A knock at the door broke my reverie, and I looked up, startled, from the list of names I had begun writing down.
It was Ida, the housemaid. ‘Frau Hecker, there’s a letter for you.’
‘Thank you, Ida,’ said Tante Elya, frowning. It was strange to receive a letter so late in the day. ‘I’ll read it now while I finish my tea.’ The maid walked smartly across the timber floor, her steps becoming muffled on the Persian rug under the table. Elya took the letter and dismissed Ida who already had her coat across her arm, ready to go home to the village for the evening.
‘Do you want me to leave you in peace?’ I asked, noticing Tante Elya’s frown deepening as she turned the letter over in her hands.
‘No, of course not,’ she said as if coming out of a daze. ‘Keep working on the guest list while I read this. Then we can get back to planning your big day.’ She smiled, but I could see worry lurking in her eyes.
I set back to work as she asked, but my heart wasn’t really in it. My gaze darted across to her as she began to read the letter, her steaming cup of tea forgotten on the table. Suddenly she put her hand to her mouth, as if to prevent a gasp escaping.
‘Tante Elya, what’s wrong?’ I put the fountain pen down.
Her eyes were wide with fear as she glanced across to me. ‘Susanna, can you tell Ida to find Onkel Georg and ask him to come to the parlour?’
‘Ida’s gone home, I think,’ I said, already pushing my chair back to stand. ‘I’ll go and find him.’
‘Go quickly, I have to speak with him urgently.’
I paused for a moment, hugging her impulsively, her small frame trembling, before I rushed out the door. Whatever was in that letter had shaken her.
Although she was petite, Tante Elya commanded authority wherever she went. She had an inner strength, a core of steel that I suspected she developed when her family had fled Russia after the 1905 pogroms in Kiev when she was the same age I had been when I lost my family. She had told Leo and me stories of being separated from her mother and brothers as they tried to flee after their house was attacked, then looted and vandalised. She was chased down the alleyways of the city by Cossacks on horseback, with the sounds of screams in her ears. She was finally reunited with her father, who had watched, horrified, as a mob destroyed his office, before racing away to warn his family of the impending danger. Only later did she learn that her mother had been crushed, trampled by a soldier’s horse in the mayhem, while trying to escape the rioting crowd. Mercifully her brothers were swept away to safety by the sea of terrified people.
The experience had left an indelible mark on Elya. Her father later moved them west to Berlin, a progressive city where they could live in safety and he could set up his legal practice once again. He was determined to embrace German ways and secure a future for his children among educated Christian society where their Jewish heritage could pose no danger to them. Elya was sent to an expensive school where my mother took her under her wing. My mother was fascinated by Elya’s Russian background and ancestry and was fiercely protective of her, teaching her to modulate her accent so that she spoke like a Berliner, and introducing her to the world of the German aristocracy. This was how Elya met Onkel Georg, whose family were old friends of my mother’s family.
Tante Elya always told us that Gut Birkenhof had felt like home to her – here, she could be herself, a strange mixture of Russian, Jew and German. It was a place where she could raise her own family in safety, surrounded by the close-knit community. She was always the first one to help those in need and stand up for people who had been treated unfairly. The loss of her own mother had made her compassionate and kind, and when my mother died, she made every effort to ensure I didn’t suffer alone. But whatever was in the letter had disturbed this strong, indomitable woman.
Onkel Georg was in his study. He didn’t utter a word when I told him what had happened, only pressed his lips tightly together, pushed his chair back from the large walnut desk and walked quickly to the parlour, where he closed the door firmly behind him.
I knew better than to ask questions. Although we outwardly appeared a normal German family, we lived in constant uncertainty, at the whim of changing Nazi sympathies and policy. Onkel Georg’s connections and status had kept Tante Elya’s name off the register of the Reich Association of Jews, but we were never sure it was enough to keep her safe. He had close connections to powerful Nazis due to his family’s noble lineage and business dealings, securing large long-term contracts with the Reichspost, Germany’s postal system, and the Reichsbahn, the national railways, for timber, milk and agricultural produce. More importantly, Onkel Georg had trusted contacts in the Ministry of the Interior, which held all registrations and the 1939 census cards on Jewish heritage, and they had kept Tante Elya’s details buried there. But we were well aware that the Reich Main Security Office, the RSHA, which oversaw the deportations of Jewish people from Germany with the might of the Gestapo behind it, could retrieve personal information at any time. We also lived with the constant fear that the Reich would invalidate marriages between German citizens and Jewish people.
I pressed my ear to the door. I had to know what was happening.
‘This letter just came,’ I heard Tante Elya say. ‘It’s finally happened.’ Her voice broke. ‘I’ve been registered.’
‘Let me see.’ There was silence for a heartbeat or two, then the sound of Onkel Georg pacing around the room. ‘After everything we’ve done… It must be Kaltenbrunner, the new chief of the RSHA. He’s SS, supported by Himmler, and it’s no secret he’s a fanatical anti-Semite.’ I could hear the grim horror in Onkel Georg’s voice. ‘If he gets hold of those census documents.’
‘There’s only so much your contacts can do. Even those highly placed Nazi officials can’t help us anymore.’ Tante Elya’s voice shook.
Onkel Georg had cultivated relationships within the upper ranks of the government and Wehrmacht, the German armed forces. I’d seen him give visiting officials gifts, and Leo had told me he also sent them baskets of luxury items from across Europe, bottles of cognac, or fresh meat, cheese and vegetables from our farm. He’d even taken to leasing out land and holiday cottages along the river to those wanting a more genteel lifestyle. All to remain a friend and asset to those who wielded power.
I had no illusions about what Onkel Georg was doing. Social connections and the power that came with the upper class meant everything to the Nazis and so far he’d been able to keep Tante Elya and Leo safe. Gut Birkenhof ensured the local economy flourished, employing over half the village at one time or another. And the longer the war went on, the more valuable raw materials and food products became. The government couldn’t afford to lose such a reliable supply. All this had kept Tante Elya protected and off the official register, even though her Jewish heritage was known to some of Onkel Georg’s Nazi associates. It had kept me safe too – we’d heard stories of Aryan children being taken away from adoptive or even step-parents who were found to be Jewish. And it had protected Onkel Georg from the harassment meted out to Aryans married to Jewish people by Nazis and officials as well as local people, but I could only imagine what his efforts had cost him both financially and personally – he hated the Nazis as much as Leo and I did.
‘I had a deal with them.’ I heard Onkel Georg slam the table in frustration and anger.
‘I know, and it’s kept us safe this long,’ Tante Elya said, ‘but it’s official now. My worry is for you and Leopold. You’ll be reviled as a traitor to Germany, and Leo will be recognised as a… mischling.’ I heard the catch in her voice. It was a terrible word meaning mongrel or half-breed – like an animal.
‘But you’re both still legally protected. The register will reflect that you’re in a lawful mixed marriage. Nothing will change.’ Onkel Georg could be stubborn at the best of times, but what if he was wrong?
‘Listen to me, Georg. Everything’s changed. My identity card will be stamped with a “J” and I can’t go out now without wearing
the Star of David. Everyone will know what I am.’ Her voice was shaky. ‘And what that now makes you and Leopold.’
‘Not in the village. Everyone knows and loves us. We’re family.’
‘People already talk about why I have certain privileges, why I haven’t been deported, even why you haven’t divorced me. When it becomes public knowledge there’ll be no mercy from them.’
‘But they’ve known you for well over twenty years. You’re the heart of this community.’ Onkel Georg’s outrage told me volumes. He knew what Tante Elya was saying was true.
‘It doesn’t matter. The resentment’s already there. Some of them are sick of seeing Nazis flocking to our door and spending extravagant weekends on the river. It makes them nervous. With the Gestapo breathing down their necks, now I’ll have no freedom. If I put a foot wrong, they’ll make sure I get what they think I deserve.’ Tante Elya’s voice cracked. It was no wonder. I knew she still had nightmares about Kristallnacht, when Onkel Tedi’s Berlin law practice had been set alight and his son Felix sent to Sachsenhausen, one of the earliest camps set up by the Nazis to hold political prisoners and dissidents.
‘They’ll come near you over my dead body.’ The anguish and aggression in Onkel Georg’s voice made my heart clench in fear. I swayed for a moment, clutching at the door frame, then swallowed and brought myself back under control. I had to hear the rest.
‘We have to get out while there’s still a chance,’ said Onkel Georg.
‘What chance? Nobody wanted us four years ago when the quotas were tightened. Now emigration’s forbidden to Jewish people, we’ll never get a visa.’
‘I’ll try again. There must be a way. I’ll go to the American Embassy and speak to your brother in New York. I’ll visit all the consulates if I have to. Even the black market. Somebody will take us.’
My body shook at the desperation in his voice.
I was fifteen when they’d tried to sell the estate and leave for America. But Reich officials had denied our request, ironically because of the government contracts that protected our family. Onkel Georg had still been determined to escape somehow, even leaving the estate behind, but the mass exodus of Jewish people out of Germany meant countries like the United States had filled their quotas years in advance and some countries had closed their doors altogether. Tante Elya’s youngest brother and his family had managed to emigrate, but we had missed out. There was nowhere for us to go.
Since then, Leo’s life had become more restrictive. He had wanted to study agriculture, manage the estate and follow in his father’s footsteps but proof of pedigree, including birth and marriage certificates of parents and grandparents, was required for university applications and Leo was denied entry into agricultural college. Acceptance was at the discretion of the university rectors and many did not want mischlinge at their institution. Even Onkel Georg’s appeals to his Nazi contacts came to nothing.
Like all young men his age, Leo couldn’t wait to serve his country and fulfil his duty as a patriotic German, but when he came of age for national labour service and conscription into the Wehrmacht, the law had just been revised to exclude half Jews from the military. When all his friends and our neighbours were called up, and we heard reports of injury on the front lines, the shame he carried only grew. Leo felt useless, but he’d encouraged me to serve with the Red Cross at Beelitz to complete my own Reich Labour Service, a duty all young citizens were obliged to carry out. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing, and perhaps it would even help our family by showing I was a patriotic German.
Now everything seemed more precarious and the danger was even closer to home.
I didn’t need to hear any more. I stumbled down the corridor, desperate for fresh air, thoughts jumbling in my mind. I felt so helpless, but I couldn’t bear the thought of those I loved being persecuted, ripped away to the squalid ghetto prisons.
I found Leo at the stables, silhouetted against the puddle of yellow light from the open door, which cast a cheery glow into the dull and fading afternoon.
‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow,’ I heard him say to a stablehand, his voice muffled by the heaviness in the air. It had begun snowing again, the sky low and leaden, as though threatening to suffocate us.
‘Leo,’ I called out, the sound falling flat, cocooned by the drifts of powdery white.
‘What are you doing out here, Susie? It’s too cold. Come on, let’s go inside.’ He reached my side and threaded his arm through mine. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be organising your party with Mutti?’ I leaned against him, as much for warmth as for support. In my haste I’d forgotten my coat and gloves and my hands were nearly numb with cold.
‘We were,’ I murmured. ‘But then…’ I began to shiver, with cold and fear.
‘Tell me inside.’ He propelled me forward, along the path back to the house, and refused to listen to a word until he had me rugged up in a blanket at the kitchen table, the rare indulgence of a hot chocolate in my hands.
The staff had retired for the evening and it was Frau Kraus’s night off. She was the cook and head of the household staff. She had been with Onkel Georg and Tante Elya for decades, but rather than live on the estate after the Great War when she was widowed, she’d insisted on remaining in her own home in the village. After finding love again and remarrying, she now shared her home with Hans, our head forester. She’d left dinner gently simmering on the stove and the blast of warmth and smells of meaty broth and onions made me feel a little safer, like being wrapped in a mother’s comforting embrace.
I glanced at Leo sitting across from me, waiting for me to tell him what was wrong. He was only a few years older than me, but it still came as a shock to realise how he’d changed in the last few years. The last vestiges of childhood had left him and he was a man now, although his dark wavy hair still fell into his eyes as it had always done. He was straight-backed, tall and athletic like his father, and strong from the work on the estate – felling trees, chopping wood, baling hay, fixing machinery or carting milk. We’d lost some workers over the last year to old age, infirmity and the Wehrmacht, so Leo was determined to make himself as useful as possible. His frustration at not being eligible for national service or the army made him work harder than ever.
‘So are you going to tell me what’s bothering you? I have all night,’ he said, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair.
I took a deep breath and told him everything I’d heard.
‘I’m scared, Leo,’ I whispered when I had finished. ‘If anything happened to your mother or you…’ I realised I was still cradling the warm cup, half full, in my hands and I put it on the table, unable to finish.
‘Don’t worry, Susie. Vati will do everything to keep Mutti safe, and I’m in no danger.’ He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. ‘The law still protects her while she’s married to Vati. I’m sure it’s all just a formality and life will go on the same as it always has.’
I nodded. I felt relieved that I’d shared my concerns with him but I could see the worry in his eyes even as he tried to reassure me. Onkel Georg would see to their protection as he always had, and Leo would make sure his father’s plans were carried out, but this was serious. Our world had shifted abruptly on its axis with the arrival of that letter. But at least we had each other to lean on, just as we had through all the previous crises our family had endured. ‘I should get dinner. It’s the last thing your mother will feel like doing right now.’ I stood from the table and turned towards the stove. Leo’s chair scraped across the floor as I ladled soup into a waiting tureen.
‘They’ll need us both tonight,’ he said. ‘Here, let me help.’
I nodded, feeling tears well in my eyes.
‘It will be fine.’ Leo put his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. He smelled of wood chips and the clean sweat of hard work and I hugged him fiercely, as though it would keep him safe forever. I wondered if he could still read my thoughts as he had when we were younger. He stroked my cheek then dre
w away gently, and heat flushed my cheeks. ‘I’ll take the soup up for you, it’s heavy,’ he said, unable to look me in the eye.
‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ I muttered, thrusting the tureen into his hands.
‘Don’t be long,’ he called over his shoulder as he left the kitchen.
I stared after him for a moment and realised that I was shaking. The events of the afternoon had been a terrible shock. The future was unpredictable and uncertain, but a future without Leo was unthinkable.
Leo meant everything to me. He was the love of my life.
2
After what had been a sombre evening, I was glad to be alone in my bedroom that night. Tante Elya and Onkel Georg had sat pale-faced and quiet over dinner and we’d barely touched our food. Little had been mentioned about the registration. I understood that it was still too much of a shock to talk about just yet, but nobody really knew what to say to ease the tension in the room. Only Leo thought to play his mother’s favourite songs on the balalaika after dinner, bringing a smile to her face.
Still humming a Russian folk tune, I sat at my dressing table and stared into the mirror as I brushed my long fair hair to a gleam before bed. I didn’t want to think about the implications of Tante Elya’s letter, it was too frightening. I touched my cheek where Leo’s hand had stroked me in the kitchen, even now it tingled with the memory. There was something between us that couldn’t be denied, and yet he kept pushing me away.
Letters from Berlin Page 2
