Women Of Courage: Daisies Are Forever Part 4

"Has your father pa.s.sed away?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"You said you miss your mother, but you said nothing about him."

"We have a complicated relationship. Shall we?" He led the way down the beach and onto the ice.

Gisela took the hint and dropped the subject.

After a while, the trees became redundant. The side of the "road" was littered with dead horses, discarded goods, and broken-down carts. Gisela tried to take it in at the same time she tried to close her mind to what played out in front of her.

They plodded farther in silence, needing every bit of every breath to continue trudging forward. In places, small holes littered the ice. Herr Holtzmann had gathered a stick from the bank and walked in front of them, testing the depth of the water on the surface at those points. In some places, it was more than ankle deep. Their shoes and stockings and pants legs were wet.

And cold. Gisela shivered.

"How are you doing?" Mitch pulled the heavy cart without complaint.

"Swell." Ella and Opa had been right. He would never have survived this trip. Would any of them?

"You've taken my t.i.tle as the cheeriest chap on the planet."

She had to give him a little smile for his effort. "I'd like to feel my toes again someday."

"You will. And when you do, they'll hurt like the d.i.c.kens."

"Ah, now I see how you earned that t.i.tle in the first place." But Mitch was correct. She tried not to think of the pain that awaited her when they finally left the ice. Whenever that would be.

They continued the trek, the line of refugees stretching as far in front of them as they could see and as far in back of them. The scene was surreal, like it should be in a motion picture and she should be Greta Garbo.

"I want to get out." Annelies leaned over the side of the cart as she whined. Poor kid. She had to be restless. Mitch lifted her and set her on a stretch of ice not pockmarked by bullets and missiles. She gave him the biggest grin and began gliding across the slick surface.

A little bit ahead, Gisela spied a dark bundle on the right side of the road. Probably left there by someone who could no longer carry the heavy burden. The goods were wrapped in a gray army-style blanket. She broke off from the group. "I'm going to see what's in that package."

Herr Holtzmann on her left nodded. "Do you need the extra weight?"

"Nein, but there might be valuables in there we could use. We have two strong men now." She removed her heavy wool mittens and unwrapped the blanket.

Her breath caught in her throat. A baby. Eyes closed, lips blue.

She cradled the infant in her arms.

Cold.

Stiff.

Dead.

Her eyes stung.

Who would leave their baby like this? How could they walk away from their child? The thought sickened her.

A Soviet plane droned overhead.

A tiefflieger.

The single plane broke through the clouds, its shiny silver fuselage catching the light. The pilot wheeled around and gunfire rained down on them.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

Gisela spun to the left and to the right. Bright-white ice surrounded them. No trees. No ditches. No homes.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

Annelies broke off her gliding, her gray eyes huge in her face, her mouth hanging open. Mitch tackled the child to the ground like an American football player.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

Renate shrieked in the cart. Gisela flung herself on top of the toddler.

All around, women and children screamed. They melded with the screams of her aunt and cousins. Screams of the present, screams of the past.

Gisela clutched her chest, finding it hard to breathe. The Russian pilot continued to shoot in the midst of the stream of refugees.

Nothing but innocent ladies and babies.

A bullet screeched past Gisela's ear.

She trembled and Renate shook under her.

Only the dead infant laid still and quiet.

FIVE.

The whistle of bullets and the screech of bombs scrambled Gisela's thoughts. The sound of shooting, yelling, dying filled her ears and reverberated in her head. She quivered like a poplar tree in the wind.

Renate whimpered underneath her.

"Hush, little one, hush. G.o.d will take care of us." But did she believe that? Had G.o.d truly watched out for her that one awful night last fall?

The pilot wheeled around and the gunfire continued. With her face buried in the duvets, breathing was difficult.

She didn't dare raise her head to look for the other members of their party. Was Annelies safe? And the Holtzmanns? What about Mitch and Xavier?

Time lost all meaning. They may have lain there for five minutes or five hours. The plane flew back and forth along the column of refugees. Would the shooting ever stop? Or did the Russian intend to kill every last one of them?

The plane's whine grew higher in pitch, coming closer. The incessant firing fractured the ice. It moaned as it split.

Another bullet whizzed next to Gisela's right ear. Renate screamed. Gisela held her breath. Dear G.o.d, dear G.o.d, dear G.o.d. She couldn't control her shaking. How much longer until she awoke in glory?

" 'When thou pa.s.sest through the waters, I will be with thee.' " Among Opa's last words to her.

"Are You here, Lord?"

Rat-a-tat-tat.

Shouts and prayers and curses. So much crying. Some of it was Gisela's. But it surrounded her on every side.

And then the Russian decided he'd had enough fun. He rose above the clouds.

All sat silent, except for the cracking of the ice. No one dared to breathe. Was the tiefflieger gone for good?

Time slipped away. A voice spoke here and there, joined by a few more. The plane had indeed left.

Gisela gathered her courage and lifted her head. Blood soaked the ice, horses lay fallen, wagons split in two. She rose from on top of Renate and lifted her from the pile of blankets. She checked her over and saw no blood, though the toddler screamed at the top of her lungs.

Gisela's heart banged against her ribs, with a beat like a Duke Ellington song. Her knees were so weak she had a difficult time holding herself up.

And right beside the indentation Renate's head had made, the hole from a bullet burned through the quilts.

So close. They had come so close. She held on to the cart to avoid slumping to the ice.

Mitch lifted his body off of Annelies. She hurried to Gisela's side and wiggled her way into Gisela's embrace.

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt?" With quaking hands, she examined the child. No blood. But the girl didn't blink.

Gisela kissed her cheek. "You're fine now. The plane is gone and can't hurt us anymore." Annelies began to cry and Gisela cradled both children.

She turned to the Englishman. "Thank you."

Mitch nodded, his brown eyes darker than she had noticed before. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, then turned to see to the welfare of her other charges. The old ladies knelt on the ice beside a p.r.o.ne form. Gisela set Annelies on the ice.

The chill permeated to the depth of her being.

Mitch turned his attention to the place where Gisela's gaze was directed. The old people huddled together. And Xavier . . .

Where was he?

Mitch's gut clenched and his world narrowed until he saw nothing but the Holtzmanns.

G.o.d, no. Please, not him.

He hurried in their direction, slipping and sliding. "Xavier. Xavier." G.o.d couldn't do this to him.

"Hush, dearie, he's sleeping." One of the elderly women patted his shoulder.

He dropped to his knees by his chum's side, his face ashen, lips blue, a crimson puddle spreading across the ice. "No. No!"

Mitch's throat constricted. He couldn't breathe. His childhood pal. Always able to get him into sc.r.a.pes. Always able to get him out.

Gisela was there then, beside him. She placed her fingers on Xavier's neck, searching for a pulse, he presumed.

"One last crazy adventure, chap. I should have talked you out of it. Why didn't I?" He wiped the moisture from his eyes.

Perhaps it would've been better had they stayed with their fellow prisoners, marched westward by the SS guards, instead of slipping away that day, burrowing into a s...o...b..nk and hiding there until the Germans cleared the area.

"He's gone." Gisela touched his shoulder. Mitch pulled away. What had he done? He shook his fists at the heavens. An ally. An ally took Xavier's life.

A fire burned in his gut. If he ever got his hands on a Russian . . .

"You saved Annelies's life." Gisela's words were little more than a buzz.

He scanned the scene around them. The family in the wagon ahead of them lay unmoving, their bodies riddled with bullet holes. The women behind them stroked their dead horse's mane. A wail of grief rose from this frozen grave.

He added his to theirs. He sat shivering on the ice, wet through to the skin with water and blood.

Annelies came and touched his wet cheek. "What's wrong?"

"Xavier died."

Katya, her brown hood askance on her head, kneeled on the ice beside Xavier but did not say a word. Perhaps, even in her senility, she understood.

But they couldn't understand. No one could. G.o.d should have taken him instead.

Gisela put her arm around him and helped him stand. "We have to keep moving and get off this ice before more planes come."

Herr Holtzmann nodded. "She's right, son. We can't linger."

Mitch stared at the other bodies strewn over the white bareness of this place. Just leave Xavier here? To sink to the bottom of the Haff when it thawed?

A physical pain clawed at his chest. Xavier deserved better. "Give me a minute." Herr Holtzmann and Gisela led the two pairs of sisters away.

This wasn't right. None of this was right. If only he could undo what he had done five years ago.

Tears blurred his vision as he bent and retrieved Xavier's dog tags, then slipped them over his neck. His parents would want them.

The stream of refugees swung a wide berth around the little group, but continued unabated.

Mitch covered Xavier with a green blanket Gisela brought him from her cart. She placed the baby beside his lifelong chum.

Then they turned away, leaving the bundles on the frozen Haff.