Bathed In Moonlight by Stacia Kaywood

Book excerpt

April 1945

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, Greta Müller blinked open her eyes and took inventory of how many mornings began this exact same way. 548 – has it actually been that many days? Impossible, but no. If today was the 10th of April, then it has, in fact, been 548 days. She groaned, flipped over, and tugged the quilt up over her head. “Maybe today will be different!” she whispered in anticipation. But, then again, different had all sorts of variations. Maybe today will be a touch different. Not bad “different,” definitely not that. Just different.

Maybe Ezra would not run into the room within the next five minutes, and she could get some extra sleep. Or maybe Liesel would stop in for a visit and bring real coffee. Or the war could end. She laughed. If she could simply wish for anything, it would be to wake up in her old bed in Berlin to a world where the war had never started! But that was not to be, so instead, she waited.

She counted the seconds: one… two… three, and there it was. Ezra’s soft patter along the hardwood floor, a poke on her shoulder, the sharp intake of air as he checked to make sure Greta was still there.

Stifling a groan, she rolled over with a wide smile on her lips. “I am up, Ezra.” Throwing off the quilt, she reached towards the ceiling, stretching her muscles after a night of rest. “Ready for another exciting day?”

His deep brown eyes sparkled with amusement, and he nodded his head, his dark locks tumbling across his forehead. Turning on his heel, he ran back out the door. Ah, so there’s my answer – definitely not different today. Thus, the morning would begin as it always did in their home, nestled away from the world.

The house was a perfect cozy hideaway, with woods on one side and an open field on the other. It had two small bedrooms, each with a comfortable bed and downy quilt. The kitchen and living room suited their needs: a fireplace to keep them warm and a table where they could fill their bellies from their limited pantry. However, the most important feature about this home wasn’t what could be seen, but rather what was hidden below. It was for this reason Liesel sent Greta and Ezra to stay here and not with her.

“I insist, Greta. You and Ezra cannot live here with me. It would only be a matter of time before someone started asking questions. Stay at my old home near the woods. No one goes near there. I’ll tell everyone I’ve leased it to my niece. And since I have so many, no one will question it.” Liesel patted Greta’s hand. “Trust me.”

The next day, they moved in, and Liesel revealed its secret. “Wilhelm didn’t like leaving me behind. He worried about the long cold winters and insisted on building a root cellar right here.” She pointed down to a burgundy and gold handwoven rug in the center of the living room. Liesel lifted the rug, pointing to the floorboards. “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but see that notch there?” She pointed at a knothole in the wood. “It’s actually a handle.” Greta leveraged her hand through the knot and tugged. To her surprise a few floorboards lifted up. It was a trap door. Underneath, a simple rung ladder led down to a dirt room. The walls were reinforced by wooden slats and shelves holding a few jars.

“Liesel, this is perfect.”

“Yes. You and Ezra can hide if need be. And we can stock the shelves, so you have food to last.”

Together, Greta and Liesel devised a method for rolling the rug back over the floor using strings threaded through the floorboards. This house, with its perfect hiding spot, was exactly what they hoped for.

Beginning her morning calisthenics, an odd tingling sensation crept up her spine. Perhaps today will be different after all. Except this feeling caused her stomach to lurch forward and beads of sweat to gather at the nape of her neck. “Oh, please, nothing bad! Not now, after all this time,” she cried out.

Inching across the room to the window, she peered out at the line of trees edging their yard. She heard the faint chirp of birds, saw the trees swaying in a breeze. Everything appeared as it always did. Yet, the feeling persisted. She waved her arms, trying to shake it off.

“You are letting the isolation get to you, Greta! Hearing things that aren’t there.” She quickly dressed and went to the kitchen to prepare their meager breakfast.

Ezra rolled his train across the floor, the squeaking of its wheels the only sound. Greta longed for the day when he would speak again, when she could hear him utter the barest of words. But it had been nearly two years since that fateful day and absolutely nothing – just silence.

As she gathered ingredients to make breakfast, the eerie feeling intruded on the pleasant morning once again; her shoulders tensed, her ears heated. This time something was different. “What was that?” she asked Ezra, rubbing down the tiny hairs prickling in fear along her arms.

He stood perfectly still, alert like a hunted deer. His eyes grew round. A faint noise rose from the woods behind the house… Hide! the voice in her head screamed, forcing Greta into action.

“Go! Now!” Greta cried out, as they both ran to the center of the living room, wrenching up the secret door in the floor. Down they scurried into their cramped hiding space, hunching against the wooden slats. Greta replaced the hidden door and yanked the string, moving the rug back in place over the opening.

Gunfire! The rat-a-tat-tat grew louder, as the fighting drew closer. Ezra leaned into Greta’s arms. She held him tightly, whispering words of comfort into his ear. “They will move past us quickly, Ezra. Have faith.” As the sounds strengthened in intensity, Greta’s fervent prayers became silent words whispered upon lips that soon stilled as they waited with bated breath.

The gunfire thundered around them. Voices passed by, then faded in retreat. Greta hitched herself up closer to the floor, trying to distinguish the sounds coming from above. Ezra shrank into a small ball against the dirt floor, covering his ears with his tiny fists. He’s been through so much, please, God. Let this be over quickly.

There was a jumbled mix of shouting and gunfire. A bullet whizzed above their heads. Porcelain shattered. Another bullet broke a window. Bullets zipped through the room above them. Greta situated herself next to Ezra, holding him close to ease his tremors.

She cooed softly into his ear, “It will be over soon, Ezra, I promise.” Silent tears soaked the knees of his tan short pants as he wrapped his arms around bent legs, clutching them to his body. The encounter brought back terrible memories, memories of the place they fled.

“We will wait here a while to be sure they leave. Keep quiet for now.” She hummed lightly into his ear, cradling him as she continued the lullaby. She held onto a fervent hope for the day he would feel safe again, when he would no longer hide from monsters who haunted his nightmares. As quickly as the fighting came, it left with an unnatural silence following in its wake.

Long minutes passed. The cuckoo chirped the hour. Still they stayed in the security of their hiding spot. Ezra stopped crying. They would wait until the cuckoo chirped once again. Then it should be safe for them to emerge and go on with their day as if nothing had happened.

Bang! The door slamming against the wall shattered the silence. Footsteps! Both Greta’s and Ezra’s hearts pounded with abject fear as they listened to the cacophony above. Someone walked heavily – one foot thudded, the next slid behind, step, drag, step, drag, step, drag. The tattoo of leaden boots echoed through their hiding place, each step punctuating the silence. Whoever entered the house collapsed onto the sofa above them.

Ezra instantly went rigid. They were both too frightened to move, holding in their breath as if the mere act of breathing would give them away. Who is it? The springs in the sofa squeaked. A gut-wrenching moan. The sofa shifted, a small scrape against the floor. A heavy thud and prolonged groan… and then he was silent. Is it a soldier? An American? She swallowed hard. Or could he be German?

The man coughed, moaned. She needed him out of her house. He could not stay here; someone would be searching for him, surely. And if he were found with them, if the Germans found Ezra? What would happen then? The war was fast approaching its end. It has to be if there was fighting this far inside of Germany. She could not risk anyone discovering the truth, not now.

She whispered to Ezra, “Stay quiet.” Gently, she rolled back the rug and pushed the floorboards up just enough to peek through an opening. Seeing no immediate threat, she carefully concealed Ezra and moved from her hiding place.