The House of Secrets

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  Mrs McDougal had placed coloured streamers around the kitchen and decorated the giant workspace with various bouquets of flowers that had been sent to Dr Geisler by friends and well-wishers. A cake with white icing sat on the table, along with fresh pots of coffee and tea. Alice hung her apron on the hook as I came in the room. Minna, dressed head to toe in black, held an empty cigarette holder. The bruises that covered her face had morphed into vivid blue. Eunice and Nurse Joffey came into the room together. A chair had been brought in from Dr Geisler’s office and arranged near the table, so the doctor would have a comfortable place to sit.

  We heard the car pull into the garage. Zeke opened the door and came in first, followed by Dr Geisler and one of the orderlies.

  Zeke took off his hat and put it on the same hook as Alice’s apron. He winked at me, and I knew just at that moment that everything would be okay.

  Dr Geisler followed behind him, accompanied by an orderly who stood ready to catch him if he fell. Dr Geisler’s cheekbones jutted. His face was pale, but his eyes were bright. ‘It’s so good to see you all,’ he said.

  ‘We’re glad you’re back.’ Mrs McDougal’s voice broke. She wiped the tears from her eyes.

  ‘Matthew,’ Minna whispered as she went to him.

  He pulled her into his arms in a deep embrace.

  They remained in each other’s arms long enough for all of us who stood by watching to become uncomfortable. Nurse Joffey looked at her watch. Eunice rolled her eyes, scoffing at the public display of affection.

  Finally Dr Geisler and Minna let go of each other. Dr Geisler took in the sight of Minna and the injuries she had suffered at Bethany’s hands.

  ‘What’s happened to your face? That’s not from—’

  The orderly, a hulking strong man, moved the chair under Dr Geisler just as he collapsed into it. Behind him, Alysse appeared. She stroked his hair with a ghostly touch that he couldn’t feel before she bent down to kiss him, planting her lips on the bandage. She stood near him, and as she placed her hands on his shoulders, a halo of white light flowed over the two of them.

  ‘It’s freezing in here,’ Eunice said.

  Dr Geisler reached up and placed his hand on his shoulder, connecting with Alysse, but not realizing it. His eyes met mine, as he sat like that, connected to his dead sister.

  I nodded at him, answering the question that he couldn’t ask.

  ‘I want to thank each and every one of you for standing by me during this time.’ He acknowledged all of us. ‘I’m so sorry for what my wife has done. I can’t comprehend it. I don’t understand it, but I would like to look forward now.’ He faced Minna, who stood near Mrs McDougal, upright and proud, despite her bruised face. ‘Minna, can you ever forgive me?’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive, Matthew. I’m at fault here, too. I should never have expected you to manage my finances. What is it with us women? Why are we taught to find a man to handle things for us? I can manage my own business – no offence, Matthew, darling— – as well as, if not better than, you can. If anyone is to blame in this business, it’s me for providing Bethany with the temptation of money. The ironic thing is, I would have given it to her if she had asked.’

  Matthew grabbed Minna’s hand. ‘I know you would.’

  A knock at the kitchen door startled us all.

  Cynthia banged on the door, trying to hold an umbrella over Aunt Lillian’s giant turban. ‘Let us in, for crying out loud.’

  I hurried to the door. Cynthia came into the kitchen, dripping puddles onto Mrs McDougal’s floor. Aunt Lillian had managed to keep herself, her turban, and the box she carried dry.

  ‘We’ve come bearing gifts.’ Cynthia handed her hat to Mrs McDougal. She slipped off her raincoat and handed it to Alice. Alice took the hat from Mrs McDougal and slipped away to hang it to dry.

  ‘Would someone please help me with this box? It weighs a ton,’ Aunt Lillian said.

  I went to help her.

  I took the box and set it on the table. ‘What’s in here?’

  ‘The biggest piece of roast beef I could find.’ Aunt Lillian beamed at all of us. ‘I thought you all could use a little something special.’

  Mrs McDougal walked to the box. She lifted the lid, took one look at the slab of beef wrapped in paper, and burst into tears.

  * * *

  ‘Hello?’ Minna stood in my doorway, holding a dozen long-stemmed roses in a stunning shade of yellow arranged in a white porcelain vase that was beautiful in its own right. ‘These are for you, a small gift for saving my life.’

  ‘They’re lovely.’ I got up and made a place for them on the small writing desk by my window.

  ‘I heard you’re leaving us?’ The swelling in Minna’s split lip made her smile a little lopsided, but despite that, she still managed a look of easy elegance.

  ‘Well, I’ve finished my work, and Cynthia’s aunt has asked me to stay with her while I figure out what to do next.’

  ‘I’ll bet you’ll be glad to get away from here,’ she said.

  ‘Actually, I’ve grown rather fond of this place.’ I paused, careful how I formed my words. ‘About that day at Mrs Wills’s…’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Minna said. ‘I know what you are. I know what you can do. Best keep it a secret.’ She sat down on my bed. ‘Something tells me you are going to have an interesting life, Sarah.’

  ‘These recent months have not been what I expected. What about you? What will you do?’

  ‘I’m going to stay here and help Matthew get his finances together. We’ve discussed it already, and he is eager for my help. He admits he’s a good doctor, but he has no business sense whatsoever.’ She pulled her sweater tighter around her. ‘It’s time I took charge of my own life. I’m finished running away and looking over my shoulder. Gregory is dead, and if he isn’t, I can face him. My father is going to prison, either that, or he will hang for treason. I find that I don’t care one way or another. I owe you a debt, Sarah. If I can ever do anything for you, all you need to do is ask.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘Your friend Cynthia is my hero. Roast beef. Can you believe it?’

  * * *

  Later that evening, we reconvened in the kitchen for the feast of roast beef, potatoes, and carrots, along with fresh peas. There was enough for everyone, even the patients. And although Miss Joffey had to stay in the hospital wing, Eunice Martin and the orderly, Mack Montgomery, who had driven Dr Geisler home from the hospital, sat at the table with us. Mr Montgomery came from a large family. He regaled us with interesting stories of his brothers and sisters. The roast was sublime.

  When we pushed away from the table that night, we all had something for which to be grateful. Mack and Eunice went back up to the hospital wing, carrying a plate for Miss Joffey.

  Zeke and I sat next to each other. I listened, content, as he and Dr Geisler talked about the war and the ships that were being built in Sausalito. I savoured my surroundings, the familial warmth of the kitchen, and realized I would maintain a friendship with Dr Geisler. We had much to teach each other. Mrs McDougal and Detective Morrisey were rinsing the dishes and stacking them in the sink.

  Every now and then their shoulders would touch, and they would stop what they were doing, just to enjoy the physical connection.

  ‘Are you happy?’ Zeke whispered in my ear.

  I nodded.

  Alice, who had also stayed to eat with us at Dr Geisler’s insistence, offered to bring us coffee in the north parlour, where a fire waited for us. After we arranged ourselves on the sofas, Alice brought the coffee and sat with us. We didn’t listen to the radio that night. We just enjoyed the rain on the windows, the warm fire, and our full bellies. I sat next to Zeke and leaned in to his warm body.

  Dr Geisler sipped the mug of tea with lemon and honey that Minna had brought him. ‘Sarah, you’ve done a fine job on my manuscript.’

  ‘What are your plans?’ Detective Morrisey asked. He and Mrs McDougal sat together on the sofa opposite Zeke and m
e.

  ‘I’m going to stay with Cynthia’s aunt. She has plenty of room, and—’

  The familiar notes of Beethoven’s ‘Für Elise’ wafted up from the foyer. We all sat up and listened.

  ‘That’s Mr Collins,’ Dr Geisler said.

  He led the way to the foyer. Mr Collins sat at the piano, his eyes closed, playing his heart out. Alysse shimmered behind him, her hands resting on his shoulders. She looked at me and winked.

  When the last note hung in the air, Mr Collins turned to us, his eyes bright and knowing.

  ‘That was for the bride,’ he said.

  Alysse brushed the back of his head with her ghost’s kiss. Mr Collins reached up and touched the exact spot where her lips had graced him.

  I smiled and held up my left hand to reveal the heavy gold band that Zeke had given me earlier. Everyone crowded around us, wishing us congratulations. Dr Geisler ordered champagne, and Mrs McDougal and, of course, Detective Morrisey went to get it. Aunt Lillian and Cynthia crowded around Zeke.

  I moved away from the group and watched Alysse, who stood by the piano in a shimmering halo of light.

  ‘Thank you, Sarah,’ she said.

  She disappeared, having saved her brother, and, in some ways, saving me.

  Dr Geisler uncorked the champagne, and the glasses were filled. We drank to our engagement. We drank to Dr Geisler’s health. We drank to new friends and old.

  And the weeping was no more.

  Turn the page for an extract from Terry Lynn Thomas’s gripping The Silent Woman

  Prologue

  Berlin, May 1936

  It rained the day the Gestapo came.

  Dieter Reinsinger didn’t mind the rain. He liked the sound of the drops on the tight fabric of his umbrella as he walked from his office on Wilhelmstrasse to the flat he shared with his sister Leni and her husband Michael on Nollendorfstrasse. The trip took him the good part of an hour, but he walked to and from work every day, come rain or shine. He passed the familiar apartments and plazas, nodding at the familiar faces with a smile.

  Dieter liked his routine. He passed Mrs Kleiman’s bakery, and longed for the pfannkuchen that used to tempt passers-by from the display window. He remembered Mrs Kleiman’s kind ways, as she would beckon him into the shop, where she would sit with him and share a plate of the jelly doughnuts and the strong coffee that she brewed especially to his liking. She was a kind woman, who had lost her husband and only son in the war.

  In January the Reich took over the bakery, replacing gentle Mrs Kleiman with a ham-fisted Fräulein with a surly attitude and no skill in the kitchen whatsoever. No use complaining over things that cannot be fixed, Dieter chided himself. He found he no longer had a taste for pfannkuchen.

  By the time he turned onto his block, his sodden trouser legs clung to his calves. He didn’t care. He thought of the hot coffee he would have when he got home, followed by the vegetable soup that Leni had started that morning. Dieter ignored the changes taking place around him. If he just kept to himself, he could rationalize the gangs of soldiers that patrolled the streets, taking pleasure in the fear they induced. He could ignore the lack of fresh butter, soap, sugar, and coffee. He could ignore the clenching in his belly every time he saw the pictures of Adolf Hitler, which hung in every shop, home, café, and business in Berlin. If he could carry on as usual, Dieter could convince himself that things were just as they used to be.

  He turned onto his block and stopped short when he saw the black Mercedes parked at the kerb in front of his apartment. The lobby door was open. The pavement around the apartment deserted. He knew this day would come – how could it not? He just didn’t know it would come so soon. The Mercedes was running, the windscreen wipers swooshing back and forth. Without thinking, Dieter shut his umbrella and tucked himself into the sheltered doorway of the apartment building across the street. He peered through the pale rain and bided his time. Soon he would be rid of Michael Blackwell. Soon he and Leni could get back to living their quiet life. Leni would thank him in the end. How could she not?

  Dieter was a loyal German. He had enlisted in the Deutsches Heer – the Germany army – as an 18-year-old boy. He had fought in the trenches and had lived to tell about it. He came home a hardened man – grateful to still have his arms and legs attached – ready to settle down to a simple life. Dieter didn’t want a wife. He didn’t like women much. He didn’t care much for sex, and he had Leni to care for the house. All Dieter needed was a comfortable chair at the end of the day and food for his belly. He wanted nothing else.

  Leni was five years younger than Dieter. She’d celebrated her 40th birthday in March, but to Dieter she would always be a child. While Dieter was steadfast and hardworking, Leni was wild and flighty. When she was younger she had thought she would try to be a dancer, but quickly found that she lacked the required discipline. After dancing, she turned to painting and poured her passion into her work for a year. The walls of the flat were covered with canvases filled with splatters of vivid paint. She used her considerable charm to connive a showing at a small gallery, but her work wasn’t well received.

  Leni claimed that no one understood her. She tossed her paintbrushes and supplies in the rubbish bin and moved on to writing. Writing was a good preoccupation for Leni. Now she called herself a writer, but rarely sat down to work. She had a desk tucked into one of the corners of the apartment, complete with a sterling fountain pen and inkwell, a gift from Dieter, who held a secret hope that his restless sister had found her calling.

  Now Michael Blackwell commandeered the writing desk, the silver pen, and the damned inkwell. Just like he commandeered everything else.

  For a long time, Leni kept her relationship with Michael Blackwell a secret. Dieter noticed small changes: the inkwell in a different spot on Leni’s writing desk and the bottle of ink actually being used. The stack of linen writing paper depleted. Had Leni started writing in earnest? Something had infused her spirit with a new effervescence. Her cheeks had a new glow to them. Leni floated around the apartment. She hummed as she cooked. Dieter assumed that his sister – like him – had discovered passion in a vocation. She bought new dresses and took special care with her appearance. When Dieter asked how she had paid for them, she told him she had been economical with the housekeeping money.

  For the first time ever, the household ran smoothly. Meals were produced on time, laundry was folded and put away, and the house sparkled. Dieter should have been suspicious. He wasn’t.

  He discovered them in bed together on a beautiful September day when a client had cancelled an appointment and Dieter had decided to go home early. He looked forward to sitting in his chair in front of the window, while Leni brought him lunch and a stein filled with thick dark beer on a tray. These thoughts of home and hearth were in his mind when he let himself into the flat and heard the moan – soft as a heartbeat – coming from Leni’s room. Thinking that she had fallen and hurt herself, Dieter burst into the bedroom, only to discover his sister naked in the bed, her limbs entwined with the long muscular legs of Michael Blackwell.

  ‘Good God,’ Michael said as he rolled off Leni and covered them both under the eiderdown. Dieter hated Michael Blackwell then, hated the way he shielded his sister, as if Leni needed protection from her own brother. Dieter bit back the scream that threatened and with great effort forced himself to unfurl his hands, which he was surprised to discover had clenched into tight fists. He swallowed the anger, taking it back into his gut where it could fester.

  Leni sat up, the golden sun from the window forming a halo around her body as she held the blanket over her breasts. ‘Dieter, darling,’ she giggled. ‘I’d like you to meet my husband.’ Dieter took the giggle as a taunting insult. It sent his mind spinning. For the first time in his life, he wanted to throttle his sister.

  At least Michael Blackwell had the sense to look sheepish. ‘I’d shake your hand, but I’m afraid …’

  ‘We’ll explain everything,’ Leni said. ‘Let us get dress
ed. Michael said he’d treat us to a special dinner. We must celebrate!’

  Dieter had turned on his heel and left the flat. He didn’t return until late that evening, expecting Leni to be alone, hurt, or even angry with him. He expected her to come running to the door when he let himself in and beg his forgiveness. But Leni wasn’t alone. She and Michael were waiting for Dieter, sitting on the couch. Leni pouted. Michael insisted the three of them talk it out and come to an understanding. ‘Your sister loves you, Dieter. Don’t make her choose between us.’

  Michael took charge – as he was wont to do. Leni explained that she loved Michael, and that they had been seeing each other for months, right under Dieter’s nose. Dieter imagined the two of them, naked, loving each other, while he slaved at the office to put food on the table.

  ‘You could have told me, Leni,’ he said to his sister. ‘I’ve never kept anything from you.’

  ‘You would have forbidden me to see him,’ Leni said. She had taken Michael’s hand. ‘And I would have defied you.’

  She was right. He would have forbidden the relationship. As for Leni’s defiance, Dieter could forgive his foolish sister that trespass. Michael Blackwell would pay the penance for Leni’s sins. After all, he was to blame for them.

  Leni left them to discuss the situation man to man. Dieter found himself telling Michael about their parents’ deaths and the life he and Leni shared. Michael told Dieter that he was a journalist in England and was in Germany to research a book. So that’s where the ink and paper have been going, Dieter thought. When he realized that for the past few months Michael and Leni had been spending their days here, in the flat that he paid for, Dieter hated Michael Blackwell even more. But he didn’t show it.