He exhaled heavily, as if to expel the notion of there being any other viable option. “If the children are young, yes, this way might work. They must be young, Fraulein, or unable to answer questions. You can’t expect a child to lie.”
He was right. I knew it. But it pierced me to think that a fully conversant disabled child like Brigitta would not be a candidate for this kind of rescue. A child like Wilhelm, yes, but not someone like Brigitta. We would have to find another way for older children, if another way could indeed be found.
“I understand,” I said. “So I would come and get the children and secretly make my way back to the church and then—”
“No. You should not come back here at all. Any child would need to be brought by courier under cover of darkness. It could take several days from the time your friend Emilie gets them to the border until they show up on the church doorstep in Lucerne. How many are you planning to save?”
“I don’t know. As many as we can. For as long as we can.”
He paused a moment and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He wrote something on the back of it and then extended it across the desk.
“This is my home number. Only call me at ten p.m. so I’ll know it’s you. If I don’t answer, it means I am not at home or I can’t.”
Relief and gratitude flooded me. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“Put my card away, please.”
I slipped the card into my handbag, but not before noticing his name, Franz Kohler.
“Thank you, Herr Kohler,” I whispered again.
“Call me Franz. Do not call me for at least two weeks. I need to talk to some people. Hopefully you will have made your case before the canton officials by then and been granted at least a temporary visa to stay in Lucerne.” He stamped my documents and handed them back to me. “You should go now.”
For half a moment, I wanted to ask Franz Kohler why he would do this. Why would he risk his job and maybe imprisonment to help me? But in the second half of that moment, I realized he was not doing it to help me; he was doing it to save these children, and for the same reason I was. Because it was the right thing to do. He had also clearly done something along these lines already, perhaps many times, and was connected with other people who also couldn’t stand by and do nothing. The world was full of evil people, to be sure, but there were also good people in it.
“God bless you, Franz,” I said instead.
I rose to leave, stirring Wilhelm awake. He frowned as I set him on his feet so I could take our suitcases outside the office. The child looked up at me with tired eyes.
“It’s best if the agents out front do not remember me assisting you or calling for one of them to assist you with your luggage,” he said.
“No, I understand. We will manage. Thank you. For everything.”
We exited the building and then I wrangled our travel cases with some effort. Night had crept in while we’d been in Franz’s office. I showed the official who had first stopped us our stamped documents, and I motioned for sweet Wilhelm to again hold on to my skirt as we walked through the last barrier to safety.
I was as exhausted as he was, and all I wanted to do was find Sister Gertrude’s friends on the other side of the gate, give Wilhelm the chocolate-covered cherries he deserved, and collapse in relief and joy. Tomorrow before I boarded the train for Lucerne, I would post a quick letter to Emilie so she would know we’d made it across the border to Switzerland.
We had saved Wilhelm, I’d tell her. I was already confident that we had.
And I would tell her as soon as I safely could that we had someone on the inside now who would help us save another child like him. And another. And another. And another.
34
MARCH 1948
A flurry of activity begins when I return home from Oakland, including the filing of court documents and investigations into my private life to make sure I’m a suitable parent. George Petrakis is happy to help with the legal aspects and, thankfully, so is Mrs. Sommers. Both are intent on accelerating the petition within the court system so that Amaryllis can be adopted that much quicker.
When I told George and Lila my plans to adopt and that it was now imperative that I find my own place and secure a job, they told me a few hours later that they had a plan of their own. Over dinner, Lila reminded me that she and George already knew my only assets are my father’s property in Oregon—which he’d bequeathed to Truman, and then Truman to me—and a bit of savings I brought from Austria and converted into dollars.
“We want you and Amaryllis to live here with us,” Lila said. “The third floor is perfect for you. You would both have your own room and bathroom and some privacy. We know you’re worried about finding a suitable place to rent, and it’s expensive here in the city. You could live with us rent-free so any job incomecould be used to support you and Amaryllis. And then you could save your father’s property for Amaryllis’s future.”
“I could never ask you to do such a generous thing,” I responded in what was surely wide-eyed shock.
“But you’re not asking,” George said. “It’s what Lila and I want to do, and it would solve a huge problem for you.”
“And I love the idea of having a child in the house again,” Lila continued. “Especially a little girl. I’d always hoped for a daughter, and we never had one. I love our three granddaughters, of course, but they don’t live here in the house. I don’t get to see them every day or hear their prayers at night. I think it would be wonderful to be a part of helping you raise this child. And George could be somewhat of a father figure to her. That’s important, you know.”
I’d begun to cry at the kindness of such good friends. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
