Chapter 14

Without saying a word about her immediate plans, Mother left early one morning. We waited for her all day. Then, shortly before curfew, I went to see cousin Ed, her co-conspirator.

"Your mother decided she should leave for the Polish Sector?"

"What Polish Sector? I never heard of one."

"Well, in other words, she crossed the boundary between Pomerania and the district of Warsaw, to be safe from the Germans."

"What's going to happen to us? We have no money; the burying of the guns in the garden and now the coins in the basement were not smart things to do. Oh, dear, I hope she made the right choices." I was fearful of the result. She shouldn't have done this to us; and how and where would she make the crossing, and with whom?

"Ed, where's the opening that she could easily and safely pass through? Do you know? Whom did she contact in town, so I can get in touch and find out more?"

Ed did not know the answers, so I left to hurry home before curfew. Now we lived in uncertainty for our safety. How long would Mack be silent? As a loyal Brown Shirt, he should report the incidents instantly to the Gestapo.

One day he noticed Mother was not with us. Later in the afternoon he questioned me, "Where is your mother? We haven't seen her around."

What should I reply? Tell the truth ... I didn't know her whereabouts. Would he call me a liar? The truth was I did not know and I dared not say so. Why? He wouldn't believe me.

I also worried about why Mother did this. Why didn't she confide in me? A good reason for this was, if I were interrogated under duress, I would be able to say, "I do not know." And so, I finally answered, "I do not know."

For many weeks I lived in fear. Finally word came. "Mother is in Warsaw." Then I knew she would be living with my sister, Lillian.

A heavy load fell from my mind. Good that she's there! But how safe was Warsaw with the Gestapo daily conducting their manhunts in homes and on the streets? Everywhere. For awhile we focused on our living in Torun.

Meanwhile, Cousin Ed was arrested. "Why?" I asked Stefanie, his wife.

She sniffled. "He had two watches. They were gold. The Germans claimed he was hoarding jewelry."

It took me a few days to learn where he was. Finally, I received permission to visit him.

He looked wan and frightened, like a beaten dog. He was behind iron bars.

A guard was with me. Ed and I looked at each other, trying to see from the expression of the face whether we could read the thoughts of the other. Silence. No one said a word. Yet the three minutes would soon expire.

Ed started. "How are you? How is everything at home, in the house, in the garden?" He repeated again, "In the garden?"

I knew only one thing worried him in the garden ... the cache of guns buried in the ground.

I tried to be calm and reassure him. "Everyone is okay, and the garden is okay, too."

He breathed a sigh of relief.

Soon a guard took Ed to his cell. I returned with the other guard to the exit.

"Thank you." And off I went, trying to figure out the reason for Ed's incarceration. He was so worried about the guns and the coins, which he had a hand in hiding.

In a few months he was released. No charge. He came in the evening, took a shovel from the coal bin, and went into the garden with me.

"This is where I buried the guns. I'll take them out and drop them into the deep well. They'll be there along with the rifles, which your father-in-law threw in at the outbreak of the war."

"That will surely be a better and safer place ... so dig quickly."

With his worn shoe, he pushed the shovel straight down again and again. When a reasonably deep hole was made in the soft, cool earth, his fingers nervously sought the steel box. His heart pounded against his chest as he frantically scattered the soil deeper and wider than the original hole. There were no guns. No box. Nothing.

Fear clutched at both of us. What happened? Was it possible the Macks noticed us, as I had warned my mother? Did they decide to remove the contents and not report us? Would it be possible?

Yes, it could be. After all, they lived in our home, used our furniture and slept in our beds, while we lived as poor people, in the basement, cooking on a potbelly stove. To me, it is still a mystery.