Sadie

“Can I bring Sadie, Mama?”

“No, I’m sorry. Only what fits in your suitcase. Please Esther, hurry up.”

I looked at Papa beseechingly, hoping he would allow me. He was busy packing his own case, tucking the tiny velvet pouch of coins into the lining of the interior.

“You heard your mama. Be a good girl.” He smiled at me gently.

Mama handed me a loaf of hard bread wrapped in a kitchen towel. “Squeeze this in, please.”

“I can bring stale bread but not Sadie?” I was astounded.

“You want to go hungry?” She looked at me frantically, her eyebrows drawn together creating the creases in between.

I knew better than to argue with Mama when those creases appeared.  I put the bread in my suitcase.

“You have your papers?” Papa asked softly.

“Yes, Papa.” I double checked my suitcase to reassure him.  

“Samuel, have you heard from your cousins?” Mama asked.

“Yes, they are safe, Gott sei Dank.”

“Gott sei Dank. Maybe there will be an end to this nightmare soon?”

“We can pray, my love. Pray and prepare.” Samuel took his wife’s hand in his own and held it tightly. 

I took this moment to sneak into my bedroom with my suitcase. Surely there would be enough room for my beloved doll Sadie. I would find a way.

The pounding on the front door startled me, the noise deafening even from the back of our house where I stood. My stomach went into a knot like when I ate too many of Mama’s latkes during Hanukkah. What was happening?  We were just about to leave for Mr. Feldmann’s house. Maybe our neighbor came to fetch us to make sure we crossed the fields safely.

“No!” The anguished cries from my mother struck terror in me.

I peeked through the crack in my bedroom doorway with one eye to see the uniformed men grabbing my mama roughly. She flailed her thin arms helplessly. 

“Ruth!”  My papa’s heartbreaking cries for his wife rang out through the house as she was dragged through the front door by the Nazi. He turned to scan the room with wild eyes, no doubt looking for me.

I froze. Then the instructions played on automatic. Papa’s voice was loud and clear in my mind from the months of preparation. “Esther, run. Don’t wait. Just run.” All of my “what ifs” followed. What if I am at the shop with Mama? What if I am at my friend’s house? What if I am alone? All “what ifs” were answered with the same instruction. Run.

I grabbed my suitcase and Sadie and ran out the back door.

***

The trip across the fields behind our house left my legs wobbly with fear and exhaustion. I barely had the strength to open the heavy doors allowing entry into Mr. Feldmann’s root cellar. The creak of the hinges made me stop and look over my shoulder before I descended down the wooden ladder. Did the Nazis hear that? Were they following me? Would they grab me like they grabbed Mama?

The crates of potatoes were stacked floor to ceiling, making me wonder how I would move them. Starting from the corner, I counted off the stacks; one, two, three, four. Grateful that those wooden boxes in stack four were filled with light burlap sacks, I slid them forward, exposing the small opening behind them. I got on my belly and crawled through the tunnel, careful to drag the crates back in place behind me.

There was barely enough light to make out my surroundings. As promised, Mr. Feldmann left piles of heavy blankets and a basket of fruit, mostly rotten from the wait. I sat on the damp ground with my suitcase at my side, my precious doll Sadie in my arms. I waited.

***

“No signs of rats today,” the harsh voice woke me from a fitful sleep, leaving me confused. 

“Feldmann will be glad to hear it. Maybe we can sneak out early without the afternoon inspection.”

“We can go watch the next roundup of the Jews. They are the real rats we have to get rid of.”

The farmers laughed loudly as I sat up, pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.

***

“Well, look who’s here.” The flashlight beams shone through the tunnel, making me squint in discomfort after days in semidarkness. I sat up fearfully.

Mr. Feldmann’s face appeared in the tunnel as the large man squeezed his way through. 

“Guten morgen,” I softly greeted my family friend. 

“Good morning to you as well, my dear.  I didn’t know you were here, Esther. The Nazis swept through your street, and I assumed you were part of that round up. Thank God you’re safe.”

My mother’s flailing arms and my father’s wild look flashed before my eyes. Where were my parents? I was too afraid to ask.

“Yes,” I whispered the expected response.

“You must be starving, little one?”

“I had some bread from Mama and the fruit you left.” I glanced at the empty basket and the rotten apple core on the ground. I hung my head in shame at the sight of the soiled blanket in the corner covering the hole I had dug to relieve myself.

“I will return shortly with some treats from Mrs. Feldmann. She’ll be thrilled that you’re here.”

I thought of Mrs. Feldmann, bedridden since her attack of pneumonia last winter. I longed for her comforting arms around me, her gentle voice soothing me with stories of her travels. A lump formed in my throat as my reality sunk in. I was to stay hidden.

***

And so began the routine of Mr. Feldmann’s nightly visits. The last of the farmers left the cellar with the potatoes cleaned and sorted and the floors and corners checked for vermin. Their voices finally silenced as they headed out, bringing their horrific stories of the Nazis with them.   It was always shortly after their departure that I heard the creak of the hinges and the heavy steps of the large man on the rickety wooden ladder.

He replaced my soiled blankets with fresh ones and carefully filled my basin with water. Always cheerful, he joked with me as I packaged up my dirty socks and underpants into a burlap sack for him to return clean and fresh the following night. My suitcase held but a few changes of clothes, which was more than enough with the laundry rotation we had established. 

“Mrs. Feldmann has another story for you, Esther. Come, we shall read together.” The man who had become my only companion sat on the dirty floor next to me while I leaned against his massive body. 

“Where are we going tonight?” I asked in anticipation, thrilled to see the wrinkled papers he unfolded carefully.

“Well, let’s see. Ah, look at this. Sadie Goes to Paris,” he read the title written by his wife’s shaky hand and vivid imagination. 

Enchanted, I listened to the tale of my doll Sadie as she browsed the Parisian shops for the perfect beret. I laughed with delight as she tried for the first time the rich pastries at the outdoor cafes along the Champs-Élysées, ordering plates of tarts for dinner. 

Mr. Feldmann left the pages in my care to read again and again, bringing the vibrant city to my damp and dark world. The pages became alive with the sights and sounds of Paris when the city was beautiful before the bombings and the rubble of war. 

As the weeks went by, my collection of stories grew. I kept the treasured pages tucked away in my small suitcase to be brought out when alone. Mrs. Feldmann’s humor and love showed itself in the tales of Sadie’s travels around the globe. 

Gone was the cold, damp cellar that had become my hideaway, replaced by the vibrant colors of Central Park as I read “Sadie Goes to New York”. The red plaid picnic blanket was spread out on the lush green lawn. Delicate tea cups were carefully arranged in front of each doll purchased at F.A.O. Schwarz, the image in my mind making my heart sing with delight. 

The story “Sadie Goes to Egypt” transported me to the dry, dusty desert. Sadie rode a camel to the pyramids, where she climbed the huge stones while the sun beat down on her. I was filled with wonder at how such a massive structure came to be, imagining days that we will never fully understand.

Every week was another adventure thanks to the talented Mrs. Feldmann.

***

At long last, the day came when the creak of the hinges and the heavy footsteps quickly ran down the rickety wooden ladder before the farmers arrived in the morning. The piles of crates were roughly tossed aside with Mr. Feldmann’s joyous screams. 

“Esther,” he shouted much to my horror, always fearful of being discovered. “Esther! Good news!” 

He pulled me up from the ground, taking my hands and spinning me around. I felt weak and dizzy at the surprise exertion of energy and fear pounding in my heart.

“What’s happening?” I grasped to understand.

“It’s over, Esther. The war is over.” The large man fell to his knees and sobbed while I stood watching in disbelief. Was it true?

“Come, little one, come,” he turned to me, smiling.

I held tightly onto Sadie as Mr. Feldmann held the handle of my little suitcase in his large hand. He waited for me to crawl through the tunnel before he followed. Together we went up the rickety wooden ladder to the sun shining brightly on the fields that I hadn’t seen in months.

“Esther, feel the sun on your face, breathe the fresh air of freedom,” he shouted jubilantly.

“I will, Mr. Feldmann. But I want to do something first, if that’s okay?”

“Anything, Esther, just tell me what you would like.”

“I would like to visit Mrs. Feldmann, please.”

As I slid under the blanket next to the frail woman who was my savior, I finally released the tears that I had held in for months. The thin, frail hands that had written my Sadie stories stroked my cheek, the soft voice telling me that everything would be all right.