fter supper one February evening Helene looked over at Franz.

“This is it,” she said. “Our weekly food ration cards are used up. We only have half a loaf of bread left, and it’s going to be five days before we can get more. What are we going to do?”

Franz thought for a moment. “I have to conduct a funeral tomorrow,” he finally said. “Do you suppose you could go to Eschenrod and ‘hamster’ some food?” “Hamstering” was the term Germans had coined when they talked about going to the country to beg or buy food from farmers. Just like a hamster stuffs its cheeks and carries food to its nest, the people were stuffing bags and pockets to bring food to their children.

Helene reluctantly agreed, and Franz left early the next morning for the funeral. As Kurt came into the kitchen, Helene was getting ready to go also. He looked from her to the large rucksack and the two shopping bags in a heap on the floor.

“Mutti,” he said, “I am coming with you. You know you will have a hard time getting through all that snow.”

“No, that would make us too conspicuous. Remember, hamstering is technically illegal. But it’s not stealing, and we’ve got to live somehow.”

“Could I follow you at a distance or something?”

Helene shook her head. “No, Kurt. You’re the oldest, and you need to supervise the children.”

While Helene pulled on her boots, she gave Kurt some final instructions: “All of you must stay home from school today and tomorrow. There is a little bit of bread left. Ration it carefully, and eat it slowly. Wrap yourselves in blankets so you stay warm. Papa may not be able to get back for several days, but I promise I will be home tomorrow night with food for you.”

She strapped on the rucksack and picked up the two handbags. “You go back to bed and sleep a little longer. Don’t worry if I am late. The trains are not punctual.”

“Mutti,” said Kurt, “we’ll be praying for you.” They embraced quickly, and she was gone.

Even at this early hour, the railway station in Frankfurt was teeming. Like Helene, many people were on their way to the country foraging for food, and the train to Eschenrod was packed by the time she arrived. She pushed her way inside a car, grateful even for standing room, and glad she didn’t have to stand on the drafty platform between cars, or even on the steps outside hanging onto the handrails, as some did.

The Hasel Family: (from left) Lotte, Helen, Kurt, Franz and Gerhard

Wedged tightly into the compartment, Helene relaxed. She looked at her silent fellow travelers, all swaying in unison with the chugging of the steam engine, their closeness providing warmth. They were mostly middle aged, a few young, a few very old, no children. The men had stubbly beards and frayed collars, and many wore a black armband that said Kriegsversehrt—war invalid. The women wore coats that were ill fitting and unbecoming—free handouts that had gratefully been accepted by a defeated people.

Quiet Forest
It had been snowing in Frankfurt, but as the train approached the Vogelsberg Mountains, the clouds broke apart. When it pulled into the station, Helene breathed deeply the brisk fresh morning air as she set out on her two-mile walk to the village. Though it was very cold, the air was clear. Occasionally the sun came through and made the spruce trees with their thick covering of snow sparkle like jewels. In the forest nothing stirred. No birds sang, no bees hummed, no frogs rustled in the dry leaves—nothing but cold, crystal winter loveliness. At one point Helene had to stop and thank God for giving such beauty. Then some crows cawed harshly, and jerked her out of her reverie.

When she stepped out of the woods, the snow started softly falling again. She hoped that the Josts would keep her for the night. As she approached the house, Frau Jost stepped out of the stable, a steaming bucket of milk in each hand.

“Frau Hasel, is that you? I can’t believe it! You must be frozen. Come in and rest.”

Herr Jost was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. Hearing unfamiliar footsteps, he turned, then jumped up and grabbed Helene’s hand.

“Welcome back!” he cried. “How are the children? How is the little one?”

Helene sat down on one of the wooden chairs and began to tell about the children.

Suddenly Herr Jost glanced at Helene’s bags. “You have come for food. Are things really bad in the city?” As Frau Jost set some thick slabs of bread, a ball of butter, and some hot milk on the table, Helene recounted the hardships of those first post-war months in the city.

“Well,” Frau Jost said, “don’t you worry about a thing. We will see to it that you can take home a good supply of food.” She started bustling around and presently set out oil, butter, flour, bread, sugar, eggs, potatoes, and many other things. Then she sent Helene to the Jost relatives. When they learned of the hunger in the city, they also loaded her till she looked like St. Nikolaus at Christmas packed with gifts for the children. Hunger would be banished for many weeks.

She returned to the Jost farm where she had been invited to spend the night. Frau Jost insisted that she retire early and promised to wake her in time to catch the horse-drawn sled that made the trip to the railroad station early each morning.

Deep Sleep
The small chamber beside the kitchen with its thick feather bed was inviting. The heat from the large green tile stove in the kitchen seeped through the wall and took the edge off the bitter cold. With a full heart, Helene knelt beside the bed thanking her heavenly Father for fulfilling her needs and asking for protection for the children and herself the next day. Then she climbed into bed and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

When she heard Frau Jost’s knock on the door, it seemed impossible that the night had already passed. Frau Jost stuck her head in the door. “Frau Hasel, you might as well stay in bed.”

“Why?” Helene murmured, still half asleep.

“It will be impossible for you to leave today. It’s been snowing all night. The sled won’t go to the station this morning. Even the snowplow won’t go out until the storm stops.”

Helene stepped to the window, and her heart sank. Deep white drifts covered everything in sight, and enormous flakes still fell from the sky.

Desperately she turned to the old woman. “I’ve got to leave,” she said. “The children have no food, and I promised them I would be back tonight. They’ll be so worried if I don’t come. God will watch over me, and if I leave right away, I can get there in time for the afternoon train to Frankfurt.”

The Hasel Children

“Frau Hasel, you have at least 80 pounds of food, and there’s no way you can walk. If something happened to you, I would never forgive myself.”

“I must go,” said Helene firmly.

Seeing that Helene could not be talked out of her plan, Frau Jost fixed a sturdy breakfast of boiled potatoes with buttermilk, bread, homemade plum butter, and Ersatzkaffee. While the younger woman ate, Frau Jost went into her pantry and returned with dried apples, pears, prunes, nuts, and a whole poppy seed cake. “A little treat for the children,” she said as she stuffed every nook in the bulging bags.

Helene was unable to restrain her tears of gratitude. “How will I ever be able to thank you?”

“No need to thank me,” said Frau Jost, her own eyes wet with tears. “I am glad to help. Just pass the favor on to someone else when you are able to. May God protect you.”

Treacherous Journey
Helene embraced the old couple, and then set out. When she reached the bend in the road, she turned back one last time. They still stood watching in their doorway. Helene paused for a moment taking in the scene: the cozy village under its covering of snow, the quaint cottage where she had spent so many anguished months during the war. She lifted her hand, and the couple responded with a last wave. Then she turned and started up the hill. Though she did not know it then, it was to be the last time she saw the Josts.

All the while it snowed and snowed, and soon Helene couldn’t see 10 steps in front of her. Her feet seemed heavier and heavier, and her load pressed down. “Dear God,” she prayed again, “help me, give me strength.”

Her limbs ached as she painfully pulled each foot out of the deep snow. Her breathing became labored, and the icy air cut into her lungs like knives. She reached the hill leading into the woods, and as she ascended her burden weighed her down even more.

Lord help me. Oh, who will help me?

Suddenly she could go no further. Her knees started to buckle under her, and in panic she staggered to a high milestone by the side of the road. One mile to the station, she read.

Wearily she leaned against the stone, resting the rucksack on top of it. As her bags slipped from her hands, they almost disappeared in the deep snow. She shut her eyes for a moment.

I must not fall asleep. I must not fall asleep. All I need is a few minutes to catch my breath, and then I’ll continue..

Her thoughts wandered to her hungry children at home. Again she closed her eyes, then jerked them open. If I fall asleep, I might never wake again. She was beginning to feel heavy and oh-so-comfortably warm. Once more, her eyes closed, and this time they stayed that way.

The snow settled on her. Soon, still leaning against the signpost, she looked like a gnarled tree stump, a part of the noiseless landscape. She started to dream, at first seeing herself standing in the snow with fluffy snowflakes swirling out of a leaden sky. The next instant, she was enveloped by a circle of light, and when she looked again, it was no longer snowflakes but white clad angels that encircled her.

Such peace, she thought, such wonderful peace. . . .

The rumble of an approaching motor roused her, and she jerked awake. A diesel truck was laboring up the hill. She tried to raise her hand to flag him down, but her stiff limbs would not obey her. In despair she saw the truck continue on its slow course, and sleep washed over her once more.

A voice suddenly said, “Now you will see a miracle of God.”

“Will I get home again?” she asked the voice.

And the answer came, “Your suffering is almost over—only another moment.”

A heavy hand shook her by the shoulder. Each time she tried to raise her head, it drooped forward again. The shaking, the jolting, went on and on.

Leave me alone, she thought. I’m so wonderfully warm, and I have no energy to move.

“Wake up, wake up,” a rough voice kept saying. “You must wake up. You are about to freeze.”

Franz in peacetime

Annoyed, she finally opened her eyes to see a man standing in front of her.

“I parked my truck at the top of the hill,” he said. “I couldn’t stop right here or I never would have made it up. You come with me now, and I’ll give you a ride.”

Mechanically she tried to stand up straight, but her stiff body did not cooperate. Realizing she needed help, the driver took her bags and rucksack and started up the hill. Then he returned and half dragged, half carried her to the cab. He gave her a drink from his thermos of hot tea, wrapped blankets around her, and turned the heat up high before he continued his journey.

“That was a close call,” the man said, “I do believe you almost froze to death. I nearly missed you, you were so covered with snow. What are you doing out anyway on a day like this?”

Helene was beginning to thaw out. She told him about her four hungry children at home and her effort to get food.

“Thank you so much for picking me up. God sent you to help me,” she concluded. “I know I shouldn’t have rested. But I was so tired. As soon as I stopped, warmth flooded through me. I just could not stay awake. It would be a great help if you could take me to the train station.”

“You know,” he said, “the interesting thing is that I never come this way. Today is the first time I’ve been along this route. As far as taking you to the train station, that’s going to be useless. I know from reliable sources that all trains are being searched. Any black-market food is confiscated. It would be a shame to lose it after all you’ve been through to get it. Where do you live, anyway?”

“In Eschersheim. It’s a suburb of Frankfurt.”

“I tell you what. I’ll just take you there. Eschersheim is not much out of my way.”

Shocking Revelation
Gratefully Helene accepted. She now looked at the driver more carefully. Middle-aged, nondescript, coarse clothing, rough hands, brown hair streaked with gray, probably married with children himself. He now became rather taciturn and began responding to her small talk with monosyllables. Finally, she gave up and dozed off. She woke when the truck stopped.

“Well, this is Eschersheim,” said the driver. “You better tell me how to get to your house.”

Helene gave him directions to the large apartment building. Once there, he turned off the motor, lifted out her bags, then helped her down the steep step.

She took his hand gratefully. “I just don’t know how to thank you enough.”

“I’m glad I found you before it was too late. In the future you must stay home in such bad weather. Now I must be on my way.”

With a final nod of the head he climbed back into the cab. She stooped to slip the rucksack straps over her shoulders. Then she turned to have a last glance at the disappearing truck. She looked down the length of the street.

There was no truck.

And there were no tracks in the freshly fallen snow!

_________________________
The youngest daughter of Franz Hasel, Susi Hasel Mundy has taught German and behavioral science, and spent 10 years in private practice as a license marriage, family, and child therapist. Currently she is the registrar of Pacific Union College in Angwin, California.

Maylan Schurch, a pastor in Bothell, Washington, has authored or coauthored a dozen books.