Hanne Gödl carefully unfolded the newspaper from her steaming croissant. She was tempted to shove the entire thing into her mouth, but delicacies like this were scarce. Instead, she took a small bite, savoring the warmth that spread to her toes.
Adi was already waiting at the pond. “Happy Birthday, Hannelore.” He forced a smile before turning his gaze back to the ice.
Here, on a hot autumn day two years ago, Adi had kissed her, his mouth sweet as the strawberries they’d collected on the way. That same evening, they’d learned about the invasion, and Adi’s hand had gone stiff in hers. He’d never tried to kiss her again.
“I brought you a gift.”
He took the croissant, but didn’t bite. As she watched, curls of steam dissipated into the cold. The whole world had lost its luster since the Nazis invaded Poland two years ago. The war leeched life from everything.
“I’m German,” Adi blurted.
A shudder swept from her scalp to her toes. The village whispered about Adi’s origins, but she’d always dismissed the rumors. He was a loyal Swiss citizen. Not a traitor.
“The Nazis killed my father,” he said. “I ran, but that was the coward’s way. And now I have to make it right.” He faced her. “I came to say goodbye.”
His words sucked the breath from her lungs. She’d planned to tell him she loved him and ask him to marry her once the war was over. Instead, he was bidding farewell.
He half-turned, as if to leave. Catching his bare hand, she pressed it to her lips. “Wait,” she whispered. “Please.”
A storm of emotion paraded across his brow: anguish, duty, and regret. “I can’t marry you, Hanne.”
She gaped at him. “You can’t… How did you… Why not?”
“I just can’t.” His tone was hard, but his eyes were anguished.
Fury welled up in her. Grasping his cloak, Hanne pressed up on her tiptoes and kissed him.
He stiffened, so she clung tighter. Finally, his fingers curled around her neck, his body relaxing into hers. Hanne managed a brief triumphant grin before the kiss deepened, belaying two years of questions.
A chill blew through the trees, dragging snow across the frozen pond in lines of tumbling ice. Hanne shivered, so Adi broke the kiss and tucked her into his body. She clung to him, terrified to move and break the spell.
“I must go,” he said finally.
“You’ll be killed.” She knew it, just as sure as she knew he loved her.
Adi let out a tense breath. “When I was a boy in Hannover, there was a tree filled with padlocks,” he said finally. “It was said that a couple who hung a lock on the tree would remain faithful forever.
“When I was sixteen I climbed the tree and found one with my name. When I climbed back down, a girl was waiting. She claimed the locks were magic: that she was in Switzerland while I was in Germany, and so long as we stood under the tree we could interact.
“I can’t explain how it worked, but she was right. It was 1937, and the Nazi party was growing in power. Eight months later, the Nazis assassinated my father. I fled to Switzerland, where she lived, but when I reached her home, it was empty land.
“I thought I’d fallen in love with a ghost. So, without a better plan, I settled in to work the land, until a year later, when a family of farmers arrived.”
Reaching into his pocket, Adi showed her a tarnished padlock. One side read Adolf Ludwig Müller; the other, her name.
“We were separated in time as well as distance,” Adi said softly. “I’ve waited these last four years for you to grow up and realize who I was, knowing that the minute you did, I would have to say goodbye. You see, the day she met me, the girl had been planning to ask her farm hand to marry her. Instead, he’d told her he was leaving. I may be the boy under the tree, but I’m also the farmhand who breaks your heart.”
Hanne turned the lock over in her hands. “Impossible.”
Adi leaned forward. Her entire body froze in anticipation, but he just whispered, “Let me prove it to you,” and stepped out from under the tree.
A crunch of snow made her whirl. Besides a younger-looking face, the boy who’d just appeared could have been Adi’s twin. “Who are you?” she demanded, pulse racing. “What are you doing on my family’s farm?”
His eyes looked just like Adi’s. “No one owns the forests.”
Hanne closed her eyes. It can’t be. One more question. One more, then she would be convinced. “What year is it?”
“1937.”
The boy vanished as the lock slipped from her fingers. It sizzled where it touched snow. Hanne sunk to her knees, gasping. The story was true. It was all true.
Which meant Adi—her Adi—was really leaving. And if she didn’t stay behind, he might never fall in love with her enough to leave Germany. She might lose all memory of him.
Could she do it? Could she love the younger Adi, knowing she had already missed every precious moment they shared together, and he would live a life of longing?
In the end, she would lose them both.
Tears cut cold paths down her wind-burned cheeks, stinging as they went. Given the choice, she would rather have Adi as he was now. Perhaps they would forget each other, but love had brought them together once before; it could do so again.
The lock had burned through layers of frost, sinking out of sight. As she watched, the wind stole its last hints of steam.
Brushing the snow from her knees and the tears from her cheeks, Hannelore Gödl turned and sprinted down the mountain.
* * * * *
I wrote this story in November for round 3 of a contest called NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge. Writers are assigned a genre, location, and object, then given 48 hours to write a story in 1000 words or less. If you’d like to read other stories I’ve written for this contest, click here: Story 1, Story 2.
The competition takes place in four rounds, each successively more difficult. Unfortunately, this story did not place high enough to make it to the final round, so this is the end of the road for me. I had a BLAST doing this competition and will for sure be back in the future to keep honing my craft and having fun!
Thanks for reading!
~ Sarah
