The Baker's Daughter

Chapter Forty-four

FORT BLISS

EL PASO, TEXAS

FEBRUARY 10, 1947

Dear Mutti,

Texas is a strange place. Different from Garmisch. The mountains rise naked against the blue and when the sun sets, it paints the sky every color you can imagine and many you cannot. It is never cold or dark. Even in the night, the moon is so full and bright you’d think it was the face of God. I like it, though I miss you and Papa most desperately.

We have settled into our house on the military grounds. Fort Bliss, they call it. I hope it lives up to its name. The people are friendly and help me around as best they can. There are no bäckereis or metzgereis in town. I heated canned baked beans every night for the first two weeks, but man cannot live on beans alone! My neighbor is from a place called Merry-land and she says that the women buy their meats and food supplies at “The Commissary.” She is taking me to this place tomorrow so I may buy flour, butter, and yeast. I plan to bake rolls as soon as I can. My stomach growls thinking about them now.

I went to the Post Exchange today to purchase wooden bowls, mixing spoons, and a baking tray in preparation. We haven’t anything to our name. When I paid for the items, the man at the till said, “Thank you, Mrs. Meriwether” and for a moment, I’d forgotten that was me. Mrs. Meriwether. It has a nice sound, like a greeting. Don’t you agree? It rings of newness, and I can’t wait for the first time I introduce myself as such.

How is home? No word from Hazel still, I suspect. A week ago, Al and I were at the fabric store picking material for curtains when I swore I heard Hazel’s voice beyond the linen bolts. I raced around expecting to find her but, of course, it was not. My disappointment was so great, I set to trembling on the spot, apologized profusely to the woman, and dragged Al out as fast as my legs could carry me. I have not given up that we will one day be together again.

How is Papa? I deeply regret our harsh parting. I pray for his forgiveness and acceptance of us. I miss him and wish he understood that the world has changed and Germany with it. No one is good or bad by birth or nation or religion. Inside, we are all masters and slaves, rich and poor, perfect and flawed. I know I am, and he is, too. We love despite ourselves. Our hearts betray our minds. Al is a good man and I love him, Mutti. That is a gift I do not take for granted.

I’ll write you as often as I can. I hope you reply, though I will hold no ill feelings if you do not. I understand. Still, you are my mutti. I love you, and so I will continue to put pen to paper.

Eternally yours, Elsie

SCHMIDT BÄCKEREI

56 LUDWIGSTRASSE

GARMISCH, GERMANY

FEBRUARY 27, 1947

My dear Elsie,

Enclosed is a photograph of us. Papa had old film developed. He told me to throw this one in the garbage, still bitter over everything, but I could not. You are my child, and I will not lose both my daughters. It is too much in one lifetime. I send it to you instead.

I was happy for your letter from Texas, USA. On the same day, we received news from Hazel’s friend Ovidia. She claims that Hazel’s daughter was taken to the Waisenhaus orphanage in Munich. They call her Lillian. Papa and I are going there next Saturday, though I am unsure of the outcome. The whereabouts of the twin boy and Hazel continue to be a mystery.

Dear, I understand that love makes us do things we can’t explain or justify. So I write and hope that you will return to us someday. I often think of you and Hazel as girls whispering secrets and playing dress-up in your room. Too quickly those days went. Only in heaven will we all be together once more. This is certain.

With great love, Mutti

SCHMIDT BÄCKEREI

56 LUDWIGSTRASSE

GARMISCH, GERMANY

MARCH 8, 1947

Dear Elsie,

We have collected Hazel’s daughter, Lillian, from Waisenhaus. She closely resembles you and Hazel when you were young. It is a strangeness to find ourselves here once more—two young children in our keep. It brings me great joy to have her with us. Even your papa’s spirits have improved since her arrival. She is a pleasant child, strong and of a happy nature.

We have decided not to tell Lillian of her paternity since we have no documentation of the man’s identity. Although Peter Abend is Julius’s known father, the Lebensborn Program listed him under Hazel’s surname. Thus, both children will be Schmidt. It is easier this way. The truth is far too cumbersome. While Julius is at an age of remembering, I pray Lillian never knows. The matter is irreparable, and no good can come of acknowledging it. The Thousand-Year Reich was a fantasy to which your papa still clings. I see it more clearly now and am ashamed of my past foolishness. What Papa and I do agree on is that these are not children of the Fatherland. They are ours.

With great love, Mutti