Simple Faith 1st Chapter

8/12/2019 Simple Faith 1st Chapter

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ANNASCHMIDT

simplefaiththe peacemakers book 2


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2014 by Anna Schmidt

Print ISBN 978-1-62029-141-2

eBook Editions:Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-62836-978-6Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-62836-979-3

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced ortransmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printedreviews, without written permission of the publisher.

All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are

either products of the authors imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarityto actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.Cover design by Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design

Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683,www.barbourbooks.com

Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptionalvalue and biblical encouragement to the masses.

Printed in the United States of America.


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Acknowledgments

Special gratitude and appreciation to those who lived through events

similar to those described in this novel and to the historians who tell

those stories so that they may never be forgotten.

Thanks once againas with book 1, All Gods Childrengo to

Denise Heap and Jessica Slavin, who read the manuscript in progress,

keeping me on track as they reviewed historical facts and madesuggestions to enrich the story.

Thanks also to my editorsRebecca Germany, Annie Tipton, and

Becky Durost Fishfor the opportunity to tell Anja and Peters story

and for the love with which they brought those stories to publication.

Thanks always to Natasha Kernmy friend, mentor, and agent

who believes in me when I sometimes fail to believe in myself.

And finally, every book I have ever written owes its inspirationto come to light to my beloved husband. As he held me in the Light

throughout the life we shared together, so I hold him in the Light as

I travel on without him.


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Dear Reader,

In book 1 of the Peacemaker series,All Gods Children, the story

evolved against a backdrop of true historical facts that included theremarkable story of a small group of German medical students who

banded together in what came to be known as the White Rose to

speak out against Hitler and the Nazis. In time the hero and heroine

of that novelJosef and Bethalong with their friend Anja were

imprisoned in the Nazi death camp Sobibor in eastern Poland. The

events of their escape from that horrid place are also based on fact.

The journey that our charactersincluding Anja and Josef and

Bethtake in the following pages is also set against a background

of historical fact. Amazingly, during World War II there were several

so-called escape lines managed by the brave local citizens of countries

occupied by the Nazis. Like those who worked on the American

Underground Railroad, these individualsat considerable risk to their

own lives and safetyprovided false papers, safe houses, food, shelter,and clothing to move Allied airmen from the site of their downed

planes behind enemy lines across much of Europe until they could

reach Gibraltara British territoryand move from there back to

England. They traveled hundreds, even thousands of miles by train,

bicycle, or on foot, and perhaps the most amazing piece of this story

is that the best known of these escape linesthe Comet Linewas

created and managed by a young woman.I have long been fascinated with the courage of ordinary people

in extraordinary times, and I hope that Anjas story will inspire

you as well. I do hope you will write to me via my website (www.

booksbyanna.com) or to PO Box 161, Thiensville, WI 53092I so

enjoy hearing from my readers.

All the best,

Anna


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part 1

BelgiumNovember 1943

Only guard yourself and guard your soul carefully,

Lest you forget the things your eyes saw,

And lest these things depart your heart all the days of your life,

And you shall make them known to your children,

And to your childrens children.

D :,

H R

US H M M


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chapter 1

If you land at night and are not badly injured, count your blessings.Second Lieutenant Peter Trent could not fathom why he was

muttering the opening lines of the guide for avoiding capture provided

to British flight crews. He was American after all and had certainly

received similar training. But he had spent the better part of the previous

evening in a pub with Tommy Johnstone, a gunner with the Royal Air

Force. He and Tommy had a lot in common. They were the same rank.

They were the same agetwenty-sevenolder than most of the rest ofthe guys on their crews. They were both facing their first mission over

enemy territory. Tommys flight was scheduled to go out at night, but

generally Americans did not bomb by night. When Tommy heard this,

he began quoting the guidebook.

Pay attention to what I say, Petey, because you are going to have to be one

lucky bloke not to get shot down flying in broad daylight,he had warned.

Peter had laughed off Tommys dire prediction and wished him well

as they both headed off to get some sleep. On the other hand, maybe

he should have paid closer attention, for at the moment he was free-

falling through the air on a collision course with a fallow field below


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and wishing he could remember more details of Tommys refresher

course in survival tactics. He was all too aware that the force of his

landing even after he activated his chute would be a little like jumpingout a second-story window. Add to that the fact that he was pretty sure

one of the Nazi bullets had hit his leg, and there was little doubt that

this was going to be painful.

When the pilot, Captain Jack Walker, had ordered the crew to

abandon the plane after it filled with smoke, Peter had waited his turn

and then leaped out just as he had practiced the move dozens of times.Unfortunately, the force of the leap flipped him onto his back. Now he

was straining to look over his shoulder in order to judge how fast he was

falling and when to pull the parachutes rip cord. He and the rest of the

crew had successfully dropped their load over Frankfurt and were on

their way back to base when theyd been hit from below by antiaircraft

artillery. Unfortunately, a photoflash bomb used so that planes engagedin night photography reconnaissance need not be limited to low altitude

was still on board. Why they had had the thing on a daylight mission

was a mystery to Peter. But the photoflash bomb had been the source

of the fire that theyd used every available extinguisher on board to try

and control.

They had failed. Under the best of circumstances, these flash bombs

required extreme caution when handled. They were so sensitive that the

change in temperature could set them off. In the case of antiaircraft fire

pelting the plane, the bomb going off and starting the fire that swept

through the bay was a sure thing. Matters were only made worse when

the gunner Haversolea wet-behind-the-ears kid determined to be a

herodecided to open the bomb doors in hopes of pushing the thing

out. The rush of air served as fuel for the fire, and before they knew

what was happening, acrid smoke had filled the cabin. More ground

fire targeted the plane, and this time the bullets had found their mark

killing Haversole and at least grazing Peters leg. The crew had tried


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everything to contain the damage, but finally the pilot had given the

order to bail out.

Because it was still lightthe sun just setting beyond a line oftreesPeter knew that although his fingers were itching to pull the

cord, he had to wait until the very last moment to do so or risk being

spotted by German ground forces. Given what he knew of their flight

plan, he judged he was somewhere over Belgium, but that countrylike

most of Western Europewas occupied by the Nazis. Of course there

were other dangers as wellpower lines, trees where his chute mightget entangled and leave him dangling like a sitting duck for a Kraut

with a rifle. He forced himself to focus on the positive and mentally

schooled himself in the actions he would need to take once he made it

down safely. Get rid of the chute and start movingfast.

His head felt as if it were on a swivel as he looked wildly around

and below him. Off to his left and several yards below was Simpson, theplanes navigator. He, too, was no more than a kida scared kidand

Peter could see that hed panicked and opened his parachute too soon.

He was headed for a cluster of trees.

An explosion to his right drew Peters attention to the west where

he saw the plane already in flames hit the frozen ground hard and

then erupt in a fireball. He knew there was no way Walker would have

abandoned the plane even once the rest of the crew bailed out. He

would have done everything possible to put distance between his crew

and the wreckage, knowing the Germans would go first to the wreckage

to search for survivors.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and sent up a prayer for mercy for

Walker and the others then forced his attention back to the issue at

handhis own safe landing. Turning his head to the right, he strained

to look over his shoulder and saw a road and some power lines. If he hit

the power lines, he could be killed instantly. The hard earth was racing

up to meet him. He twisted his face to one side, closed his eyes, and


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pulled the rip cord, feeling the power of the released parachute as the

force of it rushed past his face and it ballooned above him, slowing his

descent with a jolt of the harness and flipping him so that he was nowfacing the ground. Not thirty seconds later he landedhardwith his

wounded leg twisted at an unnatural angle beneath him. Grimacing

against the pain that threatened to overwhelm him, he fumbled to

unfasten the harness and shrug free of it, all the while pulling the still-

billowing silk of the parachute to him and wadding it into a tight ball as

quickly as possible. He also shrugged out of his flight suit and stowed itwith his headgear in the wad of the parachute.

He performed these actions automatically as he studied his

surroundings. The sun was low in the sky, partially obliterated by a line

of gray clouds that threatened snow. He was grateful for the realization

that in a matter of minutes what sun there was would slip below the

horizon and dusk would cover his movements. He needed to wait forfull darkness.

The field had been plowed, but the ground was frozen solid and

rock hard. A haystack stood maybe ten yards from him. Clutching the

balled-up chute in one arm and using the other as a kind of crutch,

he dragged himself inch by painful inch toward the haystack. Along the

way he paused often, taking time to check to be sure that the frozenground showed no signs of his journey. By the time he reached his

destination, he was sweating profusely in spite of the temperature that

had to be below freezing. And he was pretty sure he had lost a good

amount of blood.

The sun was gone, leaving him very little time to get his bearings

before he was enveloped in total darkness. He opened his escape kit, or

evasion purse, as it was called. It contained maps for the areas the crew

would fly over as well as a little money, although given that he wasnt

sure where he was, it was difficult to know if the money would do him

any good.


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Of more importance were the photographs of him taken in civilian

garb that could be used to create false identity papers. There were also

cards printed in various languages that read, I am an American, andmisfortune forces me to seek your assistance. These could be used to

communicate with locals and offered a reward to anyone who provided

such assistance. Finally, every kit was stocked with Benzedrine tablets

to give the downed airman the energy he would need to focus on his

escape. Peter popped a couple of these tablets into his mouth and then

set to work. He figured he had as little as ten minutes orif luck waswith himperhaps as much as twenty before the Germans would start

heading his way. With both hands, he gouged out a section of the hay

and stuffed the parachute inside. He also abandoned his helmet and

goggles and considered continuing to hollow out the hay so that he,

too, could hide inside but soon realized the effort was pointless. The

haystack was frozen stiff, and his hands already felt raw and frozen inspite of his gloves. It was all he could manage to carve out a space deep

enough to stuff the parachute and other items.

Gasping the way he had in basic training after running drills with

a thirty-pound pack on his back, he leaned against the haystack and

considered his next move. His head spun with the instructions hed

received in trainingstick to low-lying areas; stay near the edge of

a forest or wall or hedge because its harder to see movement when

background is dark. Remove wristwatcha dead giveaway that he was

not European.

He unfastened the leather strap of the watch his dad had given

him the day he shipped outhis grandfathers watch. Unzipping his

flight suit, he stuffed it in one of his shirt pockets and buttoned the flap.

Behind him was the road hed spotted during his fall. A car passed, then

a row of trucks, military by the shape and size of them and definitely

not friendly. The trees where Simpson had landed were to his right,

the telltale white of the parachute flapping in the wind, which was


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beginning to pick up. No sign of Simpson, but at the moment Peter

couldnt worry about that. All he could do was hope the kid had the

good sense to unhook his harness and separate himself from the chuteeven though that would mean free-falling several feet.

For Simpson and the restas well as for himthe race was on.

Who would reach them first? Friendly locals or the Germans? Locals

were less likely. The punishment for aiding the enemyin this case,

Peterwas death. He couldnt take a chance that some farmer or villager

was willing to risk that. He needed to find someplace to hide. Evenwith the moon fighting with clouds to shine its light, Peter knew that

a parachute in the trees would be as good as a flare and bring the Nazis

to investigate. If Simpson wasnt already free of the contraptionor

deadthe Germans would surely finish the job and then start looking

for other survivors.

In the distance another convoy of trucks passed. They were movingfast and headed in the direction of the downed plane. Once they realized

the crew had jumped, it wouldnt be long until they fanned out in a

search. Instinctively, Peter tried pulling his knees close to his body to

make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. But the action sent

a shot of pain down his leg so powerful that he had to bite his dog tags

to keep from crying out.Dog tagskeep them safe. If he was captured wearing them, the

Germans would supposedly deal with him according to international

rules regarding the treatment of captured enemy personnel. Without

them he could be labeled a spy or traitor and tortured or worse.

He wondered if on top of the gunshot wound he had broken his leg

in the fall. If so, then what? Across the field he saw a ring of light and

knew that the trucks had circled the downed wreckage and turned their

headlights on to make it easier to assess the situation. Sooner or later. . .

Ice cracked close by. Too close. He recalled puddles that had formed

in the ruts and furrows of the fieldpuddles covered with a thin coating


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armpits. Use your good leg to push, he grunted as he tugged on Peters

upper body.

Let go, Peter whispered. I can do this. He jammed the syringeinto the haystack so it wouldnt be discovered; then he used the roll of

bandages to fashion a tourniquet. Next he braced his palms flat behind

him. Pushing off with his good foot, he scooted along the frozen field as

the boy hovered nearby to show the way and apparently play cheerleader.

Almost there, mister.

Just a few more meters, mister.The kid scrambled ahead, and Peter heard the snap of some

branches and the rustle of dried leaves. In here, the boy said.

Peter gave his body one great heave and once again felt himself

fallingthis time into a ditch. He was lying in half an inch of cold

waterthe ice that had covered it floating around him. He caught a

piece and pressed it to his lips to stem the incredible thirst he felt. Thesmell of wet decaying leaves surrounded him, and he surrendered to the

pain and exhaustion and closed his eyes. The last thing he remembered

was the kid covering him with branches that smelled like his mothers

cedar chest and the sounds of truck engines revving in the distance

and a mans voice barking out orders in German. It was the eleventh of

November. In two weeks, Peter would be twenty-eight years old. Hisfellow crew members had jokingly referred to him as the Old Man. He

had to wonder just where he would spend that birthdayif he made it

out of this mess alive.

Anja Jensen Steinberga last name she had surrendered to the need

for anonymity and the protection of her sonsat on the train, staring

out into the gathering darkness. The journey from Brussels to the

village where her grandparents Olaf and Ailsa Jensen had their farm

could take as little as an hour or as long as four to six hours, depending


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on whether their train was forced to sit on a side track so that some

German general or a trainload of German troops could have preference.

The idea that their business was of more importance than her chanceto spend twenty-four blessed hours with her eight-year-old son, Daniel,

annoyed her. During the week Daniel lived in the orphanage where he

had been taken when they had fled Munich and he and Anja had been

separated. There he attended classes while she worked at the hospital

in Brussels. He spent weekends and holidays on the farm. So much had

changed for all of them in just a year.This time last year she had been Anja Steinberg, running for her

life across Polandher husband and daughter murdered by the Nazis,

her sons whereabouts unknown. Along with her friends Beth and Josef

Buch, she had escaped from the notorious Sobibor death camp and

eventually made it to her home on the island of Bornholm off the coast

of Denmark where she had abandoned her married name and gotten newidentity papersforgedfor herself, using her family name of Jensen.

Once she learned that Daniel was alive and discovered his whereabouts,

she procured forged papers for him as well. She had no doubt that her

late husband would not only approve but would have encouraged her

to do whatever was necessary to keep herself and their son safe. She,

along with Beth and Josef, had been advised to stick as close as possible

to their given names. Both Anja and Jensen were common names in

Denmark. For Josef and Beth it had been a bit more complicated. Beth

became Lisbeth, and Josef kept his given name but changed the spelling

of his surname to Buchermann. So far they had all survived without

anyone questioning them or their forged identity papers.

When they first arrived on Bornholm, it seemed as if they might

have found a place where they could wait out the end of the war. The

news was better than it had been when they were all living in Munich

and certainly gave them more hope than they had dared to entertain for

even an instant while imprisoned at the Nazi extermination camp in


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eastern Poland. In those precious weeks on the island that held so many

happy memories for her, they had enjoyed an almost normal life. Beth

and Josef had married, and Anja had received the best gift of allthenews that her son was safe in an orphanage run by an order of nuns just

outside Brussels. Immediately she had begun making plans to bring

him to Bornholm.

But shortly after that, they learned that it was no longer safe for

them to remain on the island. The Nazi presence was growing because

Hitlers regime had decided to work there in secret on the developmentof an atomic bomb. Everyone on the island had been subjected to

interrogationtheir backgrounds and identity documents thoroughly

checked. As an escapee from Sobibor, she was still being hunted, and as

Anja knew all too well, the Nazis prided themselves on leaving no loose

ends. Even in their small village, it was impossible to know who might

betray them.Armed with their new identity papers, Anja and her grandparents

had fled their homeland for Belgium. Beth and Josef had followed a few

months later after they learned they were expecting their first child. Not

that Belgium was any safer. They lived hour to hour in the knowledge

that at any moment they might be arrested. But it was easier to remain

undiscovered in a larger city or in the isolated countryside where no oneknew them than it was on an island where no matter what name they

used the locals would know them by sight. And truly the only thing that

mattered for Anja was that Daniel had a safe place to be with the nuns

at the orphanage. The opportunity to spend even an hour with him was

worth everything to her.

Still, once they settled in Belgium where her grandparents managed

a small farm while she secured work as a nurse in Brussels, Anja was

not content to simply lie low and wait for the war to end. Raised in the

faith of the Society of FriendsQuakers like her friend Lisbethshe

was determined to do whatever she could to help others. In a time of


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war, such charity could get her arrested or shot. Working with Lisbeth

and her husband, Josefwho had also adopted the Quaker faithshe

had joined one of several underground organizations that ran escapelines for Allied airmen whose planes had been shot down over occupied

Europe.

Although Josef was a doctor, he and Beth had decided that opening

a small caf in Brussels gave them more anonymity. The Gestapo would

be looking for a doctorthey wanted Josef for more than his escape

from Sobibor. They also wanted him for the connection hed had tothe White Rose resistance movement back in Municha group of

German medical students who had dared to speak out against the Reich

and in several cases paid for their actions with their lives. That did not

deter Josef. He was determined to continue to do whatever he could to

defeat what he viewed as a bunch of thugs who had taken control of his

beloved homeland. It was through Josef and his connection to others inthe Resistance that Anja had become involved. As perilous as it was for

her, Anja had also felt called to take a stand against the evil forces that

had taken the lives of her husband and daughter and made life a hell of

uncertainty and fear for her son and her grandparents.

Her volunteer work with the Friends War Victims Relief Com-

mittee gave her a good cover for carrying food and messages to the safe

houses the network had established in Brussels and the surrounding

countryside. These were apartments, farmhouses, and in one case the

country home of a wealthy beer baron where fugitives could stay until

they could be safely moved to the next place. It was Anjas job to secure

safe houses, clothing, false documents, and food for the evaders, as

those who had not been captured were called. The escape line ran for

thousands of kilometers all the way from Belgium through occupied

France, across the Pyrenees Mountains, and on to Spain, where the

government walked a tightrope between appeasing the Nazis and trying

to stay on the good side of the Allies. If the airmen managed to reach


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the British embassy in Madrid, they had a good chance of making it

back to England.

In spite of Anjas protests, her grandparents as well as Lisbeth hadinsisted on doing their part. Ailsa collected clothing from neighbors,

telling them it was for those refugees who had fled their homes with

nothing. Olaf had used his horse-drawn cart to move Allied airmen

from the farm to town and the next safe house under the guise of

bringing goods to market. Meanwhile, Josef had used his medical skills

to treat wounds the evaders might have sustained as well as the coldsand viruses they developed from having to hide outside in the cold.

As an American, Lisbeth should have gone home years earlier

when the Nazis were allowing foreigners to leave, but instead she

had given her passport to a woman she knew only slightlya Jewish

woman who would surely have been arrested and sent to one of

the camps if she had stayed. Even after Josef had gotten her papersreplaced, Lisbeth had continued to defy the government. Once she had

literally saved Anja and her family. In fact, it was indirectly because of

Lisbethand Josefthat Daniel had ended up safe in the orphanage.

Anja shuddered to think what might have happened without their

help.

The train from Brussels chugged on, unencumbered by the needto stop and wait. Outside it was completely dark. Anja was bone weary

from working a double shift at the hospital and being up most of the

last few nights moving the latest group of Canadians from one safe

house to another, making sure they had the right clothes and identity

papers, quieting their nerves about the necessity of being separated for

the next leg of their journey into France, and reminding them again and

again about the tricks Gestapo agents often used to catch an evader.

They will ask for your documents, examine them, and all the while

make conversation to each other in German. And then all of a sudden

as they hand back your papers, they will say in English, Have a good


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journey. Your instinct will be to say, Thank you, but you must feign

confusion as if you have no idea what they spoke in English. Otherwise

you are caught.Every time she turned a group of these young airmen over to the

next contact on the line, Anja worried. They were so young, so very

trusting, so very afraid. And every time she knew that their fate was

now in the hands of otherspeople whose names even she did not

know because the danger was so great and it was better to have less

information in case she was brought in for questioningand she prayedagain. She remembered all the young airmen she had encountered

their names, their faces, their stories. They shared a great deal with her

on those occasions when she visited to bring them food or clothing or

news. They were very eager to talk once they realized she spoke English.

Most of the locals providing hiding places did not. So many stories.

This one was supposed to marry his childhood sweetheart, and he washaving second thoughts. Another was determined to make it back alive

so that he could start a business. A third just wanted to get home so he

could see his sonborn in his absence.

Some of them were out there now. They might be walking through

the fields she was passing or riding one of the bicycles the underground

kept for them to use as they went from one village to the next. Some of

them might be on this very traincrammed with her and other locals

into the rear cars because the Nazis had taken over several cars for their

exclusive use.

She rested her forehead against the window as she felt the train

round a curve and the sleeping woman sitting next to her press against

her. The train was crowded with people like hermen and women who

worked in the city and made the journey home to the farms to visit

family and help out whenever they could. All around her passengers

clutched paper sacks or boxes wrapped with brown paper and string

that no doubt held some special treat they had been able to get for their


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familyextra rations, a candy bar for the children, cigarettes or pipe

tobacco, perhaps a piece of linen or lace. In her bag she carried a single

orange for Daniel.As the train wheezed and belched to a stop in the station, Anja

waited for other passengers to press forward and fill the exits. Then she

gathered her things and walked slowly to the door at the rear of her

car. A railway worker was busy unloading luggage as she stepped onto

the station platform. He wheeled his loaded cart past her, and as he did

he slipped her a folded scrap of paper. They said nothing. Neither didthey so much as make eye contact. But they knew one another. He was

Mikel Sabarte, a refugee from the Basque region of Spain, a guide on

the escape line, and a man who Anja suspected was in love with her.

They shared much in common. While Hitler had a particular hatred

of Jewsincluding Anjas late husbandthe dictator of Spain, Francisco

Franco, had that same hatred of the Basque people. Once he took power,the Basques living in Spain along the foothills of the Pyrenees Mountains

were stripped of all political autonomy and rights. Those who dared to

stand up and speak outand many who did notwere imprisoned or

killed. In 1937 Franco requested that GuernicaMikels hometownbe

bombed by the Germans. Several hundred civilians, including most of

Mikels family, died, and he fled to the mountains.Like Anja, Mikel had lost those dearest to him. Like her, he had

been forced from his home. Like her, he was on the run and always

aware that at any moment capture could occur. But unlike Anja, Mikel

had little hope for the futurehis or anyone elses. He was a dark,

brooding man who had once told her that he found her search for some

Inner Light to be sad and stupid. There is no God, he had argued.

Do you think God would allow this?

But Anja held firmly to her belief in Gods breath within every

human beingeven dictators. The Light was there. It was up to each

person to bring it to the fore.


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Now as she glanced quickly at other passengers and railway

employees along the platform, she slid the scrap of paper inside her

glove. She hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder as she crossed theplatform past the rack of bikes lined up and waiting for their owners to

claim them. Dumping her bag in the willow basket of one, she steered

the bike away from the station where German soldiers prowled the

platform, smoking and laughing as they waited to board the train.

Among them were three men wearing the uniform of the dreaded Nazi

secret policethe Gestapo.She walked her bicycle past them. One of them glanced her way

and dismissed her as their kind usually did. Her protection came in two

forms: she wore the uniform of a nurse, and she was so petite that she

often passed for a mere girl rather than a woman of twenty-six who had

seen her husband and daughter murdered and who even now carried

incriminating information that could get her arrested.Her job was to pass the scrap of paper on to the local baker, who

was just closing up his shop for the night. As she parked her bicycle,

she waved to the baker, who waved back and went behind the counter.

When she entered the shop, he handed her a loaf of bread. It was hard

as a rock, and because rationing limited the bakers resources, she knew

the inside would be gray, gluey, and tasteless, but the baker had clearly

made the bread that day especially for her and her family. She handed

him a coin and the scrap of paper.

They made small talk while he glanced at the paper and handed

her some change. All of this in spite of the fact that they were alone

in the shop. One never knew when someone might be watching from

the street. Using the house number as code, he gave her news about a

compromised safe house. But alls well that ends well, he said. No one

was home.

I know a place near the farm and

He laughed heartily as if she had made a joke then walked her to


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the door and turned the sign to show that the shop was closed. But

under his breath he told her his news.

A plane went down near your grandfathers farm. . .Americans.Search is on. Take care, little one.

Now Anja pedaled frantically. If the plane had crashed in her

grandfathers field, then the first place the Germans would come

would be to their house. They would ransack the house despite Olaf

and Ailsas protests that no evaders were hiding there. They might

even burn the outbuildingssimply because they could. They wouldcertainly take any food supplies they found in the search as spoils of

war and their due as conquerors. They would surely terrify Daniel, who

also lived with the memory of seeing his father arrested and knowing

that his sister had been murdered even as the stranger at his sidea

contact of Josef shad steered him into the shadows, protecting him

and eventually getting him to safety.And what if one or more of the survivors from the plane had found

their way to the farmunbeknownst to Olaf? What if even now a man

was hiding in the loft of the barn or in the shed behind the house that

doubled as a stable for her grandfathers horse? What if. . .

Anja blinked, unwilling to believe what she was seeing ahead of her

on the side of the road. The sky was dark, but the moon played hide-and-seek through the drifting clouds. Suddenly it broke free and shone

onto a cluster of trees. Not just any trees. These trees were covered in a

white shroud that blew and flapped in the winter wind. And beneath

the bare, outstretched tree branches something moresomething heavy

and darkswayed slowly.

A body. A man.

He had been shot several times as he hung there helpless. Had he

died in the fall or faced his killers and known his fate?

Anjas legs felt like lead as she slowly pedaled past. To stop and

try to cut the man down and give him some proper respect even in


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death was of little use. If someone saw and reported her, she could

be arrested. The Nazis had left him hanging there purposelyas a

warning. Oh, how she hated this warall war. All violence. There hadto be somethingsome way that she and those she worked with could

prove the pointlessness of such carnage.

She pedaled on, her legs heavy with weariness as she prayed for the

enlightenment of her faith, that faith that taught her to believe that

there was good in every personor at least the potential for good in

every person. Those raised in the tradition of the Society of Friendsbelieved that every person came into the world in possession of an Inner

Lighta light that came directly from God, that was the very soul

and spirit of their being. The challenge each person faced in life was

to connect with that light and spirit, to live life guided from within. To

hold others in that light.

She smelled the lingering stench of oil, charred wreckage, andgasoline and knew that the downed plane was nearby and still

smoldering. Just ahead she saw the lane leading to the farm and in the

farmyard a truckits lights focused on her grandparents and her son as

if they were on a stage. She saw a soldier guarding them with pointed

rifle. And as she came closer, she heard the clatter of broken glass and

splintered furniture as the guards cohorts rummaged through the house.

Sheer fury threatened to overwhelm her as she realized that Ailsa

was shivering, having been forced from the house in her bedroom

slippers and a thin sweater. She had wrapped her arms in the skirt of

her apron for warmth. Olaf was wearing his work shoesprobably he

had been feeding the livestock when the soldiers came. His shirtsleeves

were still rolled to his elbows, as was his way when he worked with the

animals. His head was bare, and the cold wind flattened the thin wisps

of his white hair.

But it was Daniel who held her attention. He stood straight and tall

facing the soldier. He was wearing the clothes he wore to school every


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daywool pants, a shirt with threadbare collar and cuffs, and over that

a heavy sweater that Ailsa had knitted for him. On his head he was

wearing the beret that Mikel had given him.Halt! a voice growled. The man guarding her family swiveled to

point his weapon at her. Another soldier stepped out of the shadows

behind her. He was also pointing a gun at her. She stepped off her bike

and raised her hands.

Mama! Daniel ran to her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Both soldiers lowered their weapons. They exchanged a look, and thenone of them herded her and Daniel back into the spotlight while the

other one picked up her bike and rummaged through her bag. When

he found the orange, he grinned and held it up as a trophy for the other

soldier to see.

That belongs to my son, Anja said in perfect German.

The soldier hesitated, no doubt startled by her command of hislanguage.

Give it to the boy, a man said, stepping into the light. He was

clearly in charge. He wore the uniform of a Gestapo agent, complete

with shiny black boots and a holstered handgun strapped to his side.

He waited for his order to be obeyed then turned his attention to Anja.

Frulein, he said politely. Then he began to speak to her inGerman. She knew that he was testing her, trying to determine just

how well she spoke his languageand why. She answered his questions

as truthfully as possible.

I lived for a time in Munich.

I am Danish by birth.

These are my grandparents. My parents are dead.

I work for the Friends War Victims Relief Committee in Brussels.

The officer studied her for a long moment. This is your son?

Ja.

Where is your husband?


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She met his gaze directly but said nothing.

He frowned. You have a husband and yet you carry the name of

your grandparents?In Denmark it is a common name.

Your husband then is a soldier?

We are of the Freunde Societewe do not believe in your war.

Did he need to know that her husband had been a Jew? Did he

need to know that he had died in the street outside a synagogue? Did

he need to know one more detail of her life?The officer smiled. It is hardly my war, Frau Jensen.

And yet you fight, she replied quietly, her eyes never wavering

from his.

His smile dissolved into a scowl, and he turned on his heel and

approached the house, barking out orders to the soldier at the entrance.

Within seconds the soldiers ransacking the house came running out. Atthe same time, those who had been searching the outbuildings emerged

and ran double time to the canvas-covered truck. They climbed in the

backthe last being the soldiers guarding Anja and her family.

The officer climbed into the passenger seat next to the driver and

said something to him. Seconds later the taillights of the truck could be

seen fading into the distance.

For the first time, Anja turned to look directly at her grandfather.

He shook his head once, signaling that indeed there were no Americans

hiding on the property. Then he followed his wife to the house and

began picking up the overturned furniture while she swept up the

shards of glass. Anja wrapped her arm around Daniels shoulders. Put

the bicycle away and then come help, she said.

Mama, Daniel said in a whisper, casting a glance toward the

house. I know where one of them is hiding, and he is hurt. You must

come. He tugged at her arm.

No Daniel, you


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I saw the plane come down, and I saw the man fall into our field.

He hid his parachute in one of the haystacks, and I hid him in the ditch

by the stream. We should bring a blanket and some way to carry him.He cannot walk.

A rumble of more trucks on the road made Anja tremble with fear.

What if someone had seen Daniel hiding the airman? What if the

officer had known that a local boy had been seen dragging something

across a field? What if

Mama? Come now. He must be cold and hungry, and I think hewas in such pain.

Go helpMomseand sendMoffee out to me. She was deliberate in

her use of the terms of endearment for her grandparents. She hoped it

would calm Daniel. Tell Moffee to wear his jacket and gloves.

But

Do as I say, she snapped, her fear for what her son had donewithout a thought for his own safety making her irritable. Then she

grabbed him and hugged him hard. You did the right thing, she told

him, kissing his forehead. Just never ever do something like that again.

Promise me.

They did not see me, Mama. I was so very careful.

He would not promisehe was that much like his father. And Anjaunderstood that even as young as he was, the loss of his father and his

sister made him want toneed todo something.

Go, she said giving him a little push. And while she waited for

her grandfather to join her, she tried to think about how they might

move a full-grown man who was injuredpossibly badly burned. And

where were they going to hide him until she could arrange for him to be

moved down the escape line and hopefully back to England?

Then she remembered the body hanging from the tree. What if the

Nazis got to this man her son had found before she could?

Documents

Simple Faith 1st Chapter