Rebecca Temple Mysteries 3-Book Bundle

by Warsh, Sylvia Maultash

  Ilse Remke thinks a moment. “Surgical exploration?”

  Herr Doktor Rosenzweig turns away. “What would we do before that?”

  The large-boned Fräulein Remke blushes and lowers her eyes. Rosenzweig peruses the group. Frieda ventures to raise her hand. “Fräulein Eisenbaum.”

  “Evaluate which of these are most important. For instance, hemorrhoids are common, and tachycardia and mild proteinuria are non-specific findings in many types of illness. I would put hepatomegaly and jaundice first in order of importance, then hyperbilirubinemia and bilirubinuria next.”

  “Very good, Fräulein. Now you will find that even so, the accumulated facts are common to several diseases. So we must select a central feature of the illness around which we can orient the diagnostic analysis. A central feature such as fever, jaundice, hepatomegaly, renal failure, among others. It takes practice to correctly select a feature as the focal point of a diagnosis, years of experience and a wide knowledge of the natural course of diseases.” He smiled paternally, his bushy eyebrows arching together. “God willing, you won’t kill too many patients on your way down that road to experience. Now, Fräulein Eisenbaum has chosen hepatomegaly and jaundice as the central feature of the diagnosis. What are the diagnostic possibilities? Herr Wurzburg?”

  A thin, fair-haired student snaps to attention. “Stone. Hepatitis. Carcinoma of the pancreas.”

  “Those are most likely. In this example, the past history of epigastric pain makes extrahepatic obstruction a reasonable possibility. It would be tempting to proceed directly to surgical exploration, as Fräulein Remke suggested.”

  Ilse Remke nods with a relieved smile, while the patient stares into the doctor’s face with unalloyed fear.

  “But if the jaundice were caused by hepatitis, surgery and anaesthesia might prove disastrous.”

  Frieda feels sorry for Ilse Remke, who has been embarrassed in front of her peers, and now keeps her eyes lowered.

  “Thus the prudent physician first asks, ‘Will further observation or examination help to distinguish between the diagnostic possibilities?’ At the moment, I’m afraid they will not. But I’ve heard that someone in America is working on developing a needle biopsy for the liver. Until that happens, there is no option save for surgical exploration, which is planned for later this morning.”

  Rosenzweig smiles at Ilse Remke, not unkindly. “Fräulein Remke was right all along, but we must be able to think our decision through and understand how we got from here to there.”

  To Frieda’s astonishment, Ilse Remke glowers at the doctor with what looks like contempt.

  Later that day Leopold takes a break from his history studies at the university and meets Frieda in the hospital cafeteria. She is sitting at a table drinking tea with lemon when he rushes in, his face flushed behind the wire-rimmed glasses. He’s a tall, lanky young man with dark blond hair already thinning in the front.

  “The little corporal is chancellor!” he says, throwing his books on the table.

  Her heart sinks. She hopes Vati is right about Hitler. “How?”

  “Senile old Hindenburg appointed him. I’m sure Hitler was very persuasive. He must’ve blackmailed him with something. He’s been appointed on the condition that he can put together a majority in the Reichstag.”

  Frieda is embarrassed at how little she knows about the workings of government. “And can he?”

  “Impossible. As a party, only the Nationalists are like-minded, and even if they joined the Nazis, their vote wouldn’t be large enough. If Hitler formed an alliance with the Catholic Centre party, he might get his majority. But they hate each other. It’s impossible.”

  “I don’t think that will stop him.”

  “Nothing will stop him. If he’s gotten this far, he’ll figure out a way. It’s just a matter of time.”

  Gales of laughter and high-spirited voices turn everyone’s attention to a corner of the cafeteria. Nurses and female clerks and helpers flock around a group of brown-shirted men wearing swastika armbands.

  “The new heroes,” Leopold sneers.

  An older nurse at the next table says to the air, “Hitler will solve our problems. You’ll see.”

  “I can come by to escort you home later,” Leopold says. “What time are you finished?”

  “I can take care of myself,” she says, amused but touched.

  Early that afternoon Frieda is walking down the hall toward a seminar when orderlies wheel in Herr Werner, today’s rounds patient, from his surgery. She has a moment, and since no one is about she tiptoes into his room. He is still sleeping off the anaesthetic beneath the hospital blanket. Her curiosity gets the better of her. She wants to know the answer to the puzzle.

  She picks up the chart from the foot of the bed. Her heart sinks for a man she doesn’t know. During exploratory surgery, they found that plump, balding Herr Werner has carcinoma of the head of the pancreas. A death sentence.

  On her way out of the hospital that evening, she spots Leopold waiting on the sidewalk.

  “I worry about you,” he says, taking her arm. “You’re so small. Beautiful, but small.”

  Leopold is a head taller than she is. Not bad looking, a bit thin for her taste. But she has no time for a man. Not if she wants to pass her exams.

  “Someone could scoop you up with no effort,” he says, peering down at her with an absent smile. “And something is up tonight.”

  As they head toward the U-Bahn, crowds of excited people hurry past them in the same direction. Something is indeed up. Newspapers at the stand near the hospital catch her eye: “Reichstag Dissolved! New Election Called!”

  She feels the earth shifting beneath her feet. A din rises in the distance. A roar like the ocean. When they turn the corner, thousands of men in uniform appear, phalanx upon phalanx carrying torches aloft. Tens of thousands of brown-shirted Storm Troopers and SS men in polished jackboots hold high a filament of flame as they march from the Tiergarten, passing under the Brandenburg Gate and down the Wilhelmstrasse to the thunder beat of drums.

  Her heart strums wildly in her chest — she is glad of Leopold’s arm as they keep moving. Her fear is irrational. What they are witnessing is a show of strength from the new leader of the country. Nothing more. Yet there is something. She feels it emanating in waves: the hatred in the faces of the soldiers.

  chapter five

  Rebecca stooped along the snowy road — when had it snowed? She dug in with her shovel and lifted the snow, dug in and lifted, dug in and lifted. Mechanical, too fast, cartoon-like. All the while bullets flew over her head, someone shooting as she tried to shovel faster and faster. How long could she go on without getting hit? Her blood would be very red against the white snow. She had to shovel faster! Dig in and lift. Dig in and lift. Then she heard it. The bullet whizzed by her ear, making it ring. Her heart pounded in time to the ringing. The next one would hit its mark. The blood in the snow. Then the ringing!

  Rebecca sat upright with a start and blinked awake. The newspaper rustled in her lap. Her heart thudded, thudded. But that wasn’t the sound. Her bell was ringing. Someone was downstairs at her front door.

  She descended the stairs slowly, still in a daze. Saturday night; she wasn’t expecting anybody.

  Turning on the outside light, she peered through the small square of glass in the front door. She rubbed her eyes, then threw wide the door and gaped at her sister.

  Susan gave her a sheepish, half-hearted smile behind a curtain of blonde hair. “Hi, Rebecca.”

  Her leather jacket was far too small to enclose her pregnant belly. A backpack lay beside her on the stoop.

  “What are you doing here? How did you get here?” Rebecca searched the empty air behind her for Susan’s husband. “Where’s Ben?”

  “In Montreal.”

  Rebecca picked up the backpack and led her sister into the house. “Please tell me you didn’t drive all the way by yourself.”

  Rebecca fell into the habit of scolding her sister because
Susan was two years younger. But she was also taller and, despite appearing contrite, gazed down at Rebecca with the knowing look she had developed in childhood. Bemusement usually accompanied the look, but not this time.

  “You’re eight months pregnant. You shouldn’t be driving for hours like that.”

  Susan lowered herself slowly into a kitchen chair. “I’d give anything not to be pregnant!”

  “Susan!” “Three children are enough,” she said. “I didn’t want another one. I was supposed to be in law school in September. This baby screwed everything up.”

  It wasn’t the baby who screwed, Rebecca thought.

  She took the plastic containers with last night’s leftovers from the deli and put them on dishes to microwave. “There’s some leftover matzo ball soup and potato skins. Here, have some salad. You must be starved.”

  They didn’t look like sisters. Rebecca had always thought Susan was the good-looking one, tall and willowy, one wave of blonde hair falling over her face. She reminded Rebecca of Lassie, only less obedient. She had their father’s long nose, but on her it looked elegant. She had also inherited his stubbornness.

  “I can’t eat. I’m never going to eat again.”

  Rebecca understood, but she was the big sister. “Does Ben know where you are?”

  Her hazel eyes stared at Rebecca. “I couldn’t take it anymore. Ben and the two oldest came home from shul today and I made them all lunch — grilled cheese sandwiches. Do you know how many slices of bread you need to make four grilled cheese sandwiches? Eight. And if Ben wants more, it’s ten. That’s almost half a loaf. Do you have any idea how many loaves of bread I buy in a week? How much time I spend shopping for groceries? The hours preparing food? Lunches for the kids? Shabbat dinners? Who am I? I’m a cook and a maid. I’m someone’s wife and someone else’s mother. When I look in the mirror I don’t see myself anymore. I don’t know who I am, Rebecca. I’ve disappeared, and this big fat nonentity has taken my place.”

  Rebecca got up and stood behind her sister, wrapping her arms around the front of her neck with affection. “You’re not fat. You’re pregnant. And you’ve got the best family.” She felt a hollow in her chest at the word.

  “I know I should be grateful for everything ...”

  Though she didn’t say it, Rebecca knew they were both thinking it: I have a family of my own and you don’t.

  “But I — I hate my life. I can’t do it anymore. I wanted so desperately to go to law school. Feel some respect for myself. I’d make a great lawyer, Rebecca. I’m passionate about justice and I’d ...” She stopped and took a breath. “I finally got accepted and then bingo! Another triumph for Ben’s sperm. I’m a bloody baby factory.”

  Rebecca stood beside her, a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want me to call him and tell him you’re here?”

  Susan shook her head. “I want him to worry. I want him to be stuck with the kids all by himself. He’s going to have to get used to it because I’m not going back.” Susan looked up at Rebecca with large, determined eyes. “I’m going to have this baby and hand it to him. Then I’m leaving. I’ll get a job in the evenings and put myself through law school.”

  “But Susan ...” Rebecca knelt into a crouch beside her sister’s chair. “You love your children.”

  “I’ve disappeared into the wallpaper, Rebecca. I’m just not there. You don’t understand because you always had a career. You always knew who you were. I need to know who I am.”

  Rebecca wavered to her feet, sitting down in the chair beside her sister. “Susan, you’re the most organized, competent woman I know. Law school is still waiting for you. Start next September. Get a nanny. Get a cleaning woman. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

  “We can’t afford it. Mark’s starting bar mitzvah lessons next year and with the Hebrew school tuitions for all of them ...”

  “Mark doesn’t need bar mitzvah lessons and Hebrew school. Send him to public school.”

  “Ben’ll never go for it.”

  “Is there any money in investments you could use?”

  “We’re saving it for Mark’s university.”

  Rebecca sighed. “Use it for your university. You’ll earn the money for their tuition later.”

  Susan blinked back tears. “I think he’s having an affair with one of his students.”

  Rebecca examined her sister, still beautiful despite her bloated middle. Were the inflated hormones of pregnancy making her irrational? Ben was the most solid, down-to-earth man Rebecca knew. “Do you have any proof?”

  “It’s a feeling. He’s so distracted. He just comes home to sleep. He barely notices me. He’ll notice when I’m gone, though.” She closed her eyes. “I’m so tired.”

  Rebecca stood up. “You need some rest. Come upstairs to the guest bedroom.”

  Rebecca pulled out the sofa bed upstairs and put on fresh sheets and a quilt. She left Susan in her pyjamas trying to get comfortable, half-sitting, half-lying on her back, her belly large and round beneath the covers.

  When Rebecca no longer heard any movement upstairs, she called Ben in Montreal.

  “Oh, Rebecca! I was just going to call the police. Susan’s missing. I took a nap after lunch with the boys —”

  “Ben —”

  “— and when I woke up she was gone! I’ll have to call you back —”

  “She’s here, Ben.”

  A beat of silence, data processing. “She’s in Toronto? But why? Did she drive? Is she crazy? Put her on the phone. I have to talk to her.”

  “She’s sleeping, Ben. Did you notice she’s been upset about the baby?”

  “I know she’s upset. Look, can I talk to her?”

  “She’s sleeping.”

  “I know you mean well, Rebecca, but this is between Susan and me. I know her, and she’ll come round once the baby’s born. She loves kids. She’s just tired. Now put her on.”

  “Ben, I waited until she was asleep because she wouldn’t call you. She’s very angry.”

  A moment of deliberation. “I’ll get my mother to look after the boys. I can be in Toronto by dawn.”

  “No, Ben!” How could she put it delicately? “She needs some time to herself. I’ll try to get her to call you tomorrow when she wakes up. No promises.”

  Rebecca stared at her TV screen for a few hours, watched the news with the same distraction. Jimmy Carter walked across the White House lawn to meet some dignitary or other. In Ottawa, the gangly Joe Clark, their youngest ever prime minister, who had defeated Pierre Trudeau in the spring. “Joe Who,” as the headlines dubbed him, had caused an uproar during the campaign when he promised to move the Canadian embassy in Israel from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. He was still dealing with the fallout. A talking head on the news said the Arab states threatened an economic boycott of Canada. Why all the fuss about Israel? Was nothing else going on in the world? Yet another demonstration in Egypt protesting the pact with Israel. She thought of the venerable Dr. Salim. He couldn’t be very popular among some circles in his own country. And all the other Arab nations that had ostracized Egypt because of the peace accord. Who could understand the antagonisms in that ancient part of the world? None of the flickering images interested her. Instead of looking for a late-night movie, she went to bed.

  Rebecca was in the middle of a dream about her parents. She was visiting them in Santa Barbara, only her mother looked like Susan and she had three little kids running around the apartment.

  “Rebecca! Come quick!”

  Rebecca sat up in bed. She blinked at the clock: 3:50. Had she dreamt the voice?

  “Rebecca! Wake up!”

  She jumped out of bed and ran to the bedroom across the hall. Susan was lying in the bed, her covers thrown off. “My water broke! I’m having the baby.”

  “I’ll call an ambulance.”

  “No time. It’s coming now.”

  Rebecca took a breath. She turned on all the lights and brought in a goose-necked reading light from her bedroom, aiming it
at Susan. She ran to gather towels and found a sterile disposable scalpel in her medical bag.

  Susan groaned when Rebecca placed a clean folded sheet beneath her. “Take it easy, sweetie,” Rebecca said. “It’ll be fine.”

  She picked up the phone and dialed the operator. “This is an emergency. I’m a doctor and I’m going to be delivering a baby at home. I need you to call an ambulance.” She gave the address to the startled woman operator and hung up.

  “I don’t want this baby,” Susan moaned, her face mottled with effort. “I don’t want this baby.”

  Rebecca lifted Susan’s knees to examine her. She was fully dilated, and the baby’s head began to appear.

  “I don’t believe it!” she said. “Susan, the baby’s coming now...”

  “I told you. I’ve had enough practice to know.”

  Susan’s labour with the three other children had been mercifully short. A few hours and it was all over. She was made to have babies. However, this one was a month early.

  When the head was partially visible Rebecca said, “Push! Bear down!”

  Susan whimpered and groaned. A bit more of the head appeared.

  “I don’t want this baby!” Susan groaned again, and the rest of the head eased out. The shoulders were the harder part, but after three other babies, Susan’s body knew the way.

  Rebecca supported the little body, covered in mucus and blood, on its slow way out. Susan moaned a little, deep in her throat, but on the whole she was remarkably quiet through the ordeal.

  “Doing great, sweetie. Push some more.”

  “I don’t want this baby!” Susan screamed.

  “It’s coming whether you want it or not. So push and help it out.”

  From the size of the head, the baby was tiny; Rebecca prayed it would survive the trip to the preemie unit.

  “Nearly there! Just a bit more. One more good push.”

  She held her hands beneath the miniature shoulders to support them on their way through the canal. Once they were out, the rest was easy. The slippery body slid into Rebecca’s waiting hands.