THREE WEEKS LATER . . .
“There, you look fine.” DeWitt straightened Erich’s bow tie, which in a past life had been a piece of his mother’s dress. “Never seen a finer-looking best man.”
Erich nearly didn’t recognize himself in the mirror they’d set up in the back room of the Bergmannstrasse missions kirche, the Lutheran Mission Church. Hair slicked back with a little dab of Brylcreem hair gel. Freshly pressed shirt. Long pants even, borrowed from Pastor Grunewald. Never mind that the pastor stood three inches taller and the pants had to be rolled and safety-pinned at the hem. Even his shoes looked as if they’d been given a military spit shine.
Just like DeWitt’s. The American wore his brown dress uniform, creased at all the seams and fresh from the cleaners. Same as his Air Force buddies, ten of whom had showed up early. Strange how many stood by the doors, though, their eyes on the street, arms crossed. Somehow they didn’t quite look as if they were waiting for wedding guests.
Katarina, on the other hand . . . well, she knocked before poking her head in the door. “Are you boys ready yet?”
“Ready when you are!” answered the groom-to-be, and he gave his own tie a nervous yank. He could look as cool as a magazine ad, but Erich knew better. Under it all he could see the man’s hand shaking. The jokes only helped to cover.
“You didn’t invite our friends the Russkies, did you?” He winked at Erich.
“Did you want me to? Haven’t seen them for the past couple of weeks.”
“Just want to make sure they don’t crash the party.”
“Maybe they’re tired of following us.”
“I hope so.” DeWitt checked out the window. “But hey, what kind of talk is this for a guy’s wedding day?”
“The pastor’s waiting,” Katarina reminded them before disappearing again. At least she sounded like Katarina. The rest of the girl, Erich wasn’t sure. Aunt Gerta had sewn her a yellow dress with a frilly hem and had braided her dark hair into a bun.
“I’ve never seen her dolled up like that,” DeWitt said as he followed her out the door, then he held up a finger of warning. “You keep the guys away from her, okay?”
“Not a problem. But . . . DeWitt?” He felt in his pocket for the little cup he’d been carrying around for the past few months. The only physical thing that still connected him with the memory of his father.
“Yeah?” DeWitt looked back over his shoulder.
Erich felt the knot in his stomach but held out the silver cup before he could change his mind. This would be for his mother as much as for the American, he told himself. And it was his job to take care of his mother, wasn’t it? God would want him to do this . . . this crazy thing. “I want you to have this.”
“Are you serious?” At first DeWitt didn’t seem to understand, not even as he rolled the little cup around in his hand to read the inscription:
“Presented to Rev. Ulrich Becker, Reconciliation Church, 12 June 1936.” He looked up again, a question still on his face. “This belonged to your father, didn’t it?”
Erich nodded.
“Why are you giving it to me?”
Erich swallowed down the lump in his throat.
“Just keeping a promise.”
So DeWitt accepted the gift. The day might have been perfect, if not for the bittersweet knowledge of who was missing. Fred’s Air Force friend Joe Wright stood with the groom, hardly knowing a word of German but smiling for the whole ceremony. Katarina’s mother took her place next to the bride, and a handful of people from the little church joined them. But Oma was not there. That was expected, and Erich could understand why she had stayed home. Not because of her health. She’d begun to feel a little better these last few weeks. But because of who she said she would become at this ceremony.
An ex-mother-in-law, if there was such a thing.
“No, absolutely not.” Mrs. Fred DeWitt put her foot down, just a few weeks after the wedding. “It’s much too dangerous.”
Dangerous because autumn had turned to winter and fog hung over the city nearly every morning? Or because they’d heard stories of C-54’s forced off course, even fired on?
“I’m going, Mom.” He looked at her and tried to sound as grown up as he could. “I have to.”
“It’s all right, Brigitte.” DeWitt could talk her into just about anything. “I’ll be with him the whole time.”
She sighed and turned away, her arms crossed. Yes, she was outnumbered now, two to one, and maybe deep down she didn’t mind.
“Just don’t tell me anything about it afterward.”
The two men grinned and headed for the door. And Erich couldn’t help smiling even more as he waved at Katarina, who had come to see them off that cold Saturday afternoon, hitching a ride in Lieutenant Anderson’s Berlin Baby. The plane looked a little grimy for all its loads of coal but still purred as loudly as ever. And this time the plane ride would be different, very different.
“Hear you’re a married man now!” Jolly old Sergeant Fletcher still co-piloted the plane, even after all these months. He looked about as grimy as the rest of the C-54, but he gave them his wide smile and a slap on the back for DeWitt. “Way to go, guy.”
“Pre-flight checklist!” barked the pilot. Lieutenant Anderson hadn’t changed a bit, either.
“I’m on it.” The sergeant pulled out his clipboard as the others settled in for a quick flight to Rhein-Main and a Frankfurt dusted with early season snow, hopeful Christmas candles in its shop windows. A few hours later Erich enjoyed the wreaths on many of the shop doors; he hadn’t seen any in Berlin for years.
“So what are we going to get her?” DeWitt asked as they stepped down the newly shoveled street together. Erich stopped at a shop window to look at a box of chocolates and knew the answer.
“You doing the honors this time?” Sergeant Fletcher wanted to know, and DeWitt bowed at Erich with a flourish of his hand. The plane lurched as they approached Berlin once more.
“Wait a minute.” Erich tied the corners of the next handkerchief as quickly as he could. “I still have a few more.”
“Tempelhof in three minutes.” Lieutenant Anderson put the plane into final approach as DeWitt opened the flare hatch. “Just make it quick, Sergeant. I don’t want those things — ”
“ — snagging your landing gear!” Erich and DeWitt finished the pilot’s warning at the same time, which made them both laugh. But the Berlin Baby wasn’t slowing down for anybody; they’d have to work quickly. DeWitt handed the box across.
“Need some help?”
Erich shook his head no. “Not this time. But thanks.”
No, not this time. He could do this. So Erich took a handful of carefully folded parachutes, ready to let loose as the wind whistled below them. He shivered as the cold December wind stiffened his fingers.
“Woo!” the sergeant chirped. “Somebody opened the barn door! A little chilly out there.”
It didn’t matter. This time Erich didn’t think about the other bombers, the bombers during the war. He didn’t think about anything except dropping candy to the kids on the ground. They would release right over Oma’s apartment, as they’d agreed. So DeWitt glanced up through the forward windows to get their position before he started the countdown.
“Drei, zwei, eins . . . Let it loose!”
And Erich did.