by Anita Abriel
WIGHT HOTELS.
Your home away from home in New York and Boston.
Five-star service starts at the door.
“It’s Anton’s hotel,” Vera exclaimed. She jumped up and paced around the restaurant. She would go to New York and ask Anton’s father to help her find him. Harry Wight must know where his son was. Anton wouldn’t cut himself off from his family.
“I’m going to New York to see Anton’s father,” she turned to Edith and announced. Her eyes danced and excitement surged through her body. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
Edith waved her hand. “You can’t just go to America. How will you afford the fare?”
“I’ve saved one hundred lire,” Vera answered. “I’ll go to the Cunard office and see how much a ticket costs.”
“Refugees aren’t allowed to enter the United States without a sponsor,” Paolo interjected. “My cousin fell in love with an American nurse and they were going to get married. He arrived at Ellis Island, but she never showed up. The authorities sent him back on the first ship.”
Vera listened to Paolo, and for a moment her hopes deflated. Harry Wight had never written to Anton in Naples. What if he knew nothing about Vera? But then she remembered Anton cabling his father before he proposed, to ask for his grandmother’s ring. And she couldn’t go to Anton’s mother for help. Margaret Wight would be glad that Anton discarded his Hungarian refugee. Anton’s father was her only chance.
“I don’t have a choice.” She sat down and suddenly her throat was parched. She gulped her wine and set the glass on the table. “I have to try.”
* * *
Three weeks later, Vera stood polishing the glass counter at the jewelry store. Paolo had tried to use his connections to find her a sponsor, but failed. She set aside the money she earned every day. But she was still no closer to getting to New York.
“Look!” Edith burst into the store, waving a copy of the New York Times. She had a magazine tucked under her arm.
“Since when do you read English newspapers?” Vera asked.
“Page six, column three.” Edith handed it to her.
There was a photograph of an old man with gray hair and thick eyebrows. Underneath was a blurry picture of two young women. It was the photo Marcus had taken of her and Edith when they had first arrived in Naples.
“What is this?” Vera asked.
“Read it out loud,” Edith insisted.
“ ‘Millionaire philanthropist Samuel Rothschild to sponsor Hungarian beauties—’ ” Vera stopped reading and gasped.
“Read the whole article,” Edith urged.
“ ‘Samuel Rothschild learned of the plight of two beautiful Hungarian refugees in the pages of LIFE magazine. Vera Frankel and Edith Ban escaped from the train that carried their mothers to Auschwitz. For a year they hid in the barn of an Austrian couple, hoping to be reunited with their parents. But their mothers died at Auschwitz and neither father returned to their apartments in Budapest.
“ ‘The two nineteen-year-old beauties found their way to Naples, where Vera works at a jewelry store and Edith is a seamstress. They spend their weekends at the cinema, dreaming of coming to America. Their wish is to go to New York, where Edith wants to become a fashion designer and Vera aspires to be a playwright.
“ ‘“When I saw the photos of these two young women, I knew I had to help them,” Mr. Rothschild said in an interview with the Times. “To witness such tragedy at a young age and still have aspirations is terribly brave. Fifty years ago I arrived at Ellis Island, having lost my parents in the pogroms. Who would have thought a scrawny twelve-year-old boy could go on to own banks and department stores? This country was built on refugees with big dreams, and Gilda and I want to help these girls achieve their goals. They will sail on the Queen Elizabeth, and my wife and I will be waiting on the docks in New York.”’
“I don’t understand. I never saw an article about us in LIFE magazine.” Vera put down the newspaper. “Who told them we want to go to New York?”
“Marcus called his friend at LIFE and asked him to write the article,” Edith said, handing her the magazine under her arm. “It came out a month ago, but his friend sent it to Marcus by boat mail. It just arrived.”
Vera pored over the photos, and for a moment she forgot about Samuel Rothschild’s offer. There was the first photo Marcus took of Vera and Edith when they arrived in Naples. They were sharing a gelato and they looked as young and carefree as schoolgirls. She flipped the page and saw a photo of them sipping coffee the day after she returned from Capri. Vera noticed a new womanliness in the way she sat, and a half smile played across her face as if she was keeping a wonderful secret.
“I didn’t know Marcus took all these photos,” Vera said in disbelief. “We look like film stars and Naples is some incredible movie set.”
“I told you Marcus was talented. It was his idea to send the article in LIFE magazine to a reporter at the New York Times. He hoped some influential person would read it. Americans love to help European refugees. It makes them feel less guilty that we were being shot by the Germans while they ate gefilte fish in penthouses on Fifth Avenue.”
Edith had changed over the last few weeks. She wore formfitting dresses and red lipstick. The fear in her eyes had been replaced by a new confidence. It was almost as if Edith had blossomed while Vera had shrunk.
Vera folded the LIFE magazine and returned to the New York Times.
“We can’t accept help from a stranger,” Vera protested, rereading the article. “What if he expects something in return?”
“He’s sixty-two years old; he’s hardly looking for concubines,” Edith laughed. “He sent two first-class tickets on the Queen Elizabeth. Marcus told me everything. Sam Rothschild mailed the tickets to LIFE magazine and asked them to contact the photographer in Naples and find us! We’re going to sit at the captain’s table and eat filet mignon and strawberry shortcake.”
“But what about the dresses you’re designing for Maria, and your apartment with Marcus in Rome?”
“You don’t think New York has socialites and actresses?” Edith waved her hand. “I read Katharine Hepburn is doing a show on Broadway. Maybe we’ll meet Rosalind Russell and Joan Crawford.”
“You’re making a name for yourself here,” Vera protested. “New York must have hundreds of seamstresses.”
“Do you remember when we jumped off the train? I was so exhausted I wanted to lie in the bushes. You made me get up and walk six miles to the Dunkels’ farm. You wouldn’t let go of my hand until we were safely in their barn,” Edith began. “What if you get to New York and can’t speak to Anton’s father? I’m going to stay with you until you find Anton.”
Vera turned so Edith wouldn’t see the emotion on her face. When they were together, Vera felt like she and Edith were two girls on a grand adventure instead of orphans alone in the world.
“We can buy presents for Marcus and Paolo and Rosa with the money I’ve saved.” Vera folded the polishing cloth. “If we have some left over, we’ll buy stockings and perfume. We can’t stroll on the first-class deck of the Queen Elizabeth with runs in our stockings.”
“Cruise ships are full of famous people. What if we meet Vivien Leigh and she wants me to design her dress for the Oscars?” Edith’s eyes sparkled, and she giggled. “Or Gene Kelly asks us to dance?”
Vera followed Edith outside, and an officer crossed the street. He turned and looked at Vera and her heart lurched. The only man she wanted to dance with was Anton.
CHAPTER NINE
January 1947
Vera stood in the stateroom of the Queen Elizabeth and ran her fingers over the oriental armoire. It was all too much: the uniformed stewards who delivered their bags, the paneled walls and velvet furniture, the silver tray holding a box of Swiss chocolates and a handwritten note from the captain.
Vera took off her white gloves and read out loud to Edith:
“ ‘Dear Miss Frankel and Miss Ban,
“ ‘The officers and crew welcome you aboard the Queen Elizabeth. Please do not hesitate to ask for assistance. Mr. Rothschild has instructed us to make your crossing as pleasant as possible. I look forward to the pleasure of meeting you both tonight at the captain’s table.
“ ‘Warm regards,
“ ‘Captain Gordon James.’ ”
“Did you see the shuffleboard court?” Edith sunk onto the loveseat. “And the beauty parlor. I’m going to get my hair cut and my nails painted.”
“Slow down,” Vera laughed. “We have eight days; we haven’t even left the port.”
“New York is going to be fabulous,” Edith gushed. “I’m going to meet a millionaire and fall madly in love.”
“I thought you were done with men,” Vera remarked. “You’re going to concentrate on your career.”
“That was before I saw gorgeous American men,” Edith sighed. “Did you see them on the gangway? They all have blond hair and white teeth and American accents.”
The horn bleated and the ship swayed beneath their feet.
“We’re leaving!” Vera grabbed her gloves. “Let’s go on the deck and wave good-bye to Naples.”
Edith nibbled a chocolate truffle and consulted a sheet of paper. “I’m going to stay here and read the itinerary. We don’t want to miss a shuffleboard tournament or a bridge game.”
Vera had never seen so many happy people since before the war. The women were dressed in the latest fashions and the men wore beautifully cut blazers and twill slacks. Little girls twirled in satin dresses and boys slouched against the railing in navy sailor suits.
She inhaled the fresh sea air and thought of Gina and Signora Rosa. It had been hard saying good-bye to Rosa; she had been so good to them. The night before they left, Rosa invited Marcus and Paolo for dinner, and they ate fettuccini Bolognese and drank a bottle of wine Paolo brought from the restaurant, and Vera had to fight back the tears. Rosa had been like a mother to them, and she would miss the front parlor always filled with flowers and Rosa’s sunny face in the kitchen. Rosa insisted on packing their suitcases with gloves and stockings, and made Vera promise to send their address when they arrived in New York.
It was just as hard saying good-bye to Gina. Gina was Vera’s last link to Anton, and she couldn’t think about her without remembering the wonderful food she left for them on the kitchen counter. She recalled the night Gina helped her get dressed for her first dinner with Anton and the way she comforted her when Vera read Anton’s letter.
Vera promised to send dolls for Gina’s daughters from one of the big toy stores in Manhattan, and Gina insisted she take some of Countess Mezzi’s evening gowns. It was even difficult saying good-bye to Paolo. The morning they left, he brought them each a bottle of perfume and said he expected to see them on the cover of LIFE, under the headline: TWO HUNGARIAN BEAUTIES TAKE NEW YORK BY STORM. The only one who didn’t mind them leaving was Marcus. He waved from the dock and said soon he’d be rich from selling his photographs, and then he would follow them. They would be reunited in New York and have dinner at the Stork Club.
The luxury of the ocean liner reminded Vera of the only time her family stayed at an elegant hotel. In 1941, her parents booked five nights at the Grand Hotel on Margaret Island. Vera was allowed to bring Edith and it was the best five days of her life. But even then, with the war confined to headlines in newspapers and reports on the radio, she could tell that something was terribly wrong.
* * *
Vera was familiar with Margaret Island, perched in the middle of the Danube River that separated Buda and Pest. She even spent occasional Sundays there with her mother, listening to music and strolling on the park-like grounds. But to actually stay at the Grand Hotel was an unimaginable luxury. From the outside, the hotel resembled a palace. Their room had a canopied bed and a bathroom with gold faucets.
“Did you see the family in the suite next to us?” Vera jumped on the bed to see if it was soft. “There was a nanny for each child. I wouldn’t know what to do with a nanny.”
“You could ask her to send love letters to the boy down the hall.” Edith sat at the window. In a pavilion below, guests sat in the shade and drank iced coffee with whipped cream.
“Why would we waste our time on boys when there is so much to do?” Vera asked. “The hotel has its own stables and a tennis court. I still don’t understand why we came. My parents have never stayed anywhere like this before.”
“Maybe they want to set you up with an eligible suitor,” Edith suggested. “Did you know that Shirley Temple stayed here after she made The Little Princess? She probably sat right there”—Edith pointed at the pavilion—“eating sponge cake and reading love notes from lovesick boys.”
Shirley Temple was only a year younger than Vera and Edith, and they dreamed of having her life. Edith even borrowed her mother’s curlers and curled her hair in the same way.
“We’re too young for suitors! Anyway, my parents want me to go to university.” Vera inspected the gold bedspread. “My father must have robbed a bank to afford this.”
“There’s no point trying to figure out why we came.” Edith jumped up. “Let’s take a dip in the pool. We’ll order drinks and wait for a movie star to say hello.”
They had a wonderful time swimming and bicycling, and it wasn’t until they were getting ready for dinner that Vera started to worry.
“My parents spent all afternoon in the mineral baths. What if my father is sick and they’re afraid to tell me?” Vera frowned, tying the sash on her dress.
“Save your imagination for your stories and let’s go to dinner,” Edith said as she put down her hairbrush. “I’m starving from all that exercise.”
The dining room had a domed ceiling and steps leading up to a raised dining area. There were indoor plants in silver urns and Vera noticed birds fluttering in a cage.
They had only been seated for a few moments when the maître d’ whispered something to her father. Her father glanced at a table of German officers and stood up.
“We’ll dine in our rooms tonight,” he said, then turned to Vera, “You and Edith can order whatever you like and eat in bed.”
“But we got dressed up to sit in the dining room,” Vera said in surprise. She had seen German officers in Budapest, but no one had bothered them.
“That’s a good idea. I have a headache from soaking in the mineral baths.” Vera’s mother stood up and touched her husband’s hand. “Come, we’ll be more comfortable in our room.”
Edith went back to their room and Vera followed her parents down the hallway.
“I want to know what’s going on,” she said, entering their room. It was even bigger than the room she shared with Edith, with a separate sitting area and a balcony overlooking the garden.
“You saw the maître d’ talking to your father.” Her mother took the hairpins out of her hair. “There was an error in the seating arrangements. We’ll dine in the dining room another night.”
“I mean, what’s going on with everything?” Vera fumed, perching on the four-poster bed. “First we stay in a hotel frequented by movie stars, and then we make dinner reservations at the restaurant where everything on the menu costs more than the dry foods section at Moshe’s delicatessen, and then we leave for no reason. Did you rob a bank and you’re afraid they’ve come after you?”
“A lady should never comment on the prices on a menu,” Alice murmured, wiping the lipstick from her mouth.
“We left because of the German officers at the next table.” Vera turned to her father. “But what did they do to you? And why are we on Margaret Island?”
Lawrence took his wife’s hand and they sat on the sofa facing the bed.
“The German officers didn’t want to eat in the same room as Jews.” Lawrence hung his head. “And we came because I have to go away for a while. I wanted to take my family on a special vacation first.”
Vera glanced frantically from her father to her mother. Now she was su
re of it; her father had some terrible disease. They would pretend he was going away, when really he was being admitted to a hospital.
“Tell me the truth. Are you sick?” she asked.
Lawrence looked at Vera as if was he wondering if she was old enough to know the truth. His shoulders crumpled and he shook his head.
“I’m not sick. I’m being sent to a work camp.”
Vera had heard about the work camps. Jewish men in Hungary weren’t allowed to serve in the military and were forced to go to work camps instead. They were packed into dormitories as tightly as sardines and made to dig ditches and work in factories without having enough to eat.
“You have a family and a law practice,” Vera pleaded. Her voice was tight and her skin felt clammy. Her father was not big and burly; he couldn’t carry bricks all day without collapsing.
“I’ll be fine.” Lawrence moved to the bedside table and handed Vera a book. “I’ve been making notes in Ulysses for you to study while I’m gone.”
Vera accepted the book and walked to the door. If her parents saw that she was crying, it would only make things worse.
“I’ll start reading it tonight after Edith goes to sleep.” She tried to keep her voice light. “Can we really order whatever we like? We bicycled all afternoon and I’m starving.”
“Order anything on the room service menu,” her father answered. “But watch out for the waiter. I worked as a hotel waiter one summer and the best part was meeting pretty girls.”
Vera took the stairs to their floor and flung open the door to the room. Edith was eating hazelnut torte in bed.
“Where were you? I couldn’t wait. I ordered dinner,” Edith announced, waving at the table set with a white tablecloth. “You were going to say good night to your parents and you’ve been gone for ages.”
“My parents explained everything,” Vera said worriedly, sinking onto the bed. “It’s worse than I thought. My father is being sent to a forced labor camp. He wanted to go somewhere special before he left.”
