War Girls Complete Collection Chapter 147

Chapter 2

P

eter Wolf pushed his way through the crowd, trying to find empty seats on the train.

“Up here,” he called out to his wife, her sister and her mother, indicating a compartment with four vacant seats. He blocked the door with his broad shoulders to prevent others from pushing inside. Minutes later everyone in their party was finally seated.

“I had no idea the trains would be this crowded,” Frau Klausen, his mother-in-law, said.

“It’s been like this for quite a while. Since they started using all passenger trains for troop transports,” Ursula, Peter’s sister-in-law, answered.

“…and requisitioning all private vehicles for the war effort,” his wife, Anna, added.

“It’s a miracle we even got the travel permits for all of us,” Peter said, helping the heavily pregnant Ursula out of her light summer coat and heaving up the heavy suitcases into the overhead bin.

“Well, we are going to attend a special Nazi ceremony, so it’s not like we’re traveling for pure pleasure.” Anna pursed her lips as she said the words. Peter knew how much his wife hated the Nazis for everything they’d done to her family.

“I’m so happy you girls could come with me to visit Lydia; it’ll be a much-needed reprieve from the air raids in Berlin for all of us,” Frau Klausen said as the train started moving. “May I sit over there? I get sick when sitting with my back to the direction of train.”

Peter got up and changed places with her. Now he sat opposite Anna and couldn’t hold her hand during the trip, but he had the pleasure of looking into her beautiful face with the dark blue eyes, framed by shining blonde hair. Warmth spread throughout his body. As far as he was concerned, admiring her was as enjoyable as holding her hand. He was a truly lucky fellow to have found love again, after his first wife was killed – back when he still went by the name of Piotr Zdanek.

Ursula, one year older than Anna, had the same blue eyes and blonde hair, but instead of Anna’s straight strands, natural waves fell about her face and shoulders. At least he assumed so, because what knowledge did he have about the little tricks women used to make their faces and hair look elegant, yet natural? Anna and Ursula were the spitting image of their mother, who must have looked like them twenty-five years ago.

Caught in his thoughts, he followed the conversation of the women only with half an ear. He was worried about the happenings in the European war theater. Through his clandestine contacts with the British, he knew there was something big about to happen in his home country, Poland. But nobody knew the precise details.

“…I haven’t been to Kleindorf in years.” Anna’s sweet voice caught his attention and a smile spread across his face.

“Tell me what it’s like at your Aunt Lydia’s,” he said.

“To cite our baby sister Lotte, it’s boooooring.” Anna laughed. “The village where Aunt Lydia’s farm lies doesn’t even have a train station. We’ll have to take the bus from Mindelheim to get to Kleindorf. From there it’s another twenty minutes’ walk to her farm.”

“I arranged for her to pick up our luggage with an ox cart,” Frau Klausen said, winking at Peter. He didn’t shy away from hard work, but the prospect of not having to lug all their suitcases to the farm still sent a jolt of relief through him.

At every stop more and more people pushed inside, filling the two remaining seats in their compartment, and also piling in the corridor, making a trip to the bathroom next to impossible. About halfway to Munich, where they had to change trains, the rail car became so crowded no new passengers could climb aboard the train and people started pushing through the windows. At least fifteen passengers filled their compartment to the brim, everyone desperate to get wherever they needed to go.

“It’s very hot in here,” Ursula murmured quietly, not one to complain when nothing could be done.

“Here, have some water,” Anna said, offering her a flask.

Ursula took it, drank a small amount and then handed it back. “Thank you.”

Peter glanced at Ursula, who looked very pale, except for red, heated cheeks. She held her hands across her belly, as if protecting the child inside from accidental bumps of the standing passengers. He got up from his seat by the open window to change places with her and said, “Sit here.”

“Thanks,” Ursula said and fanned herself with cooler air from outside.

After endless hours, they finally arrived in Munich and changed into a slightly less crowded regional train bound for Mindelheim. When at last they reached Mindelheim, Aunt Lydia was waiting for them at the platform, much to their surprise.

“Aunt Lydia,” Anna called out, waving to gain her attention. She pushed her way through the crowded platform, leaving Peter to trail after the women, his hands full of luggage.

“Lydia, you came all the way here. We could have taken the bus,” Frau Klausen said, greeting her sister.

“Frida. It’s so good to see you. I’m so glad you could all come.” Lydia gave her sister a short embrace before she looked at her nieces. “Anna, Ursula. It’s been how long? Four years? Or longer?”

“I believe almost five years, ever since this war started,” Ursula answered.

“Aunt Lydia, this is my husband, Peter,” Anna said.

“Peter, welcome to Bavaria. Such a shame that I couldn’t attend your wedding,” the older woman said with a smile shaking his hand.

“Thank you, Frau Meier,” Peter said. Lydia was about his age, but since she was his mother-in-law’s sister, he opted for the more formal greeting.

“Please, call me Lydia. Come. We have to catch the bus.” Lydia hurried them on and led the way outside the tiny train station to the place where the bus already waited to pick up the disembarking passengers. At the bus stop in Kleindorf, Lydia’s oldest son, Jörg, who’d just turned eleven years old, waited for them with a rickety-looking ox-driven cart. Somehow, they managed to fit everyone plus their suitcases onto the cart and shortly thereafter they stopped in front of a very tidy-looking farmhouse.

Lydia showed them their rooms and asked them to come down into the kitchen for dinner. As Peter carried the suitcases upstairs with Jörg’s help, the boy stopped for a moment before entering the small room assigned to Peter and Anna. “This one used to be Lotte’s, God bless her.”

“I’m sure she’s better off where she is now,” Peter said in a serious tone. Nobody except for immediate family knew that Lotte wasn’t really dead but had assumed the fake identity of Alexandra Wagner. Despite the obvious grief in the boy’s eyes, it was best not to let him in on the secret. When Jörg left, Peter closed the door and wrapped Anna in his arms.

“It’s true, you know,” she murmured against his shoulder.

“What?”

“Wherever Lotte is, she’s better off than in Ravensbrück.”

“It’s over. She’s safe now.” He hugged Anna tighter, a stab cutting into his heart at the lie. He’d only seen her little sister Lotte once, at their wedding ceremony. And he’d never approved of Lotte’s plan to become a spy for the Allies. Especially not when she’d told them she was being deployed to Warsaw. As much as he loved his hometown, the Polish capital wasn’t a safe place to be right now, not when world-changing events loomed in the air.

“You’re right. Let’s go downstairs and introduce you to everyone.” Anna gave him a kiss, before she straightened her skirt and led him to the kitchen, where Lydia and her six children waited for them. Lydia’s husband had been on furlough several weeks ago, on his way from somewhere in Serbia to France. Rumors had it that the Allies would try to invade France, so Hitler had transferred huge numbers of troops to the West.

“Dinner is ready. Wash your hands and sit,” Lydia told the children and showed the visitors where to sit. Peter admired the woman in her thirties who managed not only her six children, all under the age of twelve, but also an entire farm, without the help of her conscripted husband. But then he shouldn’t be surprised; his Anna and the other Klausen women were forces to be reckoned with.

“Lydia, this dinner is exceptional,” Frau Klausen praised her sister.

“It definitely is. I believe I haven’t eaten such a delicious meal in ages,” Peter added. With the rationing, they rarely got fresh vegetables or milk, but here on the farm, food didn’t seem as much of an issue as it was in the city.

“Thank you for having me,” Peter said later, while Anna and the girls cleared the dishes from the table. Ursula excused herself, as she was tired from the trip, but he and Frau Klausen sat with Lydia in the sitting room.

“You are very welcome. Thank you for bringing my sister and my nieces here to celebrate with me. I know how difficult it is to travel these days.”

“It was good to get out of the city.”

“We hear so many bad things about the air raids. I’m glad we live far enough from the big cities that we rarely see an enemy aircraft.” Lydia poured him and her sister a glass of self-brewed schnapps.

“That’s good,” Peter said as the clear liquid ran down his throat. “When is the ceremony?”

“The day after tomorrow. On Mother’s Day.” Lydia gave a curt laugh. “The Nazis are pulling out all the stops on this. There’s a festival with music and parades, and the mayor of Mindelheim, Herr Keller, will give a speech. Then someone from the propaganda ministry will award the cross of honor to all Aryan mothers who have at least four children.”

“Since Lydia has just borne her sixth child, she’ll receive the Silver Cross,” Frau Klausen said.

“I could do without it,” Lydia said, lulling her baby to sleep, “but the Silver Cross is very prestigious and grants me special status as

honorable mother.

I’d rather not go to the ceremony, but since the unfortunate events with Lotte, I’m grateful for any help remaining in good standing with the administration and Herr Keller. The award provides insurance for me, and I’ll put a good face on the matter.”

Peter nodded, empathy for Lydia filling his soul. He’d been curious as to why the family had made such a fuss about attending the ceremony. But now he understood. The mayor had cast an eye on Lydia’s farm, and only waited for an opportunity to take it from her. But he wouldn’t be able to touch the bearer of a Silver Mother’s Cross. He would first have to deprive her of the award.

“Do you mind if I retire?” Lydia asked them. “I have to put the children to bed and the cows need milking early in the morning.” Suddenly, she looked tired.

Frau Klausen waved her off. “We’ve got this. Anna and I will finish doing the dishes. We don’t want to be a burden on you.”

“Thank you, dear. I’m glad you’re all here. I’ll see you both in the morning.” Lydia cradled the baby in her arms and walked into the kitchen to order her children to bed. Later, Anna came into the sitting room and asked Peter if he wanted to go for a walk. At this time of the year, the daylight lasted until well into the night, and he agreed. A romantic evening walk with his wife was something they got to do much too infrequently.

Anna linked arms with him and led him around the vast farm, pointing out the barn, the cowshed, and several of the fields. His heart grew weary and he became ever more silent.

As they returned to the farmhouse, she stopped to ask, “What does that look on your face mean?”

“It’s just…it reminds me of home.” A wave of nostalgia swept over him as he remembered the happy times during his childhood on his grandparents’ farm near Lodz. But that had happened in another lifetime. Before he met his first wife Ludmila and moved to Warsaw. Before he joined the Polish Army. Before Hitler invaded and Peter fled with his unit via Romania and Iran to Britain to join the British Army.

And before the Nazis killed Ludmila and his son Janusz. Because they were Jews.

On Sunday morning

everyone was giddy to attend the event, but for different reasons. Lydia’s children welcomed the distraction from day-to-day life, since festivities and happy celebrations came few and far between. The adults, though, loathed the

Hitlerjugend

parades and propaganda speeches that had to be endured first.

Peter escorted Anna to the marketplace in Mindelheim, where hundreds of people had already gathered. Lydia seemed to know every last person and they stopped to greet far too many people for Peter to even try to remember.

The marketplace had been decorated with festive red and white ribbons, and the swastika flag hung from virtually every window. On one side of the marketplace a wooden dais had been erected where currently a group of girls from the

Jungmädelbund

, the Hitler Youth for girls under fifteen, performed gymnastic exercises.

They ended their performance with thundering applause from the spectators. Most of the girls rushed to their parents, their faces heated with sweat and pride. Then, an official in a decorated uniform, whom Lydia identified as the mayor, party leader and chief of police, Herr Keller, stepped on the dais.

Peter noticed a shudder rip through Anna, despite the wonderful sunny day, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“He’s the one…” she whispered.

“Shush,” Peter put a finger on her lips to keep her from saying anything compromising.

The mayor gave a lengthy speech about the virtues of the German Mother, reminding everyone that today was a day of happiness and celebration, despite the sacrifices that some had to make. Peter looked around, seeing more than one woman secretly dabbing at her eyes. In the past years, with all the fallen soldiers, Mother’s Day had become a sad occasion for so many of them.

“…the war of birthing has to continue. It’s every pure German mother’s duty to birth children for the Reich and the Führer. You cannot let insecurity and the vile attacks of our enemies let you waver in your efforts to produce soldiers for our great army…”

Peter tuned out the disgusting words of the mayor. What woman would feel compelled to have a child just to send it to die in the next war the Nazis were obviously already planning? And without their husbands? As far as he was concerned, a man was needed to conceive the child, but the number of men attending the celebration was minimal. The Nazis probably already worked on some wicked solution for this conundrum.

Anna elbowed him. “Where are your thoughts?”

He gave a rueful grimace and watched as an official from the Propaganda Ministry climbed the dais and started to read the names of the women to be awarded the Mother’s Cross in Bronze, for giving the Führer four racially pure, genetically fit, healthy children.

Next were the Silver Awards, for having borne six children, and Frau Klausen had to nudge her sister forward when her name was called. Clapping and cheering accompanied the women as they approached the dais. The official proceeded to give the award to the women lining up, shook their hands and ended his congratulations with the words, “The Child ennobles the Mother.”

Lydia stepped down and returned to her family with the cross hanging from her neck, while the tribute to the mothers with the Gold Cross for eight children continued. Lydia’s girls wanted to touch the award, and she handed it around for everyone to appreciate.

For the girls it seemed to be nothing more than a fancy, glittery necklace, the Nazi symbolism meaningless, which they would love to use in their games.

It was the first time Peter had got a glimpse of such an award from up close. It resembled a Marian Cross, with the swastika on the front, surrounded by enamel blue and white. The inscription around the swastika said

Der Deutschen Mutter

, for the German Mother. It was fastened on a long blue and white ribbon to be worn around the neck.

“Can we play now?” three-year-old Maria asked.

Since the official part of the celebration had ended, Lydia allowed her children to take off to play. A marching band of Hitler Youth boys occupied the dais and played popular songs. Despite the festivities’ being sponsored by the Nazis, Peter enjoyed the cheerful atmosphere and soon followed the example of a few couples and danced with Anna.

The war had made things so difficult, the jubilant mood of the day was a welcome respite.