Echoes

“Can you stand up?” one of the twins asked her.

“I don't know,” she said, looking scared as they stood all around her, and Josef held his hands out to her.

“Try. If you can blow up a train, you can walk.” He had a point. She stood up very slowly, by pushing herself up on the arms of the wheelchair, and took a single step toward him, and nearly fell. Johann caught her. But she had taken a step. Her eyes were wide, and they were all watching her with excited expressions. She took another step, and another. In all she took four, and then said she had to sit down. She was shaking all over, and felt weak and faint. But she had walked. There were tears running down her cheeks as they all laughed and smiled and clapped their hands with excitement.

“Mama can walk!” Marta shouted with sheer glee. And after that, every day, they made her practice. They played music. And she walked.

By the beginning of December she could walk slowly across the room with one of the bigger boys to hold on to. She was still unsteady on her feet at times, but she was making consistent progress. The bad news was that there was still no news from Rupert. None. They hadn't pronounced him dead. But they seemed to know nothing. And as Amadea wasn't his wife, she had no right to know. He had been gone for nearly two months, and she knew instinctively that the mission had never been intended to last that long. She wondered every night if he was wounded as she had been, and no one knew where he was. Or in a camp somewhere. If he had been found in a German uniform and discovered as an enemy agent, he would have been shot. A million terrible things could have happened, and she had thought of them all.

Two weeks later, not knowing what else to do to distract them and herself, she celebrated Chanukah with them. They had been celebrating Christmas since they'd been in England, but she said that this year they would do both. They made dreidls out of paper, and they taught her how to spin them. And they taught her Chanukah songs. She loved knowing that the Hebrew letters on the dreidl said “A great miracle happened here.” Their little band was doing very well, and she was walking slowly but surely.

The children were standing all around her as they lit the candles on the second night of Chanukah, as Rebekka looked up and gave a gasp.

“Are we celebrating Christmas early this year?” There was a festive air in the room, although the children were quiet as she lit the candles. It brought back bittersweet memories for many of them. Amadea looked up at the sound of his voice.

“No, Chanukah,” she said calmly, and then gasped too. It was Rupert. All the children screamed and ran to him, and Amadea walked slowly toward him as he stared at her.

“You're walking,” he said with a look of wonder and disbelief. His arm was in a sling, but the rest of him looked fine though deathly thin. He had made his way across half of Germany on foot for the past two months, and had managed finally to meet up with the Resistance in Alsace. They had airlifted him out of a little village near Strasbourg. It had been a harrowing three months, for her as well. He just stood there and held her in his arms. “I never thought you'd walk again,” he said honestly.

“Neither did I,” she said as she nestled in his arms. She had been desperately afraid she would never see him again. “I was so worried about you.” He knew she would be, but there was nothing he could do. It had been difficult and frightening, even for him, but the mission was a success.

“I had to come back after what you said when I left.” He hadn't forgotten, nor had she. They had much to say and decide now, especially Amadea.

“Papa! We have a band!” Rebekka was shouting at him, and the others told her not to spoil the surprise. After she let the cat out of the bag, they played two songs for him, and he loved it. They were up till nearly midnight, and told him about Amadea celebrating Chanukah for them.

“You seem to be going backward in history,” he teased her after they went to bed, and they were sitting holding hands by the fire. It felt like a dream having him back.

“I just thought it was important for them to have a piece of their history left intact and restored to them.” It seemed strange, but it meant something to her, too. She could imagine her mother doing the same things as a child. And so many had died for being Jewish, it was a way to honor them now, too. It was as though she could hear their voices, not just her own, as she read the prayers.

“I'm not going to lose you again, Amadea. I walked halfway across Germany to come home to you. You can't leave me now,” he said seriously. Her eyes never left his.