Fire and Steel, Volume 3 Read online

  When Inga shook her head, Paula spoke up. “It’s over half a million now.”

  “Oh,” Frieda said in surprise. “Then it certainly isn’t just a small church.”

  “No,” Inga said. “Just small here. And it sounds like that is changing.”

  The branch president had removed his eyeglasses and was polishing them with his tie, watching the congregation as the conversations began to die down. When he spoke again, his tone was sober, but at the same time he showed an inner excitement even greater than he had before. “This is exciting news, brothers and sisters. I am touched to think that our little branch here has contributed to those remarkable numbers. But when all is said and done, numbers are only that. What matters is not how many members we have, but what kind of members we are. When we were baptized, we made a covenant that we would take upon ourselves the name of Christ and strive to follow His example. I am most pleased to say that this is true of you, brothers and sisters. Your faithfulness in these very difficult times we have recently endured and are still enduring stirs my soul and fills me with a deep gratitude. I am privileged to know you.” President Schiller stopped and tried to choke back his emotions. Finally, back in control again, he went on. “There is one more piece of news from President Cannon, and I wanted to save it until the end, for this affects all of us in the room. And it is very exciting news. Sister Schiller and I were absolutely ecstatic about it.”

  That quickly quieted the group.

  President Schiller cleared his throat, lifted the letter, and began again. “President Cannon says, ‘I am pleased to inform you that there is also going to be a change of presidencies in the British/European Mission as well as in the Swiss-German Mission.’”

  Schiller looked up again. “The British Mission is headquartered in Liverpool, England. However, since Europe is so far removed from Utah, the Church has decided that the British Mission should also have a supervisory relationship with the other European Missions. Therefore, we call the mission headquartered in Liverpool the British-slash-European Mission.” He smiled. “That may seem like a trivial detail, but you will see why I make that point in a moment. Oh, and one more thing. Because of that supervisory oversight, very often the British/European Mission is presided over by one of our Twelve Apostles.”

  Frieda turned and gave Inga a sharp look. Inga smiled. “Yes, we have twelve Apostles in our Church, just as Jesus did when He was on the earth.”

  “In fact,” President Schiller continued, “the last seven or eight mission presidents have all been members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Elder George F. Richards being the latest. Sadly, though, President Richards was never able to visit us in Germany because of the war. Late last year, President Richards was released as mission president and returned home to Salt Lake City.”

  Murmurs of disappointment rippled through the congregation, for that was obviously news to some of them. “But,” President Schiller said, holding up one finger and waggling it at them, “another Apostle, Elder George Albert Smith, is being sent as his replacement.” Again murmurs arose, only this time pleased ones. “And President Cannon has just received word that Elder Smith will be visiting Germany sometime this summer!”

  He stopped as the people erupted. They cried aloud and clapped their hands joyfully at that news. People gripped each other by the shoulders. Some wept tears of amazement and joy. He waited until it calmed again and went on. “He will be touring all of the European missions, and schedules are still being arranged, but President Cannon says that we can expect to see him in June or July of this year. Further details will be forthcoming. But he is asking that the Saints be invited to district meetings, which will be held in such cities as Berlin, Dresden, Hamburg, Hanover, and Nuremberg. All members of branches, along with their families and friends and others who may be investigating the Church, are to be invited and should begin saving now so as to be able to participate.”

  Lowering the letter, Schiller concluded. “In a separate communication to our district president in Nuremberg, President Cannon has asked him to begin looking for a hall or stadium large enough to accommodate three to four thousand people. Can you believe that? They expect enough that we may have to rent a football stadium to hold us all. I, for one, am overwhelmed with gratitude that I have lived long enough to see such a day.”

  He took a quick breath. “And with that, we will sing an intermediate hymn before we hear from our next speaker. Let us sing ‘Hark, All Ye Nations!’ As we sing this beloved hymn, I would call your attention to the words of the second stanza, which seem particularly prophetic considering the news we have just received.

  Searching in darkness, nations have wept;

  Watching for dawn, their vigil they’ve kept.

  All now rejoice; the long night is o’er.

  Truth is on earth once more!

  Chapter Notes

  President Angus J. Cannon was the son of George Q. Cannon, who was a member of the First Presidency. As a young man, Angus served his mission in Germany from 1887 to 1890. He and his wife, Miriam, returned in 1916 to preside over the mission and served there for four years. In late 1920, they were released and returned home.

  The letter President Schiller reads here is not based on any known letter. We do know that President Cannon kept in touch with the branches and districts throughout the mission by letter, so I used that as a device to share information about what the Church was like in Germany during this time period. The statistics given here are accurate (see Scharffs, Mormons in Germany, 47, 51, 59–63, 239). President Cannon’s account of the German sister suggesting that he pray in English comes from his own history (Ibid., 48).

  Scharffs states that “about seventy-five German saints lost their lives during the war” (Mormons in Germany, 58). Though he doesn’t specify whether any of those were civilian casualties, I am guessing that these were military deaths only. There were about 8,000 members of the Church in Germany during the war. Knowing that the number of German civilians who died from malnutrition, disease, and exposure to the elements was high would suggest that these seventy-five deaths included only servicemen.

  February 24, 1920, 4:32 p.m.—Eckhardt residence

  “Emilee, come see.”

  A moment later her head appeared at the kitchen door. “What, Schatzi? I’m trying to get your supper on.”

  “That can wait. Come see this.” Hans was kneeling beside the mesh baby enclosure they had bought from a department store a few days before. Alisa was lying on her back, arms waving and feet thrashing as she gurgled happily.

  With an affectionate sigh, Emilee wiped her hands on her apron and came into the living room. “What is it?”

  “Come closer. I want you to watch her eyes.”

  Obediently, she moved up beside him. Alisa saw the movement and turned her head to look at her mother. Her eyes locked on Emilee’s and then she smiled. Emilee bent down and rubbed her finger on her daughter’s cheek. “Ja, it is Mutti, Lisa. Mama is here.”

  Since Alisa had been a month old, Hans had been claiming that she could recognize the two of them. Emilee humored him, even though the doctor said that recognition of parents didn’t come until the third month. But now Alisa was almost four months old, and she clearly did know both her mother and father, and it melted Emilee’s heart every time Lisa broke out in that delighted smile.

  Now she saw that Hans had a bright red rattle in his hand. He knelt down beside the playpen and held the toy about eight inches in front of Lisa’s face. He rattled it back and forth twice, and she immediately turned toward the sound.

  “Watch her eyes,” he said again. Then, cooing softly to the baby, he said, “Look, Alisa. Look what Vati has for you.”

  The dark eyes focused immediately on the rattle and her lips puckered in concentration as she reached out for it. But her pudgy little fists flailed the air in spasmodic jerks.

  “Hans, her
hand-eye coordination is still developing. Just give it to her and then she’ll hold on to it.”

  “You’re not looking at her eyes,” he said, chiding her.

  She leaned in closer. “I see that they are going to turn brown in a few more months,” she said, knowing that would get a rise out of him. He had been shocked to learn that a baby’s eyes could change from blue to brown between six and nine months of age. Emilee was sure that Lisa’s were going to be a light brown, like Emilee’s father’s, but Hans was absolutely adamant that they were going to stay blue, like his own.

  He didn’t rise to the bait. “You’re not looking,” he said yet again.

  So she focused on Lisa’s eyes, which for the moment were locked on the toy rattle above her. “Well, she really wants it,” she finally said. “I can see that.”

  “Yes!” he said gleefully. “Look at her concentration. Which is amazing, when you think about it. She has no vocabulary, no words to express what she’s thinking, but she is thinking. You can see the intelligence there. And she’s thinking, ‘I don’t know what that beautiful bright thing up there is, but I want it.’”

  That intrigued Emilee, and she studied Alisa’s face more closely. There was something there, and. . . . She nodded. Intelligence seemed to be a good word for it. “Yes, I see what you mean.”

  “Now watch this,” Hans said. At the sound of her mother’s voice, the baby had turned her gaze upward, so Hans rattled the toy just above her. Her head swung back and her eyes focused on the rattle. Her arms started to flail again as she tried to reach up for it. “Look at that. She knows that she has to move her hands to get it, but she doesn’t know how to make her body do what she wants it to do yet.”

  Emilee nodded but said nothing. It was fascinating to see how the baby had been distracted when she heard Emilee but now was back on task, her eyes riveted on the red rattle just above her. Emilee had to laugh as she saw the determination in Alisa’s eyes. She did want it. Even her fingers were extended as she reached for it.

  Hans kept rattling the toy, holding it in a way that if the baby’s hand made contact with it, she would touch the handle, which was thin enough for her to grasp easily. Suddenly, in the randomness of her movements, she connected. The moment her palm touched the wood, her fingers closed and she gripped the handle tightly for a moment. But then her hand jerked away again.

  “A-ha!” Hans cried softly. He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “The first time she tried, it took her over a minute to connect with it. This time it was only about forty-five seconds.” He started counting softly as he rattled it some more. Her hand found the rattle again as he said, “Thirty-nine.” This time she held on to it for several seconds, almost pulling it away from her father’s grasp, but then again her arm jerked away and she lost it.

  “Did you see that, Emilee? Thirty-nine seconds. She’s learning how to make her hand go where she tells it to go.”

  One part of Emilee wanted to chuckle. It was amusing and yet endearing to her how fascinated Hans was with their daughter. He would study her for long periods of time, watching her every movement, even when she was asleep, analyzing any patterns he thought he saw as if she were some astonishing little machine. It made her smile, but it also pleased her that he found such joy in the baby. Now, as she listened to him and watched their daughter, she found herself feeling that same sense of wonder.

  Hans was counting again and only got to twenty-four before Lisa’s fingers connected with the rattle’s handle and immediately closed tightly around it. Laughing in delight, Hans let her have it and stood up. “Look at her, Emilee. Can you see it in her eyes? She’s delighted with herself. If she could talk, I’ll bet she’d be hollering, ‘Look, Mama. Look, Papa. Did you see what I just did?’”

  He was right, and Emilee laughed too. It was probably just her imagination, but this tiny little imp of theirs actually looked smug as she plopped the rattle in her mouth. As the clock chimed the quarter hour, Emilee looked up. “I’ve got to get supper on, Hans. What time did you tell Adolf you’d meet him?”

  Hans looked at the clock and groaned. “Six o’clock.” He moaned again. “I don’t want to leave. It’s snowing outside, and. . . .” He was looking at Alisa again, and he didn’t finish his sentence.

  “Go in and get changed. Supper will be ready in about ten minutes. You said this is a big meeting tonight, right?”

  “Yes. This is our first attempt at a mass meeting.”

  “Then you have to go. I’ll bring Lisa’s playpen into the kitchen where she can watch us.” She gave him a little push toward the bedroom. “Go.”

  5:05 p.m.

  As Hans finished eating and pushed his plate back, Emilee asked, “Isn’t this the night that you have that large hall rented?”

  “Ja. It’s in the Hofbrauhaus near Marienplatz again, but this time we’ll not be in the basement. We’ve rented the Festsaal, the big hall on the upper floor. That’s one of the things that has Adolf so nervous. It’s our first really big meeting. Most of the committee believes it is a mistake, that we are not ready yet for such a move. And I must admit that it concerns me too. We have been steadily increasing our attendance every meeting. We’re getting well over two hundred now. I think our last meeting was two hundred seventy-four.”

  “And how many does this Festsaal accommodate?”

  “Almost two thousand.”

  Emilee gasped. “And your last meeting was less than three hundred? No wonder the committee is worried.”

  “Ja, ja, exactly. When Adolf called last night, he told me that Herr Harrer has resigned in protest. Which was a strategic mistake on his part. He’s a decent enough fellow, and he is well educated, but he’s a boring speaker and has limited leadership skills.” Hans snorted in soft disgust. “He shows up late to half the meetings, and he’s the president. I think he thought everyone would refuse his resignation, but instead we all welcomed it. We are ready for a change, and Harrer gave us the opportunity to make it. Herr Anton Drexler is the new president.”

  “I can’t keep them all straight. Which one is Drexler?”

  “He was the one who gave Adolf a copy of his booklet on the night Adolf went to that first meeting. It was what eventually motivated Adolf to join the party.” He frowned. “Actually, in my mind, Drexler isn’t that strong of a leader either. He’s a sickly-looking man with a soft voice. He rambles a lot when he speaks. Definitely not an orator in any way. But he’s a staunch supporter of Adolf, and so Adolf supported his bid for president.”

  “Sounds to me like it is Adolf who should be leading the party now. Why don’t they make him the president?”

  Hans gave Emilee a long look. “Strange that you should say that. I told Adolf that very thing last week.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He just laughed and said, ‘Not yet.’ But it’s coming, Emilee. He’s been the driving force into getting more people to our meetings. And he’s convinced members of the press to come hear us. Even some writers from the leftist newspapers are coming now. And they don’t like us. They keep shouting out questions or yelling insults. Last week they actually tried to shout down the speaker. They’re convinced that we are a bunch of radicals.”

  “And that’s good?”

  “Yes! Two months ago, the GWP was unknown to all but a handful of people. Now, most of Munich is talking about us. That’s why Adolf is convinced it is time for a mass meeting. It is time to capitalize on our momentum.”

  “So why does he want to meet with you an hour early tonight?”

  “Adolf, Drexler, and some of the others have drafted a platform for the party. They have outlined twenty-five theses that constitute our declaration of what we stand for.”

  “Ah,” Emilee said. “Like the ninety-five theses Martin Luther nailed on the door of the Church at Wittenberg.”

  “Yes, the same idea. It will challenge our enemies and th
eir platforms. Anyway, Adolf’s going to be the concluding speaker tonight, and he’ll be the one to present the theses to the people. But he wants to read them to me first and get my input on how they’re worded. He’s hoping that we will have several journalists there again tonight and is determined to state our beliefs clearly and concisely. I’m not sure why he thinks I can help him, but that’s what he said.”

  “Because he trusts you, Hans. He trusts your judgment.” Emilee smiled wryly. “Which shows that he is an astute observer of human nature.”

  Hans got to his feet and came around the table. He bent down and kissed Emilee lightly and then went over to the playpen. “Did you hear that, Alisa? Your mama says I have good judgment. And what do think of that, eh?”

  Responding to the sound of his voice, Lisa cooed back at him.

  “Really? You agree? Well, then, I guess it must be so.” And with a jaunty wave to Emilee, he went out the front door and shut it behind him.

  6:52 p.m.—Munich Hofbrauhaus Keller

  “Hans! I’m over here.”

  Hans half-turned and saw a lone figure standing by the cellar entrance to the restaurant. He waved and started that way. “I thought we were meeting upstairs,” he called as he approached.

  “We are. But you and I are going to start down here where we won’t be disturbed. The owner has offered us a small room.”

  How long have you been here? Hans wondered. Obviously long enough to have removed his coat, scarf, and gloves and to show no signs of having been out in the snow recently. Then it registered with Hans that there was something else different. As they shook hands, Hans looked him up and down. “No uniform tonight?”

  Momentarily startled, Adolf glanced down at himself and then smiled. “I resigned from the army this morning.”

  “You what?”

  “It’s time, Hans. We are moving forward, and I need to devote my full time to the party now. There are many, many things to do.”