Lost Treasures

“Push, Octavia. Push!” I yelled.

My wife had been in labor for more than 15 hours. She was not only weak but also worried about our child’s life. Our baby was two months premature, and my wife was very ill. I couldn’t help but think I might lose them both, and I was terrified. Just as I was about to tell my wife to push again, her heart monitor flatlined.

“Octavia!” I cried.

I tried to grasp my wife’s hand, but the nurse whisked me out of the room.

“No. I need to be with my wife!” I yelled.

“The doctor can’t have any distractions, Mr. Haiges. You need to wait outside,” the nurse said sternly.

This couldn’t be happening. Dazed, I walked over to a chair in the lobby and sat down. I put my head in my hands and cried like a baby. Octavia and I had been through so much already. We had had a rocky marriage the first few years; however, we had finally connected with the news of our baby’s impending birth.

Sweat poured from my face as I looked at my watch every few minutes during what were the loneliest hours of my life. I could not imagine going on without my dear Octavia. I had experienced enough turmoil and heartache over the years to last me a lifetime. It was only because of her that my horrible memories had begun to fade.

With tears streaming down my face, I pulled out a picture of Octavia from my wallet. She had beautiful long, reddish-blond hair and green eyes. Her warm smile melted my heart. I clutched the picture in my hand as I slid down in my chair. I tried fighting sleep as my head continued to fall back, but before I knew it, nightmares that had been haunting me for years came roaring into my head.

I was about three years old, snuggled under a ton of featherbed pillows at home in Berlitt, Brandenburg. At first, everything seemed so perfect: I was safe and warm in my bed, my belly full from a scrumptious venison dinner made by my mom. All of a sudden, I heard the loud screams of my grandfather, Herman Pein, and my Uncle Richard from outside my bedroom.

They were screaming in German at the top of their lungs. It was the early morning on March 25, 1945.  We were at war with Russia and the United States. The Russians were closing in, and everyone was on edge.

“We can’t take the gold with us, Richard!” my grandfather shouted in German. “If the Russians catch us, they’ll steal it all, and we’ll be shot without warning!”

“I’m NOT leaving my inheritance to a bunch of Communists.  They’ll be sure to find it if we leave it here!” Richard spat back.

I climbed out of bed and peeked into the living room. There were two huge wooden boxes in the middle of the floor that looked like treasure chests. My uncle opened one of them and grabbed a handful of gold coins. My eyes got as huge as saucers as my uncle played with the shiny coins in his hands.

“I’m taking as many of these as I can, and I’m getting out of here!” Richard shouted.

“No, you’re not. Your mom and I have worked hard for this money, and I will decide what to do with it. We are burying BOTH boxes under the pig barn, and we need to do it quick before the Communists come,” my grandfather said, whispering this time.

Just as my uncle was about to respond, a loud grunting noise outside quickly broke up the argument. My grandfather and uncle rushed out of the house to see what was making the racket.  It would be the last time I would ever see my Grandfather Pein alive. I ran to the window, arriving just in time to see our bull, Frederick, throw my grandfather over his back.

“Mommy! Mommy!” I cried.

“Mr. Haiges. Mr. Haiges, wake up. It’s Dr. Jean Turney.”

My eyes fluttered for a few seconds before I could make out a white jacket in front of me.

“Mr. Haiges, your wife is going to be just fine. It was touch and go for a while, but she’s going to pull through,” Dr. Turney said, smiling.

“What about my baby?” I asked worriedly.

“Your baby girl is the spitting image of her mother and is in perfect health.”

I never felt more relieved in my entire life as I rushed down the hall to see my wife. My baby girl was sleeping in her mother’s arms. I had never seen anything so beautiful. Rays of sunshine flooded the room, and my little girl seemed to soak it all in like a sweet rose. Rose, I thought. That’s her name. My future never seemed brighter.

I picked up my daughter for the first time and rocked her back and forth in my arms. Her sweet smile reminded me of happy childhood memories. I didn’t have many, but there was a time when I thought nothing bad could ever enter my world.

I now live in the small town of Milton, Wisconsin, with Octavia and my daughter Rose and have become a successful businessman. However, the first fifteen years of my life haunted me for the longest time.