Snow sticks to the clear fragments of a stained-glass window—the picture inside, a Madonna watching over Christoph Eyssl’s tomb. We’re an odd group gathered in this chapel above Lake Hallstatt, a week before Christmas. Twenty-three people preparing to open the casket of a man who died nearly four hundred years ago.
It’s taken months to gather all the necessary permits, but Sigmund partnered with Josh, and these two men, along with Luzia, managed to convince people across Austrian ranks about the possibilities. The Austrian chancellor, a friend of the Stadler family, is here today along with some other very important people, most of whom think I’ve spent too much of my life reading fairy tales.
I’m most interested in the VIPs who surround me: Charlotte and her sister, Brie and Ella, and a certain man on the other side of the church, the newest tenured professor at OSU, talking to the chancellor about other places he’d like to dive one day.
“It’s a miracle, isn’t it?” Charlotte says, and I agree with her. She’s gone from having a family of only Brie and me to a crowd of nieces and nephews who’ve welcomed her into their fold. And a sister who clearly adores her.
“I’m proud of you,” Brie whispers to me.
“For what?”
“Your courage.”
I smile at her, the person who knows me best of all. Others wouldn’t think of flying to Austria as courageous, but it took everything I had to get on that plane six months ago. And my everything was worth it for Charlotte and Luzia. And for Josh . . .
“I’m proud of him too.” Brie nods toward the man who became my husband last month. “For luring you out of your cage.”
I laugh. “You make him sound so conniving.”
“He’s a smart man for falling in love with you and inviting you into his world.”
“Brie!”
She laughs. “Just saying it like I see it.”
“Thank you for my gift,” I tell her, sweeping my hand across the crowded room, stopping at Josh. “Without you, this never would have happened.”
“Has it been worth it, Callie?”
And I know what she means—not the numerical kind of worth, but has it been worth risking my heart, the safe boundaries of my nest, to accept Josh’s invitation to share our lives as a family.
“Indubitably.”
Violin music travels in from the narthex as we wait for an archaeologist representing the World Jewish Congress to arrive. Max Dornbach’s great-granddaughter is playing Luzia’s violin.
Even though Luzia can no longer play herself, she’s caught up in Anna Dornbach’s song. And so is Charlotte. The two sisters are sitting beside each other, arms linked. Pity the person, I think, who would try to tear them apart now. I’ve lost Charlotte in one sense, but my heart doesn’t bleed as I thought it might. Instead, it’s expanded to make room for more.
Behind Charlotte and Luzia is a row of eight people from Bolivia and Canada, descendants of a family named Leitner who escaped from Obertraun before the Austrian Jewish people were transported to concentration camps. Besides Luzia, they are the only ones we’ve been able to locate who might have a claim to what, if anything, is hidden in this chapel.
When the archaeologist and her assistant arrive, Josh slips up beside me and takes my hand. I’d expected the archaeologist to use some sort of fancy tool to open the casket, but the two women cover their faces with respirator masks and begin to pry open the box with a crowbar.
The lid tilts up, their success overpowered by the stench that permeates the room. The priest opens two doors, allowing the cold air to sweep through the nave, and I cover my face with my sleeve. Ella glances over at me, and I nod, giving her permission to slip outside with Anna.
The archaeologist reaches inside the casket with gloved hands and lifts out a burlap bag. One extraordinary girl, she confirms, brilliantly recorded the treasure in a place few adults would look and then hid it in the most unexpected of places.
Inside the bag is a gold necklace, the Star of David, engraved with the initials S. L. on the back. One of the women from the Leitner family gasps. “It’s Aunt Sarah’s star,” she says, and I smile.
The Bambi book and I—we’ve found our way home. Perhaps more of these items will find their way home as well.
Ella and Anna return to the sanctuary, and we watch quietly as daylight fades into the lilac hour, the archaeologist and her assistant carefully cataloging burlap bags and brown-paper wrappings and feed sacks—all filled with valuables from before the war. Every piece will be recorded, using Annika’s book as a reference, and the items will be returned to the Leitners and the descendants of any other families who survived the Holocaust.
If no one remains, the pieces will go to a museum in their memory and to honor all who died under Hitler’s regime.
The archaeologist pulls an envelope out of the casket, well preserved in the same salt used for Christoph’s remains. Then she reads the handwritten note to her small audience.
Dear Max,
To keep our secret safe, I must hide it away again. I’ll guard it even when I’m afraid, even after you are gone. If I’m not able to retrieve it, I hope that you will find this one day and remember what Mama once told me: Our hearts follow wherever our treasure might be. I hope your heart follows this treasure home.
When she finishes, I glance at Charlotte and Luzia in the dim light; both are crying. In fact, tears seem to be flowing freely in this space now.
Outside I hear the whisper of a song, then a chorus of birds in their own harmony. Each one is singing a different melody, like each person in this room. Only God knows the entire score of our lives, but we all have our assigned parts, measures to sing solo or with a choir.
Stepping out of the pew, I press my nose against the window and find a rust-colored bird perched on a snowy tree, watching our group through the glass. Quietly I move toward the back door and outside into the winter air.
A flock of stars watches over the lake, and I wonder, perhaps, if these stars are watching over us too.
The door opens again, and Josh slips up beside me, squeezing my hand. As I lean into him, we remember together the precious lives lost, but more than that, we remember their legacy, the majestic voices and instruments blending into a starlit symphony of sorts.
No one can stop this music. Its journey continues, I think, throughout the earth and up into the heavens. An eternal, sacred song.