The Children's Train

CHAPTER 3: Times Have Changed (November 1938)

CHAPTER 3

TIMES HAVE CHANGED

(November 1938)

Eva lived several blocks from Peter in a well-kept house with a manicured yard. Olga’s family rented the tiny house next door. Later that day, Olga peeked out of her modest bedroom. Her breath misted the window as she watched the white lace curtains being closed in Eva’s bedroom across the yard. She absently dragged her finger against the pane of glass, bowed her head, and disappeared from the window, leaving the outline of an X over Eva’s house on the windowpane.

Dr. Jacob Levy stood beside Eva’s lacy bed. Though her head was bandaged with gauze, she was awake.

Eva’s mother Helga wore a dark drab dress despite the fact that she was a seamstress. With her hair severely pulled back in a bun, she watched them from across the room, her arms crossed against her heavy chest. Eva’s father Bert, a well-dressed, slightly pudgy man, sat on the bed and patted Eva’s hand.

Peter stood in the doorway and peered in tentatively. Bert motioned to him. “Peter, come in.”

“I’m late for music lessons.” Peter hesitated. “I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”

Bert nodded and smiled. “Thank you, Peter.”

Dr. Levy looked at Peter. “I was just with your mother and sister.” He turned to Bert. “Two patients in one day is unusual, since Hitler won’t let me practice on non-Jews.”

“I know. Hitler’s boys still sneak in the back door of my shop to get their clothes, but soon they’ll be too scared to do even that,” Bert said.

The doctor patted Eva’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Eva. You’re going to be fine.”

“What about next time?” Bert frowned. “No one’s safe anymore. Thirty-two countries met in France to discuss Jewish refugee policies, and almost all of them just gave excuses why they can’t take any Jews.”

“There’s no place for us anymore,” Jacob said.

Bert patted Eva. “And now our children. Is there nothing left for us? Will no one stand up for a young girl?”

Peter hung his head and slipped out of the room.

He walked slowly down the sidewalk, carrying his violin by its handle. His feet dragged, as if he struggled against extraordinarily heavy shoes.

As he approached the entrance to Edelweiss Park, he spotted Hans and Stephen near the indoor pool building next door, chasing each other around. “Do you think the girls are there yet?” he heard Hans ask Stephen.

“Yes, they will be waiting for us, the true German heroes,” Stephen said. He flexed his muscles, dancing backward.

Hans stopped chasing him and stared at the door to the pool.

“What?” Stephen asked.

Hans pointed. Stephen turned around to see a sign on the door to the indoor pool reading: “JEWS NOT WANTED IN THIS PLACE.”

“I don’t understand how we would hurt the water,” Hans said, sighing.

“We would just show them up anyway,” Stephen said.

“But I like to swim.”

Peter walked up to them. “The girls won’t be coming today. Something . . . came up.”

Before Hans and Stephen could say anything, Peter turned away. Clutching his violin, he ran up the impressive flight of stairs of the large stone building across the street, at the German Music Academy.

Adeline, a slender woman with braided blonde hair, quickly ushered Peter into her music room. He set his violin case down gently and opened it.

Adeline reached out and slowly closed the lid. As it snapped shut, she sighed and smiled, the kind of smile that is forced and fades quickly. “Not now, Peter.” She pointed to a chair. “Sit down. I have something to tell you.”

Peter picked up his violin and held it to his small, heaving chest, but didn’t sit. He stared at her.

Adeline took a deep breath, looking down at the floor as she did. When she looked up at Peter, her eyes brimmed with tears. Peter had never seen an adult cry before. Seeing her so distraught was frightening.

“I’m afraid your lessons here must end. I’m very sorry, Peter.”

Peter stepped back, feeling cold with shock. “I’ll practice harder. I really will. Please, Frau Adeline, don’t—”

Adeline placed her hand on his shaking shoulder. “Peter, it’s not your practicing. You’re very good, really quite extraordinary, but times have changed.” She cleared her throat. “Someone has reported that I was teaching Jews.”

“Why? Music can’t hurt anyone.”

“You’re right. Many of us wish we could change things, but—”

“Then, why can’t you?” Peter asked.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I could lose my job.” Adeline sighed. “This is Hitler’s Germany. There’s nothing I can do.”

Peter carefully snapped the latch on his violin case. “Yes, I understand.”

But he didn’t.