Mighty Fortress Page 2
received many letters, trying to find a way to get the family to safety. One day in the spring, a letter came from New York. Gottlieb immediately took it to the family.
A broad grin lit up Yitzak’s face. He bobbed up and down on the balls of his feet. “Mutti, Sarah—Yosef writes that he will let us stay with him!”
Sarah leaned on Yitzak’s shoulder and began to cry. “Oh, thank God!”
He put one arm around her.
Her grandmother, Channah Hochberg, sitting in the corner, echoed Sarah’s thanks.
Little Avram pulled on his father’s arm “Who? Who are we going to live with?”
“With my cousin Yosef in New York.”
“Where is that?”
“Very far away. It will take us a long time to get there.”
The pastor nodded. “A very long time. New York might as well be China. How can you travel?”
“I’m not certain but…if I write a note, will you deliver it by hand?”
“Of course.”
Yitzak took a notebook from his pocket. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he scribbled a note, then folded it into quarters. “I know a fellow at the train station—give him this, please.” Yitzak handed him the note and gave a description of the man. He leaned closer, his voice tight. “But don’t tell him who you are or where we are. I won’t know if I can trust him until I receive his answer.”
Gottlieb glanced at the name written on the outside of the note. “How do you know that he will not say yes, and then turn you in?”
“He is a Jew. Or rather, his mother is. He won’t risk exposing her—I don’t think.”
Pastor Gottlieb nodded, tucking the note into the inside pocket of his coat. “I will go in the morning.”
“May God bless you, Pastor,” Frau Hochberg said.
“I hope so.”
+ + +
At the train station the next morning, the pastor asked for the young man Yitzak had described. The stationmaster directed him to one of the baggage handlers.
Without introduction, Gottlieb, hands clammy with sweat, passed him the note.
The man, several years younger than Yitzak, paled upon reading it. He stared at Gottlieb for a moment, then spoke, his voice hushed. “Why are you helping them?”
“To oppose the invaders who occupy our country.” Despite the dryness of his mouth, he swallowed. “Besides, it is the right thing to do.”
The man stared at the paper for a few more moments. “If they can be here Sunday at two-thirty, I can help them. That’s two-thirty a.m.”
Plenty of time to drive the Spiegels to the station and return to the church in time for worship. “All right.”
“They’ll have to ride in crates. Wooden ones. And small. But I’ll send word ahead to a man I trust in Zurich. He’ll take care of them.”
“What is his name?”
“I don’t dare tell you.”
“How can I know you won’t turn them in?”
The young man handed the paper back to Gottlieb. “If I were to do that, you could turn me in. Read it.”
Gottlieb opened the note. It began, “I know that as a fellow Jew you will help us…”
He tucked the note back into his coat pocket. “They’ll be here.”
+ + +
As he drove back to the church, Gottlieb’s heart seemed to soar above him, like an eagle in the clouds. Lord, I give praise and thanks that you have provided this path to freedom for the Spiegels. I pray you will continue to watch over them and bring them to safety.
At the church, he found the organist rehearsing. The noise must have been deafening to the Spiegels, yet they never complained. Though he had yet to write his Easter sermon, he went first to his little kitchen to make some sandwiches. He would take them to the Spiegels once the organist left.
The five-hundred-kilometer journey to Zurich seemed like a slender thread on which to hang liberty. But it was the only hope they had. Might it be safer for them to remain?
Before he could even reach toward God in prayer, he felt the answer. No. Life in a closet was no life. Not compared with Zurich and New York. He must let them go.
His heart, which so recently had flown, now dropped like a stone. They were not just a family. They were his family. He would miss Yitzak’s enormous grin. Sarah’s sweet smile. Avram’s precious giggles. Frau Hochberg’s keen insight.
He cleared his throat in a vain attempt to banish the lump that had closed it. I place them in your hands, Father. I trust you will take care of them better than I can.
He wrapped the sandwiches in table napkins.
The organ notes of “Come, Ye Faithful, Raise the Strain” turned sour. The organist repeated the opening phrase, but it didn’t sound quite right. It was as if—
Gottlieb bolted toward the sanctuary, skidding to a halt in the narthex. He took a deep breath, as if by force of will he could slow the pounding of his heart. He strolled into the sanctuary. “Problem, Vinzent?”
“Yes.” He hopped his index finger across several keys, eventually hitting upon the one that wasn’t sounding properly. “Something is stuck in the pipe.” He rose from the bench.
As casually as possible, Gottlieb waved to him to sit down. “I’ll check it.”
“Do you know how to find it?” He tapped the key again. The pipe wheezed.
Gottlieb forced a chuckle, his trembling hand on the knob of the robing room door. “Of course. It’s the one that’s blocked.”
“It’s in the second rank,” Vinzent said, just as Gottlieb closed the door of the robing room behind him. He shuddered. A matter of minutes. If this had happened while he had been out—he shook off that thought, pulled down the ladder, and climbed up into the access-way.
The Spiegels all sat with their backs to the wall, still and silent. He smiled and pointed to the panel that led to the pipe chamber.
Sarah tapped Avram’s shoulder and, when he looked at her, held her finger to her lips. He frowned as if insulted by this reminder.
Gottlieb pulled out the panel and edged forward to the second rank, hidden from below by the first rank. He knew the most likely cause of the blockage. The problem was—
“Unless it’s right at the top of the pipe,” Vinzent said, from the sanctuary below, “you’re going to need tongs to get it out.”
“Hmm, yes.” Gottlieb had spotted the blockage, and it was beyond his reach, in a pipe too narrow for his hand. He was a slim man, but not that slim.
He turned, and gestured to Avram to join him.
In his stockinged feet, Avram came over. Gottlieb pointed to the pipe. Avram nodded.
Sarah’s eyes looked as if they might pop out of her head.
“I usually borrow the ones from the fireplace in your sitting room.” Vinzent said. He hardly needed to raise his voice, though he was on the other side of the pipes and a dozen or more feet below.
“Thank you for telling me.” Gottlieb lifted Avram up to the top of the pipe.
Vinzent laughed.
Avram reached into the organ pipe, up to his shoulder.
“Do you need me to bring them?” Vinzent asked.
Avram drew his arm out, carrying what Gottlieb expected.
A dead rat.
“No, I have it,” Gottlieb said.
Sarah covered her mouth and turned away.
Vinzent began playing, each note clear—and loud.
Pastor Gottlieb took the rat by the tail. Once the panel was back in place, he gave Avram a thumbs-up sign and patted his shoulder.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She gathered Avram into her lap.
Yes, he had to get them out of here. They deserved a better life than this.
Gottlieb embraced Yitzak. His heart overflowed, longing to share the news with them. But they’d already come too close to discovery. Not a word could be spoken. Not even with a medieval hymn rattling the floorboards.
+ + +
Gottlieb watched the clock incessantly, unable to concentrate on writing his sermon. V
inzent practiced for half an hour longer than usual. Normally, Gottlieb would have been grateful for such dedication, but he only wanted the organist to leave so he could go talk to Yitzak.
Finally, the music stopped. Gottlieb glanced at the clock again, then turned back to his notepaper. A few minutes later, Vinzent poked his dark-haired head through the office doorway. “Thank you for your help with the organ, Pastor.”
“Any time, Vinzent.”
They bid one another good day, and Gottlieb, like a racehorse straining at a gate, waited a bit longer before leaving the office, in case Vinzent should return for something. But only a bit. He grabbed the food from the kitchen and jogged to the attic stairs.
Yitzak met him with that foolish grin on his face. “You have good news?”
“I do indeed.” Gottlieb passed out the sandwiches. “Your friend at the train station said you will leave Sunday, two-thirty a.m.”
Sarah gasped, then ran forward and hugged him.
Yitzak clapped his hands together once, then grabbed Avram and lifted him high. “No more rat-catching for you, my boy. America!”
Frau Hochberg, from her usual seat in the far corner, raised her hands to the sky and muttered something in Hebrew. Or maybe it was Yiddish. He couldn’t tell.
Sarah stepped back. “Pastor, how can we—”
Gottlieb shook his head. “Don’t thank me—thank God.”
She nodded, smiling. They sat cross-legged on the floor, said a prayer together, and then, while the Spiegels ate, Gottlieb relayed what little he understood of the railway man’s plan.
+ + +
Shortly after midnight on Sunday morning, he rose, and went to the kitchen. There, he wrapped four sandwiches in brown paper. He would miss his visits with them.
What a crazy thought. How could