Chapter 31
ETHEL
Ethel clutched the mail to her chest. She wanted to scream and stomp her feet but contained herself because Julia was in the girls’ bedroom, putting her daughter and Anke down for their afternoon nap.
Instead, Ethel reached into her apron pocket for her rosary beads, got down on her knees smack in the middle of her kitchen floor, and prayed a single decade of the rosary—an Our Father, ten Hail Marys, and a Glory Be.
Julia entered the kitchen just as Ethel was using the table to pull herself to stand.
“What in the world?” Julia reached for Ethel’s hand. “Why are you down on the floor?”
“Just giving thanks. God is so good all the time.” Ethel held up the correspondence.
“And all the time God is good. Now spill the beans, will you?” Julia put her hands on her hips.
“Scandinavian Airlines agreed to take four adopted children to America for mere peanuts.”
Julia pumped her fists and then threw her arms around Ethel. “Congratulations. You’ve worked so hard for this. What a blessing you are for those children.”
“I’m speechless. I’ve only been harassing the airlines for the past seven months.”
“Persistence is your middle name, honey. This calls for some celebratory sugar. What do you have?” Julia opened the pantry.
“Just a few ladyfingers and maybe a bit of ice cream.” Ethel moved to the radio sitting on the kitchen counter and turned the knob. Big-band music played, and she set out glass bowls and silver spoons for their treat.
Once they each had a dish of vanilla ice cream and two ladyfingers in front of them, Julia asked, “Do you have the kids picked out, and how’s the paperwork approval going?”
“I have selected the children, yes, but the authorized documentation is still up in the air.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Well, at my last petition, the judge was asking about the American fathers and why they can’t support their children.”
“He has a point.” Julia waved her spoon.
“You’d think, but it’s nearly impossible for a German woman to file paternity or child support against an American father.
In the meantime, the German government does nothing to support her.
Most of these poor women are fired from their jobs.
” Ethel clucked her tongue. “But don’t get me started on that.
This is supposed to be a celebration. And now we have a solid date with the airline. ”
“When are they leaving?”
“First week of August.”
“Well, isn’t that something? The babies will be delivered just in time for the holidays. Brava, Ethel! You have truly outdone yourself.”
Ethel let the cool ice cream melt on her tongue, then she remembered the caveat and pushed the letter across the table toward Julia. “There’s one issue. The airline won’t let the children fly alone. They need a guardian to accompany them.”
Julia scanned the page. “Who better to chaperone than you? I don’t see an issue at all.”
“But what about my own children? I’m a mother now, I must think of them first.” Ethel frowned.
“Honey, I will help. I’m sure we can get a few of the ladies from the Negro Wives club to pitch in as well. They’d be chomping at the bit to assist you, sweetie.”
“I’ll have to talk it over with Bert. I’ve worked so hard to build a stable environment with structure. I don’t want the kids to feel as if I’ve abandoned them.”
“How long would you be gone?”
“There is a flight returning to Frankfurt the very next day. A night or two.”
“They will be fine. Probably won’t even notice that you are gone.” Julia clapped her hands together. “As my mother always said, it’s done.”
Deep down, Ethel knew that Julia was right. She had arranged for her first group of children to join loving parents in America. Everything else would fall into place. She just had to continue to put her faith in God.
The next day, Ethel walked the three older children to the schoolhouse. Once she’d dropped Anke at her half-day preschool, she headed to St. Hildegard’s.
It had been two weeks since she had visited, and she was eager to share the news of Scandinavian Airlines’s contribution with Sister Ursula.
As Ethel turned the corner and moved toward the orphanage, she smelled burnt rubber, charred wood, and smoke.
Then she saw the charcoaled roof on one side of the building had caved in.
“Oh, my heavens.” She put her hand in her pocket and squeezed her rosary beads as she hastened her pace.
The gate to St. Hildegard’s was unlocked, and she stepped over burnt planks, broken tables and spindles from chairs, chunks of broken dishes, and pieces of gassy debris.
“Hello,” she called out. It was eerily quiet.
Then a wrinkled nun who did not speak English appeared with a baby strapped to her back. She motioned with her pointer finger for Ethel to follow her through the courtyard. Scorched cushions from chairs and pieces of drapes were tossed about, and the smell was sickly.
The nun ushered Ethel through the front door, past the office where she met Sister Ursula for tea.
They continued down a long hallway and up a steep flight of stairs.
The old nun knocked twice on the wooden door and then pushed it open.
Inside, Ethel found a twin bed and a rocking chair, a chest of drawers, and a single cross hanging from the bare eggshell walls.
Sister Ursula was sitting in the chair. Her gray frizzy hair stopped at her ears. She was dressed in a thin pajama set with a knit blanket over her lap. It was the first time Ethel had seen her out of her habit, and she looked as if she had aged ten years in two weeks.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Are you all right? What happened?” Ethel covered Sister Ursula’s hands with her own. They were cold and veiny.
Sister Ursula pressed her lips together. “Th—there was a fire,” she stammered.
“Are the children all right? Anyone hurt? Why didn’t you send for me?”
The old nun took her leave, and Sister Ursula gestured for Ethel to take a seat on the edge of her bed.
“It started in the kitchen and spread quickly. Most of the electrical and plumbing in this place have not been updated since the First World War.” She cleared her throat.
“Sister Proba was serving breakfast at the time. She is in the hospital. Too much smoke in her lungs and a few burns on her hands, shins, and ankles. Her habit caught fire as she tried to usher the children out.”
Ethel made the sign of the cross. “Will she be all right?”
“It’s in the Lord’s hands.” Sister Ursula took hold of the gold cross hanging from a black cord around her neck. But the look on her face was grave.
“The children?”
“Two with burns, but they have been bandaged, and besides being frightened, they will live. They have all been moved into temporary housing not far from here.”
“What can I do?”
Sister Ursula shook her head. “Do you know, at one point we could house up to one hundred and twenty children here. It was tight and chaotic, but with the kitchen out, we will be unable to manage for a while.”
“How many children reside here now? How many are in need of temporary homes?”
“We had twenty-six kids living here at the time of the fire. I’ve found shelter for ten locally, and ten are going to a children’s orphanage in Stuttgart.
That leaves six needing homes, and I don’t want to send them to the Wisenheim.
It is overcrowded. I know you’ve been working tirelessly, dear, but can you possibly place more children? ”
Then Ethel remembered the nature of her visit. “I came with good news from Scandinavian Airlines. They’ve agreed to transport four children to New York City.”
Sister Ursula smiled. “Excellent work, Ethel. Can you give them another push? See if they will agree to transport two or three additional children. You have several American families waiting to adopt, yes?”
Ethel had just received an inquiry from a family in Maryland. If she could get the legal forms through quickly, she could make an adoption happen. “I do.”
“The frightened mother that you sent—Durchdenwald, I think is her last name. She’s worried about her child and has begged me for an American adoption.”
“Let me see what I can accomplish,” Ethel offered.
“Maybe you can tap your network for temporary homes locally for the rest of the children.”
Ethel gave Sister Ursula a pat on the shoulder and said, “I’ll do my best.”
“You always do.”