A Sparrow in Terezin

by Kristy Cambron

  “Well, I wish I could say the news is better.”

  The hold she had on the book in her hands got tighter. “Go on.”

  “I met with Lincoln this afternoon.”

  “Without me?” Sera untucked her legs and sat up straight. “William, I thought we were doing this together.”

  “We are. I promise you that. It came up at the spur of the moment and he was there, so I asked. I wanted the truth.”

  Sera nodded. Choose your battles. For whatever he was struggling to tell her, the last thing she wanted to do was argue over every meeting they had with the legal team.

  “And?”

  “I asked him to give me the run-down of what we’re facing—with no frills.” William reached out for her hand. He gave her fingertips a gentle squeeze before continuing. “The charges of felony grand theft and forgery carry three years apiece. The prosecutor’s offered us a deal. It’s about what we expected. Six years in a state prison.”

  “Six years for something you didn’t do? I hope you told him we’d never consider it.”

  “Of course I did. To which he said it would be a minimum of ten if we go to trial and I’m convicted on all counts. That’s with no priors.”

  Sera stared back, feeling shock course through her.

  “Ten years. For a first offense?”

  He cleared his throat. “It would seem so in this case. They tack on a penalty enhancement of four years if the property stolen is valued at more than three million dollars. And depending on the judge we get, he or she could recommend a more severe penalty than the prosecutor is asking for. Though Lincoln believes we can argue it down.”

  “How?”

  “Well, if we plead guilty to the underlying charges, he could negotiate dismissal of the enhanced penalty and again, depending on the judge, we could get probation.”

  “I think I understand what you’re telling me.” The room felt like it was spinning. Sera took a steadying breath before continuing. “If you plead guilty, you could possibly avoid prison but not a record.”

  He nodded. “Looks that way.”

  The full weight of what they faced hadn’t been real before that moment. It had only been a maybe—a distant possibility since the handcuffs had shackled his wrists. Now they sat, stone-faced and silent, as William recounted the severity of it all.

  “But what can they possibly have against you? You only became CEO a couple of years ago.”

  “They say they have evidence that I took the money and sold the artwork out from under the company—all of it.”

  “But you didn’t do it. How can they have evidence of something that didn’t happen?”

  “They have enough,” he sighed. “Which ties back to an e-mail trail, bank accounts, signatures on legal documents.”

  Sera paused. A thought came to her in a flash, one that she hadn’t wanted to entertain before. But now, as he faced at least a decade of their lives behind bars, it was worth the risk to hurt him by saying it.

  “William. You don’t think your grandfather had anything to do with this, do you?”

  “I didn’t want to think that but now”—he ran an agitated hand through his hair—“well, I’m just not sure.”

  “Is all of this happening because you gave your inheritance away? That was your grandfather’s fortune but he gave you the choice, remember? He wanted you to live a different life—the one God had been leading you to. Surely the investors don’t claim ownership to you. How can the company do this to you simply because you wanted something different? You didn’t sign your life away when you agreed to take over as CEO.”

  “No. But they did own the artwork and the money that came in for it.”

  Sera pressed her fingertips to her temple and closed her eyes for a moment.

  She tried to breathe. To pray, even. It was a battle to picture a way out of the mess they faced, but with eyes closed, the only thing she could see was the coldness of an empty seat across from her.

  “Having second thoughts?”

  Her eyes popped open and the first reaction flew without thinking: she furiously shook her head.

  “Never.”

  “I know you didn’t sign up for all this, Sera. To be humiliated in the public eye. To be the wife of a shamed man and a family who could be all but torn to shreds in a courtroom. Regardless of whether I claim innocence, the media will crucify us if they can.”

  “I know,” Sera agreed, and slid out of the chair to kneel by his side.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for the possibility of it?”

  “I am, because I don’t care about all that.”

  She took hold of both of his hands and looked back at those eyes that were so stormy, so embattled with fear of the future. Sera leaned into him and with all the courage she could muster, said, “Listen to me—it’s all going to be all right.”

  Sera could feel the insecurity growing in her midsection, could sense the ache growing in her belly, even as the words of prayer melted over her heart.

  I trust you, Lord. We trust you. I’ve always said I trust you, no matter what.

  But this? This could be really bad.

  “We are going to beat this, okay?” She took her hands and cupped the sides of his face. “I told you out there on our beach—remember? I love you and I trust you. That’s it. That’s all you need to know. The media has no place between us, okay? We’ll keep the storm on the outside and you’ll see; it will only push us closer together. We’ll pray our way through this if it’s all we can do. I’m on your side.”

  William took her hands from his face, cradling them in front of him.

  “I’m not sure it’s going to be that easy. I haven’t spoken to my father in almost three years, except for when I called him for information on the painting of Adele. He had nothing to offer me then and I expect will have nothing for me now.”

  “But why? Why wouldn’t he want to help his eldest son? Surely you can reach out to him. No child could be so lost to a parent.” The questions bled from her heart out her mouth. Sera knew each family was different, of course. But a father leaving his son to face prison alone?

  It wasn’t possible.

  Sera felt like she had ice water pumping through her veins. The shock of it all, the severity of the battle ahead, and the brokenness the family had sustained over the last several years—they had the power to steal away any future she and William might have dreamed of.

  “There’s more to it, Sera. More has happened that I just can’t go into right now.”

  “With your father? I know you’ve been reluctant to share anything other than the fact that he walked away. I’ve come to know your family over this past year but where your father is concerned, everyone is tight-lipped. It’s as if he ceased to exist.”

  Her eyes darted across his face, drinking in the pain, feeling the heartache her husband always tried to keep so protected. But to look back at his face now she could see every ounce of hurt he’d tried to bury. It came up fresh, bubbling to the surface.

  “Just old ghosts.” He shook his head. “They were buried with my grandfather and again when my father walked away from his family. I won’t unearth them—not even to save my own skin. The past is water under the bridge and that’s where it has to stay.”

  “But if talking about this will help in your defense, why can’t you?”

  “Let’s just let the lawyers handle it. It’s what we’re paying them for.”

  “William, I don’t understand. Are you asking me to back off?”

  He sat before her, but in the instant Sera saw the cold curtain drop over his face, she had her answer. In the blink of an eye, he seemed miles away. It was the past hurt that he refused to share she feared now more than anything, for it had the power to destroy any future they might have.

  What was so terrible that he couldn’t trust her with it?

  “William,” she began, and paused to wipe the tears from her cheek. “You know I’m not a wait-and-see kind of girl. If there’s somet
hing to be done, I do it. I’m not content to stand back in the shadows while the man I love faces spending ten years or more in prison.”

  “I know.”

  “But despite that, you’re still asking me to sit here in this chair, day after day, and not get involved?”

  He offered a nod.

  “Yes, Sera. I am.” William exhaled low and reached for her hand. His thumb rubbed the inside of her palm when he whispered, “I need you to promise me that you’ll let it go. Allow the lawyers to do their job. I’m confident they can see this through.”

  “Well, forgive me, but I’m not. It’s not their life at risk,” she fired back. “It’s ours. And I want to fight for it. I’m your partner, aren’t I?”

  “Of course you are. And I want you to know what your faith in me means; it’s everything. You’ve never doubted, have you? You’ve never lost faith in me.”

  Sera licked her lips, tasting the saltiness of tears that had rolled down her cheek and gathered on them.

  “I couldn’t,” she whispered through the softness of emotion pulling at her throat. “You know that.”

  “Yes. And your love means more to me right now than anything. The promise that you’ll stand in my corner, no matter what—it’s keeping me going. But if I can ask just one thing, please . . . let it be this.”

  It felt foreign for Sera to even consider his request.

  The thought of stepping back, watching as he was poised to be handcuffed again—it terrified her. She pictured the tearful courtroom sobs of his mother and sister, the pain that would be in his brother’s eyes as the shackles bound William’s wrists and he was led away. She saw any future for a marriage fading and she was unable to stop it.

  Nevertheless, Sera offered him a nod in agreement.

  The choppy water splashed against the dock outside the window, mimicking the torrent of emotions in the room. Sera heard their wild rhythm only after she’d fallen into Will’s arms, the necessity of any more words having finally slipped away completely.

  They melted back on the sofa, besieged yet connected, Sera’s heart bleeding as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. They didn’t move for long moments. Didn’t speak. Just listened.

  What else was there to say?

  Sera knew that the single nod of the head had told him what he needed to hear. He was content for the moment. But was she? A wave of guilt washed over Sera when she realized the truth; she’d never be able to stay out of it completely. Not when their life was on the line.

  She’d have to convince him he needed her to help, one way or another.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  July 5, 1940

  The Dorchester Hotel

  Park Lane, London

  Kája, my dear!”

  A flash of glossy black hair signaled that Beatrix Bell, or Trixie as she preferred to be called, had plopped down in the exclusive club’s half-moon booth. The switchboard operator’s curls bounced against her shoulder as she raised her glass high, shouting over the band’s riotous music.

  “You have worked with us for three months now and finally managed to get out of the Telegraph office on a Friday night. Ladies, we must celebrate this momentous occasion! Tell us, Kája. What do we say again? If we want to bring luck tonight?”

  Kája leaned forward in the icy silk dress she’d borrowed from one of the office girls and shouted back, “Hodně štěstí!”

  Trixie beamed a winning smile and winked. “That’s right, ladies. Hodně štěstí! Our sister from Prague wishes us good health and the best of luck! This is a toast all the way from Czechoslovakia, so let us not waste it. If you please!”

  The gaggle of office girls tipped up their tumblers of wine and clinked the glasses together, chiming “Hodně štěstí” in unison.

  “To prosperity.” Eleanor, one of the sweeter switchboard operators who always hid behind her wire-rimmed glasses, giggled when a flock of chaps walked by and tipped their hats to the girls’ impromptu toast. She elbowed a blonde next to her. “For good measure, right, Mary?”

  “And dancing!” Mary linked arms with her and beamed. “Yes, and an end to any wretched war!”

  “Who wishes to talk of war? I so tire of it. All we’ve seen are blasted drills. And that’s sure to be all we do have. Our boys will be coming home soon; mark my words. And what do we want them to find? Morose secretaries with ill dispositions and rationed hosiery? Or girls with a little zip about them?” Trixie rolled her eyes to the ceiling and nearly snorted over a laugh, then drew in close to the huddled girls. The electric blue of her dress accentuated the deep chocolate of her eyes. She leaned in and offered an exotic, drawn-out whisper. “Look around you, ladies. I ask you—what do you see?”

  Like the rest of the girls, Kája looked over the scene.

  It was an upscale nightclub, to be sure, one they’d not visited before, and was it ever hopping. Ladies danced and crooners crooned to the swing band music. Bedecked in gold and flashing like diamonds overhead, the club’s chandeliers twinkled, seemingly brought to motion by the foot stomping of the club’s revelers. Sequins danced in the light. Red lipstick highlighted joyful smiles. Uniformed gentlemen lit cigarettes for ladies. Tumblers were downed and then refilled in haste. And there they all sat, secretaries and switchboard operators, dressed in their finest, toasting the future just as sparkly as the rip-roaring London nightlife erupting around them.

  “London’s not at war! She can’t be and look like this. Especially not on Park Lane. Why, that would be a sin.”

  Trixie tossed out a carefree smile. She slipped an arm over Kája’s shoulders and leaned in close, tapping the side of their heads together in the process.

  “London is dancing. She’s glittering and oh so alive! Why, I’d not be surprised to see our new prime minister himself walk through those doors and down a jigger or two. After all, this is one of the hottest clubs in all of London Towne”—she paused, eyeing them all playfully—“and I intend to dance through the middle of every air-raid siren from here to Buckingham Palace if it pleases me!”

  It was fanciful. And over the top, but even Kája had to smile.

  Though perhaps a bit misplaced, their ebony-haired friend’s energy was intoxicating. For in the world of Trixie Bell, war was far removed from the glittering life of Park Lane. A fantasy perhaps, made only more romantic by the presence of uniformed officers and wealthy gentlemen who might ask them to dance. She, like some Londoners, held the impression that the prospect of war reaching Britain was quite unlikely. The world had already been at war once. Why ever would they need to do so again? Gas masks and rations were dark things, not amorous fodder for a posh and lively Saturday night.

  “Do you not agree, Kája?” Trixie turned to her, arching an eyebrow in a playful manner.

  “Yes, Kája, you’ve seen the other side of the world, haven’t you? Won’t you tell us what it’s like under the Germans’ rule?” Mary leaned in close, waiting most intently for an answer.

  Kája bit her bottom lip on a smile, unable to hold it back. “Prague is the other side of the world now?”

  “Well, as far as our world is—yes.” Eleanor tapped a fingernail on the rim of her tumbler. “We hear that Hitler’s even marched into Paris now. Can you imagine Nazis parading under the shadow of the Eiffel Tower? It’s unfathomable. Paris is so full of romance and mystery. However could it be overrun by a foreign army? Do tell us, Kája, what you saw of it. Is the outlook of another war nearly as black as everyone says?”

  The girls all looked in her direction and it seemed, for a split second anyway, as if the entire club had quieted and held its breath for her answer. The girls stared back, Eleanor through the glasses tipped on the edge of her nose and Mary, slight and flippant as she was, twirling a finger around one of the blond coils at her nape.

  “I don’t know that I’m the right person to judge the outlook of war. But for us, things began to change when the Germans came into the Sudentenland through annexation two years ago.” When she saw at leas
t one quizzical brow arch up and Mary’s perpetually confused face staring back, Kája explained a little further. “It’s in the borderlands where most of the German-speaking Czechs live.”

  “Mmm.” Trixie nodded agreement. “Yes, and they rolled into your country with tanks and soldiers, all to cause a big fluff of nonsense. I wish they would just pack up their arrogance and go home.”

  She made a motion with her hand, as if to wave the lot of the German army off without care.

  “No, Trixie. It’s more than that.” Eleanor tilted her chin to Kája. “Go on, Kája.”

  “Well,” she began, and took a deep breath. Finding the words proved an arduous task. She’d not spoken of her last moments in Prague. Not to anyone. “I remember the sight of German troops moving into the city. It was spring. Still terribly cold in March. They rode in on motorbikes and cars, some in tanks even. The army marched in and the people all came out of their homes to watch.”

  “You didn’t support them, did you?” Mary looked horrified by the prospect.

  “No. Of course not. But we weren’t sure what to expect. There were so many of us—stunned really—all lining the streets.”

  The blurred voices of passersby in the streets of Prague came alive again and whispered in her heart. She could envision the crowds. Could see the snowballs hurled through the air. The pungent smell of gasoline, the grinding of tank treads, and the roar of engines were suddenly all around her again. And she remembered how they fairly ran to the depot—she, her sister, and Jakob—through the biting cold. In her mind’s eye the snow continued to cry down, floating in a soft haze all around them. Kája looked around now, overcome by the stark contrast between a glittering London club and the remembrance of that last cold, snowy day in Prague.

  “Kája? Wake up,” Trixie said, and snapped in front of her face. “Doll, you just took forty winks on us—and in the middle of a club, I might add!”

  Kája shook her head and rolled her eyes, trying to play off the rise of memories.

  Eleanor elbowed Trixie in the side softly, but quite deliberately.