Night Song
Night Song makes you wish that every historic story from WWII could be told. It shares the challenge of sacrifice, courage, faith, love and friendship. I cannot wait for the next one.
—Annie von Trapp, member of the von Trapp family,
as popularized in the movie, The Sound of Music
Tricia Goyer takes time to craft her novels with all the right ingredients. Readers easily connect with her characters and find themselves thinking about them long after the final note has been sung. A powerful historical story of darkness overcome by love.
—Robin Jones Gunn, best-selling author of
the Glenbrooke series and the Sisterchicks™ novels
After nearly 60 years, I was transported back to Mauthausen, remembering the days when I delivered the daily ration of bread to the dying. The author has the uncanny knack of recreation, and I found myself remembering everything, including the smell.
—Charlie White, 11th Armored Division Veteran
Night Song is filled with many details that are exactly how they were during my military career. Though I am a compulsive reader of WWII, I learned things I did not know!
—Wilfred “Mac” McCarty,
11th Armored Division Veteran
Tricia Goyer has very cleverly combined fact and fiction to create a well written and wonderfully emotional novel set during World War II.
—Bert Heinold, U.S. Army veteran
11th Armored Division
Well researched and historically accurate! As a member of D-Troop, 41st Calvary Squadron, 11th Armored Division, whose men liberated Mauthausen, Gusen I and Gusen II Concentration Camps on May 5, 1945, I highly recommend this book.
—Charles Torluccio
With amazing clarity and detail, Goyer again sweeps us back to WWII with new characters who touch the heart and stir the spirit. A wonderful, moving tale! Not to be missed!
—Marlo Schalesky, author of Only The Wind
Remembers, 2003 Foreword Magazine Book
of the Year Finalist
Night Song
A STORY OF SACRIFICE
TRICIA GOYER
MOODY PUBLISHERS
CHICAGO
© 2004 by
TRICIA GOYER
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the King James Version.
Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Goyer, Tricia.
Night song: a story of sacrifice / by Tricia Goyer.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-8024-1555-5
1. World War, 1939-1945—Underground movements—Fiction. 2. Mauthausen (Concentration camp)—Fiction. 3. Concentration camp inmates—Fiction. 4. Americans—Austria—Fiction. 5. Orchestral musicians—Fiction. 6. Musicians—Fiction. 7. Austria—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3607.O94N54 2004
813’.6—dc22
2004010480
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Printed in the United States of America
For John, my wonderful husband
You believe in my dreams and urged me to follow.
This book is one of those dreams brought to life …
PART ONE
Yet the Lord will command his lovingkindness in the daytime,
and in the night his song shall be with me,
and my prayer unto the God of my life.
Psalm 42:8
Prologue
MAY 5, 2000
55TH ANNIVERSARY OF U.S. ARMY LIBERATION
MAUTHAUSEN CONCENTRATION CAMP, AUSTRIA
It smelled the same—cold stone and quarry dust. He had told himself he would never return to this place of death, yet here he was, to play again the music that was never more than a heartbeat away.
Jakub Hanauer perched on the edge of a metal folding chair on the platform and stared out at the crowd waiting in the open air. The striped prisoner caps and colorful scarves worn by the attendees were once the distinguishing marks of inmate status and nationality. Now they were marks of survival. The banner of what they had overcome.
This was a yearly trek for some. For those with no family graves to visit, no weathered headstones marking a loved one’s rest, this fortress of stone and iron, built to serve a thousand-year Reich, remained as testimony.
The Vienna Philharmonic sat ready in a half circle behind him, instruments tuned. Beyond the makeshift stage towered the Mauthausen quarry itself. A mountain of rock scarred by those who’d mined it.
At this place where prisoners—skeletal waifs—had once chipped away at the stone, new generations joined the old. In the faded footprints of dying men who had carried forty-pound boulders up 186 stone steps, a world-renowned orchestra prepared to play. And where Nazi dogs had once ripped flesh from those too weak to work, a crowd gathered to remember.
Jakub watched as Dr. Thomas Klestil, president of the Republic of Austria, rose and strode to the podium. The president cleared his throat. “For seven years, two hundred thousand people were incarcerated by the Nazis in Mauthausen concentration camp and compelled to perform the heaviest of labor under inhumane conditions. More than half of them did not survive these agonies….”
As the president’s voice trailed on, Jakub saw the endless sea of marching prisoners in his memory. He heard their cries. He smelled their burning flesh. A cloud of death had once hung over this place the way spring’s white clouds did today.
The president’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “May every visitor to today’s celebration of the liberation understand and pass on the message that without remembrance, there can be no future.”
Jakub stirred as the audience exploded with applause. Other important men spoke, but he could not wipe from his mind the faces of the past. Jakub, they called out in his mind. Play. It is in you; let it out. Play for us.
“Jakub Hanauer and the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra.”
All eyes followed as Jakub adjusted his own striped cap, then lifted his instrument from his lap. He rose from the creaky metal chair and stepped to his place. Glancing over the crowd, Jakub again saw their faces. He nodded at the conductor, lifted his bow, and began to play.
Many years ago, when his life had depended on it, his fingers had fumbled. They’d been stiff and unyielding. Now, through the music that flowed from his instrument, Jakub told about that time. The melody spoke of bondage and fear. And he hoped his listeners understood.
The orchestra joined in on cue, stirring goose bumps on Jakub’s neck. A warm wind caressed his cheek. For a moment, it seemed he could feel Alexi’s work-toughened hands engulfing his own, pressing the strings, humming the melody … saving Jakub’s life.
The wind passed, the orchestra ceased its playing, but the song of Jakub’s violin continued. Tears trailed down his cheeks, and again he hoped his listeners heard. He hoped they understood what love can do even to those condemned to die.
One
NEW YORK CITY
DECEMBER 11, 1941
For better or for worse, Nick Fletcher knew his life would change tonight. He touched the small box in his coat pocket for the hundredth time as the credits to Mrs. Miniver rolled. He was sure he hadn’t absorbed ten minutes of the film; he’d been too busy watching Evie. The way she cried at the latest newsreel of the bombing of Pearl Harbor. The way she laughed, and then cried some more, with the Miniver family on the big screen as they faced
life after the Blitz in Britain.
Her fingers had dug into the palm of his hand during an especially sad scene. Later, a smile replaced the tears when the stationmaster, Mr. Ballard, showed Mrs. Miniver a rose he had cultivated and asked her permission to name it after her.
I don’t have a rose, but perhaps you’ll call yourself by my name. Nick lifted her hand to his lips.
The houselights came up, and Evie turned to Nick, dabbing her eyes. “That was such a good movie.” She let out a low breath. “Look at me; I’m a mess.”
Nick stroked her cheek and gazed into her dark brown eyes. “I’m looking. I’m looking, Evie Kreig, and I can’t get enough, lady.”
Her cheeks reddened slightly, and she rose from the velvet chair. Her straight, silky brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, and she brushed it aside as she slipped on her blue jacket and buttoned it at the waist.
“So, you ready to get something to eat? I know the perfect place.” This is it. The moment I’ve waited for.
Evie shrugged. “I don’t know, Nick. It’s awfully late, and I don’t want Papa to worry. He was acting sort of funny today.” She grabbed her clutch and leaned close. “And we still have tomorrow, and the next day … and …”
Nick attempted to hold his smile. He offered his arm, then led Evie up the aisle. “The thing is, I found a wonderful restaurant and made reservations. They promised to stay open just for us.” He looked down at her. “Seeing that it’s late, we’d better hurry. What can I say to convince you?”
Evie squeezed his arm tighter. “Okay. You know I can’t say no to you.”
Nick kissed the top of her head. That’s what I’m hoping for….
Nick’s hand engulfed Evie’s, and it took her two quick steps to keep up with his one as he pulled her through the city. The signs in the square buzzed past her peripheral vision like a neon dream. Above, a fluorescent billboard broke through the fog: Lena Horne. Live Tonight.
Where is he taking me? She wished she’d left a note for her parents. Papa liked Nick, but he always scowled, his dark eyebrows meeting in the middle, when she arrived home after ten.
“Nick, hold on. You’re leaving me in the dust,” she panted.
Nick slowed slightly, glancing back with a grin. “I love your Viennese accent when you’re all worked up. But we have to hurry now before they close.”
He rounded the corner, and Evie followed, full skirt swishing around her legs and high heels clicking across the littered sidewalk. While most of the businesses on 42nd Street were closed, a single warm glow beckoned from a small café.
At the door Nick released her hand, adjusted his Davenport jacket, and flashed his best smile. “Well, what do ya’ think, my little chickadee?”
Evie laughed. “Oh, please, Nick. You are more Jimmy Stewart than W. C. Fields any day.” She glanced at the sign. “Danube! Like my river! How did you find it?”
“A friend told me about it. It’s new. An Austrian chef, just immigrated.” He took a step back, jutting out his elbow. Evie entwined her arm in his.
The door opened with a jingle of bells against glass. Small tables were lit only by candlelight. A waiter dressed in Austrian lederhosen and an embroidered shirt hurried toward them.
“I feel like I’m back in Vienna,” Evie said.
“I checked the menu a few days back.” Nick helped her out of her coat. “Wienerschnitzel and beef goulash. Even braised pike in hazelnut sauce.”
“I would give anything for a good goulash. Americans never get it quite right.” Evie’s eyes feasted on the rich velvet draperies and Klimt reproductions.
“Mr. Fletcher, sir?” The waiter smiled. “This way, please.”
He led them to a candlelit table in a corner of the room. Nick pulled out the chair for Evie.
“Thank you.” She watched him as he took a seat across from her. There was definitely something on his mind. He kept looking at her as if he were about to speak.
The waiter handed them menus.
“Oh, look, Nick, they have Sacher torte. My favorite!”
Nick didn’t respond, and he hardly glanced at his menu. Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair, then took a sip of water.
“Nick, are you with me?”
His eyes locked with hers. “Of course, yes.”
She reached for his hand. “So, when are you going to tell me your secret?”
He leaned close, wrapping her fingers completely inside his. He tried to hide his smile, but one corner of his mouth refused to submit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh yes, you do, Nick Fletcher. We’ve been together almost every day for a year. I know when something’s up.”
“Okay, you got me.”
He leaned close and lifted her hand to his cheek. She felt the slightest hint of stubble on his chin.
“I think you’re the most beautiful, caring, talented …”
Evie laughed and pulled her hand away. “There’s more to it than that, mister.” She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Fine. We will just sit here until you tell.”
A childlike grin formed on Nick’s lips.
She laughed. “Okay, if you’re not going to tell me, will you at least order so we can eat?”
Nick’s finger’s tapped against the menu as he pretended to read it. “What are you having?”
“Goulash and Sacher torte for dessert. I told you that.” Evie placed her menu on the table and rested her chin on her hands. “Okay, really. What’s going on? Do you have news? Did Dr. Erikson put you on the surgery schedule?”
Nick put down the menu. “No, not that. I still haven’t heard. The residency schedule will be up next week.” He sighed. “But if you won’t let it go, I guess now is as good a time as any.” His face broke into a huge grin. The candlelight danced against his dark hair and eyes. He rose and reached into his jacket pocket.
Evie placed one hand over her heart, then without warning the bell on the front door jingled and a cold wind struck her.
Nick turned, and the color drained from his face. A man in a dark coat and hat hurried in. He lifted his head, eyes full of sorrow. Evie jumped to her feet, the chair toppling to the floor behind her.
The waiter rushed forward. “I’m sorry, sir. The restaurant is closed.”
Nick waved him away. “It’s okay. He’s with us.”
“Papa?” Evie rushed over. “How did you find us? What’s wrong?”
Her father approached Nick. “I am sorry, Nicholas. If there were any other way—”
Evie grasped his hands. “Tell me, please.”
“We must go home.”
“Has something happened to Mother?”
“No. Home to Vienna. All of us. Our passports have been revoked, my job as ambassador nullified. Our ship leaves in the morning.”
Nick’s hands tightened on Evie’s shoulders. She felt his breath against her ear.
“No,” he whispered.
Evie grasped Nick’s hand on her shoulder. “This can’t be.”
Her father turned to Nick. “I’m sorry, son. I can’t let your plans happen now.”
“I don’t understand.”
The older man shook his head. “They’re closing the embassy. All Austrians must return to Europe.”
“Congress declared war on Germany, not us!” Evie said.
“Austria is Germany’s ally.” Her father shrugged wearily. “They see us as the enemy too.”
“We’ve been kicked out? A man in your position? It isn’t as though Austria had a choice. The Germans annexed us!”
“I’m sorry.” Her father placed his hat upon his head and turned toward Nick. “I told you this might happen, son. I had hoped you would have more time—” He walked to the door. “A cab is waiting. Really, I am very sorry, but you only have a few minutes.”
The bell jingled again as the door closed behind him.
Evie turned to Nick. “I can’t do it. I can’t leave you. And your surprise—”
Nick sm
iled ruefully. He opened his suit jacket and tenderly removed a small velvet box, then placed it on the white linen tablecloth and opened it. An antique diamond ring sparkled in the candlelight. “Evie, this was meant for you.”
Evie pushed aside the porthole curtain and took in the Manhattan skyline. The ship’s engines purred from somewhere below, vibrating the floor. The sound made Evie think of the rumble of German tanks spreading over Europe. War. This war would soon be more than images in print or newsreels. It would be as real to her as New York had been for the past five years.
She rubbed her puffy eyes, then quickly pulled the pins from her chignon, dropped them into the nightstand drawer, and shook out her hair. She wished she could unbind her life as easily. From the first word of Anschluss, Evie had a hard time believing Austria was a sovereign land no longer. As a diplomat’s daughter, she had spent nearly as much time in New York City as she had in Vienna. She’d sampled American freedoms and had flourished in lived-out democracy. The culture appealed to her taste. Only Nick understood these things, loved these things, about her.
A quick knock sounded at the door, and Evie jumped. It must be Mother reminding her to air out a dress for dinner in the captain’s quarters, or Papa checking to make sure she’d acquired suitable accommodations.
She rebuttoned her jacket and opened the door.
A tall, broad-shouldered man leaned against the doorjamb, wearing the common gray cap and wool vest of a cabbie. The cap’s bill was pulled over the man’s face, and his gaze was turned downward to a small satchel in his hand.
Evie squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry, but you must have the wrong room.”
“Wait a minute, ma’am. Dis cabin here is where I was told ta go.”
“Sir, you have the wrong room,” she repeated, moving to close the door.
The man jabbed his foot in the doorway. “No, ma’am, I don’t believes I do.” The scruffy cab driver lifted his head. Dark brown eyes glanced down at her.