The Last Innocent Hour

by Margot Abbott

  “You are the first to know, even before our parents. We are expecting another child.”

  “Oh, Lina,” I said, “congratulations.” Another little soldier, I thought. A son for the Fuhrer’s army. An image from a book I’d seen in my college library came to my mind: a wave of doomed young men—I don’t remember which side—pouring up out of the trenches to die before the machine guns of the Great War. I drank. It was sherry, which I disliked, but I drank it down.

  “Congratulations, sir,” said Christian and proposed another toast to our host and hostess. As we raised our glasses, the front doorbell rang, announcing the other guests.

  There were two other couples and when they had all arrived, had been introduced to me, and had drinks in their hands, Christian proposed a toast to the Heydrichs’ news, adding our own announcement at the end. I was not pleased, until I saw that he had given us all a focus of conversation that carried us happily into and through dinner.

  On the surface, it was a friendly, even joyous meal, the food delicious, the candlelight making the dining room shine and sparkle. But there was something lurking underneath that happy surface, something dangerous.

  Every time I looked at Heydrich, I remembered what he had said to me. I also remembered that he had sent Christian to face Hans Behrens and the other men in that bloody courtyard. And I remembered how proud he had seemed when he told me that. I wondered which was the most heinous act: ordering death, as Heydrich had done, or actually pulling the trigger.

  Immediately after dinner, Lina sent the general and me into the sitting room to pick out a piece of music to play while she and the rest of the guests sat awhile longer over their desserts.

  I was apprehensive about being alone with Heydrich, but he went straight to the pile of music on the piano.

  “I haven’t played in weeks,” I said, sitting at the piano and opening it up.

  “Then we’ll find something simple. Ah, here, this little Scarlatti.” He set the music in front of me.

  “That’s not simple.”

  “I do all the work. You just follow along.” He turned to open his violin case, lifting out the instrument. “A, please. A. Sally, wake up.”

  I hit the note so he could tune up. He did so, then, setting the instrument down, picked up his bow and fussed with it. I studied the music. We had played it before and he was right, the violin did all the work. I played a few scales to warm up my hands.

  “You look like hell,” he said, startling me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re not sleeping well.”

  “No.”

  “I guess Mayr’s keeping you up at night.”

  “I guess.”

  He leaned on the piano, studying my face. “Usually, well-satisfied women look healthy, rosy.”

  “How would you know?” I snapped. He paled but caught himself and smiled, and went to call the others in.

  We played the Scarlatti. The audience was appreciative, especially, I’m sure, because the piece was so short. Afterward, Lina took Christian off to get the coffee with her. They were gone a long time, and I wondered what she was telling him. We had to get out of this house. I’d had enough.

  Using my pregnancy as an excuse, we were able to say our good-byes less than twenty minutes later. I hadn’t even let Christian finish his coffee.

  “I THOUGHT YOU were about ready to die of sleepiness,” Christian said, as he started the car.

  “I lied. I had to get us out of there. We’re not going back there.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious. Christian, that man is evil. Don’t laugh. He is, and the longer you stay around him, the more evil rubs off on you.”

  “Sally, we’re leaving. In less than a month we’ll be gone.”

  “Look at what he’s done to you, to me. How he’s lied. What he forced you to do.”

  “He didn’t force me.”

  I turned to look at him, at his profile etched against the gray window. I felt such a wave of sadness pour over me, I thought I would drown, I thought I could not bear to live one more minute. But I did. Christian had said what he said and nothing changed. At least, on the surface nothing changed.

  “Did you want to do what you did?” I asked. He didn’t answer until he had pulled the car to the side of the road and turned the motor off.

  “No, of course not.” His voice sounded as weary as I felt.

  “Couldn’t you refuse?”

  “No. I don’t know. I never thought of it. I didn’t consider refusal as a choice. Do you see?” He turned to face me.

  “No, I don’t see.”

  “They told us all but one of the guns had blanks in them. That there was a putsch. Don’t you understand?”

  “I’m trying. Please. I love you. I can’t bear this.”

  “You knew it would be hard.”

  “I didn’t know it would be like this. Knowing about that courtyard. I don’t want to know how Hans died. I want to love you. I don’t want to know. No, don’t touch me.” I batted his hand away, not wanting his comfort.

  “There’s nothing I can do,” he said. “It’s your decision now, Sally.”

  I thought about my choices: leaving or staying, leaving him, staying with him, none of it simply black and white. What I really wanted was to be someplace warm and sunny with him. It seemed to me that we spent all our time together in the dark, in the cold and dark. I heard the car pop as it cooled off.

  “I’m always cold,” I said, voicing my thoughts.

  “You’ve never gotten used to winter.”

  “No. I guess I’m not tough enough to be the mother of future heroes of the master race. You should divorce me for that.”

  “I don’t want to divorce you.” He was silent for a moment. “Do you?”

  “No,” I said. More silence.

  “You still love me? You still believe me?”

  “Yes, I do. Dammit.” I turned my face toward the side window. “Dammit,” I repeated, beating my hands in my lap.

  “Don’t,” he said, putting his hand over mine. “You’ll hurt the baby.” When I didn’t respond, he took his hand away.

  “I hate the cold,” I blurted out.

  “Sally,” he said, his voice softening, “I could warm you up, if you’d let me. Sally. I love you.” I moved tentatively toward him, letting him put his arms around me. We sat in silence again. After a moment, I laid my head against his shoulder and sighed.

  “Do you remember what I said to you?” he asked softly.

  “I made a promise, didn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  My head was on his shoulder and I turned my face into his neck, smelling him, the wool of his coat, his soap on his skin, potent scents to me in the cold air. I raised my face and he kissed me, holding me, making me warm again. Then I hid again against his shoulder and we sat there, in the cold, in that little cramped car, for as long as we could.

  UNWELCOME GUESTS

  WE HAD BEEN living with Christian’s mother for a week, and already the flat had become too small, especially after the house in Lichterfeld. And as much as I loved Lisa Mayr, I didn’t want to live with her. I tried to explain this to Christian late one afternoon at a dreary cafe near his office where we had met to spend a few moments alone.

  “What is bothering you? Look, if you’re still brooding about that business. . .” I could hear the irritation in Christian’s voice and not wanting to talk about that business, as he called it, I interrupted him.

  “I’m sorry. I feel edgy these days. We ought to go. We have to go home to get my dress for the party.”

  “Home?”

  “Oh. I meant Daddy’s.”

  “I know what you meant.”

  “Christian, you can’t blame me for feeling that way,” I said. “I fixed up that house by myself. It’s been my home. My first real home.”

  “Sally, we can’t live there.”

  “Why not? There’s room.”

  “Your
father.”

  “Daddy would like it, I know he would. He’s alone in that big house. And there’s room for the baby. If we’re still here when the baby comes. Which is the whole point—we’re only going to be here in Germany for a little while. Aren’t we? Aren’t we?”

  Christian nodded. He looked away from me, then back, and smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile, more one of resignation. He sighed and touched my shoulder, his hand moving lightly down to my arm. “Have you asked your father?”

  “No. I wanted to talk to you first. But I’m sure he’d be pleased. He’s so busy that he needs his home to be well-run, and I was doing a good job.”

  “Just add me to your chores, huh?”

  He was smiling down at me so I smiled back and kissed his cheek.

  “MISS—EXCUSE ME, madam,” said Vittorio, when he opened the door for us that afternoon. It was storming with rain and sleet, and we had run up the steps from the car. “It is good to see you.”

  “Thank you, Vittorio.” I handed him my coat. “Sorry to be so messy. Isn’t it terrible weather?”

  “Don’t worry, madam.”

  “Is the ambassador home?”

  “Sally. Christian.” My father, coming out of his study, called to us. “I thought I heard your voices. It is nice to see you both.”

  “Good afternoon, sir,” said Christian, shaking my father’s hand. “I’ve come to pick up a dress for tonight,” I explained, as Christian handed Vittorio his coat and cap. “And we’d like to talk to you, if you’ve got a minute.”

  “Certainly. Let’s go into the sitting room. Oh, no, my study—the stove is going in there. I think it will be more comfortable.”

  “Would you like tea, madam?”

  “Yes, please. That would be nice. Coffee for me, though,” I said to Vittorio, then turned to the men. “I’ll be right with you.” And I ran up the stairs to my old room.

  I went to the closet without turning on the lights, found the dress and the accessories I needed and a dress box to pack them in. I left everything on the bed for one of the maids to fix for me. Good. If Daddy agreed, I wouldn’t have to pack all my clothes until we left for the States.

  Then I noticed a box on the chair next to the door and turned on the light. It was a white, flat, square box, tied with red ribbon: a present. I picked it up; it was heavier than it looked. There was no card and I suddenly knew who had sent it.

  I carried it over to my desk and opened the top cautiously, half-expecting a cobra or horrible spider to leap out at me. It was, instead, a recording of the Haydn concerto that Heydrich and I had played together. Looking for a note or card, I opened the cover, but there was nothing there except the printed list of artists. I left it in the box, and put the top back on it, sure I would never play those records.

  Downstairs, Daddy and Christian were being very polite with each other. I paused in the door to ask Vittorio to send Sophie, one of the maids, to me, then went to join them.

  “The tea must be ice-cold by now,” I said, going around the sofa to sit in front of the tea tray.

  “We’re waiting for you,” said my father.

  “Frau Hauptsturmfuhrer?” Sophie called.

  “Sally?” My father looked at me. I turned my head. “I think she’s asking for you.”

  “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. What a mouthful. Yes, Sophie, please, I left a dress and some things on my bed upstairs. Could you pack them in the case for me? I need to take it with me when we leave.” She curtseyed and left and I smiled at no one in particular, glancing from my husband, who stood leaning against a bookcase, to my father behind his desk.

  “Please. Both of you. Come sit down here and let me give you your tea properly.”

  “ARE YOU BOTH sure you want to live here?” my father wanted to know, after I had asked him if Christian and I could move in.

  I looked at Christian. He glanced at me, then sat forward. “I do not feel entirely comfortable with the arrangement,” Christian said, his elbows on his knees. “But Sally reminded me that it would not be for a long period.” He turned his eyes on me and studied me for a moment. Then, finally, he smiled and said, “Your daughter is very determined, and I find myself unable to refuse her when I have nothing better to offer.” He looked down at his hands, laced his fingers together, and continued, “I am concerned about our finances. Something Sally and I have not talked of and I would appreciate it if you and I could come to some sort of agreement about it.”

  “Fine.” Daddy studied Christian with an impassive expression. “Yes. I think this arrangement would suit me. And I will admit that I am not averse to having my daughter safely under my roof still.”

  Christian did not flinch at the insinuation that he could not protect me, but I could see, in the set of his jaw, that he was angered by it.

  “Now,” said my father, “may I have another cup of tea? And speaking of family, I almost forgot, I received a letter from Edward. He’s getting married. To that fine young woman we met, Barbara Livingston.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” I cried, pouring his tea. I handed Daddy his cup and asked for more details. Barbara and Eddie were being married in April, in Newport. She came from a navy family and I knew, after my one evening with her, that my brother was a lucky man. “April. That’s when . . . we’ll be in the States.”

  “Yes,” said my father. “I wanted to discuss your plans. I thought perhaps that Christmas season is the best time for us to leave.”

  “That would work. People travel at Christmas,” I said. "What do you think?” I asked Christian.

  He was sitting in the corner of the leather sofa, his elbow on the armrest, playing his fingers against his eyebrows, a nervous gesture I had never seen before.

  “There are many considerations I did not realize before, when we were discussing my leaving Germany,” he said, his eyes on the floor at the end of his outstretched leg. “My mother, for instance.”

  “You don’t think they would harm her?”

  He grimaced and shrugged. “I don’t know. But she does travel to Denmark regularly. I thought of talking to her about what her plans were this year.” He had been speaking quietly, seriously, and with a burst of energy, he sat forward again. “But I can’t believe that I am so important—you know?—that anyone . . .”

  “Heydrich,” I put in.

  “Yes. That. Heydrich would bother.”

  We sat in silence, listening as the storm began to die down. I picked up my cup, but put it down when I tasted how cold the coffee had become. I nervously twisted my watch, then had to turn it the right way around to look at it.

  “Christian,” I said softly, “we should go.”

  “Yes,” he said, not moving. He was frowning. “You know, I have seen a great many things happen in the past years. I thought . . . you believe in something . . .” He shook his head, unable to find the words.

  “You feel you’ve lost something precious,” my father said.

  “Yes.” Christian looked across the table at him. “Yes, that’s it. I keep hoping things will, change. That the promises will be kept. But . . . every day . . .” He fell silent again, then slapped his thighs and stood. “We’d better go. We’ll see you later?”

  “Of course,” said my father.

  My father stood next to me in the entry hall, while Rick put my dress box into the trunk of the car. Then, surprisingly, Daddy put his hand on my shoulder. “I hope all is going well for you,” he said softly.

  “Of course, Daddy, of course.” I smiled at him. “And thank you for letting us come here.” I would have kissed his cheek but, with a slight smile, he turned away from me.

  I WANTED EVERYTHING to be normal and, at least on the surface, things were. But we hadn’t made love since the night before I had that frightening nightmare. I couldn’t.

  In front of other people, we behaved very well toward each other, pretending that nothing was wrong. I knew, too, that it was up to me to speak to Christian, but I couldn’t. How could I tel
l him I was afraid of him? Sometimes, when I thought he wasn’t watching, I would study him, trying to see past the pleasant, handsome young man I had known for so long to the man I had caught a glimpse of that day last June when he had pointed his gun at me across the back of the sofa. I knew that man was there, somewhere, crouching inside him, like a monster in the cellar.

  He was giving up so much for me, agreeing to live with my father, to leave Germany. I couldn’t believe that in such a short time everything had fallen apart, that I could go from being so happy to such utter misery. And there was no one I could talk to about it.

  Lisa Mayr had gone to a great deal of trouble over the wedding party for us, and Annaliese was there, as promised. She greeted Christian and me as we arrived by sprinkling colored confetti over the balustrade of the stairs, laughing, giving us her good wishes.

  She put her arm around my waist and kissed me. “I must tell you,” she said, smiling naughtily at her brother, “this does not surprise me a bit. Although I admit I was surprised to hear that you’re pregnant.”

  I blushed. “Does everyone know?”

  “Don’t look at me,” Christian snapped. “I didn’t mention it.” And he went into the flat, leaving us on the landing.

  “My goodness, he’s touchy,” Annaliese said, raising a well- plucked eyebrow. “I didn’t realize he was so high-strung. Must be all the aristocrats he meets in his dear SS.”

  “And you, Annaliese,” I said, changing the subject. “Do you have anyone?”

  “Several,” she said, laughing, and we went into the flat after Christian.

  The Stokeses arrived early to help, and Sydney knocked on the door of the bedroom Christian and I were using to ask if she could come in.

  “No,” I said, opening the door, “I’ll come out. Pretty dress. New?”

  “Yes. Terribly expensive, but I won’t be able to buy any pretty things soon, so I thought, why not?”

  We walked into the front sitting room just as Lisa pushed open the double doors into the dining room. I introduced Sydney to Lisa. Then I saw Christian come out of the kitchen with Brian, both of them carrying bottles. I watched Christian set the bottles on the sideboard, and I was struck by the realization that my problem was really simple to fix. He wasn’t my enemy. He loved me.