“It’s not our fault what happened to us, Annaliese. We didn’t ask for any of this. And we didn’t cause it. Before the war we were just young girls spinning dreams for the future. If I do nothing when I know I can help you, I can never again be the girl that I was; I will only ever be that other girl, the one the war tried to make of me.”
Annaliese seemed to need a moment to internalize those words and realize they were true for her as well. “What should I do?”
“The dinner bell will ring soon. You need to go down to the salon and sit at our table and eat whatever is put in front of you.”
“I couldn’t possibly eat!”
“You must. You must pretend that everything is just as it was when you woke up this morning.”
Annaliese nodded slowly.
“When the meal is over, go up to our stateroom like you have all the other nights to sit with Douglas,” Simone continued. “Phoebe will want to be out and about. It’s our last night. I will come in later like I usually do. Don’t go to bed. Don’t put your nightgown on. Stay up reading or something. When I come in, I am going to be angry. I am going to say that I just overheard that the telegraph room received that wire. I am going to accuse you of being a lying, dirty German who left her best friend dead in a car and stole her identity. I’m going to say terrible things, Annaliese. And when I say these things, you need to react like you had wanted to just now. Phoebe can’t ever think that I helped you. When she’s asked she will say that I didn’t get along with you, and that I was very angry about what you had done. I will be shouting, you will be crying, and Phoebe will no doubt be panicking. We will wake Douglas. You will run from the stateroom in tears. Phoebe will want to run after you but Douglas will be wailing, if we’ve done our job right, and she will want to hand him over to me. I will refuse. She will beg me to go after you. She will say it wasn’t your fault and that you did what you did because you were desperate. I will finally relent and go looking for you. Now, when you run from the stateroom, you need to come to the back of the ship. To this place right here. Make sure at least one person sees you but don’t let them stay to ask what is the matter. Tell them you want to be alone. And then when you are sure no one is taking note of you, take off your cardigan and leave it right here for me. I won’t be far behind. That’s how I will know that no one saw you when you left. And then you need to go belowdecks using the staff stairwell. No one can see you, Annaliese. You must make sure no one sees you.”
“But where will I go then?”
Simone was fairly certain that she could count on Marc to help her. But she wasn’t sure that Annaliese’s true predicament would matter to him. What did matter to him were deeds of bravery and risk undertaken by those who’d been oppressed but had risen up to resist. She would tell him that her roommate with the German accent was actually a counterspy attempting to escape a Nazi who would stop at nothing to find her. It was mostly true. She would tell him it would mean the world to her if he would help her and it would be his own contribution to the courageous acts of the Résistance.
“I shall persuade Marc to help us,” Simone said. “He will do it for me. I know he will.”
“But . . . but if I go belowdecks and am not in my stateroom, won’t the commodore search the ship for me?”
“Not if he thinks you are dead.”
• • •
HALF AN HOUR LATER, SIMONE, PHOEBE, AND ANNALIESE WERE at their table in the dining room. Phoebe chatted without ceasing about everything and nothing, stopping only once to ask Katrine why she was merely picking at her food.
Simone had glared at Annaliese surreptitiously, and the German woman had speared a piece of chicken and said she was too excited about seeing her husband tomorrow to eat. This happy comment set Phoebe up for fifteen additional minutes of chatter about the life that awaited them in America.
Marc was attentive but nervously so. He’d taken to Simone’s request as if he were being asked to dig for buried treasure that was assured of being found. She had cornered him before dinner just outside the staff entrance to the dining room. She’d told him she had a favor to ask that was as important as any act of resistance during the war that she or her father or brother had undertaken.
“If you get caught, you will probably lose your job,” she’d said. “You might even be arrested.”
He’d said yes before even hearing what it was Simone wanted him to do.
When he served them their coffee, he lingered at the table, making small talk. It seemed to Simone that he was trying too hard to appear normal. She caught his gaze and tipped her head to indicate he needed to move on. Annaliese watched him leave with interest, and Simone kicked her lightly under the table.
“Please come with me to the variety show tonight, Katrine,” Phoebe said as Marc walked away. “It’s going to be such fun. I can bring Dougie to that, I think. And we can sit near the back in case he gets fussy.”
Simone reached for her coffee cup, hoping Annaliese could come up with a convincing reason for why she didn’t want to go.
“I don’t think so, Phoebe. I like the quiet of our room after dinner. And I don’t mind watching Douglas while you go to the show. It will be my last night with him. I . . . I am going to miss him.”
Well done, Simone thought.
“Oh, you’re such a dearie. He’s going to miss you, too. We must all be sure to exchange our addresses before we get off the ship tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Annaliese said numbly.
“How about you, Simone? You want to come with me to the show?”
Simone set her cup down on its saucer. “I’m not one for variety shows. Besides, I already have plans.”
“You’re not rendezvousing with that steward, are you?” Phoebe frowned.
Simone laughed like it was a silly assumption. “I have better things to do on our last night than smoke a cigarette with a boy. I am playing Barbu with some of the other French war brides. It will be the last time we shall all play it for a while, since no one in America will likely know how to play.”
Phoebe shook her head. “I don’t even know what a Barbu is. All right, then. I guess I will just go by myself. And I’ll let you put Dougie to bed, Katrine, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Annaliese said with a convincing smile.
Phoebe scooped up Douglas from the high chair he was sitting in, and Annaliese rose as well.
“Don’t be too late, Simone,” Phoebe said. “We’ll want to have some girl-talk time before we turn the lights out. Don’t you think, Katrine?”
“Um. Yes.”
“I’ll try to keep an eye on the clock,” Simone answered casually.
Annaliese walked away without a backward glance.
The plan was in motion.
• • •
SIMONE WAITED UNTIL THE VARIETY SHOW LET OUT.
She watched from behind a pillar as Phoebe laughed and chatted with another war bride as she came out of the theater, said good night, and headed up the staircase along with many others to the A deck. Simone followed at a safe distance and waited for five minutes after Phoebe entered the stateroom before inserting her key into the lock.
She took a deep breath, fixed a frown on her face, and opened the door.
Annaliese was sitting in one of the armchairs under the portholes with a book open on her lap, still in her clothes. Douglas was asleep in his bunk. Phoebe was standing in front of Annaliese, telling her all about the show, no doubt. Annaliese’s gaze flitted to Simone, and Phoebe turned.
Simone pushed the door closed, hard.
“What the devil?” Phoebe said, with a quick glance toward her son’s bed. Douglas did not stir.
Simone ignored Phoebe and strode purposefully toward Annaliese. “You damned, dirty German,” she said.
Annaliese flinched.
“Simone!” Phoebe exclaimed.
“You’re not going to get away with it,” Simone continued, injecting as much venom into her tone as she could. “They know what you’ve done. You’re going to be arrested when we dock tomorrow.”
“What the . . .” Phoebe could not finish.
Annaliese looked stricken but appeared frozen to her chair.
Say something, Simone silently begged her.
“What . . . what are you talking about?” Annaliese finally said, her voice thick with dread.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, you conniving liar.”
“Simone!” Phoebe glanced back at Douglas again. He moved a pudgy arm.
“What are you saying?” Annaliese whimpered.
“There was a wire today from Southampton,” Simone went on. “I heard them talking about it in the radio room while I was having a cigarette after my card game. I was right outside. You are to be detained when we dock tomorrow and then the police will come and arrest you. And they’ll send you straight back to Germany, where I hope you rot.”
“Katrine! What is she talking about?” Phoebe said.
Simone turned to Phoebe “Her name isn’t Katrine. It’s Annaliese. Katrine is dead. She left that poor girl dead in her car, stole her passport and identity papers so that she could board this ship under someone else’s name. She’s a German, Phoebe.”
Phoebe, dazed but ever compassionate, knelt before Annaliese. “Is this true? Is what she is saying true?”
Tears were streaming down Annaliese’s face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“But why?” Phoebe murmured.
“Because she wanted a quick way out of Germany and into America, that’s why,” Simone replied.
“All those things you told us about the girl named Annaliese. They happened to you?” Phoebe asked.
Annaliese opened her mouth, but Simone filled the second of silence. “I bet you lied about that, too, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”
Annaliese stood and Phoebe followed suit. “I . . . I can’t go back. I can’t go back there,” she said, her voice quivering.
“You should have thought of that before,” Simone shouted.
Douglas, at last, woke up.
Phoebe rose and crossed the stateroom to kneel at his bunk. “Shhh, sweetheart,” she crooned, her voice breaking. She patted his back as he continued to howl. “There must be some mistake!” she said, turning back toward Simone.
“There’s no mistake,” Simone said. “She lied about everything.”
“I can’t go back!” Annaliese wailed, her most convincing response yet.
“You disgust me,” Simone said. Their gazes met. It was time for the second phase.
Annaliese brushed past her, flung open the stateroom door, and ran out.
“Katrine!” Phoebe yelled, pulling Douglas into her arms and dashing to the door.
“Her name’s Annaliese!” Simone shouted, more toward the retreating form of the German woman than to Phoebe.
“You have to go after her!” Phoebe said.
“I certainly do not.”
Phoebe turned to watch Annaliese round the corner to the central staircase. “Then take Douglas, please? I will go after her.”
“No.”
Phoebe swung back around. “Simone! Whatever it is she has done, she must have had her reasons! What if she was telling the truth about the girl named Annaliese? What if she was forced to marry a man she didn’t love and who did all those terrible things to her?”
“And what if she wasn’t telling the truth? She’s a German. Married to a Nazi. The Nazis killed my family, stole everything from me, and I mean everything, and made my life hell.”
“But she isn’t a Nazi, Simone! She didn’t kill your family! She didn’t steal anything from you!”
Simone let a few seconds of contemplation pass. “I don’t know where she went.”
“It’s a ship! How many places could she have gone?”
She pretended to think on it.
“Please, Simone. Go after her. Or take Douglas and let me go after her.”
“I’ll do it,” Simone said, feigning a reluctant tone.
She started to move away from the door.
“Tell her we’ll vouch for her.”
“I’m not vouching for her!” Simone called out over her shoulder.
“Then tell her I will.”
Simone huffed and then started down the hallway toward the central staircase. When she was out of Phoebe’s view, she quickened her steps.
It did not take long to get to the promenade deck and head outside to make her way to the stern. It was near freezing outside, and there was no one taking air at ten o’clock at night. She walked to the far end and opened the door to the little storage cabinet where a bevy of deck cushions were lined up for warmer days.
The promised thirty-pound bag of potatoes was leaning up against the inner wall.
Marc had come through with his first assignment. She hoped he’d already been able to make good on his second. She made sure she was still alone on the deck before hoisting out the sack. She hefted the heavy bag into her arms and peeked out of the double doors that led to the outer decks of the back of the ship. There was no one out and about. Simone pushed her way through and made her way to the white-railed steps that would take her to the last accessible outside deck.
She wanted to see no one, not a soul, on that deck. There could be no one watching her lug a sack of potatoes down three sets of metal stairs. Simone peered into the dimly illuminated stern. She saw a fluttering at the rail.
Annaliese’s cardigan.
She stepped out fully and winced at the razorlike aggression of the wind off the freezing water. Her hands began to feel stiff and numb, and she feared she would lose her hold on the sack. Simone willed herself to hang on tight. Just a few more stairs. Just a few more.
Then she was at the bottom and scurrying to the port side where the cardigan was tied. She set her bag down and reached for the sweater; the weave still bore a remnant of the warmth of having just been taken off. Simone pulled up the bag and balanced it on the railing with one hand as she held Annaliese’s cardigan in the other. She was so cold. But she wanted to wait until she saw the shadow or form of just one other person out for a bracing walk or a look at the stars. Just one person to notice movement at the back of the ship and to hear her call out Annaliese’s name or shout the word, “No!” and to hear the splash of something heavy hitting the water below.
Her fingers were stinging with cold and her legs were numb. She would not be able to hold on to the potatoes much longer. And then, from the port side of the deck, she saw a figure in the semidarkness. A woman who called out Simone’s name.
Phoebe.
Phoebe started running toward her.
“No!” Simone yelled as she let the sack fall.
Four seconds later she let the cardigan go, too, and it floated down like a butterfly, alighting gracefully on the water just as Phoebe reached the railing and screamed Annaliese’s name.
Thirty-five
It was nearly one in the morning before Simone and Phoebe returned to their stateroom after Annaliese Kurtz’s apparent suicide.
The search and rescue for the impostor war bride had proved fruitless. By the time the alarm had sounded, the ship’s engines had been ordered stopped, and the great vessel had stopped moving, the spot in the water where Simone said the woman had jumped was hundreds of yards behind them. A lowered lifeboat found no trace of Annaliese Kurtz, not even the cardigan that both Simone and Phoebe reported they’d seen in the water.
Phoebe had been nearly hysterical at the loss of the woman she still kept calling Katrine. The ship’s command staff, the Red Cross matrons, and the other military officials on board all wanted statements from both women, and each time they explained what happened, Phoebe wept wit
h increased sorrow and guilt. Simone had guided them back to their room, assuring Phoebe that it was no one’s fault, least of all hers, that Annaliese had jumped.
“You were too hard on her, Simone!” Phoebe had said, as they’d made their way back to the room with Red Cross blankets wrapped around their shoulders.
“I did her a favor telling her that her secret was out,” Simone had replied with little compassion. “You heard what Annaliese said. She’d rather die than go back.”
“She can’t have meant it!”
“How do you know she didn’t mean it? I said nothing to her that wasn’t true.”
“But the way you said it was so hateful!”
“I tried to stop her, if you must know. She willingly went over the rail, Phoebe. She did what she wanted to do.”
When they arrived at the stateroom, the war bride from across the hall who’d agreed to stay with Douglas went back to her own cabin and the two women went wearily to bed.
Phoebe fell asleep quickly from emotional exhaustion, but Simone lay awake for an hour or more, wondering, praying, and hoping that Marc would be able to pull off the second half of their plan. The man was young and impulsive, and so much was riding on his being clever and cautious from here on out. She would want to check in the morning to make sure everything was still in place for Annaliese’s grand escape, but she knew she could not seek him out to confirm he had all the details in hand. Simone placed her hand on the tiny mound at her waist, wishing she could feel the child inside her move so that she would be assured that love and life is always stronger than fear and death.
She slept for a few hours and then awoke with a start a few minutes after sunrise when Douglas began to babble. She peered over the bunk. Phoebe was awake, and her cheeks were streaked with last night’s tears.
“Can you sit with him while I do something with my face?” Phoebe said. “I must look a fright. I don’t want Hal thinking he married a troll.”
“You do look a fright. Go. I will play with him.” Simone sat up in bed and put her legs over the side. Her gaze fell on Annaliese’s bunk; the flowered blanket was pulled up tight and neat.
A Bridge Across the Ocean Page 26
