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by Tristi Pinkston |
Strength to Endure ∙ Chapter 1
My second book, Strength to Endure, was published by Granite Publishing and Distribution in December of 2004. Anneliese Klein was just a small girl when Hitler came into power in her home country of Germany. Fear and uncertainty were as much a part of her childhood as dolls and tea parties. As she grew up, the war crept even closer to home, taking first her two brothers and then her father. Eventually it claims the man she loves. How will she survive these horrors? And what will become of her unborn child? A historically rich tale, Strength to Endure, expertly portrays the consequences of war and the ability of the human spirit to conquer all. "Dynamic and captivating! Tristi Pinkston has created a masterful depiction of the emotional turmoil that surrounds people caught up in world conflict. This poignant tale will tug at your very soul as you experience the heartwrenching, yet uplifting story of a young Germany family during the worst era of that nation'a history. Don't start this book on Monday, unless you're willing to call in sick the next day!" -- Gordon Ryan, best-selling author of the Spirit of Union series and Threads of Honor. "I loved this book. The characters came alive for me, and I learned quite a bit about the impact of WWII on families." John Bytheway |
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Chapter One Near Nuremberg, Germany 1933 Anneliese Klein was seven years old when Adolf Hitler came into power in her home country of Germany. She knew little of politics, of laws or constitutions; she had much more important things to worry about, like her potato bug collection. She had forty-seven already, and it had only been a week! Surely by the end of the summer she could have a thousand. She just had to find a way to keep Mother from opening her cardboard box. She spent her days wandering through the fields surrounding her rural farmhouse, which was located a few miles south of Nuremberg in a settlement so small and sparsely populated that it couldn’t even be called a village. Most of the homes sat clustered together along a single dirt road that stretched north into Nuremberg and for miles to the south. Her family’s property was large, consisting of an ample home of weathered clapboard, a large barn, a healthy vegetable garden, and fields that seemed to stretch for miles. In fact, the Klein home was nearly surrounded by fields, bordered by them on three sides, with the front of the house facing east, toward the road. Off to the west behind the house rose a small wood, with a stream separating the trees from the growing crops. This fertile land made up Anneliese’s world, and she loved her home dearly. But although Johann and Gertrud, her father and mother, tried hard to protect her from the harsher realities of life, she would often hear things that would trouble her, and make her fear for the quiet sanctity of her little kingdom. Late at night, her father and her two brothers would sit in the living room, smoking and discussing Germany and its fate. Often, their loud voices would wake her, and she would creep down the hall, shivering in her thin white nightgown, and crouch in the shadows by the stairwell, listening to the argument. She didn’t understand much of what Hans and Friederich said, but sometimes she got the feeling that they didn’t really know what they were talking about anyway. Her brothers loved this man called Hitler; they said he would make Germany the greatest country on earth. To Anneliese, it already was the greatest. It was her home. Her father was more reserved in his feelings and always thought a matter through for a long time before commenting on it. When asked his feelings about Hitler, he would merely say, "We’ll see." That infuriated his sons. They hoped to stir up some real patriotism, some fervor, but Johann remained taciturn and non-committal. One night, the brothers had obviously been drinking, and their arguments were slurred with liquor. "But, Father," Hans said, as he wove back and forth across the rug, "Think of it. No country will be able to defeat Hitler. He is making us strong, sure, and invincible." His lips were thick and hesitated over the words. "We shall conquer all." "And what is that to me?" Johann asked, for once responding to the prodding. "I ask nothing more than a quiet home where I can raise my family. I don’t need power or wealth." "Ah, you say that now, but one day, when all around you are prospering, you will wish you were like them," Friederich chimed in. "Father, did you read the book we gave you?" Hans asked, his voice becoming urgent. "What, this Mein Kampf? Yes, I read it." "And what did you think, Father? Wasn’t it brilliant?" "Brilliant, yes. Sane, no." "Do you dare to call Hitler insane?" Hans shouted, slamming his fists onto the table. Anneliese jumped at the impact and hid herself farther into the shadows of the hall as her brother continued his tirade. "That is treason! You could be shot!" "And I suppose you would be the one to report me." Johann’s voice was icy calm in contrast to the heated tones of her brother. "I didn’t say that," Hans grumbled, his footsteps becoming more heavy and unsure as he paced. "It is time for you boys to go to bed." Johann’s chair squeaked beneath his weight as he sat, signaling the end to the conversation. Hans tried to speak again, but Friederich interrupted. "Come, Hans. We shall leave Father to his books and his studies." Anneliese cowered in the darkness as her brothers passed by, listening to the creaking of the bare floorboards that led to their upstairs bedroom. She heard her father sigh, a deep mournful noise that sounded to her like the wind in the stovepipe on the coldest German winter night. Her mother swept by, stirring up a small draft that brushed against her face as she tucked her knees beneath her and continued to listen. "Papa, the boys are just drunk. By and by, when the liquor has worn off, they’ll come to their senses and be our own dear sons once again." "No, Mama. They aren’t drunk with liquor. They are drunk with dreams of power. I’m afraid they will never again be the sons we once knew." "Please don’t say that!" Gertrud pleaded. "Surely all of this is just a game to them. It can’t be a way of life." "But it is, Mama." Johann sighed again. "I fear they are lost to us." Gertrud began to sob, and Anneliese heard her father push back his chair and cross the floor to where she stood. "Hush, Schatz. Hush." After a moment, Gertrud sniffed. "I’ll be all right. The best thing for me right now is work. I’m going to go scrub the kitchen floor." She quickly left the room and turned the corner, nearly running right over Anneliese as she tried to stay hidden. "Oh! Anneliese, what are you doing out of bed?" "I woke up. Hans and Friederich were shouting." "Not shouting, Mother. We were trying to wake Father up." Hans came out of his bedroom, stubbing his cigar in the ash tray that sat on the hall table. "He has been asleep since the end of the war." "Hans, I will not have you say such things against your father," Mother said sternly. "Your father is a good, kind man who had the opportunity to learn that there is more to life than guns and glory. I wish my sons knew that much." She took Anneliese by the hand. "Come with me, miss." "Mama," Anneliese said softly as her mother briskly tucked the blanket back around her, "Do you remember last summer?" "What? Yes, of course I do," her mother answered absently. "Do you remember the playhouse?" "Yes," her mother replied. "And the rope swing?" Gertrud sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Yes, Anneliese. I remember all those things. In fact, you still play with them. Now what is this about?" "Hans and Friederich made them for me." Anneliese traced the pattern on her blanket with one finger. "My brothers were nice to me last summer. Why aren’t they nice now?" "Oh, Liebchen, this has been difficult for you. Your brothers were such playmates for you at one time. They always called you Schatzchen." Gertrud reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair back into Anneliese’s blond braid. "Or their little monkey," Anneliese smiled, remembering. "But why don’t they call me that anymore? All they do is talk about Hitler." "Anneliese, they are growing up. Hans is eighteen, and Friederich is nearly sixteen. They are practically men now, and they’re still trying to learn what that means. They still love you, even though they don’t play with you as they used to. You’ll see." "And why is Father angry with them all the time? Doesn’t he love them anymore?" Although she tried hard not to cry, a tremble crept into Anneliese’s voice. "Your father loves them more than he ever did. He is worried for them, afraid they will make choices that aren’t good for them. Now, I don’t want you to worry about this one bit. Everything will turn out fine, you’ll see." Stooping over her small daughter, Gertrud Klein placed a small kiss on both of Anneliese’s cheeks. "Go to sleep. It will work itself out." Anneliese felt the warmth of her mother’s desire to comfort her, but still felt cold beneath her warm blanket. After struggling to sleep, she finally got out of bed and went out into the hall, where a large cedar chest stood in an alcove, full to the brim with extra blankets. As she raised the lid, she heard footsteps sounding on the hardwood floor of the entryway below. "Shh, you’ll wake someone," she heard Hans whisper. "Father’s snoring loud enough to keep the fish in the ocean awake," Friederich replied. "He won’t know we’re gone." "Where are you going?" Anneliese asked, her bare feet cold as she came down the wooden stairs. Friederich swore under his breath, but Hans knelt in front of Anneliese and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Can you keep a secret, little sister?" he asked conspiratorially. "Yes." She looked over at Friederich, who had one hand on the doorknob and was clearly ready to go. "Friederich and I are working on a surprise," Hans told her. "If you tell Mother and Father, it won’t be a surprise anymore. Can you go back up to bed and pretend you didn’t see us?" "Why are you out of bed, anyway?" Friederich asked grumpily. "I was cold," Anneliese replied, hugging herself. "I need an extra blanket." "And you shall have one," Hans told her, picking her up. He carried her up the stairs and into her room, tucking her usual blanket around her, then getting another from the hall. This too he wrapped around her, then asked, "Is this enough or do you need another one?" "This is fine. Thank you, Hans." Snuggling deeper, Anneliese smiled up at the brother who, for these few moments, had seemed so much like the young man he used to be, before all this Hitler business started. "Now, are you going to help keep our secret? We’re counting on you, now." "Yes, Hans, you can trust me. Is it a good surprise?" "The best," Hans assured her, giving her blankets one final pat. "Now go to sleep." Anneliese turned to her side and yawned. Maybe her brothers hadn’t changed all that much after all, she thought sleepily. Copyright 2004 by Tristi PinkstonBuy Now!
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