Daisies Are Forever (7 page)

At each of the half dozen or so homes, she got the same response. She deflated. No one would take pity on the elderly and the children. Because they weren’t any different from the norm. The Frische Nehrung was laden with the very old and the very young.

But what would she do? She feared for Herr Holtzmann’s
health. Everyone’s health. They had all gotten wet. No matter which way she looked, no answer presented itself. There were no barns, just fishing shanties and summer homes.

A rumble sounded in the distance. She gazed at the sky, expecting more fighter planes, wanting to shake her fist at them. They couldn’t leave civilians alone. But then again, they didn’t sound like aircraft. She cocked her head. More like trucks. From the sound of them, a convoy of trucks.

Lord, is this the answer to my prayer?

A short time later, a dozen or more green canvas-covered trucks rolled into the village. The throng surrounded them so they were forced to stop before rolling over the clamoring crowd. Gisela shoved aside those in her way. A German officer sat inside the first truck she came to, his billed hat embellished with a brass eagle.

“Where are you headed?”

“To Danzig.”

“Don’t leave.” As if he could. She twisted her way through the crush of bodies to where she had left the rest of her band. “Come on, we have to hurry. Leave the carts. Stuff the rucksacks with everything we can carry and go. There’s a truck headed west.”

Herr Holtzmann rubbed his eyes and stretched his limbs. “God does provide.”

“He did this time.” Gisela nodded.

Everyone pitched in to pack what few possessions they had left. The old women stuffed sweaters and wool pants and the girls’ underwear into the bags. Gisela added jars of pickled beets and the remaining sausages wherever she found room. In her search, her fingers touched her leather Bible.

Opa, what is happening to you? Are you still alive?

She pressed the book to her chest, feeling her opa’s work-roughened hand on her cheek. Not much room remained, but she packed it among their clothes.

More refugees joined the crowd. Mitch slung a rucksack over his shoulder, then picked up the girls—one in each arm. Herr Holtzmann hung on to Katya. Gisela grabbed three bags and Bettina’s hand. “Come on. We don’t have a minute to lose.”

Already a few men clung to the running boards of the idling trucks. Gisela hauled her band to the first vehicle where she had told the driver to wait. She had never seen even sardines packed as tightly as the people in the back. “I’ll see what the driver can do.”

She dashed to the cab. “Can you fit in a few more? I have little children and old people.”

“Fräulein, if there is not room back there, there is not room up here.”

Now she noticed the four other soldiers who filled the seats. “What am I going to do?”

“Whatever it is, do it fast. Frauenberg fell yesterday, the eleventh of February.”

First Elbing and now Frauenberg.

“The Soviets will be in Danzig very soon.”

“Are the trains still running out of there?”

“If you find one, get on it.”

The noose around the refugees tightened. When they were all pressed against the Baltic Sea, then what would happen? They had to get to Danzig and onto a westbound train without delay. With their slow progress, they would never be able to walk to Berlin and keep ahead of the Russians.

She scooped up Renate and grabbed Annelies. “Let’s go.” She pushed and pulled the group down the line of trucks.

All of them were filled to overflowing.

They came to the final truck, revving its engine. No matter how full it was, she would get them on board. She felt the Red Army’s breath hot on her neck, and it made her shiver.

This time, she wouldn’t fail.

Mitch climbed up. “Hand me the girls.” He had to shout above the noise of the crowd and the vehicles.

Diesel fumes choked her and she coughed. She lifted first Renate and then Annelies into Mitch’s arms. The trucks ahead of them in line pulled away, one at a time.

Bettina and Katya proved to be nimble and, though not very ladylike, climbed aboard without assistance, then tumbled over the closed tailgate.

The truck’s lights went off as she turned to help Herr Holtzmann. The tires rolled, splattering mud. The crowd parted and the driver picked up speed. She screamed for them to stop.

Gisela’s stomach dropped to her feet, her heart taking its place, her entire body thrumming with each beat.

“Halt! Bitte halt!”

SEVEN

G
isela held on to Herr Holtzmann’s hand, squeezing it, pulling him along. Her legs burned and she gasped for breath. “Halt, bitte halt.”

She ran behind the transport truck like a lion runs for its prey. With its heavy load of passengers and baggage, it moved forward at a crawl. The old man’s hand slipped from her grasp.

“God, help us!” If she shouted at the heavens, would He hear?

The truck lurched forward. It would leave and she and Herr Holtzmann would be stuck here, at the mercy of the Russian soldiers.

Her memory echoed with her aunt’s voice.
“Run, girls, run.”

But she couldn’t run. To do so would leave the old man to face his fate. And she had promised she would leave no one behind. She grew light-headed and her ears buzzed. Every muscle in her body quivered.

“Halt! Halt!” The shrieks tore the inside of her throat raw.

With a sudden squeal of brakes, the truck stopped. From the corner of her eye, a dog darted from in front of the truck.

She clutched her neighbor’s hand once more and dragged him behind her.

“Leave me, Gisela, leave me.”

“Nein. Nein. Don’t talk like that.”
God, get us all on this truck.

“I cannot continue. Take care of my sisters.”

“Ja, you can. You must.”

But two steps from the truck, he wrenched his hand free. She stumbled forward. Fingertips brushed hers and a strong hand gripped her wrist, pulling her into the truck. The bone in her shoulder joint shifted and her legs lifted off the ground. She swung her feet until she kicked the truck’s bumper.

Feeling a solid surface beneath her, she climbed over the tailgate. As she turned to help Herr Holtzmann, the truck jolted forward. “Nein. Nein. We can’t leave him.”

He made no attempt to catch the transport.

In the distance, explosions rocked the ground.

She leaned forward and banged against the gate.

Hands held her inside. She fought and wriggled but couldn’t free herself.

Herr Holtzmann waved with his right hand, his left over his heart.

A Russian plane zoomed from the heavens, spraying the ground around the truck with bullets. The rocks they kicked up clanged against the truck’s metal body. Without warning, the driver sped up.

Gisela bounced against a solid chest.

“Let me go. I have to help him. I have to get him.”

“You can’t. It is too late.” The deep voice in her ear was pure German. No British accent.

“Then let me off.” She kicked at the stranger’s shins.

Her blows proved futile. Herr Holtzmann grew smaller and smaller.

“Good-bye, Brother. Catch the next bus and meet us in Venice.” Bettina stood next to Gisela, now waving to Herr Holtzmann and blowing him a kiss.

Gisela fell backward.

The stranger wrapped his arm around her and steadied her.

She peered at her rescuer. A man in a German soldier’s uniform met her gaze, the picture of Aryan perfection with blond hair and eyes as blue as the Baltic itself.

The Russian pilot shot a few more rounds at the convoy of trucks. Screams erupted from those in the vehicles in front of them. Her stomach vaulted into her throat.

The tide of tears spilled over, down her cheeks. “Nein, not him. Not him. Dear Lord, not him too.” She clung to the stranger who still held her.

He let her cry for a good long time, until her tears turned into hiccups.

“Are you going to be all right, fräulein?” His voice was deep, lilting, almost hypnotizing.

“Gisela.” Mitch’s voice came from beside her, though the stranger continued to hold her.

“Oh.” She stopped short, almost calling him Mitch. “Josep, Herr Holtzmann didn’t make it on. He stopped running. I couldn’t . . .”

“I know.”

“Then this man pulled me inside.”

“Kurt Abt.” The man’s right sleeve hung empty. He must have a very strong left arm to have lifted her into the truck the way he did.

“I should have stayed with Herr Holtzmann, held on to him tighter. If only you could have rescued him.”

Kurt’s blue eyes frosted. “He was an old man, not long for this world.”

“He was my opa’s best friend. Neither of them will make it.” The empty space in her heart pained her. She swallowed around the lump in her throat.

At last Kurt released his hold on her. “He could get on the next truck.”

“How many more will there be? If Elbing and Frauenberg have fallen, how much longer until Heiligenbeil and Königsberg do too? The Russians could already be in Danzig. We don’t know.”

Mitch touched her back. “These soldiers wouldn’t be on their way there if it was in Soviet hands.”

But they all understood that it wouldn’t be long.

“Tante Gisela.” Renate cried for her and she became aware of the little girl beside her and the gorgeous platinum blond woman holding her.

Gisela took Renate and snuggled her.

Mitch spoke in her ear. “If you hadn’t made it onto the truck, the girls would have been without you.”

She squeezed Renate. “Then what was I supposed to do?”

“Just what you did.”

“Was it the right choice?”

“The only one.”

Yet she heard the huskiness in his voice. He had to miss his friend as much as she missed Opa. And now Herr Holtzmann. There had to have been a way to save them.

“You did the right thing.” The woman beside her with the Hollywood looks nodded. “When the Russians entered my village last year, they ran over the fleeing civilians with their tanks.”

“I know. I know.” Gisela would never forget the sickening sound of bones being crushed. All night long that horrible last fall in Goldap, she listened to the Russian tanks roll over those fleeing them. She shuddered. How many more lives would the Soviets demand?

Gisela studied the young woman, her wavy hair escaping her rolls. She had seen her before. But where?

A moment’s consideration gave her the answer. “You are Audra Bauer, a seamstress at the shop where my cousin buys her dresses, aren’t you?”

The woman tipped her head. “Ja. I always remember these sweet girls. Frau Steinmetz gives them candy.”

Gisela introduced herself and Mitch.

Audra wrinkled her forehead. “That soldier is your husband? I don’t remember you or Ella mentioning him when you came to the shop.”

When would she learn to think before opening her mouth? Or at least have an excuse at the ready. Gisela paused for a long moment before an answer came to her. “We are newlyweds. You know how wartime romances go. You meet one day and are married the next.”

Audra giggled like a schoolgirl. “He is very nice.”

Gisela had to admit she was right. His dimples got her every time, making her want to smile. And the way he raked his hand through his thick, dark hair . . .

Person upon person had crowded onto this truck tighter than pickled eggs in a jar. The truck flew over a bump and she and Renate jostled against Mitch. As if touched by fire, heat suffused her body. She managed a cautious peek at him. His prominent Adam’s apple bounced as he swallowed.

He smiled a sort of sad smile, biting his lower lip.

Her head spun.

The world buzzed.

Then there was blackness.

Gisela, standing in front of Mitch, slumped into him. He grabbed her under her arms. If there had been a spare centimeter to move, she would have fallen to the ground. The hair on his arms bristled.

They bumped along the road, jostled and shaken until every muscle in his body hurt. The smells of human waste, the taste of fear, the packing of one body against another reminded him of that
horrific trip in the cattle car from France into Germany five years before. Their captors had been less than kind. The POWs had been packed tighter than in this truck. Men prayed. Men cried. Men died.

Renate, wedged between Gisela and Audra, cried a pitiful howl until Audra held her.

Mitch shook Gisela. “Wake up.” She had to come to. “Come on now.”

He slapped her cheeks, though not hard.

She didn’t stir.

With quivering fingers, he felt for a pulse. Good and strong.

“Gisela, let’s look lively now. Come on now. Come on.”

Her eyes didn’t open, her long lashes brushing against her pale cheek. He peered at the crowd pressing on every side. “Give her air. Back up.”

But where could they go? The truck hit a pothole, jolting them. Gisela continued to sleep.

“She needs fresh air.”

Kurt whistled, quieting the throng, Mitch’s ears ringing with the shrill sound. “This woman has fainted. Now, everyone, step back so she can catch her breath.”

They did their best to obey their wounded war hero. Not a lot of extra air circulated around Gisela, but enough that her eyes flickered open. Confusion clouded them.

“Mitch? Mitch.”

He covered her mouth, hoping to cover her slip of the tongue. “Ja, Gisela, it’s your husband, Josep. Are you feeling better?”

She righted herself. “What happened?”

“Have you had much to eat?”

She shook her head. “With Herr Holtzmann’s food lost, I was trying to ration what we have left.”

“You fainted.” He dug in her rucksack, found a loaf of bread, and tore off a chunk. “Eat this.”

“I’m not hungry.” She turned her head away.

He clenched his teeth. Stubborn woman. “Suit yourself. When you faint again, I won’t try to revive you.”

She grabbed the bread and stuffed it into her mouth. After she swallowed, she grinned, a most insincere smile adorning her heart-shaped face. He returned the gesture.

Renate, Audra still holding her, patted Gisela’s arm and made an announcement. “I go potty.”

Did she mean she had to or she already had? If she went right here, both she and Audra would smell awful within minutes. And would keep smelling that way for days to come. Judging by the eye-watering odor in the truck, many had.