CHAPTER 19
Manfred and I were eventually cleared by the Americans, who intended to turn Stalag VII-A into an internment camp for civilian Germans suspected of Nazi war crimes.
When I told the American officers the story of my association with the White Rose, my trial and imprisonment, which they were able to confirm in a few days through captured records, I was released. Manfred received the same treatment after those who knew Gretchen testified on his behalf. She was found in prison, having narrowly escaped the guillotine, and was released along with many others.
A kind American Major procured papers for Manfred and me to travel into Munich, past military checkpoints to look for my parents. I’d pleaded my case to an army man who looked favorably upon my activities with the resistance.
We left the farm on an overcast and windy May morning that held the promise of warmth. Schütze jumped against the fence, unhappy that we were leaving her alone for the day. Before we got into the truck, Manfred rubbed her ears and assured her that we’d be back soon.
The road to Munich was lined with refugees and American troops. All signs of the Nazis had disappeared. My stomach tightened as we neared the city, for I was plagued with questions. Were my parents still alive? How difficult would it be to resurrect the Natalya Petrovich who’d lived before her trial and imprisonment?
“Are you all right?” Manfred asked. “You look pale.”
“I don’t know what we’re going to find—if anything.”
We traveled past the villages and towns, some looking burned out, others as if the war had not touched them at all.
“I want you to be happy,” Manfred said. He shifted his gaze briefly to me, and then stopped the truck on the side of the road. We sat under the leafy branches of an oak near a swiftly flowing stream, its waters flashing greenish white over the rocks. Had it not been for my nerves, the rushing sound would have lulled me to sleep.
Manfred took my hand and looked squarely at me. “Will you marry me?”
His timing surprised me somewhat, but the question didn’t shock me; in fact, I had suspected that it might come after the war was over. I touched his shoulder. “Well, it’s a bit sudden,” I said in jest and snuggled against him. “Do you think we know each other well enough?”
“I do,” he said.
“Yes,” I said, and kissed him. “I’d love to be your wife.”
He smiled and pulled the truck back out on the road. We had traveled only a short distance, before we stopped again to let a ragged flow of men and women cross in front of us.
“How long is it going to take Germany to recover?” he asked. “How long will the world hold us in contempt?”
I didn’t answer, but I knew Germany wouldn’t be forgiven of her sins for generations—if ever.
We made it into the city and through the checkpoints, delayed only by one inspection. The papers the Major had given us expedited our journey.
Munich was in ruins, the devastation total except for the random buildings that had survived the bombings. The many hollow frames, as charred as wooden matchsticks, looked out upon us with blackened windows like empty eyes. Stone and brick had tumbled into the streets, making some impassible, others open only to one lane. The Siegestor’s columns still stood, although pockmarked and jagged from the shelling. The smell of smoke and ash, and leaking petrol, carried in the air along with the smell of death, the stench of rotting corpses.
As I viewed the destruction, the hope of finding my parents faded; yet, I wasn’t ready to give up.
“Schwabing first,” I said to Manfred, and directed him through the clogged roads to a spot where we could park near Frau Hofstetter’s home. We got out of the truck and walked the litter-lined streets, climbing and jumping over the rubble, lifting the broken branches of the stripped trees, until I spotted my former apartment.
The back of the house had been reduced to a blackened shell, the façade charred from the fire. Part of the front wall had collapsed and under it, which served as a lean-to, we found the Frau.
She was huddled under a pile of blankets, her back propped up against a pillow resting on the remains of a tree trunk. Her eyes narrowed into a squint when we approached, clearly unsure of who we were and what we wanted; but, as I leaned into her makeshift home, her eyes lit up and she reached for me.
“My dear one,” she said as I bent to kiss her. “You’re alive.... You’re alive. . . .” She hugged me with her frail arms.
“Frau Hofstetter,” I said. “You’ve survived.... We’ve all survived.”
“I would welcome you into my home, but, as you can see, I have none.” She patted the bottom of a blanket, inviting me to sit. “Who is this young man?”
“Frau Hofstetter, this is Manfred Voll. . . . We are to be married.”
Her eyes sparkled with happiness. “Oh, I’m thrilled for you. We need more joy, more life after what has happened.” Then her eyes dimmed.
“How is Katze?” I asked, unable to ask the same question about what might have happened to my parents.
“That cat?” She raised her hands in disgust. “He’s doing better than I am. He has delectable mice and birds to choose from. He’s around here somewhere—he always comes back to keep me company. Cats are hunters, you know. I, and the neighbors who are still alive, have only scraps. I hope the Americans don’t starve us to death.”
I shook my head. “No, Frau Hofstetter, I don’t think they will.”
“Natalya, ask her,” Manfred said from his position outside the lean-to.
My throat constricted. “Frau . . .”
She thrust out her hands. “I understand your reluctance.... I have news.”
“Go ahead,” I said with trepidation.
“I’m sorry to tell you, Natalya Petrovich, but your father died several months ago. Your mother is still alive. She lives with two other families not far from here. But, be warned, she isn’t well—the war has taken its toll on us all.
“The Gestapo pursued you like mad dogs for some reason—without let-up. The agents swore they would kill your parents if they didn’t find you. They beat your father and threatened your mother. He never recovered from the beatings and the intimidation, but she managed to live through her heartache. She’s a strong woman.”
The war had hardened me to some extent, but my emotions were thawing as the days of freedom progressed. The rough, serrated edge of pain cut across my heart for my father’s death, but I didn’t cry—I was relieved that he was suffering no longer.
The doctor’s murder and my escape from Schattenwald had killed my father when I could offer little help—and Garrick, who might have stepped in, had been removed from the case. The rage I felt against the Nazis during my time with the White Rose ignited again.
A meow and a heavy purr reached my ears. Katze emerged from the ruins of the Frau’s house and rubbed his body against me in the twisting motion that all cats do. I turned, picked him up, and snuggled him against my chest.
“Please take him,” the Frau said. “It’s hard enough for me to feed myself. Consider him a wedding present.”
I looked up at Manfred, who knelt down to pat Katze’s head. “Do you think Schütze will put up with him?”
“She’s been around cats before—she’s not too fond of them, but in this case . . . yes.”
“Thank you,” I said, and leaned over to kiss the Frau’s cheek. “Can you tell me where my mother lives?”
She explained how to get to the apartment building several blocks away. Apparently, the top half of the building had been rendered unlivable, but the lower floors remained standing. Manfred shook the Frau’s hand, telling her that he would return to help with the rebuilding of her home. He assured her he was good at such things.
We left with Katze in my arms. The cat, apparently recognizing me, settled against my shoulder and made no attempt to squirm out of my hold.
After a short walk, we found the building. A large hole in the roof let light filter through it; cracks ran through the stone walls from top to bottom.
“You go to the door,” I told Manfred, afraid I might collapse upon seeing my mother. “I’ll hold the cat.”
Manfred stepped forward as I waited. He knocked, the door opened, and he asked for Mrs. Petrovich. The man who answered disappeared and, soon, my mother, in a plain black dress, stood at the entrance, staring at a man she didn’t know.
“Mother,” I called out. “It’s me.”
Her eyes widened and she sagged against the door. Manfred captured her in his arms and supported her swaying form. She broke free, and, with cries of joy, we rushed to each other, nearly crushing Katze between us.