Where was Luzi?
Annika had been gone for days, a week maybe. Max would find Luzi, she prayed, in that hiding place. They would care for their baby together, and one day, he would care for the animals that he loved as well.
“But as for me I know that my Redeemer liveth, And at last he will stand up upon the earth: And after my skin, even this body, is destroyed, Then without my flesh shall I see God....”
Her eyes closed, Annika could see Max burying one of his charges, could hear the solemn words from his lips. And this time, no laughter escaped from hers.
God—her Redeemer—He lived. And one day she would see Him. Perhaps one day soon.
A promise threaded those words, a hope that He would conquer evil. That she would be with Him. She was lonely, but this time when she thought about death, she wasn’t as afraid.
The Nazis might try to take away this whisper of hope, like they wanted to steal the jewels, but she could cling to it deep inside her, in a paneled place where they could never find it—the hidden spaces of her heart.
The squealing of train brakes, the gasp of steam. As the train slowed, Annika looked out at a lamppost spreading a muddied light over one woman—an elderly lady in a housedress—and an armed agent. The guard opened the door, and the woman boarded.
The train pressed forward again, and Annika had closed her eyes, trying to sleep, when she felt someone sit in the seat next tohers.
“You’re not alone,” the woman whispered.
Annika turned, wide-eyed, and saw the trace of a gentle smile cross the woman’s face. She was older than Annika’s mother, but in the dull light, Annika saw peace in her eyes, like she’d seen in her mother’s before she died.
Annika reached for the woman’s hand. Her fingers curled into her palm as if she were plagued by arthritis, but she didn’t recoil from Annika’s touch.
A train ride bound to nowhere, but peace flooded through Annika’s heart as well, sweeping away the last strands of fear.
Neither she nor this dear woman next to her was alone.
CHAPTER 43
“Reader, nothing is sweeterin this sad world than the sound of someone you love calling your name.”
Words, oh so true, of Kate DiCamillo in her story about goodness and forgiveness, about broken hearts and the fight against evil. The tale of a courageous mouse called Despereaux.
We pack so much into the confines of a name, the padded walls sheltering character and faith, work and family, history and home. Yet a name can be boundless as well, rich in legacy and fierce with love.
The moment Charlotte says Luzia’s name, everything shifts. It doesn’t matter that an ocean separates these sisters or that they are staring at screens—Sigmund’s laptop in the castle library and Brie’s cell phone in Ohio. What matters is that they found each other.
Introductions are short between them, unnecessary really.Light breathes into the darkness of their stories, shadows fading away, and then the thread of truth begins weaving their lives back together, one strand at a time.
Josh and I slip out onto the patio as they remember together.
Ella waves, quite content playing with Sigmund’s “greats” again—kicking around a soccer ball near a guest cottage. Josh and I move down to the bank, a sliver of tall grass and rocks between the water and pine trees.
The journey of these sisters, the story of one life stolen too early while another lived in her place—it’s all too much for me to process at once. Luzia told us about the man in Vienna who hurt her, about Max’s heroic attempts to save her life, and about that morning forever etched in her mind—April 9, 1939. The day the Gestapo took Annika away.
“Do you think Luzia loved Max?” I ask, the question in my mind spilling out to the man next to me.
“Perhaps,” Josh says. “One’s first love is hard to lose.”
I think of the tears in Luzia’s eyes as she told us about Hermann. “Second love is hard to lose too,” I say. “She and Hermann were married for sixty-five years.”
Josh reaches for my hand, and my fingers seem to melt into his. Even with Scott, I felt on edge at times, like he was expecting something of me and I wasn’t certain what to give, but I feel content here beside Josh. Like I can trust him with the pieces of my heart.
I told Josh about Scott late last night, while Ella slept, and he empathized deeply with my loss, different from his and yet we both have had to grieve losing someone we loved. And we’ve both had to battle our fears.
We sit on an old wooden bench near the shore, a branch dangling over us. “I wonder if Charlotte and I would have found Luzia years ago, if she kept her name.”
“Ernst Schmid would have found her long before you did.”
