Wartime Brides Collection

Chapter One

Chapter One

“We’ll die if we don’t leave this place. Pack only what you can carry.” Edmund Hirsch poked his bony arms into the sleeves of his wool coat that sported more holes than Swiss cheese. A paroxysm of coughing gripped his body, the result of a mustard gas attack on his German platoon nine years ago during The Great War.

After several minutes the coughing ceased, and he mopped the sweat from his forehead with a dingy, gray handkerchief. “Be ready. We set out tomorrow at first light.”

“Where will we go, Vati?” Five-year-old Conrad’s voice trembled.

“Don’t be a baby, Conrad.” Older by two minutes, Conrad’s twin brother, Manfred, finished tying his boot laces and jumped off the chair, his shoes clomping against the bare wood floor. His bright blue eyes blazed above his hollow cheeks.

“Hush, children.” Noreen stroked Conrad’s white-blond hair and met her husband’s terse look with one of her own. “You heard your father. There’s no time to waste.”

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Noreen yanked the zipper closed on her over-stuffed canvas satchel. Always resourceful, Edmund had attached straps to the moss-green bag so she could wear it on her back. She would also carry a suitcase in each hand. The journey promised to be arduous.

Sighing, she wiped a weary hand across her dry eyes. Even if she had any tears remaining, crying was useless. It would not make their situation less dire.

Muted voices and the occasional bump filtered through the ceiling from the boys’ bedroom above. Noreen shivered and hunched into her threadbare, ruby-red sweater. An impulse purchase made during her honeymoon, the garment held more memories than warmth. Edmund insisted it brought out the roses in her cheeks.

She tossed the bulging satchel to the floor and turned her attention to the yawning luggage on the bed. Two steel pots and a fry pan nestled in the bottom of one boxy, brown suitcase between faded blue towels that had been a belated wedding present from her mother and father.

Hopefully, Edmund would find somewhere they could live in his home country with enough food to actually cook. Here, along the Volga River in Russia, the crops had failed again, and the famine was entering its second year. The decision whether to eat or plant their seed wheat had caused many families to die of starvation.

Shuffling footsteps sounded behind her. She turned as Edmund enveloped her in his arms. Nestling against his too-thin chest, she breathed in his musky scent. He bent and kissed her forehead, his black beard scraping her skin.

“You work too hard.” He tucked a stray strand of her nutmeg-colored hair behind her ear.

She leaned into his touch. “Isn’t that why you married me?”

“No, Schatzi, it is most certainly not.” He grinned. “You stole my heart. I had to marry you, or I would die a broken man.”

“Don’t joke about that. Our friends are dying every day.” She frowned. “Who knew this famine would last so long? If it weren’t for the bit of help arriving from America’s Volga Relief Society, matters would be much worse.”

“They are sending more assistance than we are receiving. Jakob told me there is proof the government is confiscating some of the packages and keeping the money to construct new buildings and conduct repairs. As always, development of the country is valued above the lives of the people.”

“Shhh!” She pressed the work-worn fingers of her right hand against his lips. “You could get in trouble for saying that. Then where would we be?”

Edmund hugged her. “There is no one to hear us, but I understand your fear. Many unexplained disappearances make for extreme caution.” He released her and gestured toward the pile of clothes on their bed. “Enough depressing talk. What can I do to help?”

“Do you have our passports? With the government ratcheting up the price, we have no more savings to purchase new ones.”

“Now who’s speaking out against the authorities?” He patted the breast pocket of his coat. “I have the passports and our traveling papers safe and sound.”

“Good.” Noreen waved him away. “Then go see what the boys are about. I gave explicit instructions about what to pack, but they have a mind of their own.” She shook her head. “Well, Manfred does. Conrad simply tags along.”

He kissed the tip of her nose and raised his hand in mock salute. “Jawohl!”

She giggled and pushed him out of the room. Closing the door behind him, she sobered and dropped to her knees next to the bed. “Dear Heavenly Father, thank You for Edmund. He is a good man. Give him strength for the journey and keep us safe as we travel. Soften the hearts of his family so they will welcome us home.”

Home.

Berlin was Edmund’s home. Not hers.

English born and bred, Noreen stroked the floral bedspread as visions of daffodils in Regents Park flitted through her head, their golden yellow blooms swaying in the breeze. Big Ben soaring into the sky. Tower Bridge spanning the River Thames. Pristine white swans fishing the waters of Serpentine Lake in Hyde Park where a chance meeting changed the trajectory of her life.

In an effort to heal his damaged lungs, Edmund moved to London after the war. Someone told him the damp English air would act as a balm. A lover of art, he had attended the Spring Festival where she sat under a tent selling her baskets.

She climbed to her feet, and her gaze sought out the willow basket on their dresser. The basket Edmund purchased when he returned to her booth after taking his girlfriend home. His last date with the woman.

Noreen’s smile broadened. Who knew basket weaving would catch her a husband? She flushed as she remembered the conversation.

“If I purchase this basket, will you go out with me?”

“What about your girlfriend?”

“I told her we were finished, that I was going to marry you.”

“Isn’t that a bit rash? You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

After a whirlwind courtship, Edmund asked for her hand in marriage. Her parents objected, so Edmund took her to the register office where he wed her in front of two gray-haired, bored-looking clerks. A year later the twins were born, and her parents decided being grandparents was more important than holding a grudge. They eventually grew to love their German son-in-law as much as their daughter did. Enough to support the family’s move to Russia in another effort to heal Edmund’s lungs. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. Her parents’ death last year in a train accident still stung.

Overheard, a thump followed by laughter broke her reverie. Warmth filled her. She loved her country, but she loved Edmund more. That is why she would leave all but her most necessary possessions and travel to yet another foreign country to live with her in-laws. People she had never met who spoke a language she didn’t know.

Berlin, Germany, 1931