looking for?” I asked angrily.
“Shh . . . It’s all right, Louise,” Friedrich murmured.
“Where are your bags?” they asked when they finished with him. Friedrich reached beneath his deck chair and pulled out our satchel. The soldier pawed through it, scattering all our belongings on the deck. I fought tears as he tossed my nightgown aside in plain sight.
“Is this all of your luggage?” the officer asked.
“We’re only staying the weekend,” I said with controlled fury. “But here is the baby’s bag, if you’d care to see wet diapers.” I shoved it toward him with my foot. They searched it carefully, in spite of the sopping diapers and soaker pants.
When they finished I stood, lifting Sophie to my shoulder. “Would you care to search me, as well?”
The officer’s pale eyes bored into mine for a moment. My heart pounded with anger and fear. I wondered if I would go to prison along with Friedrich if they found the packet.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said at last. The two men turned in unison and proceeded up the deck as if they’d merely inquired about the weather, not searched us like thieves.
When they were out of sight, I sat again. I didn’t dare look at Friedrich for fear that my tears would be unleashed. He bent to scoop our rifled belongings back into the satchel, then sat down and opened his book. It trembled in his hand.
I gazed at the tranquil hills floating past, the autumn-tinged leaves that hinted at the winter to come, and rocked my sobbing baby in my arms. For the first time I understood that Friedrich’s power to choose my fate wasn’t something to be envied. Making a decision was a balancing act, like the acrobat I had seen in the circus, suspended on a wire between two platforms. Once you’ve chosen, once you’ve taken the first step, you must continue no matter how terrifying the journey, until you either fall to your death or reach the other side. You can only hope that you’ve made the right choice, and pray for the strength to follow through.
The baby found her thumb and finally stopped crying. The afternoon turned chilly as the ferry churned into the lengthening shadows cast by the hills. Friedrich slowly closed his book and clasped his hands together on top of it.
“Louise . . .” I turned and saw a tear glistening on his lashes. “Thank you.”
* * *
We docked in my aunt’s village late in the afternoon. During the warmer months it was a favorite tourist destination with pleasure boats anchored in the Rhine and sidewalk cafes dotting the waterfront. Even in autumn the village was picturesque with Swiss-style buildings, painted flower boxes, and a clock tower on the village square that chimed the hour. It was also much cooler here and I was grateful for my shawl.
The fresh air and long journey had made me drowsy, and my legs wobbled feebly on dry land. My skin felt tight and wind-washed, my hair tangled from the breeze. I longed for a hot bath and a thick feather bed. A row of carriages for hire stood across the street.
“Fritz, can we afford to take a carriage to Aunt Marta’s? I’m too tired to walk.”
“Yes, but I . . . I’ve been thinking.” He searched my face, struggling for words. Was he going to change his mind about leaving us, after all? I held my breath, waiting.
“Louise, I don’t want to involve your aunt in this.”
“What do you mean? She’s expecting us . . . and we gave the soldiers her address.”
“I know. That’s the problem. I’ll need to explain to her that I’m breaking the law when I leave tonight, and then she might have to lie to the authorities. I don’t want to put her or you at risk if I can avoid it. I’ll hire a carriage to take you and Sophie there . . . but I think I’d better leave you now.”
“Fritz, no!” My disappointment was quickly overwhelmed by my rising panic. Until this moment I hadn’t really comprehended what his leaving meant. Now a terrible emptiness echoed through me—I felt so light I might have blown away on the breeze if Friedrich hadn’t had his hand on my shoulder. I remembered Oma’s description of feeling incomplete after Grandpa died. How could I feel so angry with Fritz for leaving me, yet feel such a loss when he did?
“Louise, it’s for your aunt’s sake. It’s bad enough that I involved you.”
“But we can’t say good-bye like this . . . standing here!”
A row of shops and restaurants faced the wharf. Friedrich steered
me across the busy street and into a cafe. We sat at a table in a rear corner and ordered hot chocolate, but the cups sat untouched. Twice Friedrich started to speak, then stopped, before finally finding the words he sought.
“If there were any other way out of this . . . if I had any other choice . . . I swear I’d never leave you like this, Louise.”
I nodded, too close to tears to trust myself to reply.
“Will you and Sophie be all right?” he asked uncertainly. “The journey home?”
I nodded again, biting my lip.
He reached across the table for my hand. “Louise . . . why did you help me today on the ferry? I know you don’t want me to go . . . yet you made it possible for me to leave.”
I lifted my chin, wanting to hurt him for some reason. “I only did it for Sophie’s sake. How would she survive if her papa went to jail?” When I saw how much my words had hurt him, I quickly relented. “Besides, the soldiers made me angry. They were so arrogant. I was afraid of what they would do to you if . . . and I realized that you could never be like them. And you would have to be, wouldn’t you . . . if you joined the army?”
“It’s part of their code . . . order and discipline and unquestioning obedience to authority. Do you regret your decision now that the soldiers are gone?”
I felt tears burning. “What difference does it make? It’s over and done.”
“The Scriptures say a husband and wife will become one flesh. What you did . . . moved me . . . because it was such a loving act. You put my welfare before your own wishes.” He was having trouble speaking as he battled his emotions. I felt a knot growing in my own throat.
“I know you felt something for me once, in the beginning,” he continued. “I treasure our early days together before . . . this. And I pray that you’ll feel the same affection for me again someday.” He propped one elbow on the table and rested his forehead on his hand, shielding his eyes. “I know you still don’t understand why I’m doing this . . . why I have to leave . . . why I’m making you move away from everyone you love . . .” He paused, then looked up at me. “But do you think you will ever be able to forgive me?”