Free From Dust and Ashes by Tricia Goyer Page B

miss the modern comforts of the SS housing. But even that made her feel guilty. The two women lying in the next room had survived in utter filth, while she lived in a comfortable home provided by their captors.
    Helene rubbed the back of her neck. There was nothing she could do about that now. She must move on. And moving on meant reading the letter from her husband—the last words he had ever penned.
    She pulled open the envelope flap and slid out the single sheet of paper inside, trying to ignore the blood and dirt that stained it. Her heart pounded upon seeing the small print that was uniquely Friedrich’s. She wondered how many hands it had passed through on its long journey to her.
    Unfolding the letter slowly, she noticed it was dated April 30, just two days after his departure. Was that really only a week ago? Whoever had brought the envelope had done so quickly.
Dear Helene ,
As I write this letter, I am in the high hills of Austria, trying to cross the border into Italy. I know I promised to bring you to this place someday, where the edelweiss grows in the crevasses of the highest peaks. Perhaps someday I will. But until that time, remember my love. I promise to find a safe place for us all. A place where we can be the family you’ve always dreamed of .
As you wait, speak nothing of the things I have told you about my work. THIS IS OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE. Many, including the Americans and the Russians, may seek this information. They might be winning the war, but they can never take away our honor .
It would also be wise to destroy all the items I brought out of the camp. You will not want to be found with those things in your possession. I should have attempted to do that myself before leaving, but as you know, I did not have time .
Tell Anika her papi loves her and will come for her soon .
With love,
Friedrich
    Helene lay the letter across her lap. What would he say if he knew about the things she had brought out of the camp? Surely these women were an even greater testimony than the watches and jewelry tucked away in a desk drawer.
    In her mind’s eye, Helene was back at home, peeking at Friedrich from under the feather comforter. His jaw locked in determination. His brows knitted in hatred of the never-ending mass of prisoners. No, he would not be happy with what she’d done.
    Despite the fact that Helene would never again have to seek his approval, she hated him for succumbing to the darkness. And this hatred was rooted deeper than any mourning could go.
    As she snuggled next to her daughter and drifted off to sleep, Helene again thought of the women from the camp. More than anything, she needed to stay and help them survive.
    For this was her chance to make up, in a small way, for all that her husband had achieved for evil.

Eight
    MAY 7, 1945
ARMY BASE CAMP
ST. GEORGEN, AUSTRIA
    P eter bolted upright in his cot. His heart pounded as a nightmare chased him into wakefulness. He tried to push the skeletal images out of his mind, but the dream had been almost tangible. That’s because the images are real , he thought, remembering where he was.
    Peter had seen many hideous things. Buddies blown to pieces. American paratroopers hung up in trees, their bellies split open by Nazi bayonets. Yet those men had been trained. They’d advanced through Europe knowing full well the horrors that happened to their buddies could be their destiny too.
    With the camps it was different. These people did not choose to be drawn into the fight. They were defenseless. Helpless.
    Gentle breathing and an occasional snore issued from the men bunked around him. In the darkness, a lone cigarette glowed from across the room. Peter knew it was Clifton by the way his cigarette swept back and forth in the darkness, as if the university music major were using it to lead an invisible orchestra.
    Peter lay back on his cot, his heartbeat still echoing in his ears. He attempted to concentrate on the noises around him. Anything to take his