Willfully Ignorant

By Pat Miller

Carin Miller has reluctantly gone to Berlin to work in the bakery of a family friend. She arrives in 1933, just as Adolf Hitler became Chancellor of Germany. Her stay in Germany was to last only two years, but instead spanned over twelve years, until the end of World War II.

She is appalled by the treatment of the Jews and the policies of the Nazi regime. She begs her friend, Anna, who is Jewish, to get out of Germany. Carin wonders why the German people put up with Hitler and the atrocities of the SS. She criticizes their willful ignorance, but discovers that she too is guilty of hiding her head in the sand.

Carin falls in love with Peter and then finds out that he is a high-ranking officer in the SS. He confesses his love for her and asks her to wait for him until after the war. As a Christian, she knows that the relationship must end.

Standing by while the horrific events unfold around her does not sit well with Carins conscience, but why get involved when Germany is not her country? She is a Christian, not a Jew. And what can one person do?

Will she join the Resistance, knowing the risks?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jan 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490822181

Pat Miller

Pat Miller is a writer, teacher, and school librarian. She is the author of more than twenty children's and professional books. She lives in Texas.

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Copyright © 2014 Pat Miller.

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Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com  The NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

ISBN: 978-1-4908-2217-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-2216-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-2218-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014900399

WestBow Press rev. date: 1/16/2014

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

A Note from the Author

This book is dedicated to Pastor George and Cheryl Morrison and Pastor Robert Hooley. Through their teaching I learned about God’s love for and commitment to the Jewish people.

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out, because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade-unionists, and I did not speak out, because I was not a trade-unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out, because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me.

Rev. Martin Niemoller, 1937

Chapter One

September 1940

Now

Stop! I have to rest! Please!

The young girl following in my footsteps had no idea of how dangerous it was to speak out loud. I took the girl’s hand and pulled her up a few steps and into the dark entryway of the closest building, anticipating a loud whistle that would lead to our deaths. I leaned out and listened, my heart beating so hard, I thought the thrumming alone would bring the SS to this spot.

We cannot stop. We have to run, run, run, I whispered to the girl. Do you not understand? We are in the street after curfew. If we are seen we will be shot!

I tried to catch my breath; my body was tense. It was a hot, sultry, late-summer night, and the air felt close. If I were still in Illinois, I would think that a storm was on the way. I know you are tired, but we have to keep going. It is only a few more blocks and we will be out of the city.

We left my apartment much later than the usual time, so we had to run to get to our destination. The torch I carried was filtered by colored tissue paper to dim the light but still allow a faint beam. I kept looking back over my shoulder again and again to make sure we were alone on the street. We usually moved the refugees during the day when the streets were crowded with people so we could blend in. But this was obviously an emergency. I learned not to ask questions for which there was never an answer.

Berlin was in blackout. There was no moon tonight so the darkness was our friend as we ran through the streets, but I knew the risks of being out after the ten o’clock curfew. We would usually wait until there were three or more Jews to move at a time. I didn’t know what had happened to warrant this dangerous move for just this one. Getting this girl to the safe house on the outskirts of Berlin was my only thought. I wondered again why I was doing this so late at night. But my orders were to get the girl out of Berlin before the next morning in order to move her and others to the next place on their journey.

I am sorry, the girl said breathlessly. You have put your own life in jeopardy and I am truly grateful. She paused and looked down at her feet. I will not ask to stop again. She was trembling and ready to cry. When she arrived at the back door of the bakery, she was hungry and covered with dirt from head to toe. I took the time to clean her up, put her in other clothing, and fix her something to eat. All that took more time, but I didn’t think she would make it through the streets without nourishment.

I stepped out and looked up and down the empty street, listening. It seemed quiet. The lights were out in all the buildings; a dog barked in the distance. I waited, praying that the dog didn’t belong to the police patrol.

I squeezed her hand. Okay, let us go.

We moved quickly and quietly, hugging the buildings, not stopping to look back. The only sound I heard was my own heavy breathing. I’d been over this route many times so I knew all the shortcuts and where there might be a patrol. We were nearing the end of the block when I heard a sound. I stopped abruptly and the girl who was following bumped into me.

The sound was coming from the direction of our destination. I again pulled the girl to the side of the closest building, flattening our bodies to the bricks as best we could, and waited. There was no entryway in this building to hide us. It didn’t sound like boots on the pavement and I knew it wasn’t a vehicle. I took a risk and leaned out. Someone was heading our way out of the shadows on a bicycle.

There was no way the person on the bike could miss us as he drew near. I closed my eyes and prayed we’d become invisible.

The bicycle was almost upon us when I could make out a familiar figure. I let out my breath and told the girl, It is okay. I know who this is. He is our contact.

The man drew up beside us, stepped off the bicycle and said in a soft voice, I will take her from here. It is too dangerous tonight. I told Mr. Schultz that he should not have asked you to do this at this late hour. The streets are deserted and you would be noticed. And he knows you have to be in the bakery at four thirty in the morning. When did he think you would be able to sleep? It is already past midnight.

The man and I couldn’t greet each other by name. Very few names in the Resistance were known to me.

My part now was to move people from my apartment to the city limits where I would be met by someone else. That person would then lead the people on to the safe house somewhere in the country; its location was unknown to me. We all had a small part to perform, but none of us knew the whole plan to get refugees to safety, out of the hands of the Gestapo.

I had started out by hiding what I called my guests in my apartment above the bakery. Somehow the freedom line had been compromised, and now I not only provided a hiding place, but would also lead the guests to the outskirts of the city to be met by the next person in the freedom line.

I was relieved to see my contact and said, It is very dark tonight and that has been in our favor. But I am glad you are here. I will be careful to get back to the apartment. You know the most important thing is to get this girl out of the city.

He didn’t say anything as he looked up at the black sky. I asked, Do you know why I am now escorting? What happened?

He seemed reluctant to answer but then leaned into me and whispered, Our last escort was found in the Spree. He had been shot before he was dumped into the river.

I shivered; hearing that reminded me how dangerous my part was in the freedom line, and how important too.

We both looked at the girl who had stood quietly listening to the exchange between her heroes. The girl was still trembling, so fragile I thought she could break into a million pieces. My heart broke for her. I pulled her into my arms to comfort her.

It will not be a comfortable ride, but you must sit on the back of the bicycle. It will go much faster from here, the man said, reassuring her.

The girl moved to get on the bike but then turned back toward me and hugged me. I could feel ribs through her thin clothing. Thank you so much. I will never forget what you have done, and I do not even know your name.

I was always embarrassed by these grateful words. I was only doing what the Lord would have me do.

I watched as the man and his passenger left. We never addressed each other by name. I didn’t know his name, and he didn’t know mine. And I knew that Mr. Schultz was not really Mr. Schultz. I had never met him. It was best not to know real names, or any names at all in the Resistance; it was safer that way.

Now all I had to do was get back home without getting caught. I took a different route home. I ran quickly through the alleys and back streets, avoiding the main thorough ways, always alert for the sound of boots on the pavement or jeeps patrolling the city. I ran on my toes. Strange that I was running on tiptoe, but there was less noise that way.

The night sky was filled with thousands of stars and it reminded me of a night sitting out in Allen’s convertible. It seemed like ages ago. I wondered what Allen was doing now. Was he married with children? Was he still working in Chicago? He wanted to go into private practice in a big city, and Chicago would be closer to home. Now when I think about him, I realize that I hardly knew him. I was an immature teenager dreaming about a marriage that would never be. It was almost embarrassing, and I hoped that Allen never found out about my foolish dreams.

How was Betsy doing? I hadn’t heard from my best friend in months, not since the baby was born. She must be so busy with her family. I put thoughts about my own family on the back burner for now. I didn’t even know if I would make it out of this war. Would I ever see my family again?

My life had taken such a different path from what I had planned. I was not married, not a mother, no home to call my own, across the ocean from my family, and alone. The Lord had an entirely different plan for me. I was taught to take one day at a time. I had no choice now.

I stopped running and listened. I thought I heard voices. I backed up to a building and stood silently. I should have been alert instead of bringing up past memories. The voices were getting louder. It sounded like several men laughing and moving toward me.

I very carefully peeked out at the edge of the building. I could see three young men, drunk, coming down the block, jostling each other and shouting out profanities. They would see me if I didn’t move quickly. I turned around and ran quietly down to the corner and slipped into the entryway of an apartment building. I tried to slow the thunderous beating of my heart by taking deep breaths.

I saw that the men were actually boys in the uniforms of Hitler’s Youth. They were just as dangerous as the police. From a distance, they would see me as a man, but up close and by questioning me, they would readily know that I was not.

Waiting patiently was not my strong suit, but I had no choice. The young men stopped and lit up cigarettes and then moved on down the street to the next block over from my hiding place. Still, I did not move until I could not hear anything. I was trembling.

I picked up the pace back to my apartment. I remained alert without any more reminiscing.

I unlocked the door to the bakery kitchen, and hurriedly locked and bolted the door from inside. Then I sagged back against it, relieved to have made it home safely again.

I used this back entrance from the alley into the kitchen of the bakery the most often. From the kitchen I used a hidden, very narrow staircase behind the pantry that led up to the kitchen of the apartment. The front entrance of the apartment led onto Bellevuestrasse. The bakery had a separate front entrance right next to the entrance to the apartment.

I slowly climbed up the stairs to the apartment kitchen. How good it would be to climb into bed. But now that I was home, I could feel the blood pulsing through my body; my blood pressure must be sky high. There would be little sleep tonight.

I brewed chamomile tea and sat down at the kitchen table. As my heart slowed down to normal I thought about what I was doing. So much had changed since I arrived in Germany in 1933. Not only had Germany changed, but I had changed. I had lamented often in the past that I didn’t get out of the country before the war, but now I was resigned to working in the Resistance, stuck here for the duration of the war.

As Hitler invaded more of Europe every day, I wondered if America would be drawn in, and what would happen then? I would be an enemy. I would be arrested and sent to a concentration camp along with other political dissidents and Jews.

I looked at the clock. It was almost three o’clock. Sighing wearily, I turned out the light in the kitchen and went upstairs to my bedroom.

The costume I wore on this night was one of a poor beggar. I pulled off the short wig and climbed out of the saggy pants and large shirt. I had several different disguises, switching them around all the time so I wouldn’t be identified. I hid all the costumes under my mattress.

How had the young girl I had helped tonight survived in Berlin all this time without being caught? Why was she alone? What had happened to her parents? I will never forget the look of pain in her eyes. I wondered what she had seen.

Was it a family that had taken her in and kept her hidden? Who else was involved in the Resistance? Who could I trust? I had learned not to ask questions because if I was caught, I couldn’t reveal anything about my activities or who else was involved.

I went to sleep with a troubled mind. I had read before that I should be anxious about nothing, but in all things pray. So I started praying for Hans, Stefan, and Dieter who were somewhere fighting. And I prayed for Gretchen and Sophie. Gitta and I were barely talking, and I had thought we would be the best of friends. I prayed for all my family back home in Illinois.

And I prayed for Peter.

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

Jeremiah 29:11

Holy Bible                  New International Version Zondervan 1978

Chapter Two

March 1933

Then

"But I don’t know them, Mother. Ida Klein is your friend. I want to stay here and go to school and get a job in Peoria." I argued with my mother - an argument I knew I wouldn’t win. We sat at the kitchen table near the window that looked out at a field covered with snow. I watched as a crimson feathered cardinal alighted on a snow-covered branch on one of the cherry trees in the orchard.

I got up from the table and pulled my sweater off the back of a chair. Just looking out at the snow made me shiver. I wrapped the sweater around my shoulders and sat back down at the table cupping my hands around a warm coffee cup.

My parents had been over and over this plan and were not likely to change their minds, but as long as I was still here at our large farm in Illinois, I would use every argument I could think of to keep from traveling to Germany. I had already made plans for my life. I had graduated as Valedictorian of my class and had excelled at typing and shorthand. I would go to Dickinson’s Business College in Peoria and then get a job at R. G. Letourneau’s. I had heard from a friend who worked there that she was making eighty-five dollars a month. I wanted to be on my own now that marriage to Allen was out of the question.

Ida is a wonderful person and I know you’ll like her. Your father and I both think it would be good for you. Just think how exciting it will be when we get on the ship that will take us across the ocean!

It was early March 1933, and I had graduated from high school last fall of 1932. The boy I had dated for over a year came home from college at Christmas engaged to some girl from New York. He didn’t give me any indication that he had been dating someone else and I was devastated. My broken heart had not healed, and the thought of leaving my friends brought more misery. I had no desire to see the world, as my mother reminded me in her attempts to persuade me.

Carin, have you thought how difficult it will be to get work? We’re still recovering from the Depression. So many are still out of work and jobs for women are few.

I did think about it, but by the time I had graduated from business school, surely the economy would be better.

I knew God had a plan for my life, but I had prayed against the plan to go to Germany hoping the Lord would close the door. The door to marriage with Allen was shut tightly. The door to Germany was wide open.

You’ll get to see where I grew up. You know you were named after your Grandma Carin, and that’s why I gave you her Bible. I want to show you my home and introduce you to Ida and George. They have three children: Brigitta, Hans, and Stefan. Brigitta is the oldest and is married with two children. Hans works in the bakery with his dad. He and his wife have been married for three years, but have no children yet. And Stefan is the same age as you. It will only be for two years. Ida has been ill and unable to work in the family bakery and asked if you’d be willing to help them out, just until she can get back on her feet.

I pictured all of them in my mind. Brigitta would be tall and slim with dark brown hair. The only Hans I knew was Hans Christian Anderson, so Hans must be fun-loving, but a hard worker. And Stefan would have a domineering personality. I always tried to picture people I had never met.

But you could have asked me before you offered my services. You’d never make this kind of decision for Mary without talking it over with her. And I know Joanne would just say no and you’d let it go. Am I right?

I know my voice had gotten louder as I tried to change mother’s mind. My sisters were twins and so close that I sometimes felt left out. They were both married and living in Illinois, one living in Peoria and one in Bloomington.

Mom reached across the table and took my hand. Carin, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. Your sisters won’t have this chance to see the world. Some day you’ll thank your father and me for giving you this gift. And don’t tell your sisters this, but you are so much more mature than your sisters were at seventeen.

Soon to be eighteen, I added, and she smiled at me. Would I ever consider this experience a gift?

My dad came in from the barn while we were talking. He pulled off his gloves and rubbed his hands together to warm them. He glanced over at us with a knowing smile. After he took off his coat he went to the stove. He found his cup in the cupboard and poured himself a cup of coffee, and then crossed the kitchen to join us.

I can see you’re discussing Germany, he said as he sat down. He looked at Mom and asked, Have you convinced her yet? There was a twinkle in his eyes.

I think we’re getting there. I think Carin will agree with us after she gets to Berlin. It will only be for two years.

She looked at me and I rolled my eyes. You make it sound like two years is not a lot of time, I said.

It’s not when you have your whole life in front of you.

My parents, Robert and Elizabeth Miller, had met in Chicago. He was at a farm auction and she was newly arrived from Germany. It was love at first sight, as Elizabeth told the story. I had heard it so many times I could recite it word for word. I thought mother was being overly romantic to believe in love at first sight.

Elizabeth had come to America with her older brother, Karl, after losing both parents in an accident. The threat of war was becoming a reality and Elizabeth’s brother wanted to get out of Germany. Their parents had left them financially comfortable so the two of them boarded a ship bound for the United States in 1911. Karl knew enough English to land a lucrative job in banking and Elizabeth struggled to find work. She ended up working for a vendor at the big auction house near the stock yards in Chicago.

Dad swept Mom off her feet and they were married within two months. The twins arrived nine months later and then I was born in 1915. Mom talked of returning to Germany some day, but I never thought that I’d have to go, and then be left there. The whole idea of living in another country would never have entered my mind.

The night before we left, Betsy, my best friend, came by with a going-away present. We talked until midnight. She had been the one to break the news that Allen was engaged. Betsy always knew how to make me laugh, but tonight we cried together knowing it would be a very long time until we’d be together again.

Mary and Joanne and their families said goodbye to us at the train station in Galesburg, amidst hugs and tears. We’d ride the train to Chicago and then on to New York where we would board the ship.

Dad phoned Uncle John to make sure everything was well at the farm before leaving New York. He knew he could trust his brother, but he’d never been away from the farm for so long. We made the trip in winter when farm work slowed down.

I saw the contrast between the facial expressions on my parents’ faces. I caught frowns of worry occasionally on my father’s face and nothing but elation on mother’s. This is the trip of a lifetime, Mom said again.

Yes, I thought, it would indeed be memorable.

I cried for the first two days on the sea. I already missed my friends and home. I met a girl who was a year older than I, and we became fast friends throughout the rest of the week. The days were sunny and the sea smooth. After a week on the ocean and another day sailing down the Elbe River, we finally landed in Hamburg, Germany.

My legs felt wobbly as I walked down the gangplank. Mom was frantically looking around for a familiar face. We didn’t know what we would have done if George and Ida Klein hadn’t been there to meet us that day. I would gladly have gotten back on the boat and gone back home.

Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Over here! A short woman was yelling and waving a white scarf in the air.

Mom ran to the woman and they threw their arms around each other. Dad and I joined the women and the two men who were with Ida.

Elizabeth, you remember my husband, George, and this is my son, Hans, Ida said while hanging on to Elizabeth’s arm. We had Gitta when you were last here and I was pregnant with Hans when you left.

And so the introductions went on. The Kleins had arranged for a hotel room for the night, and the next day we would board a train to Berlin.

The families gathered in the hotel dining room for dinner after collecting luggage and finding their rooms.

I stared at Hans sitting across the table from me. He was determined to keep the conversation centered on politics. He was of average height with dark blonde hair and brown eyes. He could be handsome if he would soften the expressions on his face. So far, all I had seen was a scowl. I got the feeling that Hans was not happy to be away from the bakery. Or else he wasn’t happy with me. He was certainly not the fun-loving man I had pictured.

The waiter served our food, filled our water glasses and left. Hans picked up his fork to begin eating. I cleared my throat and bowed my head to ask the blessing. Hans put his fork down and joined with the others as I prayed.

George and Dad were trying to find something to talk about and Ida and Mom kept up a running conversation, so that left Hans and me uncomfortable and quiet.

Have you ever worked in a bakery? Hans asked.

No, I worked in the town variety store. I did counter work, ran the cash register and stocked shelves. The store sold household goods and hardware. I was planning to attend Dickinson’s Business College, but this - opportunity came up, so here I am. I’m sure I’ll learn quickly. I know I was babbling and I ran out of breath. The whole time I was talking, Hans never looked at me, but kept his eyes down and ate his food. I thought it was very rude.

We get up at four o’clock in the morning. Are you a morning person? We have very important customers. Our bakery is within blocks of some of our most important government offices. We have even seen Herr Hitler drive by. Things will really improve now that he has come onto the scene. Germany was ravaged by the war, you know. We are still recovering, much as you are from your Depression. But Chancellor Hitler, who is now the head of the German Nazi Party, has promised better days ahead. He has—

Hans, enough. George interrupted Hans as he was bragging about Germany’s new Chancellor, Adolph Hitler. Our friends from America do not want to hear about the history of Germany. He smiled at me. I liked him.

But they should know that since President Hindenburg appointed Herr Hitler as Chancellor our economy will grow and that is good news for our bakery. Hans wasn’t willing to let it go, but he sat back, reluctantly quiet.

I lifted my glass of water to take a drink and glanced at Dad over the rim. I could tell he was bored. He had mentioned before coming to dinner that he was already missing the countryside and the farm. If George and Hans would just talk about the price of wheat or corn Dad would be happy to join the conversation. Over their years together, he had learned enough of the German language from Mom, but the Kleins were talking so fast I knew he was lost sometimes.

Carin, your mother tells me that you graduated first in your class. She is very proud of you, Ida said.

I looked at Mom and saw that pride on her face. I loved her so much. When Mary and Joanne left home, Mom and I became very close.

Yes, that is so, and I know she will be a big help in the bakery. She could even help with the bookkeeping, Elizabeth said as she reached over and patted my hand.

We do not need help with the bookkeeping, Hans broke in. I take care of the books. Carin will be working in the kitchen.

It seemed to me that every time Hans talked, he sounded angry. But then I had always thought that the German language sounded angry. Even when mother was talking about happy things, her words seemed abrupt. But something about Hans was even worse because the words were spoken with that scowl on his face. Was it my imagination or were the scowls intended just for me?

I am sure Carin will do just fine no matter where she is working, George said in an attempt to smooth over his son’s outburst. Hans has taken over all my work at the bakery, and he will be happy to have Carin’s help, is that not right, Hans?

Hans looked at Carin and said, Of course.

Yes, Carin, added Ida, we are so thankful that you have accepted our invitation to live with us for awhile. I know you probably had other plans, but think of this as a way to further your education. When you go back to your home, you will have many more opportunities with the experience you will gain by being here.

Ida had the most wonderful way of making a person feel welcome. I decided to concentrate on the good will coming from George and Ida and ignore Hans. It would only be for tonight, though, because Hans would be my boss at the bakery, and I would have to deal with him every day.

We have given Carin Gitta’s bedroom. I know she will be comfortable there. Brigitta and Albert have given us the most beautiful grandchildren. I have photographs to show you, Elizabeth, and I hope you have brought along photographs of your grandchildren. And you and Robert will have Hans’s room that has been vacant since he and Gretchen bought their house in the country.

A stab of pain cut through my heart at the thought of how far away my family was. Mary’s son and Joanne’s daughter were the delights of my life. They were so little; would they even remember Auntie Carin?

After dinner, we left Ida and Mom alone in a small room apart from the dining room. They pulled two chairs together in front of a warm fireplace and began to make up for nearly thirty years of their lives.

Dad and I kept to our room, with him pacing back and forth in front of the window. I was trying to write a letter to Betsy, but Dad’s pacing was driving me crazy.

Are you okay? I asked Dad. He didn’t answer.

Dad, are you all right? I asked again. This time he stopped and turned toward me and moved away from the window.

Oh, yes, I’m just fine. Well, I’ll admit, I’m a little worried about the farm. Never been gone this long - or this far away. I don’t know if I can last for two weeks. He sighed and pulled a chair up beside me. Are you writing to Betsy?

I put my pen down and looked at him. I miss her already. Dad was such a handsome man. My girlfriends told me they hoped to marry someone as good-looking as he. Mom was still beautiful, and my parents were still very much in love. I had hoped that Allen and I would have such a marriage.

Dad and I didn’t know what to say to each other. I think both of us would much rather be back home.

I asked, Do you know what is wrong with Ida? I can tell that she’s ill because she looks at least ten years older than Mom, and I know they’re the same age.

Dad was quiet. Yes, she’s very ill. She has congestive heart disease. I doubt that she has two years left. Your mom was desperate to see her. And truthfully, but don’t tell your mother I said this, I think this whole trip was just so your mom could connect with her friend before it was too late. I guess you just got caught in the middle of it.

Now I felt guilty for making it so difficult for Mom by arguing with her. No wonder she was adamant about visiting her friend. I determined right then to make the most of this adventure and not complain any more. After all, two years would go by so fast. And I would be better prepared for life after these new experiences. My next letter to Betsy would be full of positive comments and no more whining!

Chapter Three

The next morning we all boarded the famous train called the Flying Hamburger and arrived in Berlin in a little over two hours. Hans had left the family car at the station overnight, and after loading the luggage we piled into the dark blue Mercedes.

When we arrived, I was shocked to see Klein’s Bakery. I had pictured a quaint little bakery with two rooms, one in front for selling the baked goods, and a kitchen in back.

George Klein’s grandfather opened the bakery in the mid

Reviews for Willfully Ignorant

[Danielle Marin · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Awesome book!!! Really makes you think through our current circumstances in the US. Excellent!