Several minutes later Willy returned wearing Rahm’s uniform. Ursula’s eyebrows furrowed as she focused on the large bloodstain near the hem. Willy took the driver’s seat, then instructed Svoboda to sit in the front passenger seat. Willy started the car and drove back the way they’d come. No one spoke for some time. Finally, Svoboda said, “You were right, Ursula.”
Ursula blinked several times. It took a full minute to return from the safe, dark space where she’d found refuge after killing Rahm.
“What?”
“A long time ago you told me that I wasn’t a Nazi, just a simple Czech policeman caught up in the chaos.” He turned to face her. “I’m not proud of many of my choices, but I am proud that I shot that pig. That disgusting, awful man.” He glanced at Addi, who held out her hand. He grabbed it like a lifeline and held on.
Ursula nodded. She didn’t know what else to do.
“Where are we going?” Addi asked as they drove past the turn-off for Terezín.
Willy caught Ursula’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “We’re going home.”
Home. Where is that? Ursula wondered. It had been a lifetime since she’d been home.
“But we’ll have to drive through many checkpoints to get to Switzerland,” Svoboda said.
“I know. But in this car we won’t be questioned. And if we are, I’ll use Rahm’s uniform to bluff my way through. If that doesn’t work, I have five thousand American dollars to use for bribes.”
“Your uncle will hunt us,” Ursula said quietly. Her entire body was shaking, but she felt nothing. She was numb.
Willy swerved around a large hole in the road. “That’s true. But if we drive through the night, I believe we can be in Switzerland before he realizes that we escaped.”
The setting sun shone through Addi’s window and bounced off the three diamonds that lay on the hat Ilse had given them. An impossibly bright rainbow of color burst onto the seats. Ursula retrieved the hat and stared at the stones.
You will never forget me, Ilse had said. Ursula smiled. She was correct. Addi and she would never forget her. Nor would Willy or Svoboda when they discovered their good fortune.
Although she knew they had a long way to go, for the first time in years Ursula felt free. She rolled down the window and inhaled the warm, fresh air, then reached across the seat and squeezed Addi’s hand. She held up one of the diamonds so it caught the light. The flash drew Willy’s eyes in the rearview mirror, and he slammed on the brakes.
“Is that . . . what is that?” he asked breathlessly.
Ursula’s eyes twinkled. “There were three of them sewn into the seam of the hat Ilse gave us. They are our assurance of freedom and a future. All of us.”
1957
Epilogue
“No, no, no! Please, Mom! More! You can’t leave us hanging like this,” eleven-year-old Margaret whined.
“Yeah, Mom. You do this all the time,” Elizabeth chimed in. “Please, for once, finish the story! What happened to the woman who shot the commandant? Was she caught?”
“No. She was not,” Ursula said.
Margaret huffed. “But where did she go? And what about the other guard and the girl?”
Billy lay in his bed, covers up to his chin. Ever thoughtful, he examined his mother carefully. “Leave Mommy alone,” he said. “She’ll tell us when she’s ready. I don’t think she’s made up the rest of the story yet.”
Ursula gazed at her youngest. The five-year-old had been born prematurely and barely survived birth, then beat the odds again by living well past the two-year mark that doctors had predicted. His eyes were a reflection of her own and held wisdom well beyond his years, as if God had given him a sixth sense to make up for the physical prowess he would always lack. She winked at him and stroked his hair. “Thank you, Billy.”
“You need to write this stuff down, Mom. It would be a great book,” Margaret offered.
Elizabeth blew out a mouthful of air. “You’re an idiot, Maggie. No one would believe that four escaped convicts shot a Nazi officer and bribed their way to the Swiss border without being caught. It’s ridiculous.”
“They weren’t convicts and don’t call me an idiot! You’re the idiot. They were running for their lives, and don’t you know that a lot of concentration camp victims sewed jewelry and stones into their clothing? Just like Anastasia in Russia. Remember the little princess who died with her family?”
“That’s stupid, Maggie!” Elizabeth retorted. “And not true.”
“You’re just mad because I know stuff you don’t!”
As the girls bickered, Billy held his mother’s eyes. She stroked the cowlick in the center of his forehead, and her mind wandered back to Markus, the teenager on the train. So many people, so many friends gone. She had recently sent her monthly correspondence to Ilse in Berlin, only to receive a letter from Ilse’s niece stating that she had suffered a fatal stroke the previous week. The niece wrote that many of the Brundibár cast had appeared at her funeral, now grown and some with children of their own. She had enclosed a picture that Ursula devoured, trying to place grown faces with names. In all, twenty-eight of the forty cast members had survived Terezín.
Ursula had saved those children’s lives just as Ilse had saved hers, Willy’s, Edvard’s, and Addi’s. It had taken the car, the uniform, the money, and the three diamonds to make it to Switzerland. If they hadn’t been in possession of the diamonds for the final checkpoint, all four of them would have perished less than six kilometers from freedom.
Ursula silently thanked Ilse and leaned down to kiss Billy good night. “I love you so much.”
He smiled crookedly, his crossbite causing a lisp as he whispered, “I know it’s all true, Mommy. I know that it’s you and Daddy in the story. I’m glad you’re my Mommy.”
Ursula stifled a sob that threatened to unleash a torrent of long-packed-away memories. She stood abruptly, then kissed all three of them. “Remember, tomorrow we’re going to Auntie Addi’s art exhibit.”
Margaret rolled her eyes.
Elizabeth asked, “Do we have to go? Art shows are so boring!”
“She is family and we’re going,” Ursula said.
“She’s not really family,” Elizabeth countered.
Ursula paused, trying to figure out the best way to express her feelings. There was no effective manner in which she could communicate her depth of commitment for those with whom she’d fought for her very existence. “Some family you are born into. Other family you choose based on shared experiences that bind you. Both bonds are unbreakable and priceless. So, we will go to Aunt Addi’s art show and support her gallery opening because she is family, and we love her.”
“Will Theodor be there?” Billy asked.
Ursula smiled. “Of course. He’s your cousin.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Not by blood.”
“Are Aunt Addi and Uncle Edvard married?” Margaret asked. “Neither of them wears a ring but they live together and have a son. It’s kinda weird.”
Ursula made a face. “So many questions this evening, children! They are a strong couple who care for each other very much. Again, bonds make family. Now, girls, go to your room. It’s time to sleep. I love you.” She blew a kiss to each of them and exited the room to find Willy standing in the hallway, his arms spread wide in invitation.
The girls burst from Billy’s room, running down the hallway in a race to their bunk beds.
“Good night,” Willy said as he jumped out of their way. Their door slammed shut. “I love you too!” he called after them.
Ursula laughed and snuggled against Willy’s chest. He enclosed her in a warm, long embrace, rocking her like Otto used to when she was a child.
“They’re becoming more curious, aren’t they?”
Ursula nodded against his chest. “They sure are.”
They stoo
d contentedly near the hallway window, listening to the mesmerizing drone of cicadas as they searched for a mate.
“I miss my father, Willy.”
“I know you do. I do too.”
“I wish he were here to see his grandchildren grow up.”
“At least he got to meet them before he passed.”
“True.”
Willy kissed her forehead, then traced the scar on her cheek. “Besides, my mother will be around forever. She’s enough grandparent for fifteen kids.”
Ursula’s mind wandered to Billy. The way he had looked at her . . . as if he saw through her. “Billy knows that all of my stories are true. That’s what he told me.”
Willy pulled away and looked at her with concern. “Really?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Maybe that’s why the girls are starting to ask more questions.”
“Do you think we should tell them the truth?”
Willy sighed heavily. “We changed our surname to Stuart-Houston so no one would know our past. I’d like to keep it that way. Besides, how do you tell a child that his true last name is Hitler?”
Note to the Reader
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When I read historical fiction, I always want to know what is based on fact and what’s created in the author’s imagination. Let me clear that up for you, point by excruciating point.
Ursula Becker is loosely based on Lotte Schoene (1891–1977), a soprano of Jewish descent who sang with the Vienna State Opera, Salzburg Festival, and Berlin State Opera (where Ursula sang). As the Nazi regime gained power, Ms. Schoene wisely decided to relocate to Paris, where she sang with the Opera-Comique and the Paris Opera. She remained in France until her death in 1977. She was not affiliated with Willy Hitler and never interacted with Adolf Hitler to my knowledge. There were many artists and musicians who emigrated from Germany, Poland, Czechoslovakia, and other countries in an effort to avoid persecution and retribution. Ms. Schoene was one of them, as was Carl Ebert, who emigrated to England to protest Hitler’s obsession with performing only German/Austrian works. It’s of note that other directors were forced out due to Hitler’s prejudices as well.
Otto Becker is fictional, although the practical decisions he makes most likely represent the terrifying situation for so many families in Nazi Germany. Anna Becker is also fictional, but as I wrote, she became Eva Braun in my mind. Many descriptions of Anna’s behavior and decisions were based on similar actions taken by Eva Braun.
Fritz Rosen is fictional and represents the hardworking people in opera houses all over the world. People who work tirelessly behind the scenes to ensure that the people on stage are successful. Likewise, Hilde, the makeup and hair artist, is fictional. Finally, Marika and Addi (Ursula’s Terezín friends) are fictional and represent the sisterhood that must have been developed to maintain hope in an otherwise bleak situation.
Anyone with the surname Hitler was based on real people: Willy, Adolf, Alois, Bridget. William Patrick Hitler (Willy) was the son of Adolf’s half brother, Alois, making Willy the Führer’s half nephew. I refer to him as Adolf’s “nephew” for ease of reading. Willy’s mother was Bridget Dowling Hitler, an Irishwoman who married Alois Hitler. Alois did go to Germany on a gambling tour and did abandon Bridget and Willy in England, where Bridget raised Willy on her own. Alois remained in Germany, where he married bigamously and had another son. When Willy was grown, he went to Germany and worked in the banking and automotive industries. Uncle Adolf wanted him to join the Party, but he declined, leading to a disagreement between them that culminated in the cocktail party scene where Hitler brandishes a whip. All terrifyingly true—embellished but based on Willy’s account of events in Why I Hate My Uncle, which was published in Look magazine. It’s also true that William Randolph Hearst sponsored Willy’s U.S. speaking tour. Stranded in the United States when World War II broke out, Willy received special dispensation from President Roosevelt to join the U.S. Navy and returned to Germany to fight with the Allies. After the war he married Phyllis Jean-Jacques and settled in New York, where he ran a home-based laboratory business and had four sons.
The story Willy tells about Hitler’s niece Geli Raubal (the daughter of Hitler’s half sister Angela Raubal) is based on real events. Adolf and Geli did have a tumultuous relationship, and Willy claimed that the extended family knew that Geli was pregnant when she died. She was twenty-three when she was found in Adolf’s Munich apartment, dead of a gunshot wound from his pistol. It was quickly ruled a suicide. Her body was quickly removed, and the incident was covered up, so no one knows exactly what happened. Verbal and written accounts following Geli’s death confirm that Hitler was distraught to the point of suicide. He retreated to a friend’s home and spent weeks wallowing in guilt and melancholy. When he emerged, his demeanor changed abruptly and dramatically for the worse. One can only imagine (as I have) what might have happened if Hitler came across someone who so closely resembled Geli, a young woman whom he couldn’t control, and with whom he was, by all accounts, obsessed.
The descriptions of changes made within the Berlin Opera were all real. Hitler removed seats in the auditorium so that he could have a better view. Hitler was an avid operagoer and actively followed famous actresses and opera singers of the day. Given his nature, he would have wanted, at the very least, to be surrounded by them, if not adored by them. To have one of them dismiss him as ridiculous (as Ursula did) would be untenable, especially given her physical similarity to Geli, who had given him the ultimate humiliation by killing herself.
The Drottningholm was a real ship that Great Britain purchased from the United States in order to repatriate English citizens. Its Swedish registration allowed it safe passage, even in the midst of war. The description of the stateroom was based on the SS New York that ran between Hamburg, Southampton, and New York prior to World War II.
At the height of his power, Hitler had at least three planes for his personal use. Cabin pressurization came into use in 1938. Hitler’s planes were some of the first to take advantage of it, thereby no longer needing oxygen masks to fly above fifteen-thousand feet.
The story that Joseph Goebbels tells Ursula of the Chancellery rug being purchased by Hitler from the League of Nations is also true. Hitler liked to tell that tale because he came out as a hero, saving the League from embarrassment.
Hitler’s personal limousine was spacious and bulletproof, but it had only a front seat and a back seat. Hitler liked to sit in the front seat with his driver, often referring to maps or chatting.
Elizabeth Layton was Winston Churchill’s secretary from 1941–1945. To my knowledge, she never met Willy Hitler.
Blondi, Adolf’s beloved German shepherd, was real. It’s also true that Eva Braun (Adolf’s mistress and then wife) was jealous of the time Adolf spent with Blondi and would sometimes kick the dog under the table. Adolf had several German shepherds, but Blondi was his favorite and was with him when he died in the bunker in 1945. In fact, Hitler gave Blondi a cyanide capsule prior to swallowing one himself (and then shooting himself to ensure his death). Eva Braun (Anna Becker in this story) married Hitler two days before joining him in suicide via cyanide.
All artists (composers, conductors, singers, actresses, and authors) with whom Ursula comes into contact are based on real people, except for Addi. I have used their real names when I was able, but I have taken some artistic liberties with their actions and mannerisms.
Rafael Schächter was a Czech composer and conductor who led the cultural effort within Terezín. While there he directed several full operas, as well as conducting Verdi’s Requiem
at least sixteen times. He was sent to Auschwitz after the final Verdi performance and died on October 6, 1944.
Hans Krása was a Czech composer who wrote Brundibár, which was first performed in an orphanage prior to his being sent to Terezín. He managed to smuggle the piano score into the ghetto and reconstructed the rest of the musical score once imprisoned. Krása was integral to cultural life in Terezín. He died on October 6, 1944, in Auschwitz.
Gideon Klein was a Czech pianist and composer who, along with Rafael Schächter, was an integral part of cultural life in Terezín. Some of his compositions were smuggled out of Terezín and survive today. He did accompany the Brundibár rehearsals.
Ilse Weber was a German poet, composer, and playwright who wrote primarily for children, including the book she reads to the children in this story. She died in Auschwitz on October 6, 1944.
Jakob Edelstein was president of the Jewish Council in Terezín and was responsible for the administration of the camp under the direction of the SS.
Raoul Wallenburg was a Swedish diplomat who launched rescue operations for Jews during the Holocaust. He saved thousands of lives by issuing Swedish passports and hiding Jews in rented buildings in Budapest. Because of his activism, he was named an honorary citizen of the United States, Canada, Israel, and Australia. Mr. Wallenburg was captured and jailed by the Soviets in January 1945, where he is assumed to have died approximately two years later, but accurate records are impossible to obtain. He has a tree dedicated to his memory and heroism on the Avenue of the Righteous in the area of the Yad Vashem memorial in Jerusalem. Mr. Wallenburg did not attend the International Red Cross visit on June 23, 1944, and, to my knowledge, never met Willy Hitler. Visit https://sweden.se/society/raoul-wallenberg-a-man-who-made-a-difference/ for more information.
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