Far away, in Brno, Frances Neubauer was feeling very lonely and missing her family terribly. Aunt Elsa and her cousin Otto were wonderful and made her feel at home. But she was fourteen now, and she had already been away from home for more than six months. She had no idea how much longer she would be separated from her family.
Aunt Elsa lived with her son, Otto, in a comfortable apartment. Elsa’s sister, Josie, a rather stern older woman who had never married, also lived in the house. Josie managed the household, preparing the meals and doing all the chores. She enjoyed this work, and the family loved her hearty cooking and her meticulous housework. Frances shared a bedroom with Elsa. Josie had a room of her own, as did Otto.
The Jews in Brno lived under restrictions similar to those in Budejovice. Frances could not go to school, to the movies, to the synagogue, or to the park. Her only friends were Jewish teenagers who had been introduced to her by her aunt. She was happy to have Otto’s company – he was seventeen, the same age as Reina, and was a warm and fun companion. But she missed her family.
The only connection Frances had with her family was by mail. The letters from her mother were full of descriptions of the changes in Budejovice. Her mother worried constantly about the war, and the impact it was having on Jewish families. But her letters also included wonderful news about Klepy, and the contributions that Frances’ brothers were making to the newspaper. Reina had already written many poems and stories. Frances was not surprised to read copies of his pieces, but she was delighted that even Beda was writing stories for the newspaper. Reading the letters from home, she was filled with longing for her family. And she was envious. If she were still in Budejovice, she too might be writing for Klepy.
Meanwhile, Frances was becoming an accomplished seamstress. Aunt Elsa was a gifted seamstress whose skills were widely admired, and she still had a successful dressmaking business, despite the limitations on Jewish businesses in Brno. Her customers remained loyal to her, and continued to bring her work, while other Jewish businesses were being closed down. Aunt Elsa paid Frances, who was then able to send money back to her own family in Budejovice.
Each day, Frances sat at her aunt’s side, in the bright light of the living room, watching her create fashions for the customers who arrived on a regular basis. Aunt Elsa cut her own patterns, and taught Frances how to measure each woman and design a dress that would be unique and perfect. It was a challenging task, but Frances paid attention and learned quickly. The first outfit she sewed by herself was a beautiful peacock-blue dress with a white lace collar and fashionable pointy pockets. She proudly modeled the dress for her aunt, who praised her talent.
“I’m so proud of how much you are learning. Before long, you will be a fine dress designer,” her aunt said, smoothing her carefully coifed hair.
I wish my parents could see this, thought Frances sadly. She loved her aunt, and she was grateful for her generosity, but she longed to be back home.
One day, Frances went for a walk to buy a newspaper. She approached a park close to her aunt’s apartment and paused. The park was off-limits to Jews, but it was such a long walk around the park to the stall where the newspapers were sold.
She shivered and looked around. No one was in sight. What harm will it do, she thought. No one will see me. And the park looked so inviting. It reminded her of the times she had spent with her brothers, playing in their own park close to the synagogue. The sun shone brightly, casting deep shadows on the path. The branches swayed in the cold air, almost beckoning her to enter. She took a deep breath and walked through the gates.
Immediately, Frances felt a sense of freedom and independence. She could smell the scent of pine cones, and imagined what the park would look like once winter had ended, and the flowers were in bloom. She stopped and bent to admire a small stream, with its glassy layer of thin ice, then straightened quickly and continued to walk. She couldn’t dawdle, much as she wanted to savor this time.
As she rounded a turn deep inside the park, she suddenly froze in her tracks. Two soldiers in Nazi uniforms were walking toward her. Had they seen her? Yes – they had!
Frances’ mind began to race, and her stomach lurched. What should she do? If she ran, it would make her look suspicious. There was only one thing to do – keep walking, and hope they would not notice anything wrong. As long as I act calm, they will never guess that I’m Jewish, she thought, struggling to compose herself. She bent her head and walked forward, trying to control the pounding in her chest. Ten more steps, and she would be past the soldiers. Five more steps, and she would be safe. But she couldn’t help glancing up at the faces of the approaching soldiers. They were boys, not much older than she was. How is it possible, she wondered, for these young men to have turned against us just because of a difference in religion? They looked no different from Reina or Otto.
Now she was just steps away. I’m safe, she thought. I’ve made it, and I promise I will never, ever do this again. And then, just as she was about to pass the soldiers, one of them stepped in front of her, blocking her passage.
“What are you doing in the park?” he demanded fiercely.
Frances opened her mouth but nothing came out.
“Typical Jew,” the other soldier scoffed. “She’s too stupid to talk.”
Frances felt hot and cold at once. How could they tell she was Jewish? She had no sign on her forehead. She had no banner announcing her religion.
“Get out of here!” the first soldier bellowed. “And don’t come back.”
Frances turned and she ran. She ran along the path, past the pond, around the tall trees and bushes, and out of the park gates. She ran and ran, and did not stop even when she reached her aunt’s apartment building. She ran up the stairs, through the door, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.
“You were so lucky,” Aunt Elsa cried, when Frances finally explained. “You might have been beaten or arrested. You mustn’t walk in the street alone again. And never in the park.”
Frances nodded. She did not need to be told. She knew she would never go near the park again. Before, all those rules and regulations had been official matters. Now – as she remembered the sneers on the soldiers’ faces – it was personal. They hated her. They hated her family. But why?