Despite how her news had hit him, Ozzie couldn’t make himself turn away. It was a tender sentiment, and it felt good to forget their troubles and share a moment, if only for a few seconds.
Jelka stood, then stroked his face with the back of her hand. “The only way to keep her safe is to run away.”
He stumbled backward. “Run? What are you talking about? And go where?”
She leaned her weight into him. “I have a friend south of here,” Jelka said. Then she told Ozzie about one of her schoolmates who had a brown baby and how her American sweetheart deserted his company. “They now live happily in a little village south of Ulm, and no one bothers them. They are content. Even had two more children.”
Ozzie rubbed the back of his neck. The liquor had taken the edge off, so much so that he chuckled when he asked, “You wanting me to go AWOL?”
He had joined the army for stability. To make something out of his life. To be a proud American. To show America that the Negro man was just as capable as the white man. He didn’t want to give up his dream of working in the Intelligence unit. Besides, since he had volunteered, it was the first time in his life that he’d had steady pay. It wasn’t a lot, but it was damn sure more than he was used to making. How would he earn a living as a man on the run from the Americangovernment? His mother wouldn’t survive it. And what about Rita’s tuition? Ozzie bristled.
Jelka said, “I am just thinking about what’s best for our daughter. With Gottfried returning, what kind of life do you think she will have here without you protecting her? He is a violent man.”
Ozzie could not answer that, and Jelka’s words were like a dagger through his heart. He knelt before Katja, who slept peacefully on the sofa. Already, looking at Katja was like looking God in the face. In just a few hours, he had discovered a love that he never knew existed. But Jelka was asking him to do the impossible. There had to be another way.
CHAPTER 24Mannheim, Germany, September 1951
ETHEL
Ethel spent the remaining days of summer cloaking her four children in a mother’s love. She taught them English, took them to the park, fed them well, and gathered them each night to pray before tucking them into their cozy beds. While they slept at night, she perfected the Brown Baby Plan and wrote how-to-adopt articles for theAfro-Americannewspaper.
Most evenings after Bert had gone to sleep, her kitchen light burned into the wee hours as she worked on the plans for her one-woman adoption agency. The single mission of the agency was to facilitate speedy placement for colored children with American families in Germany and the United States. Even though she worked hard, at every turn she found bureaucracy placing a wedge in her plans. For the past three weeks, Ethel had spent her days at city hall, petitioning the courts on behalf of the fourteen military families she had identified as prospective adoptive parents. The language barrier had proved a hindrance until two days ago, when a young law student offered to serve as her translator. After much back-and-forth, Ethel received herfirst win, and she couldn’t wait to get to the Negro Wives of Mannheim meeting to share her good news.
On the next Friday, Ethel made her way to the basement of the yellow Protestant church at the front of the Benjamin Franklin Village, dressed in a floral A-line skirt and sheer blouse. When she entered the open room with Anke on her hip, she found the two women in charge of hospitality putting the finishing touches on the food table.
Glass bowls of potato salad and macaroni salad sprinkled with paprika, crispy fried chicken legs, juicy sliced honeyed ham, and green beans smoked with pork made Ethel’s mouth salivate. There was also a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade and a pineapple upside-down cake for dessert.
“Looks fantastic.” Ethel waved to the two women as she placed Anke down with the other two children on a mat with plush toys.
Julia pulled Ethel into a tight hug. “Oh, you smell good. What’s that you’re wearing?”
“Just a little Jean Naté.”
“Smells better on you than it does on me,” Julia huffed. “Were you able to run off copies of the agenda for me?”
“Yes, Madam President,” Ethel teased, then reached inside her purse and handed Julia a stack of papers.
“How did it go in court?”
Ethel perked up. “I finally made a little headway, but I’m going to need all hands on deck. Can I hijack a few minutes with the ladies to put out a cry for help?”
“Of course, just add it to your vice president’s report,” Julia said, reviewing the schedule. “I do hope the social committee has secured a location for our dinner/dance fundraiser. I already have a handful of people who are ready to purchase tickets.”
The room filled with laughter and chatter as more women arrived, dressed in their Sunday best. Metal chairs tied with pink bowswere set around rectangular tables covered in starched white linen tablecloths. After hugs and small talk, the women held hands, said grace, and piled their plates high before drifting to their seats.
Julia passed out the agenda and called the meeting to order. After she went through their social and membership outreach points of engagement, she turned the meeting over to Ethel.
Ethel stood, and as she walked, she could feel that the waistband of her skirt had tightened against her belly. She had treated herself to seconds of everything.
“Good afternoon, ladies. Protocol having been established, I am Ethel Gathers, vice president and community service chair. First, I want to thank all the women who prepared the food today. You really put your foot in it.” She smiled, and many of the women chuckled. A few fanned their hands in the air as one lady shouted, “Say it again,” and another called out, “Got me licking my fingers to the bone.”
Ethel went on, “As many of you know, I have been working feverishly to place the half-Negro orphans living here in Germany in American homes. I am bringing this before our group to secure your help in locating families willing to adopt. Any way you can help, really.”
A tall woman dressed in a flowy peach dress raised her hand. “Are you looking for families in America too? I have a cousin in Charleston who can’t have children,” she said.
“Yes. I’ve just penned an article that ran in theBaltimore Afro-Americannewspaper, letting folks know that these children need homes. I’ve asked the potential parents to send their inquires to the newspaper, providing a good description of what they are looking for, girl or boy, infant, toddler, school-age child. To be frank, that’s the easy part,” Ethel said, thinking about all the affidavits of support from the immigration authorities, financial records, and the long list of legal documents needed for the consulate in Germany to start the process.
“Are all the kids locked away in orphanages?”
