The sentiment, while sweet, never completely soothed her. It was Ethel who wanted more, and she could not understand what she had done to make God so angry that He would withhold something socrucial as motherhood. Ethel was such a good person. She was faithful. Always put others’ needs before hers and had a big heart. She gave of herself because she had lots to offer. Wasn’t that the vision she had received? So why was she still unable to heal her womb and carry a child? It felt like the worst of punishments.
The tears stung her cheeks. She walked and wandered, and by the time she took stock of where she was going, she realized that she had marched in the wrong direction. In some parts of Mannheim, all the tiny streets looked the same. Ethel could not read many words in German, so she often relied on landmarks to get her from one place to another. On this walk, nothing was recognizable.
The wind blew, ruffling her candy straw hat, and as Ethel reached up to make sure her pins remained in place, she saw two Catholic nuns dressed in long black robes across the street. They were sandwiching a thin line of eight or nine little children holding hands. The sight of them stilled her. Ethel craned her neck to see into the faces of the sweet little boys and girls, noticing right away that their complexions ranged in color from sand to storm.
They were Negro children.
Without thinking, Ethel started following them from her side of the road. After about five minutes, she crossed the cobblestone road to walk directly behind them. She fell in step with the shorter of the two nuns, who took up the rear, tasked with guarding the children from behind.
“Sprichst du Englisch?”Ethel asked. It was the first phrase that she had learned and the one she used most often. The short nun pointed to the taller nun at the front of the line.
“Danke.”Ethel’s heart galloped as she slipped quickly past the children’s miniature faces to the front of the pack, where she walked alongside the older nun, who held her head up like the person in charge.
“Sprichst du Englisch?”
“Yes, I speak English.”
“Hello. My name is Ethel Gathers.”
“Hello, Ethel. I’m Sister Ursula. Do you live nearby?”
“I’m not sure. I seem to have lost my way.”
“Do you need help?”
“I’m all right. Where are you going with these children?”
“We are the sisters of St. Hildegard and live just up ahead. You are welcome to come with us.”
Sister Ursula reached for Ethel’s hand, sending a calm wave through her entire body. After a few more steps, Sister Ursula turned down a small alley and pulled a key from her robe, unlocking a metal gate. It squeaked and moaned as she pushed it open and ushered the children through.
“Eins, zwei, drei,”she counted out loud until she got to eight. The shorter nun locked the gate behind them and then said something in German that must have translated into “Go play,” because the kids scattered throughout the courtyard, roughhousing with one another and laughing. The sounds of their return brought more children into the courtyard from inside the two stone buildings. A younger nun rolled a baby pram out, and Ethel watched her sit with three smaller ones underneath a wide-branched tree. Some of the children wore tattered clothing. Most were dressed in items too big or too small, and none of their outfits had been paired in a way that suggested anything beyond necessity. A few went barefoot, but most wore sandals or badly scuffed shoes.
Ethel watched, speechless. Sister Ursula had gone off and returned with a glass of water, which she offered to Ethel.
“What is this place?”
Sister Ursula had intense eyes, and a gray strand of hair had come loose from her habit. “This is St. Hildegard’s children’s home. We take in the orphans who have been left behind.”
“Left behind by whom?”
“Whomever. The war was difficult on many.”
Ethel looked around and then back at the nun. “All of the children appear to be mixed-race.”
Sister Ursula nodded. “It is unfortunate, but some of the American fathers have moved on, and the German women cannot always keep their children.”
“Why not?” Ethel touched her stomach. She had known about Negro soldiers taking up with German women, even seen a few mothers with brown-skinned babies in the streets, but she hadn’t known they were being abandoned.
“The mothers lack the support they need to raise these children. Most lose their jobs once their situation is known and they had some privileges revoked.”
“What a shame.”
“We do all that we can to care for them.” Sister Ursula motioned for Ethel to follow her.
“My husband is an officer. He told me that when Negro soldiers apply for permission to marry German women, the U.S. military almost always denies it.”
“I wish the two countries could work together and put the welfare of the children first. It’s having a devastating effect on all of us.”
