SEEKER OF THE ROSE: PROLOGUE + CHAPTER 1

PROLOGUE + CHAPTER 1

© Amy N. Edwards. All Rights Reserved

2 Amy N. Edwards

PROLOGUE

It was her dress! The Lady in White!

I had seen her in my dreams. I had often imagined her floating just above my bed. But it had been just a story—a story to keep fidgeting children still. This must be Granny’s wedding dress, I told myself. Then, as I ran my fingers down its skirt, I noticed faint discolorations—stains that covered four areas two or more inches wide in places. And the material was worn in those areas where someone had tried to rub the stains out. Although the stains now were pale, you could tell they had once been a deep red. You could just tell…

Well, I’m getting ahead of myself. I hadn’t really set out with any expectation to make such a find. I was on a mission.

The stairs to Matthias’s attic were a little creakier than I remembered. Every spring in childhood I would wander into my grandfather’s attic and ponder the great mysteries that were hidden in there––numerous and sundry pack-ratted items from a distant past. We, my cousins, brother, and I, had determined many years before that some of those ghosts he often talked about inhabited this space that had always been beyond our reach. It was on the third floor of his sizable home and had been off limits to all of the grandchildren when we were


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younger. This time was different; my being given access to the attic was like turning a greedy child loose in a toy store to play with whatever was to be found.

As I ascended the stairs, I remembered how we used to climb them, half-expecting to be chased by evil specters. As I topped the steps, I ran into a chain dangling from the single light bulb that begged for me to illuminate the distant memories hidden in Granddad’s attic. I had two missions, really. The first was to scope out the amount of work my mom and I would have to do, because he wanted us to clean out the space. My other plan, a secret one, was to create a scrapbook for my grandparents’ wedding anniversary, so that their memories would be easier to access. As a bonus, I hoped to find some items that would pull new stories from my grandfather, who was a master at spinning tall tales.

All the children in my family used to gather around to listen to Granddad Matthias’s spooky tales, and we believed every word he told us until we outgrew boogey men and ghost stories (Well, maybe I didn’t quite outgrow them!). I remember some of the tales that he told of his childhood in southern Germany during World War II. The glimmer in his eyes told everyone who cared to listen to his deep strong voice, still touched with a German accent, that they would be glad they had heard his stories. I was always especially fond of the ones that usually ended with my mother saying,


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“Dad, she will never sleep if you keep telling her ghost stories! That woman is still a haunting memory of your childhood, even after all these years. Does she have to haunt Morgan’s too?”

My grandfather would often laugh and say, “Leave her be! She can do as she pleases when she is here. She can hear a scary story if she wants to!” And with that, we would return to a lady dressed in white, floating woefully in the moonlight.

As the light bulb blinked stubbornly to life, I was quite overwhelmed, because I had no idea where to begin. There were mountains of boxes filled with the past, stacked neatly and covered with the dusts of time. The swinging low-watt bulb didn’t light the room nearly as much as the two small windows snuggled into the eves of the house. I opened one, hoping that a fresh breeze would help me clear away the dust I was stirring up so that I see could clearly. I needed to find a place to start. As I turned from the window, objects that had been hidden by my shadow were suddenly revealed in one corner of the room. Intrigued by the strange sight, I moved to that location and began sorting through years of memorabilia until I finally found the beginning I had been searching for. A wooden box, most likely an army footlocker, caught my attention.

It was sitting at eye level on a stack of boxes. I grabbed its handles and heaved with all my might, thinking it would be quite heavy.



Obviously, looks were deceiving. Because I propelled it backwards over my head, and in an effort to maintain my hold on it, I tumbled backwards myself and ended up sitting down hard in an old cardboard box. A poof of dust shot into the air as the box clattered on the floor just behind me. It spilled out a white dress.

At first, I thought it must have been my grandmother’s wedding dress. Then I started to notice details that made me think it must have been passed down through the generations. It looked old—very old. Perhaps even medieval. As I unfolded it, then held it in the light, I smelled mothballs. Its material was incredibly delicate, softened by wear and time. Then, I noticed it. The dark stains. My first thought was that something had stained it after it had been put into storage decades ago. Then I came to a different conclusion: It was blood! I felt where the fabric had been worn thin by someone trying to remove the stains. My hands trembled as I replaced the dress as carefully as possible. My grandfather must have stashed it there for a reason. After I regained my composure, I renewed my quest to unravel the past. I did so with a bit more caution this time. Upon closer examination, I noticed the boxes were carefully labeled and dated. Germans, I knew from personal experience, were famed for being thorough organizers. It seemed my grandfather simply couldn’t escape his roots. “Well,” I muttered, “this makes my job easier!”


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I thought that the best place to begin was with the earliest material, since the stories Matthias had told us had taken place while he was relatively young. The earliest dates on the boxes began with 1947, but the box I chose was labeled only “Ipsheim.” I slowly pulled the box close to me, having learned my lesson about hoisting them from their current positions. I blew the dust off the lid and lifted it. It was like opening my own personal treasure chest.

Inside I found run of the mill memorabilia: pictures, newspaper clippings, letters and a small trinket box, which smelled strongly of coffee and featured an adlewieß design. It was in remarkably good shape considering how old it looked. I set the box aside and contemplated asking my grandfather if I could add it to my collection—after he told me its story, of course.

I began to sift through the past, not sure what I was looking for (besides pictures and items that screamed “Scrapbook me!”). Then I came across a tattered book of poetry with a heavily frayed spine. The words on the cover had nearly faded out altogether. I ran my hand across it, removing the dust that clung to it. I could feel ornate curls and decorations as I turned the book in my hands. I was unable to make out the title, but found it when I opened to the first page. I did not read German well, but I did recognize the author’s name: Heine. From its format I could tell that it contained poetry.



As I thumbed carefully through the book smelling the musty pages, a picture fell gently into my lap. It was roughed at the edges and left a lighter colored square on the yellowing pages it had fallen from. The photo was black and white, though time had caused more of a sepia effect. It portrayed a courtyard blanketed with snow and surrounded by large castle-like walls. The main focus of the picture was a German military vehicle with several Nazi officers standing around it. I removed my glasses to look closely at the picture and gasped as I realized it was the face of Hitler staring coldly back at me. I heard myself wheeze sharply and was suddenly glad no one else was around to hear my reaction. I flipped the picture over looking for a date or place. All that it said on the back was “burg,” which I knew meant castle. I set the picture aside with intentions of asking my grandfather how he came by it.

I had been so engrossed in my archeological dig that I didn’t hear my mom’s footsteps as she entered the dingy attic. “Found any treasures this afternoon, Morgan?” she asked. She was chuckling. I knew she had heard me when I found the picture.

I regained my composure enough to ask a question. “Mom, did you know all of this stuff was up here? Look at this picture! Isn’t that Hitler himself? Did Grandfather meet him? I hope he kicked him in the shins!”


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She was smiling down at me, shaking her head in a pretense of disgust. “Well, I don’t have any answers for you, but I think we both know who does. Since he is letting you explore his past, I am sure the two of you will drum up some fascinating partly true story,” she said. Mom sat down with me and helped me sift through the boxes. Over the course of the next week, she and I sorted through sixty years worth of memories, both good and bad. It was the items that apparently were attached to bad memories that confused me most. At times, I wonder why we keep reminders of the unpleasant things that happen in our lives. But, I suppose saved items associated with bad memories are there to remind us not to repeat the mistakes that came with them. Whether we heed those reminders or not is entirely our own decision.

I also found keepsakes that, just by their sheer beauty, could only be attached to good memories. These were the types of tokens that remind us we can survive our mistakes and tough times. I had compiled a nice collection of items ranging from pictures and journals to that mysterious, bloodstained dress that I was sure would stir Granddad’s inner storyteller.

I eventually sat down with him and a whole kitchen table covered in bizarre items. He scanned them in silence. I could only imagine the memories and stories floating through his mind. He picked up the white dress and held it



ever so gently, letting it unfold its full length until it just barely touched the floor.

“Granddad, I was wondering,” I asked delicately, “do you really believe in ghosts?” He looked the dress up and down, and then met my eyes. He looked puzzled. He asked, “Why would you ask me a question like that?”

“Well, so many of the stories you tell are ghost stories. Some of the things I found in your attic, like the dress you are holding, remind me of the stories you tell,” I answered.

“I knew a spirit,” he said. He wasn’t looking at me then, but staring into space, “I lived most of the stories I’ve told you, even if they do sound made up. Those years of my life were filled with extraordinary occurrences.”

He laid the dress gently back on the table and picked up the small box with a smile. I could see in his eyes that his mind was filled with a memory. I hoped he would share it.

“I had forgotten about this,” he mumbled as if he were alone in the room. “Katherine would sure get a kick out of seeing it again.” He held the box up and we sniffed at the coffee scent. It challenged the mothball aroma wafting from the dress that lay on the table. He fiddled with the key that hung from the lock, as if he might turn it but he looked up at me and paused. With a smile he said, “Perhaps we should open this a little later.”


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Matthias began to look through the pictures. He stopped and held out one in particular. After gazing at it for a while he smiled, removed his glasses, and said, “Well, my Morgan, what a collection you have put together! Are you going to tell me why you have brought all these things to my attention after all these years?”

“First, you have to promise to tell me everything!” I exclaimed. With a smile of resignation, Granddad nodded a yes.

And then, he began telling the real story.



CHAPTER 1Departure

“That isn’t the truth and you know it!” yelled Mutti.

“Why can’t you see, Marie?” Vati shot back. “This is what had to be done, not only for the Vaterland but for our family! How else can I support you? What about the children? Don’t you see? What is to happen to them? There is nothing else for me. I have to take the SS’s offer!”

“Since when do the great values of the Vaterland include abandoning your family?” Mutti cried.

“And you? How much longer do you think you can do your ‘special work’? Oh, yes, Marie, I know where you go in the afternoons. They will catch you eventually and you know what will happen. I wouldn’t say a word to them, but you are walking a very thin and dangerous line! If you get caught, the kids will be without a mother, won’t they! We are not so different—are we—not so different, you and I!”

“Oh yes we are! I want to help people…not murder them!” Her voice got lower as she said these words, but I made them out all the same.


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Vati’s hand slammed on the table with finality. “That’s enough!”

I had been awakened by their loud, angry voices and had listened to their discussion through the partially open door to my bedroom. A thin beam of light shone through and I could see only their shadows moving.

My heart was racing and my stomach was in knots as I listened to my parents argue that hot summer night. It was a little after midnight when their voices finally quieted. I was sure that the neighbors on each side of us had also been listening intently to every word that they had uttered.

It was 1943 and the war was definitely taking its toll on people: my parents proved that well enough. My mother was horrified by the truly shocking stories she was hearing about the Third Reich. I knew that things that frightened her were worthy of notice because she was not a weak person, nor was she easily scared. Vati, on the other hand, seemed to have full faith in the country’s leaders.

“This is for the best,” he would say. After all, they had offered him a job when his job at the bank was dissolved due to war-funding issues. His new job would make him an accountant for the SS and he would get an officer’s rank.

After their voices quieted, I lay awake wondering what was going to happen next. I



remember hearing his footsteps just before my door opened quietly. I was feigning sleep, and when I looked up through mere slits in my eyes, Vati was standing over me. It was just light enough to see his form. He knelt next to my bed and moved to reach for me. But he stopped; he stood and turned toward Katherine’s bed.

“Goodbye my little ones,” he whispered. Then, he whipped around and quickly left the room.

I heard the roar of a car engine and leapt from the bed. It took only seconds to cover the short distance from my bed to the front door. When I got there, I watched our car pull out of the driveway, with Vati at the wheel. I will forever remember the empty feeling I experienced that evening, watching him leave. I was afraid I would never see him again.

My mother led me back to my bed and sat with me. I started to ask why he had done it, but I figured Mutti had done enough talking for the evening. I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing. She left me then, and I knew she had more things to worry about. The next morning brought changes to my life that I didn’t want, but I was forced to deal with them anyway. At times I wanted to be a man. But right then…right then, I guess I sensed I was in danger of losing what was left of my childhood. And I wasn’t ready…


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My mother saved me from the hurtful words of my classmates—for a day, at least. She allowed me to stay home from school, in part because she didn’t know what to do next. Mostly, I was there so that I could help her with Katherine, who had managed to sleep through the fight and the entire ordeal of our father’s leaving the night before.

“Where is Vati again?” she had asked for the third time.

“He has gone away for work and will be home as soon as he can.” Mutti told her. “He said to tell you he will always love you and to give his angel a hug.”

Once Katherine was settled into some chores that Mutti devised for her, my mother and I got a chance to talk.

“I hate this war, Mutti! It makes me so mad! First, I have had to attend these stupid Jungvolk meetings for three years now merely because the Führer wishes it. I know I will have to start HJ soon, and I dread that even more! I don’t want to become one of Hitler’s sheep—brutal, domineering, cruel, and stupid enough to be so eager to die for him.” I had just turned sixteen that summer and soon would be forced into the Hitler’s Youth program called Hitlerjungen—HJ for short—which was a mere stepping-stone leading to either soldier or officer training. The newly formed 12th SS-Panzer Division Hitlerjugend had been created



to draw 17-year-olds into combat. Even younger HJ members were eager to join.

“Not many people like wars, Matthias. And you know you have to go to those meetings. We don’t want to cause a stir or draw attention to ourselves, especially now that Vati is gone.”

“Now that Vati is gone?” I repeated. “Does this mean that the Führer has broken up our family too?”

Mutti just nodded sadly, and I feared that my temper tantrum would make her cry. But she regained her composure quickly and said, “Well, we are just going to have to deal with it. Hans will be here to help us figure out a plan in a few hours.”

“What?” I asked. “Why does it have to be Hans? I don’t remember a single visit with him that he didn’t try to insult one of us in some way.”

“I don’t want to hear about it right now, Matthias. He is my only brother and I know he has his bad moments, but he loves his family and will help us no matter what. For that, at least, I think you will have to show him some respect! Now, end of discussion! Go check on Katherine, please.”

Hans arrived a little after lunchtime that day. He was a big man: around six-foot-three, with broad shoulders and a light complexion like my mother. But his actions and demeanor were


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nothing like hers. One of the first things he said cut Mother to the bone. He had no more gotten his feet through the door when he blurted it out.

“I knew that the man you married was spineless when it came to his family, and that he would run off to join the Nazis without a second thought about you and your kids!”

I walked into the room, intending to defend my father for my mother’s sake, but the moment Hans saw me he said, “Look at this boy, Marie! He should be a strapping young boy by now, not a weakling like his father. And where is the girl?”

I was boiling. I had never been so insulted, and was about to lash out at this sorry excuse for comfort during hard times when my mother put her hand on my shoulder. Her touch—her tenderness while under such an attack—somehow dissolved my anger. I was suddenly struck by the strength it must have taken her to tolerate a childhood with Hans. I respected the way she could handle everything that must be going through her mind at that moment. My mother replied to Hans. She spoke in a simple yet stern manner and let him know that she would not be trifled with that day.

“Hans,” she said, “Matthias and Katherine have had a horrible night and so have I. I didn’t ask you here to judge my family or my life. I asked you here for help. Matthias is only sixteen and will grow into a man quicker than I—or you



—should want him to. And Katherine…Katherine has little knowledge of what is going on. I would like to keep it that way for the time being. Now, if you are going to help me, then stay. If you’re just going to criticize and be hurtful, then…then you can return to Stuttgart.”

Blood rushed to his face, and he started to say something. But his eyes met Mutti’s and he stopped short and nodded his understanding. He walked with Mother into the kitchen. I followed, but Hans waved me off like I was nothing. He refused me the right to listen and to help make decisions that I should have had a say in. The wave was my cue to go to my room. Because it was beside the kitchen I could hear virtually every word spoken in the there, but I had to be very quiet and I had to keep Katherine from talking or from figuring out I was really focused on listening to their conversation. I occupied her with a game of solitaire. She loved games of any kind, so that held her attention well enough.

After I got Katherine distracted with her card game, I settled on the end of my bed and pretended to read and work on school lessons, but my focus was on the conversation a room away. I listened intently.

Hans spoke first. “Well Sis, what do you have in mind?”


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“I don’t know,” Mutti replied. “Perhaps we’ll move in with Mother and I’ll continue to help the ones in hiding.”

Hans scolded my mother for speaking of such things. He spoke in a soft but agitated tone when issuing his warning. “Marie,” he said, “you can’t just blurt out things like that. You have to be careful! The walls—they really do have ears these days. You could get us into trouble!”

The discussion continued until finally I heard something of substance, something that I understood. Hans was speaking.

“Well Marie, I guess the only thing to do is contact Mutti and let her start getting ready for you three. In the meantime, it would probably be best for you and the kids to stay with us in Stuttgart.”

I could be silent no longer. I rushed through the door and shouted to Mother. “I will not move away from here! What if Vati returns?” As I spoke the words I knew very well that Vati wasn’t going to return. I had given away the fact that I had been eavesdropping. Hans, of course, accused me of spying but my mother merely put her arms around me and whispered in my ear that my grandmother would need us as much as we needed her now. I calmed down at the thought of seeing Oma, and being of help to both her and my mother.



The process of packing up and moving away began that night after a solemn dinner. Hardly anyone spoke, but hard looks were exchanged between Hans and me. I felt that I would never fully trust him. Trust…yes, trust. I was quickly learning that is was not something to be taken lightly, nor to be given easily.

It was decided that my mother and sister would travel by train to Stuttgart and that my uncle and I would drive down with the family goods loaded in his car. While Hans and I packed the car, Mother went first to my school and then to the local chapter of the Jungvolk. She gave them a slightly altered version of the truth in order to excuse my sister and me from missing our meetings and to request transfers for us to the Bad Windsheim chapter. The Jungvolk meetings, which I hated, were like being in military school. I kept thinking that if I had wanted to attend military school, I would have done so on my own, and that this requirement by the Führer was more than just unfair, it was an outrage! I had had to take an oath swearing that I was willing and ready to give up my life for the Führer. We even had to recite a prayer to Adolf Hitler!

Mother finalized all of our other business and said goodbye to our few close neighbors and friends. We loaded the small vehicle to the point that there was only the front seat for us.

We climbed aboard and set out for Stuttgart. I loathed the idea of spending three


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hours in the car with Hans, but my mother seemed to think it was a good idea for the two of us to “get acquainted,” since we would be staying with him and his family for a few weeks. It began to rain as we pulled from the driveway and the gloomy weather, which lasted for at least the first two hours of the drive, reflected my mood perfectly.

I have to give Hans some credit. He tried in his own way to be nice to me that day. His approach, from my perspective though, was not a success. He talked about how much stronger and older my cousins had become since I saw them last. The implied comparison to me and my weakness was obvious.

He went over house rules and regulations and suggested things that he felt would help me “grow up.” Hans had no gift for being tactful: his tone and words that day had a sting I haven’t forgotten even after all these years. I had not traveled much in the past, so this trip, oddly enough considering the circumstances, was a bit of an adventure for me. I had been this route before, though. This was the way we would travel to visit my grandmother when we had the opportunity. The clouds gave way to partial sun. I looked out the window of the car, saying very little and tuning out most of Hans’s rambling. The green hills and pastures offered a peacefulness that I sorely needed.

Parts of the country looked quite empty, with few people to work the long tracts of



farmland. A lot of German families had moved to other countries the German Army had conquered as part of Hitler’s occupation strategy. When we neared one of the several larger cities, I noticed the presence of the military on what seemed like every other street corner. I had heard about the Allied bombings but only saw one instance that made me accept those rumors as true.

We passed by a huge cathedral in Nürnberg that had been reduced to rubble. Its steeple lay on the ground next to it. All that was left of the sanctuary besides rubble was a child-sized statue of the Virgin Mary. I remember seeing the face of the statue and wondering about the existence of angels, who were, I had always been told, protectors of the innocent and the messengers of God. I reached up to rub my eyes as the thought of a nap crossed my mind. Opening them again, I looked back. It was then that I saw it: a flash of light in the center of the crumbled cathedral.

I was about to ask Hans what had happened here when he punched my arm. “Matthias,” he said, “we’re coming to a checkpoint. When they ask questions, let me do the talking. If they ask you anything, tell them that your mother’s sending you to live with me so she can go to be with her husband and work for the government. Understood?”

I nodded my reply. As we came upon the edge of the city, we encountered the checkpoint


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he had warned me about. As he pulled up and turned off the engine, uniformed soldiers with weapons came up on both sides of the car. The young soldier on the driver’s side couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. He tapped on the window and spoke briefly with Hans. I looked up at the stern face of the other soldier and resisted the temptation to sink more deeply into my seat. His glare was consuming. It felt as if he were looking into my soul. I have never forgotten his piercing, pale gray eyes.

We made it through the checkpoint with no problems and were well on our way to Stuttgart. I soon dozed off and my brief dreams were of statues and that soldier’s haunting gaze.

We arrived in Stuttgart around noon and my two cousins, who at first appeared to me to be smaller and younger versions of Hans, greeted me. Both Mark and Fritz had Hans’s light complexion, and it was apparent from their frame they both would eventually have their father’s build. Mark, the youngest, was two years older than me, and Fritz was a year older than him. Fritz was the image of his vati. In greeting me, he had the same smirk on his face that Hans wore much of the time. He looked angry at the world, and his fire-red hair seemed to highlight the anger in him.

Mark, on the other hand, favored Hans, but had a kind face and sandy blonde hair. His eyes sparkled blue and they seemed to invite



friendship and express such joy. I remember thinking how I had never seen two people so closely related, yet who seemed so different. Both of them outweighed me by quite a bit and a fear struck me as I stood there, the focus of their attention. I was afraid that I would become an amusement for them, and the object of much teasing. I would later discover, however, the kind of ally in one of them that I never dreamed of having.

My mother and sister had not yet arrived, so I had to suffer alone the reintroduction to their mutti: Hans’s wife, Jutta. Jutta was a large woman who always reminded me of Brünnhilda from the famous Wagnerian opera. I had to suppress a laugh when she hugged me and welcomed me into their home. I half expected a stage to magically appear under her feet and for her to break into a high-pitched aria. As time went on, though, I came to really like her. She was kind and always engaged in an activity related to the care of her family, be it cleaning the house or cooking or darning. I have always wondered how someone like Jutta could put up with Hans. I suppose some people can be blinded by love or familiarity to the things that are strikingly obvious to others.

Hans was unpacking the car when my mother and sister walked up the driveway. My uncle, who was very methodical and totally focused in just about everything he did, barely stopped to speak to them. He had already organized a moving brigade consisting of Mark,


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Fritz, and myself and was shouting out orders as we unpacked our things and repacked them into the tiny excuse for a garage adjacent to Hans’s home. As Hans continued to bark orders, I discovered he was as difficult to work with as he was to talk to. I watched as my aunt scooped up Katherine into a bear hug. Jutta must have been starving for some female companionship because it was dinnertime before I saw my mother or Katherine emerge from the kitchen. When my mother finally found a moment, she asked, “How was the drive, Matthias?”

“Not bad—if you tune out Hans.” I laughed a little. Then the thought of the drive brought to mind those cold gray eyes once again…

I had a few minutes to explore my new surroundings before dinner and was glad to be away from everyone for a little while. I had been to this house before but didn’t remember all that much about it, except for a cherry tree that stood in the corner of the back yard. I knew the cherries would be ripe soon, and I stood picturing myself in the top of that tree, hiding from the world and feasting on the delicate fruits. I was deep in this daydream when I was snapped back to reality by a sudden movement. I saw the thing again, and this time I went after it. I caught up with its shadow around the far side of the house and dove to catch a fast-moving ball of fur. It was so small, I could easily hold on to it in spite of its squirming. I could barely make out its eyes under the tufts of hair



that fell over them. I pulled it close to my chest to calm it down. That’s when a wet tongue greeted me with two quick swipes.

I cradled the puppy in my arms and it put its little paws on my shoulders, so that it could better slurp my face. I couldn’t help laughing. This was the happiest I had felt since Vati left. My troubled world melted away as I held him. It hit me then that I had to have this puppy—but I knew Hans would never let me keep him. I knew I had to come up with a plan quickly, as I was determined not to give up my new friend. It was something I felt I deserved with all that I was going through.

I carried him to the tightly packed garage, acting as nonchalantly as I could manage. I shifted some boxes and made a space for him. I found a blanket in our things that seemed just the right size. As I worked to make him comfortable, I planned how I would sneak him food from the table and check on him as often as possible.

He needed a name, and I had never named a puppy before. This was a task that I did not intend to take lightly. I heard my mother calling for me to come to dinner, so I pushed the excited mass of energy and puppy breath back into the garage and shut the door quickly. It took all I had to mask my excitement and sit through dinner. Fortunately, the drone of Hans’s voice seemed to work this time to calm my emotions.


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I still had to learn the lay of the house, so I was ready to leave the table the minute permission was granted. Fritz gave me a brief tour and explained about the tiny room that made up the third floor of the house.

“That is Vati’s office, and for a long while it has been off limits. Even to Mother. Be sure to avoid it even if curiosity tries to get the best of you.”

He ended his warning with a light jab to the ribs and continued his matter-of-fact conversation as if he had not given what I realized was a declaration that the room was off limits.

I found this house quite different from the place I used to call home. The ground level had a large open room that seemed to serve as both a foyer and living room. A small door on the left opened to a tiny dining room connected to the kitchen. In the back of the kitchen was a set of steps that led to the second floor where there were three bedrooms and a full bathroom.

My mutti, sister, and I were given the couch in the living room. I was told I would be sleeping on the floor. That was the least of my worries. I had more important things to ponder.

After swinging through the kitchen to pick up some food without being noticed, I slipped out the front door and went the long way around the house so I wouldn’t draw attention to myself. I closed the door to the garage just in



time. There was barking and whining that I prayed no one would hear. My new friend practically crawled up my leg. I held him at arm’s length to get a better look.

He was midnight black and had a small brown mark above each eye, which gave the effect of painted eyebrows. On his chest, he also had a white patch that was pointed on one end and looked something like a dragon’s tale. “Drake,” I said. Yes…the name just came to me. One of the few constellations that I could pick out in the night sky was Draco, so why not?

He had sniffed out the package of food stuffed sloppily in my pocket. When I fed him, he ate with greedy grunts and when he finished, he fell over on his side and went straight to sleep. I was hooked, and later that evening as I lay on the floor watching shadows play on the ceiling, I felt such happiness.

Several days passed before my mother had to make a decision about school. Since we were only going to be with Hans for a few weeks, she decided to catch my sister and me up on our lessons and then enroll us at the school near my grandmother’s home in Bad Windsheim. My mutti, at times, could be stricter than the teachers I had in school. We had a grueling schedule that kept us longer than regular school, and if we missed any questions, we worked on them until we found the correct answer. I did manage to wrangle breaks long enough to check on Drake. Those sad eyes he


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would give me as I left him in the garage were heartbreaking. They made it hard to get back into my studies, or to concentrate on anything, really.

These breaks coincided with quick errands that Mutti would run. Most of the time, they came around 2:30. I didn’t know where she was going, but I was happy for the respite nevertheless.

One Saturday evening, the wind blew hard and it looked as if it might rain at any moment. As I waited around the cherry tree for just the right time to dart into the garage, I saw the door open. Fritz emerged from the garage carrying Drake by the skin on the back of his neck. The helpless pup fought and yelped loudly. I ran over and reached for Drake, but Fritz was big enough to hold him out of my reach. He was laughing.

“Please…don’t hurt him!” I begged. “Give him back to me!”

“To you? How could this be your puppy? How can this runt be yours when you are not allowed to have a dog? Have you been feeding this mongrel our food?”

I opened my mouth to explain, but he didn’t give me the chance.

“Vati will eat you alive for this, and you‘re so feeble you won’t be able to do anything about it!”



I clenched my teeth as I felt the adrenaline tightening every muscle in my body. I let out a great yell and dove at Fritz with all my might. The next thing I knew, he was on top of me with his arm drawn back ready to punch me. I closed my eyes and anticipated the pain. Suddenly, he landed on the ground beside me. I opened my eyes. Mark was standing over us, looking down at me.

“Fritz, you’re an idiot. Pick on someone your own size.”

Fritz quickly got to his feet and began to argue with his brother.

“Do you know what this little weakling has been doing? He has been stealing our food to feed that mutt!”

He walked up and pointed a finger in Mark’s face. “Wait! Are you…? Yes! I bet you’ve been helping him!”

Mark pushed him back. “It’s none of your business, really.”

Fritz’s face was crimson. He snatched Drake and ran for the house. We were only a few paces behind him when he topped the steps to the third floor and barged in on Hans. Hans jumped to his feet. The thin, small man that had been sitting across the table from him stood and stared at us. His eyes grew large. He looked toward the door and back at us and then at Hans several times.


30 Amy N. Edwards

Hans shouted, “What are you doing!” The sound of the puppy whimpering broke the silence that had followed.

I stood in the background and scanned the room. It was the first time I had been in here. There were official looking documents and other assorted papers littering the table. Schematic drawings of several large buildings and maps of local towns and cities hung on the walls. Framed pictures sat on the floor. It was an easy guess the pictures were used as covers at times to conceal what was on the walls above them. I am not sure how long it took me to realize what I was looking at—and what exactly had been going on in that office. When I did, my mind raced. I fought to focus on what was playing out in front of me then, because Hans had directed his voice at me. He grabbed the puppy from Fritz’s tight hold and shoved it into my arms.

“I will deal with you later!” he spat, turning to his sons. “If you ever do this again…” He didn’t finish—just turned his back to us.

We left the room. Fritz pulled the door closed behind him cautiously, quietly, turning the knob slowly until he heard it latch. Then he turned on me.

“Father will drown that mutt in the river tomorrow morning, and I will be there to watch you cry, baby boy.”



Mark glared at Fritz but said nothing to him. He patted Drake’s head. “Matthias, come to my room. We’ll straighten this out.”

I was carrying Drake, who was trembling at this point, and snuggling close to me with his nose tucked under my arm. Mark offered me his bed to sit on, and he turned on a small radio. He tuned in some of the sweetest music… music that was new to me—a kind of music I had never heard before. Soon its rhythm took hold and I found myself tapping my foot, the tension in my body dissipating a little at a time. Mark settled into a comfortable position on the floor directly across the small room and laughed as he watched me swaying and trying to keep time.

“Have you never had a true friend to help you in a tight situation?”

“Can’t say I have.” “Well, now you’ve got one!” he said.It was silent for a while…silent except for

the glorious new music that played softly through the radio.

“It‘s American. They call it swing music. I guess because it makes you want to swing your body to the rhythm,” Mark explained. “I have been listening to this bootleg radio station for a few weeks now. Did you know there are great dance clubs, and beautiful girls, and handsome guys who let the music swing them out of this


32 Amy N. Edwards

repulsive world of war, even if it is only for the length of a single song?”

Drake had crawled up in my lap and gone to sleep. He whimpered as if he were dreaming from time to time.

“How long have you known about Drake?” I asked. “Why did you help? You knew how your father would react…”

Mark said, “I need a friend just as much as you do. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. You were sorting through the garbage and then disappearing into the garage. I found him there. He’s not one to stay hidden, you know.”

“I know what he means to you,” Mark continued. “It’s like that with the music for me. The fact is that I can’t walk down the street without worrying about this damned war. The music takes that away for me, and the puppy takes that away for you. Sometimes distractions from reality are the only things that keep us sane.”

“Music is something that stirs emotions, and they don’t want us to have any emotions except those they themselves create in us to bend us to their way of thinking. Matthias, don’t let them take your emotions away from you! Always know that there is more to life than what they tell you there is. The Führer is not the only thing that matters.”



I nodded in agreement and started to speak, but something held me back; I felt as if Mark had said his piece, at least for now, and that he just needed to listen to the music.

At that moment Hans burst through the door.

“You! Out!” he shouted at Mark. His hand trembled as he pointed to the door.

He had hardly gotten three words out of his mouth before I interrupted.

“What were all of those maps and papers in your office? And who was that man?” I asked, Hans’s face turning suddenly pale. I realized the gravity behind my uncovering Hans’s secrets. This discovery gave me a certain power over my uncle. Of course, I would never dream of using this secret against him, but Hans didn’t know that. And I had Drake to think about.

Hans took a deep breath and began to explain in as calm a voice as he could manage that he had been helping families find places to hide or ways for them to get out of Germany. This operation, he explained, involved several families of people both helping and needing help.

“If they find out, all of us will be in serious trouble with the Führer.”


34 Amy N. Edwards

I think I knew all of this already, but I continued the conversation anyway. “Why do they need to hide?”

Hans looked at me with a shocked expression that seemed to say, Where have you been? How have you not heard? He settled his voice into a low monotone and maintained a seriousness that held my attention.

“Matthias, when Hitler became Chancellor, he began moving people into camps. These places began to fill up with Jewish people. It became evident that Hitler was attempting to “purify” his Vaterland when the Nürnberg Race Laws were established. These laws said that anyone not of Aryan background, especially Jews, were no longer citizens. Many people began to see what kind of man he was, but there was little to be done about it by then. Later, when the war began, the Jews who were not in camps started going into hiding straight away. Some of us have been helping to hide them, even your mother and grandmother.”

“Where are they going?” I asked.“We try to get them out of the country,

and when that is not possible, we look for places to hide them here. Some in basements, some in hidden rooms, attics, abandoned buildings…anywhere to save them from the Nazis.”

I thought of a certain little nook under the stairs, my cubbyhole at the old house. It had



always been my retreat when the world seemed to be crashing in on me, and with a twinge of sadness, I realized that I would probably never see it again.

“What can I do to help?” I asked.Hans stared at me and, for the first time, I

saw a glimmer of respect in his eyes. “Don’t tell a soul what you have seen and what you know. It is more dangerous than you realize.” Then the color returned to his face, and he noticed Drake stirring about in my arms. He chuckled a little.

“Where did you find that?” he asked.“He found me I think…”“And how do you propose to care for it,

Matthias?” “I feed him table scraps” I was quick to

reply. “He sleeps in the garage. He has been here a week and is doing just fine. We will be moving to Grandmother’s house in a few more days. I will find a way to manage there, too.”

He looked stern then. I believe, though, that Hans admired my courage for standing up to him, and I think he was a little afraid of the information that I now held.

After a long silence, I rose quietly and left Hans to his thoughts. I had no more gotten out of the room when my mother grabbed me by the arm and led me down the steps and out the back to the garage. There, she questioned me


36 Amy N. Edwards

about everything from the puppy to the conversation that I had just finished with Hans. I told her everything that had transpired.

“Please, don’t be mad.”She paced in the only open space left in

the garage, as if plotting her words carefully. “Matthias, how could you challenge Hans

and question him so? Do you have any idea how much jeopardy the man he was helping could have been in? The neighbors are bound to have heard all this. You may have put us in danger. And for what? A puppy!”

“Do you think I have done all this on purpose? I found a friend in Drake, and now in Mark. That is more than I have ever had before! Vati left, and ever since then I have had to be and to do things I don’t want. It’s not fair…all of this is not fair—to me or to you. Hans and I have an agreement about the dog now. I will not give him up!”

I had shouted angrily at her, something I rarely did. A look of anger and hurt spread across her face. She reached out, I thought, to hit me. But instead, she grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me to her. She hugged me so tightly that I had trouble breathing. After a moment, I realized she was crying. Not, I knew, from anything I had said, but from the several weeks of built-up pressure and the weight of problems she was having to deal with alone, simply because she had to remain strong for



Katherine and me. She slumped to the floor, and I did the only thing I could: I sat down with her and embraced her to let her know that I was there. A squeaky yap broke the intense moment. Drake climbed into my mother’s lap and slurped her face. She laughed through her tears, and I knew that he had just won her heart.

I helped Mutti to a box to sit and regain her composure and took her hand in mine.

“Don’t worry. Hans knows that I want to help these people, too. I would do nothing to put us in jeopardy through Jungvolk, or anywhere else. Besides, we will be at Grandmother’s soon and things will be better.”

Mutti merely nodded her head in agreement and stood to dust herself off. She went back to the house and to bed. We did not speak of these matters again for some time, but occasionally I would catch a glance or a smile from my mother that told me she knew I was growing up.


Documents

SEEKER OF THE ROSE: PROLOGUE + CHAPTER 1