Saving Amelie

by Cathy Gohlke

  Jason had been in plenty of tight spots. It came with the territory. This should be no different. He took her hand, leading her through the busy street, down a back alley, and to the only place he knew to borrow a nondescript car on short notice. Whether they could make it through the border checkpoint into Austria was another matter.

  After spending the equivalent of three hundred dollars and an hour on the road, Rachel had quietly filled Jason in on the files, what she understood of the work done at Cold Spring Harbor, her father’s focus on tuberculosis, greater detail of the medical examinations she’d been part of in Frankfurt, and her discovery of research done on twins—both for tuberculosis studies and for other programs she’d not had time to identify.

  “They’re playing Cupid, as near as I can tell, though love has nothing to do with the matching. Apparently it’s all about pairing bloodlines—eugenically ideal Aryan bloodlines.” She glanced at Jason, embarrassed to have been an unwitting part of such a program. But the greater pain was the betrayal of her father.

  “And Gerhardt Schlick is your match.”

  “Evidently designed that way for years.”

  “So when you turned him down and he married Kristine, they weren’t happy to begin with. It had nothing to do with Amelie’s deafness after all.”

  Rachel sighed. “I wouldn’t say that. If Amelie had been ‘acceptable,’ they may have left everything alone—at least as far as their marriage was concerned.”

  “But now, according to the good doctors, you’re slated to marry Gerhardt and produce lots of little Aryan thoroughbreds.”

  Rachel winced. “I’ll not do it. I’ve seen the posters promoting fertility and the ‘obligation of every strong German woman’ to bear multiple children.”

  “Maybe that’s the twins connection. Maybe it has to do with increasing the Aryan population.”

  “I don’t know. But there’s more to it than that. The experiments for tuberculosis infected one twin who was given no treatment. Only when the disease was full-blown was the other twin exposed.”

  “Medical experiments for eradicating diseases?”

  “And for detecting and eliminating ‘weakened strains,’ and I don’t know what all.” Rachel had been nauseous ever since she’d begun reading the files. Racing down the autobahn did not help. “But they let the twins—one or both—die, and they do nothing to help them, unless one is declared immune to the strain.”

  “You don’t suppose you have an infected twin running around somewhere, do you?”

  Jason’s sarcasm grated. It was no joke. Father’s betrayal! How could he? Rachel straightened. Did Mother know? She could not entertain such a possibility. “He didn’t start out like this—he didn’t,” she insisted. “Father was so different before Mother died. . . . At least I want to believe he was.” She swallowed, but it felt like lead in her throat. “I didn’t get to finish reading the file. I—I was afraid Father would return, and—and I just couldn’t take any more in.”

  “So you don’t know anything about—?”

  “After I’d gone to my room, I wished I’d looked back in my file—made myself read it. There may have been something about my birth mother and father. I know my mother was German and died in childbirth, that I was born in Frankfurt and adopted by my American parents almost right away. They said I was her only child. That’s all I know.” She turned to Jason, glad that he had to keep his eyes on the road. “I nearly went back to read more, but Father’s key turned in the lock of the suite. I couldn’t face him without showing how I feel toward him. I’m sure he wouldn’t invite me to have a peek, even if I confronted him.”

  “And this morning?”

  “I left a note last night saying that I wasn’t feeling well and would be sleeping in. I’d see him for dinner tonight. By the time I came out of my room he’d gone for the day. I think he’s meeting with the doctors at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute. He left a note saying he’d be late. He probably imagines I’ll spend the day going through Kristine’s things with Gerhardt.”

  “By the time he gets back, you’ll be gone. He won’t know where.” Jason drummed the steering wheel with the tips of his fingers. “It might have been better to wait until they’d be gone longer—would have given you a head start.”

  She shook her head, miserable. “I couldn’t stay there another day—I couldn’t. I left him a letter.”

  “A letter?” The incredulity in Jason’s voice brought her up short.

  “I told him I’m ashamed of him, that he sickens me, that Mother would be disgusted, and that he’s dishonored her memory by selling me out. Whatever good he’s done in his quest to rid the world of tuberculosis is undone and spat upon by his murder of innocents.”

  Jason whistled low.

  “I’ll never see him again. I told him I’m returning to New York and that he’s not to try to contact me. I want nothing to do with him.” Her voice broke.

  “He’ll come after you, Rachel. They’ll come after you,” Jason insisted. “They’ve spent twenty-odd years raising you as a broodmare; they’re not going to let you off the hook because you say you don’t want to play their nasty game.”

  “When I get to New York, I’ll move; I’ll change my name.”

  “You underestimate them.”

  Rachel couldn’t be defeated before she’d begun to fight. There would be battles enough ahead, and she wouldn’t use her energy to fight with Jason. “Just get me out of Germany.”

  Five hours later, as dusk settled in, Jason pulled to the curb of the train station nearest the Austrian border. “I just hope this is still an option. If you get through Austria, next stop is Switzerland.” He took the hand Rachel held out to him, awkward though it seemed.

  “Thank you. Thank you for everything,” Rachel stammered. “Especially all you’ve done for Amelie—all you will do.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.”

  “You’ll let me know that she’s safe.”

  He nodded.

  “When you . . . If you find a way to get her to America, I’ll take her.” Rachel looked up helplessly and said, “I don’t know anything about children—or deaf children. But I’ll find her a place.”

  “I’ll let you know. Through my US editor—using our code words.”

  “I’ll contact him when I get settled—wherever that is.” She turned, but Jason wouldn’t let go.

  “Be careful. Be safe.”

  She smiled, a tight and worried smile. “And you.” She pulled away, was already out the door, reaching for her bag in the back. He jumped out and took it from her.

  “I’m not leaving until I see you safely over that border.”

  She breathed, touching his arm. “Chivalry is not dead, then?”

  “Not yet,” he grinned, feeling a little stupid, not one bit sorry.

  15

  JASON HUNG BACK, as they’d agreed, pretending to read a newspaper as he stood against the newsstand pillar inside the station. Rachel’s American passport might get her through the border, but he’d spent too much time in the New Germany to leave anything to chance.

  They waited until the lines were long and the room busy. Rachel placed her German marks on the counter beside her passport.

  The official barely looked up. He counted the money, issued and stamped the ticket, and returned her change. He took a cursory glance at the passport, hesitated a moment, searched her face, and handed it back. He asked her something in German—something Jason couldn’t hear. She nodded, replied, and was smiling when she stooped to pick up her overnight bag.

  Jason breathed.

  But the official called her back, apparently asked her to wait. She complied, demurred, asked a question. The man hesitated, frowned, pointed across the room toward two hallways. She smiled and held up her hand, as though promising something.

  The man was still frowning as she walked away.

  The next customer placed marks on the counter, momentarily blocking the official. Jason saw the official step aside, sweep t
he room with his eyes, and motion to an armed uniform. His eyes and a nod followed Rachel, who was just stepping into the ladies’ room.

  The uniform pulled a paper from his inside coat pocket, flashed it to the official, who nodded in return. They motioned for another—a bookend of the first uniform—to come.

  The hair on the back of Jason’s neck prickled. The nerves in the backs of his hands tingled. He folded his newspaper.

  The armed uniforms strolled past. Jason lowered his eyes to the newspaper, forced himself to count to five, breathe, and look up. They’d taken the short hallway leading to the stairs beneath the train platforms and stationed themselves on either side.

  I don’t like it.

  The man at the counter watched the door to the ladies’ room.

  A boarding announcement came over the loudspeaker. Passengers hefted bags, hugged loved ones good-bye, poured toward the stairs to the platform. Late customers lined the ticket windows, holding passports and marks high to urge officials at the windows to hurry. Rachel opened the door.

  Jason blocked her, grabbed her bag and cupped her elbow, turning her toward the arched door to the street. “Just walk.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me.”

  Sharp whistle blasts came from behind as they reached the door to the outside. But the press of passengers intent on catching the late-afternoon train surged forward, creating a blockade in front of the armed uniforms.

  Jason pushed through. Once they hit the fresh air, he grabbed Rachel’s hand and raced for the car.

  “Jason! What—?”

  “They’re looking for you—get in!”

  They peeled from the curb and made for the autobahn. Sirens erupted behind as train whistles blared from the station.

  “What choice is there?” Jason was tired of arguing. “Either you get out with your father or you go into hiding until we can find a way to get you out.”

  “I told you—I don’t think my father means for me to leave Germany! I don’t even know if he’s going to leave!”

  “Or if he can.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “What if he’s just as much a prisoner in all this as you are?”

  “That’s ridiculous. I saw his files.” She hesitated. “I just don’t know where the line is concerning me, or if there is one.”

  “He may not either.”

  “Why are you defending him?”

  “I’m not defending him, but think about it. They already have your photograph—I’m sure that’s what those guards were looking at. There’s no way your father would have been able to get that out to the border patrols today, even if he’d read your letter by noon.”

  “Unless he suspected earlier that I’d run.” She looked at him. “Or unless they suspected that he and I might both run and had sent them ahead—even days ago?”

  “Exactly. They have no intention that you leave the country—never had.” Jason slowed, pulling off onto a side road, cutting his lights.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We can’t get back into the city unseen tonight—especially with the blackout and checkpoints. And where would we go?” He turned to her in the dark. “You can’t go back to the hotel, and I can’t exactly take you to my hotel room or hide you in the newsroom. We’ll have to find someplace tomorrow.”

  Rachel pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Believe it.”

  “Maybe I should go back to Father. I could plead with him, try to reason. If we could both just go home!” She groaned.

  “The Krauts won’t let you do that.” Jason slumped behind the wheel, creating a headrest of the bench back, and closed his eyes. “Major mess!”

  “I’m sorry.” Rachel’s voice came thick, sounding like a little girl about to cry. “I’ve roped you into hiding a deaf child, drawn you into a murder conspiracy, and now you’re stuck with me. Your picture will be plastered on wanted posters across Germany. You’ll probably lose your job—at least.”

  He grunted. “They certainly have your picture. Not mine—not yet—at least not beyond what they have on all foreign correspondents. I can blend into the crowd—like the Shadow.” He grinned, tapping his nose. “The worst that can happen with my job is that I’d be sent back to the US for creating an international incident.”

  “The worst? Right, Mr. Shadow.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Now who’s living in a fantasy world?”

  Morning came softly. Jason pulled onto the main road, thick and dreary fog shrouding the headlights for their return to Berlin. “Maybe we can get through with nobody stopping us.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it all night,” Rachel said. He didn’t like the sound of that. “I think you should take me back to the hotel.”

  He was glad there was no oncoming traffic; he’d probably have run off the road.

  “I’m going to try to reason with my father, to get him to go home with me. They won’t stop me going with him.”

  “But you said—”

  “I know what I said. Only now I’m thinking—I’m wondering if I’ve overreacted.”

  “Are you kidding? I guess you didn’t see those guys back there—the ones with guns. They’re not toys. They were already looking for you—waiting for you. Now they know you’re trying to leave the country. Your father’s probably blown the whistle on you. You left him a letter, Rachel! He won’t pretend he didn’t read it. They’re not gonna let you breeze out.”

  “But . . . I can’t get out on my own.”

  Jason gripped the steering wheel. “Let me talk to some friends. This new church—the Confessing Church—helped a Jewish journalist I know get out of the country with his family. They just might—”

  “No, I won’t let you risk any more. I never should’ve pulled you into it. And nobody in some radical church bent on helping Jews is likely to help the daughter of a eugenics scientist eager to eliminate them! Let me off a block before the hotel.” She sat back, folding her hands in her lap. Jason recognized the female “this is settled—this is the way things are” posture. His mom and sister did it all the time.

  Only you’re not my mom or sister, Rachel Kramer. He narrowed his eyes, determined to focus on the road.

  The kilometers passed. They were less than a half hour from Berlin when he spoke again. “Amelie. You could hide with Amelie.”

  Rachel snorted.

  “Ladylike response.”

  She blushed. “I’m sure your miracle goodwill family is ready to take in a twenty-four-year-old ‘child’ as well as a deaf four-year-old. That would be easy to sweep under the rug.”

  “Don’t be sarcastic.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve no idea how long this insanity will go on.”

  “As long as Hitler’s in power. And I can’t see how that can go on much longer. There’s resistance forming within, and Britain’s in on it now.”

  “They’ve not even sent planes to Berlin! Hitler’s gaining momentum every day.”

  She was right. It was exactly what he’d told the mole who fed him resistance information. “They say Britain’s waiting for the right moment.”

  “The right moment?” Rachel snorted again. “When will that be—when he takes Paris? Or London?”

  Jason frowned at her.

  She didn’t blush this time. “They’re all afraid of him. Terrified—just like we are. I’d rather take my chances with my father. He must feel something for me.”

  Jason swallowed. What kind of father would do what he’s done to you? “I have an idea.”

  She rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

  “There’s this reporter, ready to go stateside. She’s already got her passport, ticket—everything.”

  “Will they let her through?”

  “Sure, she’s press.”

  “Will they let her through with a sister?” She looked hopeful.

  “Not a chance, but you could send your passport with
her.”

  “Stay in Germany with no passport, no papers?” Rachel turned away. “You’re mad.”

  “Hear me out. Sheila’s going by passenger ship. She walks on board as herself—nothing unusual. But just before leaving the ship in New York, she drops your passport in a broom closet or somewhere—somewhere not connected with her—to make it look like you’d been on board the whole time, hiding, stowing away.”

  “All the while I’m still in Germany with no passport.”

  “We could drum up papers—a fake identity. I know people who know people. The point is that they’d stop looking for you here. They’d think that somehow you got ashore—back to the US. And we could hide you here until we figure a way to get you out.”

  “You ‘know people’ willing to blow up buildings, hide children from the Reich, and do passports? Are you even a reporter?”

  He raised his eyebrows in a Groucho Marx imitation.

  “Don’t tell me. And what if they catch her with my passport? What if she forgets to drop it? What if she can’t find a place to drop it?”

  “You sound like my grandmother!”

  “It’s insane, and it puts too many people at risk—including me. I don’t want to stay in Germany; I want to go home.”

  As they turned onto the street housing the hotel, the morning traffic ground to a standstill. Black cars with official insignia lined both curbs and blocked the street. Armed SS in black jackboots flanked the hotel’s entrance.

  “What’s going on?” Rachel craned her neck.

  “I can’t see. Wait, they’re hauling someone out.”

  Rachel leaned across him to get a view from his side.

  Jason didn’t know whether to shield her from seeing or to make sure she did. A pale-faced Dr. Kramer, rumpled, holding his left arm and bearing the shadow of a stubbled beard, was escorted, none too gently, by two SS guards and a familiar figure in uniform.

  “Get down!”

  “Father! Why are they taking him—?” Rachel began. “It’s Gerhardt! He’s got Father’s briefcase!”

  Jason pushed her back and hissed, “Get down! Don’t let him see you!” The traffic inched forward. “I can’t get out of this blasted line! Hit the floor.”