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“And have you heard from him?” My heart was pounding so hard that my chest hurt.
“Well, we learned through coded radio signals that he and the crew made it back to England. But after that—nothing.”
My hope plummeted. Nothing? For a year and a half? “Is... is Mrs. Shapiro still with you?”
Mr. Wouters shook his head. “As soon as Belgium was liberated and communication became possible again, she sent a telegram to her husband in Cuba. He had acquired valid landing permits, and he’d arranged for her and their sons to join him by steamship as soon as the war ended.”
“So they’re gone?”
“They sailed more than a month ago. I promised to send them a cable if I heard from Sam.”
“May I have their address in Cuba?”
“Certainly. I’ll have my assistant get it for you. And where can I reach you, Miss Wolff, if I hear news of Sam?”
“I’ll give you my APO address,” Jim said. “You can reach Gisela through me for now.”
“If you ever need anything, Miss Wolff—anything at all—please don’t hesitate to ask.”
I was so demoralized as we left the hotel that I wanted to sit down on the curb and cry. I had no idea where to go or what to do next.
“Listen,” Jim said as we walked, “we know that Sam made it to England, right? And if he did join the British Army, they’ll have a record of it. We’ll contact them and ask for his service record.”
“Do you know how to do that?” I asked.
“I’ll figure it out.”
There was only one place left for me to visit in Antwerp—our old apartment building. Maybe the landlord had stored some of Mutti and Vati’s belongings. As we approached the building, so many memories came flooding back—not only good memories of Sam and me and our families, but also heart-pounding memories of the Antwerp pogrom. Even if I did stay in Belgium, and Sister Mary Margaret found a nursing job for me at the hospital, I would never feel truly safe or at home here. I would always see Nazi sympathizers roaming the streets, burning and looting. I would see SS officers waiting for me outside every building. And I would always wonder if the nurse working alongside me was like Lina Renard, hating me because I’m Jewish. The Nazis might have been defeated, but the hatred and cowardice that allowed them to come to power would merely go underground for now.
But if I didn’t live in Belgium or in Germany, where would I live?
I was still pondering these thoughts when the landlord came to the door and welcomed us inside. He seemed impressed, as everyone had been, by Jim in his uniform. My spirits revived when he showed us a box of personal items that Vati had asked him to store for Ruthie and me. My parents’ wedding rings were in there. And Mutti’s photo album. We hadn’t brought very much with us on the St.Louis, but Mutti had refused to leave the photographs behind. I would always have pictures of my family to remember them by.
“What now?” Jim asked as we left with the precious keepsakes. Once again, he had given his own address in case Sam returned or the landlord wanted to contact me.
I halted in the middle of the sidewalk. “I have no place to go,” I said. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and I thought it was artillery at first, forgetting that the war was over.
Jim gazed up at the threatening sky, dark with rain clouds. “Return to Germany with me, Gisela, if you can bear it. You’ve been such an enormous help. There’s still a lot of work you can do in the hospital and the displaced persons camps while we wait to hear back from the British authorities about Sam.”
I considered it for a moment, then nodded. What else could I do? Jim was the only friend I had. He had promised not to give up until we found out what had happened to Sam. And I didn’t know how I would ever face the news alone if it turned out to be bad.
