In the early fifties my younger brother and I were preschool age, and my Mother took a temporary position, at an office nearby our home. After interviewing several women Mother told us a lady named Anna would be taking care of us during the day.

I think the possibility of missing my Mother may have been softened by the jovial Anna who came to be part of our home. Oh, she always took a bus to her home at night, when Mother returned, because she had a husband and his name was Peter. And she would want to go home and be with him.

Anna was someone who spoke with a particular speech that we hadn't heard before, but she was also a very good story teller. And each afternoon before our naps, she would put on her "thinking cap" and pretend to pull a "tale" out to share with us.

Always in suspense until the end of her story, my brother and I sat beside her watching her facial expressions as she spoke. Often I would feel sad and want to cry about the things she would tell us, but then she'd remind me, "Be brave, Diane."

Some times after our nap we were excited to see Anna stretching a special dough over the entire size of our kitchen table. It was something she had learned from her Mother, and she would talk as she was stretching, punching and shaping the dough. When she got it to the size she wanted, she would fold it and add an apple filling, sprinkle sugar and cinnamon and all her other "secret ingredients" and then fold and shape it some more.

When Anna was done with her stretching and shaping and filling and folding; the dough went into pans where she baked it in the oven. The smell was wonderful, and I would help her as we cleaned up every speck of flour from the table and the floor. Mother always gave her some of the wonderful strudel that she made, because as my Mother said, "It is a gift to have Anna, and cooking and baking are not part of her duties."

During the bitter winter, one afternoon, the snow fell so hard that we had several feet before evening, and my Mother was late coming home. Anna was not sure the bus would be running, and soon there was a knock on the door. It was her "beloved Peter," as she called him. He was there to take her home. We watched and waved good-bye, and saw them trying to jump over a big mound of snow. Finally Peter swung Anna up high, and lifting her over the large mounds of snow, they ran off holding hands. I remember my Mother saying something about "Anna and Peter being brave survivors."

One night when I was in bed, I asked my Mother about her remark. She said, "Diane, do you remember all the stories you would hear Anna tell, and how some of them made you sad?" Yes, I certainly remembered Anna's wonderful stories.

"Well, those weren't made up stories, they were real. And they were about Anna and Peter and how they were in a concentration camp in Germany when they were first married."

"You mean the awful things the people did to them and the food they couldn't eat, and the nights when she was cold and thirsty that was all about her?" I asked in total disbelief.

"Yes," my Mother responded, "And much more. You see it was only because the War ended, that they were freed, and finally able to escape the horrible camp. They had some family over here, so they came right to America. And we must be thankful God took care of them and brought her to us."

"Yes," I said, "And where she could make some of the best strudel I've ever, ever tasted."

My Mother laughed, "Well, the strudel was a gift, the blessing was that Anna and Peter are happy and living a good life now." My Mothers kiss felt soft on my cheek, and I fell asleep thinking of how happy I was that Anna had been freed, and came to be a friend of mine.

?© Diane Dean White

Diane is a former newspaper reporter and currently a freelance writer and author. She has shared her stories with a wide range of publications as well as websites online. She is married to Stephen and they are the parents of three grown children and two grand-gals. They make their home on the Carolina Coast. Diane is the author of Beach Walks and recently released Carolina in the Morning, a moving story set in present day near Charleston, SC introducing adventure, history and romance into the life of some exciting people. To read more, please visit Diane's website at http://www.dianedeanwhite.com/