Bleak Landing

by Terrie Todd

  She sat down again. “Look, I don’t know what’s in that letter, but I was told you were crying a lot last night. By the look of you, it was more than just crying. Do you want to talk about it or not? Because if not, I should get back to the factory. I really don’t think they’re paying me to be here.”

  I pulled a brown dress over my head. I supposed I owed her some kind of explanation, and since she already knew the story of my bartered necklace, I figured I should say something. But while I was still trying to figure out what to tell her and how to say it, Maxine surprised me with a deduction of her own.

  “Who is Ingrid Harrison?” She gasped. “Victor’s wife? Is Victor married?” Her eyes looked as round as Mrs. Weinberger’s good dinner plates.

  “No, dummy.” I sat on the edge of the bed to pull on my stockings. “She’s his mother.”

  “Oh. Well, is Victor all right?”

  I hung up the clothes Maxine had pulled from the closet. “Far as I know.”

  “So what did she say, then?”

  With a sigh, I turned around and faced her. “Remember Mr. Nilsen?”

  “The one who has your necklace?”

  “Yeah.” My gaze went to the window. “He’s dead.”

  Chapter 23

  July 1941

  Mr. Weinberger had turned both his factory and his home into war machines. The factory workers, who were now creating uniforms for the Canadian forces, increased their efforts, and even more people were hired to man more sewing machines. At the mansion, staff who used to spend their days polishing silverware or cars now organized metal drives, assembled packages for prisoners of war, wrote letters, grew vegetables, and distributed posters and pamphlets. The magnificent ballroom that once hosted elegant ladies and gentlemen now resembled a factory itself, having been set up with rows of long tables where goods were organized and packed for delivery. Even Miss Cuthbert, the nanny, spent her days working alongside us until the children began their break from school. Now that it was summer, she put them to work part of the day, too, helping with the vegetable garden.

  Mrs. Cohen and Natasha still kept the meals coming, but it was much simpler fare these days. Now everyone ate the same thing, regardless of their rank. Family members and staff worked as one team. I never knew from one day to the next whether I’d be folding sheets or brochures, washing dishes or clothes, delivering sandwiches or letters. The motivation behind all the effort was the missing crown prince. Carlton Weinberger had not been found. His father and sister worked diligently, around the clock it seemed, to increase the odds of his being brought home and of the war coming to an end. But the more time passed, the more their efforts embraced the cause in general. They quit hounding the war offices and stopped insisting that Carlton be located.

  Mrs. Weinberger remained sequestered in her room, and Evelyn continued to play the role of lady’s maid on top of contributing to the war activities.

  I overheard a conversation between Evelyn and Miss Cuthbert one day when I was carrying a stack of clean towels to the family bedrooms. Their exchange was not meant for my ears, but I stopped to listen anyway.

  I could hear the genuine affection in the nanny’s voice. “The children miss their mother more than anything.”

  Evelyn made a humming sound in agreement. “Have you spoken to their father about it?”

  “Yes. He says only that she’s not ready to see them and that it’s best if they not see her like this.”

  Evelyn didn’t answer, but she must have nodded because Miss Cuthbert said, “It’s that bad, then, is it?”

  “She’s wasting away. Refuses to eat. Won’t see anyone. She ignores me for the most part, although she’ll submit to being bathed.”

  “How can a mother grieve so for one child—a son she didn’t even give birth to—and ignore the ones who are right here under her roof, her own flesh and blood?” I could hear the frustration in Miss Cuthbert’s voice.

  “You don’t know the full story, Miss Cuthbert. Mrs. Weinberger was best friends with the first Mrs. Weinberger from the time they were children. They were inseparable. She was the sandek at Carlton’s brit milah.”

  I was just familiar enough with the terms to know that a sandek is a little like a godparent. Mrs. Weinberger had probably promised her friend she’d help raise her son.

  “Then when Caroline was born, her mother died giving birth,” Evelyn said. “Mrs. Weinberger started caring for those children long before she became the second Mrs. Weinberger. You could say she was their first nanny. She legally adopted them when she married their father.”

  Miss Cuthbert sighed. “And now she feels she’s let her friend down.”

  “She hasn’t said as much, but I suspect that’s a big part of it. Mr. Weinberger tries to encourage her, of course. But he’s not around much.”

  “He could spend more time with his children, too. They’re practically orphans.”

  I coughed, quietly at first and then louder, to warn them of my presence as I came around the corner.

  “Oh, Bridget.” Evelyn took the towels from me. “Thank you, I was just going to fetch these.”

  Miss Cuthbert carried on down the hall and, with a nod to Evelyn, I retreated back down the stairs with their conversation echoing in my head.

  Caroline was just emerging from her father’s den. “Bridget, I need you to take this packet of papers to Father at the factory. I just spoke with him on the phone, and he needs them as quickly as possible.” She handed me a bundle. I took it, raising my eyebrows at her in an unspoken request. “And by all means, find Maxine while you’re there. Have lunch.”

  I smiled at Caroline’s kindness. She knew I appreciated any opportunity to run errands to the factory and possibly spend a few minutes with my friend. Besides, it was a beautiful summer day and I hadn’t been anywhere in ages.

  On the bus ride, I made an effort to focus on my surroundings, but I could not push the conversation regarding Mrs. Weinberger’s deteriorating condition from my thoughts. I recalled Mrs. Harrison’s words about how my father suffered, not knowing my whereabouts. The unlikely comparison almost made me laugh.

  It’s not the same thing, I argued as the bus turned the corner onto Main Street. My father would just as soon I’d died. He could have found me easily by now, if he cared. Mrs. Weinberger loves her son. And he’s not even her natural-born son!

  I delivered the papers to Mr. Weinberger’s secretary right at noon and hurried to the cafeteria. It wasn’t hard to find Maxine, who was in the middle of an animated story and surrounded by eager listeners.

  “Bridget!” She rushed over and embraced me right in front of everyone. “You here for lunch? Get some food and come join us!”

  I grabbed a sandwich and a glass of milk and took a seat beside Maxine. None of the other girls looked familiar to me. One by one, they finished their meals and left the table.

  “I only have a few minutes, Bridge. Catch me up!” Maxine curled her hands around a cup of coffee.

  “The house is looking more and more like this place,” I said. “Like a busy factory, only fancier.” I told her about Mrs. Weinberger’s behavior and the conversation I’d overheard.

  Maxine’s face registered immediate compassion. “Oh, that poor woman. If only she could muster the strength to join in on the war efforts. It would help her feel better, I’m sure.”

  “Here’s the thing, Max. She’s not even Carlton’s real mother. I don’t get it.”

  Maxine looked at me a moment. “Define real,” she said. “She adopted him, right?”

  “I suppose. But she’s got children of her own that she’s neglecting . . .” My voice trailed off.

  “I’m going to pray for her. For all of them.” Maxine took a swallow of her coffee. “I’m ashamed that I haven’t been doing so already. I mean, I’ve prayed for Carlton to be found, but I haven’t really thought about what all this was doing to his family.”

  I wasn’t sure what good Maxine’s prayers would do, but I didn’t argue.
I knew she prayed for me, too. She’d prayed that my hands would heal up without scars, and they had. She’d prayed that I would pass my difficult mathematics exam, and I had. She even prayed that I’d write back to Victor’s mother.

  I had not.

  We talked of other things until she needed to get back to her sewing machine, and I caught the street car back to the house.

  That evening in my room, I could hardly believe my eyes when I read my next English composition assignment: Write a letter to someone, alive or dead, who has influenced your life—for better or for worse. The assignment will be returned so you can send it if you choose, but doing so is not a requirement for this course. Allow your words to flow freely and honestly as you express any thoughts you may have kept inside.

  I wanted to laugh out loud but just shook my head. Maxine. I could picture her grinning that stupid grin, insisting this was God’s answer to her prayer. Well, maybe I’d just show her. The assignment didn’t mean I had to write the letter to Victor’s mother. I could name plenty of people who’d influenced my life either for better or for worse—including Maxine Ross herself, though at the moment I wasn’t entirely sure which category I’d put her in. I began a mental checklist.

  My mother. I had only three vague memories of her; braiding my hair and humming a lullaby were two of them. The other was of her lying sick on a wretched ship until she died, her locket still around her neck. The way she’d influenced my life most was by leaving it.

  My father.

  Miss Johansen. She’d believed in me, encouraged me to study. Showed me I was smart in spite of everything. She deserved a letter of appreciation.

  My father.

  Mrs. Harrison. There should be a sketch of her next to the word kindness in Mr. Webster’s big old dictionary. She was the very definition of the word. At least, she had been until she so rudely interfered in my present life.

  My father.

  Mr. Weinberger. I owed the man a debt I could never repay. Though we rarely spoke, he had created every opportunity that led me to the life I had now, had opened doors for me that I could never have pushed open on my own.

  With a sigh, I picked up my fountain pen and began to write.

  Chapter 24

  February 19, 1942

  We’d been warned it was coming, but it was still the most disturbing day of my life.

  Winnipeg’s Victory Loan committee chairman, John Draper Perrin, had organized a mock German invasion of the city. The idea was to frighten folks into forking over their cash for Victory Loans or bonds so the federal government could increase its war spending. The premise was “What would it be like if the Nazis invaded Winnipeg?” Hence the name: “If Day.” We laughed about it ahead of time, wondering what good a bunch of play actors could do since we all knew the whole thing was a hoax.

  But as the rest of the Weinberger household and I listened to the local radio station over breakfast, our laughter faded. “Nazi forces” were moving across the city from the west end. At six, air-raid sirens sounded and a blackout was ordered. Determined not to let the silly exercise interfere with our day, Caroline and I headed out the back door to run some errands we’d planned.

  As we made our way downtown, the sights unfolding before us were horrifying. Giant swastikas had been unfurled from flagpoles where the Union Jack had always flown. Guns on vehicles fired antiaircraft rounds at fighter planes overhead, and tanks rolled down the street. Even though I knew it was all blanks and make-believe, I felt as though I’d walked into a war newsreel. Troops in Nazi uniforms goose-stepped down the street, arms raised in the famous Hitler salute. We retreated to the relative safety of the garment factory to be closer to Mr. Weinberger.

  Inside, public service announcements blared over the radio. Casualties were reported, and locations were given for dressing stations set up to treat the wounded. By nine o’clock, it was reported that the city had surrendered, and we thought maybe the game was over. But at lunchtime, we suddenly heard yelling and heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. Soldiers barged into the cafeteria, a frightened and roughed-up-looking Mr. Weinberger between them.

  “Do not resist,” Mr. Weinberger told us. He sounded weak and apologetic, and it all seemed very real. My heart was pounding.

  In between their shouts at us in German, the soldiers helped themselves to the food from our trays and demanded warm coats. They tacked posters onto the walls and then left the factory and marched on down the street, taking Mr. Weinberger with them. We gathered around to read the posters:

  ANKÜNDIGUNG

  IT IS HEREBY PROCLAIMED THAT:

  1. This territory is now a part of the Greater Reich and under the jurisdiction of Col. Erich Von Neuremburg, Gauleiter of the Fuehrer.

  2. No civilians will be permitted on the streets between 9:30 p.m. and daybreak.

  3. All public places are out of bounds to civilians, and not more than 8 persons can gather at one time in any place.

  4. Every householder must provide billeting for 5 soldiers.

  5. All organizations of a military, semi-military or fraternal nature are hereby disbanded and banned. Girl Guide, Boy Scout and similar youth organizations will remain in existence but under direction of the Gauleiter and Storm troops.

  6. All owners of motor cars, trucks and buses must register same at Occupation Headquarters where they will be taken over by the Army of Occupation.

  7. Each farmer must immediately report all stocks of grain and livestock and no farm produce may be sold except through the office of the Kommandant of supplies in Winnipeg. He may not keep any for his own consumption but must buy it back through the Central Authority in Winnipeg.

  8. All national emblems excluding the Swastika must be immediately destroyed.

  9. Each inhabitant will be furnished with a ration card, and food and clothing may only be purchased on presentation of this card.

  10. The following offences will result in death without trial

  a) Attempting to organize resistance against the Army of Occupation

  b) Entering or leaving the province without permission.

  c) Failure to report all goods possessed when ordered to do so.

  d) Possession of firearms.

  NO ONE WILL ACT, SPEAK, OR THINK CONTRARY TO OUR DECREES

  published and ordered by the Authority of (signed) Erich Von Neuremburg

  At home that evening, we learned that the soldiers had charged into some school classrooms as well, and I felt sorry for the traumatized young students. Notices had been posted on churches, forbidding worship services, and the German troops arrested some priests who objected. Copies of the Winnipeg Tribune appeared on doorsteps, renamed Das Winnipeger Lügenblatt—The Winnipeg Lies Sheet—and the front page was written almost entirely in German.

  Of course, by now we realized that Mr. Weinberger had been part of the plan all along. He’d agreed to allow the invasion of his factory and was released by supper time. He returned home to address his household.

  “I’ll tell you what I told my factory staff,” he said after he’d gathered us all around in his den. “What happened here today, and much worse, is really happening in Europe. My family and I would be prime targets if we still lived there. That is why I felt compelled to participate in If Day.” He cleared his throat and pressed his lips together before going on, his voice a raspy whisper. “May you all rest well in the safety of this home tonight.”

  I called Maxine. Having left her factory job to start beauty school in September, she’d been spared much of the day’s drama. But she planned to keep a copy of the fake newspaper to show her children one day. Typical Maxine.

  I thought I’d never get to sleep that night. I kept thinking I heard the air-raid sirens or planes flying overhead. The event was truly sobering, and it was all anyone could talk about for the rest of the week. In the months to come, we learned that it had also been a grand success, as the sales of Victory Bonds rose through the clouds like those fighter planes I’d never forget.


  Chapter 25

  Summer 1942

  Maxine’s parents sat beside me: Mrs. Ross in a summer dress with pink flowers, Mr. Ross looking uncomfortable in his suit and tie. When it was Maxine’s turn to walk across the platform and receive her hairdressing certificate, I clapped and cheered as loudly as they did. With her brothers still overseas, I felt like an only sibling. Maxine had finally achieved her dream, graduating from beauty school and securing a job at Renee’s Hair Boutique downtown. I felt genuinely proud and happy for Max, but I couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to walk across a stage and have someone shake my hand. I had graduated, too, though without the fanfare. Finishing my high school work and the typing and shorthand courses that came with it felt like a shallow victory. With no desire to remind anyone that I hadn’t graduated before this, I’d said nothing the day my diploma arrived in the mail.

  Besides, the timing of my coursework completion had coincided with Miss Caroline’s marriage to her captain. I hadn’t wanted to infringe on her show. The wedding was a quiet, small affair in consideration of the war and her missing brother, by now presumed dead. Mrs. Weinberger had recovered from the loss only slightly. While she did appear in public now, she rarely spoke and never smiled.

  Caroline expressed no desire to take me or any of the household staff with her to her new home, preferring the modern way of things. I wondered if she also wanted a clean break from the sadness that engulfed the house. Mr. Weinberger pulled me aside, saying he was reluctant to let me go and that he recognized my abilities. He asked me to work in his office at the factory, which I was happy to do. But living in their home felt awkward now.

  All through school, Maxine had shared a third-floor apartment with another student, but her roommate was taking a job across town and moving out. So I wasn’t surprised when she started badgering me to move in with her.

  “It’s not like you work at the big house anymore,” she said. “You’re practically Mr. Weinberger’s secretary now. My place is much closer to the factory.”