The Forgiving Heart (The Heart of Minnesota Book 1) (2 page)

Understanding hit
Michael full force in the gut, making him suddenly ill. How had this happened?  His mind raced with possible solutions to his predicament, but nothing suitable came to mind.

Finally, he choked out, “Us?”

She didn’t seem to notice how his normally tan face had paled to the color of the chairs in which they were seated.

“Yes, Michael.  I thought you were here to ask me to promise to wait for you, but then,” she gave a little smile, “I suppose you know that I will.” 

The young woman rose and walked to the porch banister, “There will never be anyone else for me, Michael.”

Michael rose on trembling legs, feeling a bit lightheaded at the effort, “Melba, I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I. . .um. . .”

She turned around, a joyous expression on her face, “I know, Michael. You probably knew my answer, so you didn’t feel the need to ask. Still,” she stepped a little closer to him and smiled up into his face, “A girl likes to hear these things from time to time.”

Michael closed his eye
s and turned around. He had to think fast. Melba was a nice girl, but he had never once considered her more than a friend. He had never sought her out, had never danced more with her than with the other girls, had never spoken to her in a manner intended to draw her affection.

“Melba,” he turned back to her, “I think we need to have a serious conversation about this.”

              The young woman looked as though she could float on air at this announcement.

“
We’re too young to get married.”

Melba’s eyes twinkled at him,
“That’s what mother says too. Of course, she was married at eighteen so I don’t know why she would argue with me doing so at nineteen. And father was twenty-one.  That’s a whole year younger than you.”

Michael wondered if Mrs. Foster was under the impression that Michael had proposed already.

“It isn’t just our age, Melba. . .” he started, but she interrupted him.

“Our age won’t b
e an issue when you come back. Mother will have no problem with me getting married when I am twenty or twenty-one.”

Michael wondered
if he was having a bad dream. This couldn’t be real.

“Actually, Melba,” he tried again, “Even if the war ends in two years, which I doubt, I won’t be back that soon.  I’ve enlisted for four years.”

Melba scowled at him, “How could you, Michael? And without discussing it with me.  All the dreams we have for our future to be put off like that. . .”

He feared she would continue if he
didn’t put a swift end to this, “What dreams, Melba? “

Me
lba looked up at him in shock. He forced himself to continue.

“It isn’t just our age. 
I’ll be gone a long time, and you may find someone here to marry. Even if my feelings were different, I couldn’t –  wouldn’t – ask you to wait for me.”

Melba grasped his forearm with both hands, “You don’t have to ask me, M
ichael. That’s what I’m saying. I’m doing it for you because I know you are too noble to ask it of me, because I love you.”

Michael gently removed her fingers from his sleeve, “Please don’t say that Melba.”

Melba sat down hard in her chair, “Don’t say. . .?” her voice was an anguished whisper.

Michael did not sit back down, “I never meant to hurt you, Melba or make you think that there was more to our friendship than,” he paused for a moment to find the right words, “well, than just friendship.”

Michael felt the best thing to do would be just to leave. Staying could only cause further discomfort for both of them.

“Will you write to me?” Melba’s voice called to him as he descended the steps.

He turned back, “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Melba.”

She rose and came to him, “I’m sorry about the. . .misunderstanding,” she sw
allowed, “I should have known. I should have realized you would have said something earlier if you. . .” she stopped and looked away.

Michael hated to see the tears pooling in h
er eyes but knew only time would repair the damage he had unwittingly caused, so he opted to remain silent.

“You’ve been a good friend to me, Michael.  I would hate to lose that too.”

Michael was unsure of the proper thing to do. He prayed for guidance, “I’ll tell you what, Melba.  You think about this for a month. If you feel you can look at me as just a friend, then write. If you do, I’ll write back.”

The heartbroken girl tried a weak smile, “Thank you Michael.”

After a month, Melba did write to him. The letters were no more intimate than the ones from his sisters. The young man was quite pleased the lady had gotten over him so quickly. It was for the best on both sides.

Thinking this, he decided to open her letter first.

Dear Michael,   May 10, 1943

How are things wherever you are?  It is cold here.  The snow won’t go away, though I did see a glimmer of blue peeking through the gray sky today.

I’ve mostly had to walk to work the last few months. My father thought it too sloppy to ride my bike, and we can’t use the gas rations for such a thing as getting to our jobs. Other people are in the same predicament. We are so bundled up that you can’t tell men from women, much less one individual from another.

I have a date tonight with Jason Stanton.
I wonder what we will do, waddle over to the theater and watch a movie, I suppose. Jason does not have to go to war because of the family farm. In truth, though, I think he would still go if his father would let him.

             
We pray for you every day.  I hope you are staying safe.

             
Your friend,

             
Melba

CHAPTER TWO

The morning after Karlijna’s arrival in Eblag, she helped her hostess wash clothes in the building’s community tub. After they returned to the apartment, Mrs. Polaski gave her a scrap of red fabric to tie over her shorn head.

             
“I don’t want to offend you,” she assured the girl, “but it might make you a little more comfortable out with others.”

             
Karlijna tied it snugly, “Thank you. I think it will also make others more comfortable.”

             
The woman sniffed, “Don’t you worry about Miss Kroll. She’s become a little bitter in the past few years. Her young man was taken prisoner.”

             
“How horrible.”

             
Mrs. Polaski nodded, “It was, but no worse than anything else that has happened here.”

Karlijna changed the subject,
“How far are we from the German border?”

“Why?”  Mrs. Polaski scowled, “Do you want to go back?”

Karlijna shook her head, “I just want to get home.”

The woman’s expression softened, “You still have family there?”

Karlijna swallowed back tears and shook her head.

Mrs. Polaski laid a wrinkled han
d on the girl’s, “Did the Germa’s. . .?”

Karlijna nodded and shoved back the memory of the last days with her parents.

“Well then,” the lady rose and hefted the laundry basket to her hip, “You could stay here, but you look like you escaped one of those camps.”

She snorted softly at her own dark humor.

“You’re right,” Karlijna pulled a threadbare sleeve further down on her wrist. “If a soldier find me, it won’t be good for any of us.”

“
I’d say you need to go to Sweden instead.”

“Sweden?” Karlijna opened the door to the staircase.

“Sweden isn’t in the war, and they’re taking people.  Of course,” she stopped her progress up the stairs to look at Karlijna, “mostly they’re Jews.  You’re not Jewish are you?”

Karlijna shook her head, “No.
We’re Lutheran.”

Mrs. Polaski chuckled, “Best not let t
hat get out. The Germans won’t mind, but the Polish might.”

Mrs. Polaski spent the rest of the day plot
ting out a course for Karlijna. Two days later, Karlijna was again hiding in the back of a vehicle, this time driven by a Polish man who knew of her presence.  The Polaskis had given her a shawl and had insisted she take some of their food rations, so she added them to her precious bundle. Mrs. Polaski had also given her another scarf for her head.

“Wear them both on the boat,” she advised. “They will keep your head warm and dry.”

“Thank you,” she gripped their hands before she left. She knew it was too little for what they had done, but the words were all she had to offer.

The man travele
d to the coastal town of Leba. It was a miracle they had made it that far, a distance of more than 100 kilometers, without having the truck thoroughly inspected. Occasionally, a Nazi soldier would wave them down and take a peek into the bed of the pickup and speak to the driver, but after Mr. Krawiec showed his documents allowing him to own and operate a vehicle, the guard invariably waved them on.

Once the man arrived at his destination, he hurried Karlijna from her hiding spot.

“Quick,” Mr. Krawiec assisted her from under a pile of wheat sacks, “Nobody is here. Quick.” 

The man’s German was not good, but she understood eno
ugh to obey without hesitancy. He led her to a waiting boat and told her to get in. Arms clasped tightly around her few provisions, the young girl did as she was told.

“Now, go,” he shooed her with his hands, “go down.”

Karlijna frowned. What did he mean to go down?  Should she lie on the floor? As she was contemplating this very thing, she looked to her feet and saw a small trap door.  Hoping this was what he meant, she opened it and proceeded down the steep ladder. 

As an afterthought, she looked up to thank the man for
his trouble, but he was gone. Stopping momentarily in regret for her ingratitude to the man who had risked his life to help her, she felt a tug on her ankle.  Karlijna nearly screamed in fright.

“Do you want us all to get killed?” a harsh whisper shot up at her.

Karlijna finished her descent and squinted her eyes in the dark hold. She could see nothing and nobody, but as she squeezed herself into a spot beside the ladder, she felt there were bodies on both sides of her.

“I’m sorry,” her voice was barely audible as she spoke into the blackness.

“Never mind, that,” a different voice whispered back, “You’re safe now.”

The girl wondered if s
he would ever feel safe again. Certainly not now, when she was cramped into a space on a boat headed who-knew-where with people she didn’t know and couldn’t even see.

After a time, Karlijna’s eyes began to adjust to th
e dimness.  She looked around. There were two men and two women, along with three small children, one of them a baby, cramped into the tiny space.  There was barely enough room for each to draw a breath. Karlijna thought they might have to take turns.

Karlijna very badly wanted to know where they were going or how everybody else knew to come to this
boat, but she dared not speak. It relieved her to see the children were all comfortable enough to sleep, closely cuddled on the laps of the adults.

After what seemed like hours the gentle bobbing o
f the boat changed its rhythm. Footsteps were heard on the deck and the motor started up.  Everybody’s heads lifted in curiosity.

“I think we’ve started out,” spoke one man softly, though it sounded almost as a shout.

The others looked at him sternly as if to quiet him.

Karlijna leaned her head back on the damp wood of the ladder and closed her eyes in
silent prayer.

Thank you, Father, for bringing me this far
.  I pray for safety as we travel and for the Nazis not to see us.  Please, Father, get us to safety
.

Some time later, the trap door opened, “How many are there of you?” 

“Eight, including children,” one of the men replied.”

The man grunted and closed the door.

One of the children started at the slam. Karlijna watched as the parents tried to calm him.

“Would you keep that boy quiet?” Karlijna recognized the voice as belonging to the same woman who had first spoken her.

The mother reached into her shawl and pulled out a small bottle.  After dropping a little into the boy’s mouth, he began to settle down and drifted back to sleep.

The boat rock
ed to and fro with the swells of the water. Karlijna felt as though they had been on the sea for days, instead of the hours she was assured it would take.

“The first boat we’re
meeting only has room for two, maybe three if two are children,” the boat captain was looking down on them again. “The next one won’t come for another few hours.”

Bot
h couples began to discuss it. The father of the children urged his wife to go with the baby and toddler.

“Please,” he pleaded with the other occupants, “the child
ren may not sleep much longer. We need to get them to safety before they waken.”

The other man coughed, but his wife spoke up, “Why should we care about your children?  They’re not our concern.”

She pushed her way to the ladder and held on to the bottom rung, “We’re going. There are only two of us, and we’re going.”

Karlijna watched as the h
usband followed up the ladder. That the woman would be so careless of the lives of children was unthinkable.

The mother buried her face into the hair of her sleeping boy and wept.

The travelers could tell when they met up with the other boat. She could feel the boat shift as two passengers got off.

“Are you alone,” the woman whispered to Karlijna as the boat started in motion again,” or will you meet your family on the other side?”

Karlijna felt tears forming, “No,” she managed, “I am alone.”

“I’m sorry,” was all the woman said before her husband shushed her.

Karlijna fell asleep and woke to the trap opening again, “We will be meeting the other boat soon.  Gather all that you have.”

For neither party was this a problem.  Karlijna had only her small bundle and the couple only their children.  Karlijna wondered how they would manage the ladder with three sleeping children.

She ascended first, and, though she would have loved to stand and stretch, sense told her to remain low. She saw the father coming up next with the toddler in his arms.  He struggled to get himself and the child through the opening.

“Hurry,” urged the captain, “they are approaching and there will be no time to spare once they arrive.”

Dropping her parcel, Karlijna reached down and scooped the child from the father’s arms. At the time, she was attempting to help another human being in need.  She didn’t realize the action would change her life.

The young father quickly turned back and brought up the baby before assisting his wife up as she carried the third child. 

“Thank you,” he mouthed as they all crouched in the spot the captain directed.

The transfer to the other boat was done quicker than Karlijna could have imagined
, and, once again, they were being shooed down into the dark belly of the vessel. Like the other hold, it smelled of fish and sweating bodies. To Karlijna, who had smelled much worse, it smelled like hope.

“How
much longer, Erich?” the wife spoke in the darkness.

“I do not know, my love.  Much longer still, I think.”

Karlijna had been holding the eldest child, a boy of about four years or age, since entering the hold. She looked down at his fair hair and thought of her little sister, Veronike. Sadness gripped her young heart, but she would not allow herself to cry.

Karlijna closed her eyes and
forced her mind to Scripture. She began to recite the twenty-third Psalm. Though her lips were moving, she made not a sound for she knew the dangers of being heard.

“Did you speak, Miss?”

Apparently, the mother had been watching her and caught the movement of her mouth despite the dimness of their confines.

Karlijna shook her head, “I’m just reciting something to calm myself.”

Despite the dire situation, the woman laughed softly, “If you have a way to calm yourself, please share it.”

“It
is the twenty-third Psalm.”

“A psalm of David?” the woman sounded confused.

All speaking stopped at this moment because there was shouting heard outside. Certain they had been discovered, the fugitives’ eyes sought each other. The woman began to cry, her husband shushing and trying to reassure her.

Karlijna did
the only thing she knew to do, “Father, in Heaven, I ask, in Jesus name, spare us.  Please bring us safely into port.”

She continued to pray this, not out loud – for she didn’t know if it would increase their chances of being captured, but with as much fervency.

The trap opened. The passengers, fearing the worst, looked up in surprise to see the captain’s smiling face. They were further amazed to realize that daylight was already dawning.

“Welcome to Sweden,” he spoke in German as he reached down, “let me give you a hand out of there.”

Karlijna looked gratefully at this man who had given her freedom. He was probably in his early forties. His slightly weathered look about him was, no doubt, due to years at sea. He had wrinkles about his eyes as if he were accustomed to smiling. She decided she would have liked him even if he had not been the means of getting her to safety.

As the husband followed the women and children up the ladder, he questioned the captain, “What were the shouts we heard a while back?  We thought for sure we were captured.”

The captain laughed, “Those were my cousins shouting at us.  This is my hundredth trip in a row without being caught.”

Karlijna stood on deck with the others and w
ondered if they felt as she did. That this freedom was surreal – that it could not last long.

She turned to the captain, “
You’ve done this for people one hundred times?  Why?”

“Ah,” the captain raised his eyebrows at her, “I said one hundred times without being caught.  I’ve made nearly two hundred trips with refugees to Sweden.” 

He did not seem to catch the shocked looks of those in his company, “As to the why. . .”

H
e shrugged carelessly, but didn’t reply.

Karlijna was impressed by his willingness to help t
hose in need. Especially since most of the people were likely in her situation and unable to pay for the service.

“How many times were you caught?” the wife wanted to know.

“Three times,” the captain spoke as he steered the boat to a dock. “Twice I hadn’t picked up my group yet, so the Nazis just sent me back to Swedish waters.  The other time. . .” his voice drifted off.