All God's Children by Anna Schmidt Page A

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    “My wife is quite ill,” Uncle Franz confided. “Our niece has lived with us for the last eight years, caring for our daughter and helping my wife to manage the house. She was little more than a girl herself when she arrived. She has practically grown up here.”
    “We have nothing to do with politics,” Beth assured the man. “We are peaceful people—Freunde.”
    “You are Quakers?”
    “Ja aber…”
    The man’s entire demeanor shifted. He stood and actually smiled at Franz. “After the last war,” he said, “my family had nothing—nothing to eat, nowhere to sleep, nothing to wear—nothing. If it had not been for the
Quäkerspeisungen
, we would surely have starved.” He focused all his attention on Beth, his brow furrowed in frustration. “You have no papers, do you?”
    Beth opened her mouth to protest—to lie—but the man stopped her with a dismissive wave of his hand as he collected his hat and gloves and walked to the door. “Do whatever you need to do to replace them, Fräulein. The next person who asks for them may not have owed your people the debt that I do.”
    Of course, Beth knew exactly what had become of her papers. One glorious June day when she had been walking Liesl home from the park, they had come upon a crowd gathered outside the American consulate on Lederer Strasse. It was immediately evident to Beth that the gathered people were trying to leave the country. It was a common sight in those days, as arrests for no cause and strange disappearances of entire families escalated. From time to time, news got out that a limited number of exit visas would be handed out on a certain day, and the result was always a scene like the one she and Liesl were witnessing.
    On the edge of the crowd, Beth had recognized her friend Siggy, a young woman who worked as a helper in the bakery. The bakery clerk had recently confided to Beth that she was Jewish. Because of her Aryan looks, she had been able to hide that fact from her employer and—so far—from the authorities. But recently a customer—their neighborhood Blockwart who came regularly to the bakery—had spoken to her more than once in veiled threats, seeking her agreement to meet him after work. His intentions were clear in the way he watched her and found ways to touch her arm or hand whenever she waited on him.
    “I have to get away,” she had told Beth.
    So on that June day, seeing her friend being jostled by dozens of others all seeking the same prize, Beth had made a decision. The authorities checking papers and deciding who would get exit visas would never allow Siggy to leave. She had no ties in America, no job waiting, no family there. Beth had seen the woman’s forged papers, easily identifiable in the light of day as fake. She fingered her visa and other identification papers—always available in a deep pocket of her dress or coat since at any moment someone might demand that she produce them.
    Siggy was the same height, the same weight, and they looked enough alike that they had been mistaken for sisters on more than one occasion. She steered Liesl along the edge of the sidewalk as Siggy glanced up and saw her. Her lovely face was lined with fear and desperation. Siggy had told Beth that her parents and siblings had all been taken away and she had no idea if she would ever see any of them again. “There are such horrible stories,” she had whispered.
    The man charged with inspecting papers and deciding who would be admitted to the consulate and who would be sent away was moving closer.
    “Siggy,” Beth called, smiling and waving. “I came to say good-bye.” She pulled the young woman into an embrace and pressed her own identification papers into her hand.
    “No,” Siggy whispered as she realized what Beth was offering.
    “Yes,” Beth assured her. “My uncle has influence, and I am American. I’ll come back here tomorrow and get them replaced. I’ll play the dumb female and say I lost them.”
    “Papers,”