by Cathy Gohlke
“Yes, Lukas’s work. You know, I suppose, that there have been numerous arrests in the Abwehr.”
“That has nothing to do with Lukas.”
“That is the only reason I haven’t forbidden all association with the Kirchmanns, though Peterson urges me to do so.”
“They’ve been great friends to us, Vater—always. Remember how Frau Kirchmann cared for Mutti, day and night, like a sister.”
“Ja, I remember. But your association with them will not please your husband. You should expect to—”
“My hus—”
“By August, Lieselotte. It will be a year since Rudy’s death. It’s time. And once you are married, I believe Fräulein Hilde will accept my proposal. I intend an October wedding. I’ll wait no longer.”
“We conjured Rudy’s death date to match his birthday, Vater. It doesn’t mean—”
“August. That is final.”
“And if I don’t—”
“Then Dr. Peterson will make arrangements for Lebensborn.”
“Vater!”
“You have five months to lure a husband, Lieselotte. Do it.”
If Vater watched me like a hawk, Dr. Peterson tracked me with the beady eyes of a vulture. Their scrutiny made it all but impossible—and too dangerous for everyone—for me to run my circuit of food procurements and deliveries to those in hiding.
That, in turn, placed more pressure on Marta and Frau Kirchmann. Each time I saw them, they appeared thinner and more worried. Gray had begun to streak Frau Kirchmann’s beautiful auburn hair. The lines in Herr Kirchmann’s forehead deepened, and Marta had long since lost her buoyant step, her winsome wit.
Fear grated our nerves raw, and severe rationing took its toll on the strongest. We could not adequately feed those in our care, and week by week we saw them waste away until their lives sometimes seemed too great a burden—for them and for us.
I shared my fears and agony about Vater’s demands with Marta, but what could she say? What could she do? I would never marry another than Lukas. Lebensborn crept into my nightmares.
June arrived and the white and crimson roses in our front garden bloomed as they hadn’t done in years. Why that was, when they received the least amount of attention, I don’t know.
Fräulein Hilde claimed it was because we were both planning weddings and portended a brilliant fall blooming just in time for her wedding with mein Vater.
That’s how she told me she’d accepted Vater at last. Vater’s delight in the prospect was nearly contagious. I was glad for him to be happy, and I think Mutti would not have minded his remarrying. She would have cautioned against marrying someone barely ten years older than her daughter, but in the New Germany that was no longer surprising. Mutti would have been appalled at his threat to me, or that I should be ejected from our home in time for Vater’s nuptials.
At least, those were the things I told myself as I lay awake at night. I wanted—needed—someone to champion me . . . even if it was Mutti from beyond the grave.
Fräulein Hilde insisted I walk as her maid or—as she said she prayed—matron of honor. I protested, but it did no good, and I dared not make an enemy of the neck that turned my father’s head.
It was the last day of June. We’d just finished a first fitting of her beaded ivory wedding gown and my attendant dress—fitted apricot with a sheer overlay—and stopped for luncheon at an outdoor café near the Tiergarten. Fräulein Hilde knew everyone of consequence, and everyone—of consequence or not—knew her. Each course was interrupted by well-wishers and curious admirers, especially when she told them I was to be her new daughter.
“I love being told I’m entirely too young to be your mother.”
I smiled, confessing in silence that I was glad she was not my mother at all.
We’d finished consommé and were awaiting the next course when I looked up. Across the street stood Lukas, in uniform, staring at me as though he’d never seen me. And then he broke into a smile that would shame the sun, and my heart soared higher than the towering linden trees.
“Lieselotte?” Fräulein Hilde whispered. “Who is that young man?”
“Lukas—my Lukas.” I stood and my napkin fell to the pavement. Before I could step away from the table he was running across the street, laughing, heedless of the traffic. Two horns honked angrily and he threw up his hand in apology but kept running.
Tears that I didn’t know had been pent up burst through my eyes, with gulping sobs to match. “Lukas!”
He swept me into his arms and spun me around—not once, but twice—and hugged me to his chest. I looked up, laughing, barely able to catch my breath. He bathed my cheek, my lips, my forehead with kisses.
“Lieselotte.” Fräulein Hilde tugged the hem of my skirt. “Heads are turning.”
Lukas pulled away. “I beg your pardon, Fräulein.” But he couldn’t stop grinning and neither could I.
“Won’t you join us?” Fräulein Hilde’s curiosity and amusement laced her question.
“I would love to, Fräulein—”
“Hilde von Loewe—soon to be Frau Hilde Sommer, Lieselotte’s new mother.” She smiled, as if sharing the season’s best-kept secret, to good effect on Lukas.
He gaped, appropriately flabbergasted. “The wedding? It is soon?”
“October 12. Lieselotte will walk the aisle with me. Lovely, don’t you think?”
Lukas sat back and did not hide his astonishment. “Indeed.” Lifting my glass, he said, “I raise a toast to the two most beautiful women in Berlin. May all others weep for the honor that is taken.”
Fräulein Hilde laughed delightedly. “Quite the charmer, your young man, Lieselotte.”
“Quite the charmer,” I repeated joyfully, as astonished as she.
Lukas smiled and lifted my hand to his lips. If only we’d been alone.
“This is the mysterious young suitor your father told me about?”
“This is my Lukas.” I squeezed his hand.
“You were at Rudy’s memorial service,” she remembered.
“This is correct,” he said, growing serious. “A very sad day. Rudy was my friend—all our growing-up years.”
“Then I don’t understand. Why haven’t the two of you married? You’re quite obviously head over heels. What are you waiting for?”
Lukas’s eyes grew wide and I felt the heat creep up my neck. He moistened his lips, as if that gave him time to think of how to respond. I held my breath. What had Vater told Fräulein Hilde—that I’d claimed we had an understanding? That wasn’t exactly true, and now it would out. Then what?
Lukas looked from Fräulein Hilde to me, and back again. He nodded his head, as if considering an important proposition. “You make a very good point, Fräulein Hilde. Why have we waited? Why should we wait longer?”
“Lukas!” I gasped, not believing the conversation. Was he toying with me?
He turned to me, then left his seat and, bending one knee, clasped my hands. “Lieselotte Sommer, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Fräulein Hilde clapped her hands, delighted again, and heads swiveled to take in the scene.
“Lukas! I can’t believe you’re asking me this—”
“But I am, and I need your answer, my Lieselotte.” He squeezed my hands, communicating something more, something urgent. “Will you marry me?”
My head moved up and down before my mouth caught up. “Yes, yes, I will.”
He broke into a relieved smile—a glow—and stood, cheering, “She said yes!”
The entire café broke into applause, Fräulein Hilde most of all.
I felt—not for the first time—that I stood at the center of a stage, played a role that might or might not be real. But this time I chose to play it to the hilt, to revel in the spotlight. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him until I knew he’d caught the fire in my heart. I didn’t hear the cheering stop, didn’t know when Lukas returned to his seat or returned me to mine.
“That was
the most spectacular proposal I have ever seen,” Fräulein Hilde enthused. “Your father will be so pleased.” And then, as if suddenly inspired, “I’ll help you plan your wedding.”
“Oh, that’s not nec—” I began.
But Lukas broke in with, “So kind. That is so very kind of you. With your knowledge of weddings, Fräulein Hilde, it will make things run so much more smoothly.”
“And quickly?” She raised her brows in conspiracy.
“And quickly.” Lukas grinned in return. “If that’s all right with you, Lieselotte. I’m here only for today and must return to Munich, but I can return in September and we can marry. I’ve already cleared it with my superiors.”
My head spun and my breath—my breath was completely stolen. “You’ve— Yes.” I stumbled over the word. “Yes!”
He sighed in pleasure, relief evident on his face. And then a shadow crossed it. “I should speak to your Vater. I should ask his permission. But my train leaves in half an hour.”
“Half an hour?” Panic set into my chest.
“I think I can grant that permission, Herr Kirchmann.” Fräulein Hilde smiled. “I believe on this matter I can speak for my future husband. Herr Sommer and I will be delighted to welcome you to our family, and for one so gallant to spirit our Lieselotte away. We could not otherwise let her go so easily.”
The pit of my stomach rumbled. Nothing she said was true. They would not miss me. Vater would not approve of my marrying Lukas. But if Fräulein Hilde pushed him . . . would that work? Would that convince Vater? Would a marriage to Lukas prove a suitable alternative to sending me to Lebensborn?
Fräulein Hilde did her best to convince my father. Dr. Peterson was another matter. They all seemed to have forgotten I sat on the sofa in the library, in the middle of their argument.
“A celebrated wedding of a beloved daughter to an Abwehr agent is preferable to dragging her kicking and screaming to Lebensborn, Wolfgang.” Fräulein Hilde lit a second cigarette and threw her lighter to the table.
“You shouldn’t be smoking, Hilde.” Dr. Peterson spoke with the patience of a tried saint, holding out his hand for the offending cigarette. “You know it is verboten for women to smoke.”
She smiled through narrowed eyes and flicked ash on his palm. “I’m telling you, the boy’s in love with her and she with him. Why not let her have her way in this? What harm can it do?”
“What good can it do?” Dr. Peterson answered for Father. “The Abwehr is under intense scrutiny since Canaris and his men were arrested for attempting to assassinate the Führer last week. Do you not understand what this connection means?”
“Was Lukas Kirchmann part of that plan?” Fräulein Hilde challenged.
My heart stopped.
Dr. Peterson ground his own cigarette into the ashtray on Father’s desk. “Apparently not. At least no connection has been established. But if that should change, it would put Wolfgang in a most detrimental light—and by association, I might add, Fräulein Hilde—”
“If there was a connection, it would have been found. You said yourself the Gestapo searched—” She glanced at me and stopped. “They are thorough. He’d have been arrested if there was something—anything. I say let her marry him.” Fräulein Hilde walked behind my chair and tucked a curl behind my ear, momentarily clasping my shoulders. “You should have seen them today, Wolfgang. Young, beautiful—both of them—in love.” She smiled. “I believe Lieselotte will be happy to do her duty for the Fatherland with her Lukas.”
My face and neck burned, even my arms, down to my fingertips. I felt them all looking at me, imagining the process by which Lukas and I might meet the Führer’s expectations.
“Perhaps,” Vater began.
“There is something not right,” Dr. Peterson objected. He frowned, concentrating, as if trying to remember something.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Fräulein Hilde insisted, hands on hips.
“I can’t place my finger on it at the moment, but I remember something . . . something. Could it be about the bloodline?”
“It’s been researched. Herr Kirchmann is the descendant of Prussian nobility. I suppose we cannot ask for better than that,” Vater conceded.
“But the mother . . .”
“Austrian,” I offered quickly. “Frau Kirchmann came from Austria as a child with her parents.”
“Yes.” Dr. Peterson hesitated. “So she said. Although I think we—”
“It’s settled, then.” Fräulein Hilde clapped her hands. “Wolfgang, my darling?”
Vater shrugged, hinting at defeat.
Fräulein Hilde smiled at me—a genuine, victorious smile. “I think, my dear, that it’s time we planned a party.”
My heart dared to swell. But just as we linked arms to walk from the room, I heard Dr. Peterson speak softly to my father. “I’ll check. I’m not sure what it is, but there’s something, and I’ll find it.”
21
HANNAH STERLING
FEBRUARY 1973
The clock struck five thirty as I returned to the house. Grandfather was out, unusual in itself. I waited until six thirty, set places for both of us at the table, then heated soup left from the day before. He still hadn’t returned. Perhaps Grandfather had decided to dine out on the town in the company of Dr. Peterson or Herr Eberhardt. Who else might he know? Rarely had anyone else telephoned since I’d been here, and no others had visited. I waited until seven, ate, washed the dishes and cleared the kitchen, then checked the library door. Still locked.
Mentally exhausted, I slipped into bed at nine thirty. What if something’s happened to him? What if he’s had a heart episode and gone to the hospital? How would I know? Who would know to telephone me?
An hour later I heard a car stop outside the house and the front door unlock. I held my breath, waiting for Grandfather’s footsteps on the stairs. They came to the second floor, the tap of his cane helping him climb. But they didn’t stop. They continued up the stairs to the third floor and down the hallway. He stopped outside my room and waited.
The doorknob turned in the moonlight and the door opened slowly. My bed was in a darkened portion of the room. I knew he couldn’t see my face, but he peered in, glancing round, and strained to see me. I turned on my pillow, as if something had disturbed me, and he pulled back, softly closing the door.
Maybe he wanted to see that I was safely home. Still, I lay awake until dawn.
I rose early and prepared breakfast at the accustomed time as on any ordinary day. I carried a tray with boiled eggs, toast, and coffee, knocking gently on his bedroom door. Whatever happened, it was better to get it over with than to cower in my room.
“Enter.” Grandfather struggled to a sitting position. “Hannah. Good morning. I am glad to see you.”
The uncertain relief I felt surely flowed through my voice. “I’m glad to see you, too, Grandfather.” Should I be glad to see him? I wanted my grandfather to be my grandfather, not a bounty hunter, and not someone who drove my mother away. Who was he?
I shook the fog from my brain. Now it was about playing the part, keeping the conversation going. Aunt Lavinia’s old adage tiptoed through my brain: “You catch more bees with honey than with vinegar.”
“Did you enjoy your day yesterday?”
“Yes, I did. It was nice to get out for a bit. How about you? You were gone when I got home. Everything all right?”
“Ja, certainly. Why not?”
“No reason.” I shrugged. “I’ve just not known you to go out at night.” It was the first time you’ve left the house since I’ve been here.
“I met with some friends—friends I’ve not seen in some time.” He eyed me suspiciously, which unnerved me.
“That’s nice.” I set the tray across his legs but wouldn’t meet his eye. “It’s nice to get together with friends.”
“I suppose you miss your friends since you’ve been here.”
“A little. I think about my students mostly—wonder how they’re d
oing, how the substitute teacher is managing.” I smoothed my skirt and opened the drapes, lifting the shade. The morning sun poured in.
“You boil the eggs precisely as I like them.”
“Good.” I smiled but continued to stare out the window, summoning my courage.
“Hannah?”
“Yes?” Still I didn’t turn.
“I think we should have a talk today.”
“Oh?”
“When I’ve dressed and shaved, I will meet you downstairs. Herr Eberhardt will come at ten and join us for this discussion.”
“Herr Eberhardt?” Dealing with Grandfather was one thing. He was older and frail enough that I felt certain I could hold my own physically and probably intellectually. But Herr Eberhardt was a different matter. He was a lawyer, for pity’s sake. What do they want with me?
“We have matters to discuss with you. I believe you will not be displeased.” He sounded so confident, so self-assured. “We will speak in the library.”
The library? But you’ve kept me out of that room for days. Breathe, breathe, breathe . . . “I’ll show him in.”
“Very good, and bring coffee, if you do not mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” I closed the door behind me. “Coffee” doesn’t sound like anything dangerous is likely to happen. Carl, have we let our imaginations run wild? Please, God, help me. Help me understand what’s going on. Help me find out about Mama. We keep getting further and further from the point and the truth.
Herr Eberhardt arrived at ten. I showed him into the library, where Grandfather sat as if he did so every day, as if every day I’d been welcomed there and not locked out.
I assembled a tray with a steaming pot of coffee and thick, fragrant slices of an apple nut cake, warm from the oven, that Mama had taught me to make—some Americanized version of a cake she’d grown up with. When I walked in, both men stood, as if I were a lady and not a servant granddaughter. I didn’t know what to make of it, but lifted my head and smiled, nodding, doing my best to remain poised.
“Ah, you made this yourself, Fräulein Sterling? No wonder Wolfgang wants to keep you with him. You will grow fat on such luxury, my friend.”
