by Jan Moran
Oscar gave a deep sigh. “All right, as long as you have the courage to see it through.”
“I do.”
They returned to the car. As they drove, Oscar turned on the radio to fill the silence. The German news station was on.
“We are proud to announce that France has been added to our expanding empire, with Paris its crown jewel.”
“No,” Danielle cried. France—captured—it couldn’t be!
Oscar whirled around, reached across the seat, and clamped his hand over Danielle’s mouth. “Another victory for the Third Reich,” Oscar exclaimed. He slammed on the brakes.
With horror, Danielle remembered the possibility of listening devices. Although the car was swept every evening, they could not be too careful. She fell back against the seat, panic stricken. Not Paris. Not again. Her family, her baby. No, not again.
She clutched her head and fought to keep from crying out. Her mind blurred, then cleared. I must find Nicky and Sofia! As Frau Werner, I’ll be able to return to Paris, somehow, with them. Paris! I’ll think about that later. She drew a ragged breath. “That’s very good news, driver,” she said, trying not to choke on her words.
Oscar nodded sadly and started for the café in the village where Danielle had heard about Heinrich. He stopped in front. “I’ll wait here.” He shoved the gear lever into park.
“I won’t be long.” Danielle straightened her shoulders and smoothed her dark brown hair in the rear view mirror.
Danielle got out, went in, and walked between the mismatched tables and chairs straight to the kitchen. She sniffed. She could smell bread beginning to burn. The owner was seated at an old desk adding columns of figures.
“Hello,” Danielle said. “I’ve come to inquire about a position.” And if she’s burning bread, she needs help.
The woman raised her grey head, clearly bothered by the intrusion. “Oh, it’s you again. I don’t have time to talk and I don’t have the money to hire anyone. I have a full day ahead of me, with a party to cater tonight. You might as well go—”
“But I can help you, I have work experience. I’ll help you with the party tonight. Besides, you’re burning your bread.”
She jumped up to remove the bread from the oven. “Just in time,” she muttered. She peered at Danielle over her glasses, considering her. “The party is at the old Czapenski estate. In fact, your friend Heinrich will be there.” She shrugged. “But I can’t pay you.”
Danielle swallowed a gasp. She’d hoped Heinrich would come to the café. This was simply incredible. “I’ll work for free tonight, just to show you that I can do the job.” She clasped her hands until her knuckles went numb. The woman has to hire me. “You don’t need to pay me unless you decide to keep me. And then, only if I bring in more business. More parties. I know people, madame.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “Will this Heinrich fellow give you trouble?”
“Not at all.” Danielle waved her hand. “He’s an old family friend.”
The woman leaned against her chair. “At least you’re presentable. Pretty, too, even in that drab dress. They’ll like that.” She drummed her fingers on the desk. “My husband is home sick and my back is killing me. Can you start right now?”
Danielle nearly leapt with joy. “Right away.”
“You’re hired.” The woman stood up, groaning as she did. “I’m Mrs. Penowski. I’ll prepare everything here, and you’ll be in charge of carrying and cleaning. You got a good strong back?”
Danielle nodded. “Shall I help serve, too?”
“No, they have resident help for that. You’ll be in the kitchen washing dishes while I organize the dinner and preparation. Think you can handle that?”
Five minutes later, Danielle emerged triumphant. “It’s even better than I’d hoped,” she told Oscar. He wished her luck and agreed to meet her at the café at midnight.
Danielle left Oscar and returned to work. By noon she found herself elbow deep in hot soapy water with towers of greasy, food encrusted plates piled high around her.
That afternoon Mrs. Penowski reviewed the menu with her. Danielle listened, all the while formulating her own plan. Tonight was her only chance. But how would she approach Heinrich?
“Are you listening?” Mrs. Penowski frowned.
“Sorry. Of course.”
Mrs. Penowski clicked her tongue. “These are very important customers. We don’t make mistakes with them, understand?”
Danielle nodded solemnly. How well she understood. “I won’t let you down.”
“If you do, you’ll only do it once. Now, you’ll find a uniform in the closet. Change, then we’ll go.”
Danielle changed clothes, then began to load the provisions into a paneled truck: a rack of lamb, a creamy vegetable soup, golden fruit pastries, the fresh baked breads, salads, and serving dishes. After Mrs. Penowski inspected and approved her work, they set out in the truck, allowing extra time to navigate the rough war-torn roads.
They arrived at the converted compound, cleared the checkpoint, and were admitted to the grounds. Danielle shivered from the chill in the early evening air. They passed through an ornate gate and wound down a tree shaded lane. The compound had been a stately old home, but now the grass was dead and flower gardens lay barren. Mrs. Penowski turned off the engine and the truck shimmied to a halt beside the servant’s entrance at the rear of the house.
“Let’s get started,” Mrs. Penowski barked.
Danielle bent to pick up a cast iron pot, and grimaced. She stopped, squatted, drew a breath, and lifted again.
“That’s right,” Mrs. Penowski commented. “Now come with me.”
Danielle followed her employer through the door and placed the pot on a huge iron stove. After brief introductions with the resident staff, Danielle returned to the truck for the remaining items.
“There now, pretty one, pick up your step,” the butler called out, slapping her behind. “You’ll be all night at this pace.”
Danielle shot him a glacial look and moved swiftly out of his way. She ducked her head under the white bonnet she wore and fairly flew back to the truck. By the time she had completed her task, perspiration dampened her black dress and white apron. She no longer felt the chill in the night air.
Mrs. Penowski huddled with the resident help to orchestrate the event. Danielle could see that the woman had a critical, well-trained eye. Clearly she had served here before, and the staff was quick to follow her command. It seemed the Nazi general liked her cooking.
The dinner began. Danielle took her post at the sink, her hands submerged in steaming dishwater. Before long, she heard a familiar voice drifting from the dining room. She caught her breath. Heinrich.
A young man in service at the estate whisked through the door carrying a stack of dirty china plates. She turned to relieve him of his armload, and through the open door, she saw Heinrich.
Danielle caught her breath, but she quickly registered every detail. Heinrich so resembles Max, she thought, her heart aching for what Max must have endured. He bore the family’s trademark chiseled features, though the tilt of his strong jaw was arrogant, whereas Max’s fine bone structure had appeared aristocratic. Fair skinned, muscular, blond, and blue-eyed, Heinrich favored the German side of the family.
She could hear him now, speaking perfect German with a superior officer, who sounded pleased with Heinrich’s reports. She turned her back. The entire scene sickened her.
The dinner droned on. Danielle scrubbed and hefted more pots and dishes than she had ever imagined possible, but the work didn’t deter her. Once dinner concluded, she knew that the men would excuse themselves to cigars and cognac, while the ladies in attendance would remain separate. Sometimes couples slipped away for a moment alone under personal auspices, before returning to their respective groups. Danielle had observed this old custom many times. Her only chance lay in this predictable tradition.
From her pocket she pulled a note she had written earlier, she gave it to a
footman. “One of the ladies passed this to me for a gentleman. Take it to him, please,” she said, indicating Heinrich.
When the dinner ended, she slipped outside. Heinrich waited on the darkened verandah. She pulled her bonnet over her eyes and approached him from behind.
He turned expectantly but his face fell at the sight of a servant girl.
“Hello, Heinrich.” She greeted him in German.
“Who the devil are you?” He placed two fingers under her chin and lifted her face to him. A shaft of moonlight illuminated her face. He gaped at her.
“It’s me. Danielle.”
“What are you doing here?” His eyes narrowed and paled to a transparent blue.
“How lovely to see you again, too,” she replied. “I have news for you.”
A malicious grin played at the corners of his thin mouth. “You’ve come all this way to tell me Max is dead.”
Though his words struck her, Danielle managed to feign surprise. “So you know.”
“Don’t underestimate our intelligence.” He looked disparagingly at her; he seemed cocky and confident.
“And don’t underestimate mine,” she shot back. How she hated him. “I know he was on his way to meet you. Did you shoot him?”
Heinrich grinned broadly. “No, but he deserved it. Our family was fine until he brought you onto the scene.”
“I often suspected you didn’t like me, Heinrich. You sabotaged me too many times. You thought you were being so slick, so subversive.” She squared her shoulders. “As for Max, I am surprised only at your lack of remorse.”
“Max was a fool,” he muttered. “Especially for marrying you. He could have done so much better.” His eyes gleamed with spite.
She ignored his contemptuous remark, though it struck her to the core. I cannot let him hurt me, she thought, struggling to maintain her composure. “Max was an honorable man and he died a hero.”
“He couldn’t even save his own child.” He spat out the words. “Couldn’t even find his precious little Nicky.”
Hatred flared within her, blinding her reasoning. She advanced toward him, her hand flying to his face. She slapped him hard, savoring the sting on his face. There, I’ve wanted to do that for years.
He reeled. “So, you’re here to find Nicky.” He touched his jaw. “You think that’s the way to get me to talk?”
Fury coursed through her veins like hot molten lava. “You will tell me where Nicky and Sofia are.”
“Why should I?” he sneered.
Danielle smiled sweetly. “If you don’t, I’ll go to your superior officer and tell him I’m your wife, and Nicky is our son. Your Jewish son, you bastard.”
He took a step back as if she’d slapped him again. “Who’d believe you?” he said with a nervous laugh.
She looked up at him, still smiling. She had him right where she wanted him. She moved closer, her lips touching his ear as she spoke softly. “Perhaps you remember Sofia’s birthday party at the lake last spring. Max took a lot of photos with his new camera, Heinrich. Of you and me and Nicky. All of us together. We looked so friendly. I even sent some pictures to my mother. I’m sure you remember, in fact, I have them with me.” She patted her pocket.
“They won’t believe you.”
“Maybe not, but it will tarnish your image, won’t it?” She could see fury flashing in his cool eyes, like a dog that knew when it was cornered.
“What do you want?”
“Good, we understand one another.” She hesitated, aware of the scarce minutes slipping away. Mrs. Penowski would miss her soon. Her heart pounded. She still needed to know so much. “I want Nicky and Sofia. Where are they?”
Heinrich’s features twisted into a salacious grin. “Wouldn’t we both like to know?” He extracted a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
Danielle slapped it from his hand, sending cigarettes flying across the verandah. “Where are they?” she demanded, grabbing his hand. Damn him to hell! And I haven’t much time before someone discovers us. Her nails dug into his skin, drawing blood.
He cried out, wresting from her grip. He put his hand to his mouth. “They disappeared. I tried to find them, but I couldn’t.”
“You’re lying,” she snapped. “Don’t lie to me, Heinrich. Where are they?” She lifted her chin and her eyes bored into his. “I’ll do it, Heinrich, I swear to God I’ll do it. I have the photographs. Tell me the truth. Now.”
“Shhh!” He glanced behind him. “I swear, Danielle, I swear this is the truth.” He drew a deep breath, clearly anxious to get away from her before another officer stumbled out the door and found them. “I didn’t want to tell you, not like this, but Nicky and Sofia are dead.”
His words rushed in her ears and she felt her heart pound wildly. “I–I don’t believe you.” She stared at him, but he didn’t flinch. “It can’t be.”
Hatred spread across Heinrich’s face and his eyes glowed with morbid satisfaction.
“Sofia was shot with Nicky in her arms.” Heinrich said. “They’re both dead. It’s over. Destroy the photos, go away. You have no place here.”
He finished speaking, but Danielle stood frozen in shock. Her face drained of color, until it felt as white as her bonnet in the eerie moonlight.
Heinrich just stared at her, an expression of pity mixed with fear and hatred.
Still, Danielle stared at him. “Don’t you even feel shame? Is this your idea of a glorious war?” She saw him nervously clench and unclench his hands, just as he had when he was a teenager and was caught lying.
Danielle sensed his vulnerability and she seized upon it. I must know everything. “How do you know they’re dead?”
“How do I know?” A sardonic grin contorted his face. “I killed them, Danielle. I did it, I shot them both.” He thumped his chest with his fist. “Through the heart.”
Infuriated, Danielle balled her fist and struck him in the face as hard as she could.
He reeled, then caught her wrist and twisted her arm. “Go now,” he hissed, his face reddening with rage. “They’re all dead, I tell you. Go away.” He shoved her away and she hit the floor with a thud, her hands scraping the rough wooden planks. He glared at her, then whirled around and stalked through the door.
Danielle sat stunned, her hands burning and bloodied from the fall. Heinrich’s horrible words echoed in her mind, while Nicky and Sofia’s death cries reverberated in her soul. No, no! she screamed in her mind.
Mrs. Penowski pushed open the door. “My God, girl, what happened to you?” She looked at Danielle and shook her head. “I can guess what happened here. I knew you were too pretty for your own good. Well, nothing more to do about it.” She helped Danielle to her feet. “Come on, clean yourself up. I need you in the kitchen. We’ll be out of here soon, I promise you that.”
Danielle stood, shaky on her feet. She didn’t resist, didn’t dare tell Mrs. Penowski anything different than what the woman thought she had deduced. But what did I expect? she thought numbly.
The rest of the night passed in a haze, and Danielle strained to complete her work.
Mrs. Penowski helped her load the truck, and wagged her head periodically on the long drive home.
“I won’t be back to work, Mrs. Penowski,” Danielle told her when they returned to the village.
“I didn’t think you would be, dear.”
Oscar had parked around the corner, waiting for her. When Danielle returned, she told him the entire story before getting into the car. He listened, his rheumy eyes glistening with tears, holding Danielle as her words choked and shook her.
Before today, neither of them had dared to mention the unspeakable.
“Sofia was so ill,” she sobbed. “The poor woman...to die that way.” She recalled her vision at the hospital and realized that it had not been her imagination. “But Nicky...as evil as Heinrich is,” she sobbed, “how could he have killed an innocent little boy?” How could it be?
“Where will you go?” Oscar gently prodded.
<
br /> “I’m going back to France,” she said between sobs. “I’ve got to get my baby daughter. I don’t know where I’ll go, but I can’t stand it here, Oscar. The smell of death is everywhere. How can you stay?”
“It’s still my home,” he said sadly.
Oscar made the arrangements and the next day she boarded the train as Frau Werner, once again wearing the yellow flower on her hat and the brightly colored scarf, and clutching her fraudulent passport and traveling documents.
“I suppose I won’t ever see you again,” Oscar said.
Danielle embraced him. “You have my love and appreciation, Oscar, for your efforts and devotion to my family. I know Sofia and Max appreciated it, as do I.”
“Sofia was a great lady. And your husband and son, what a fine family you had. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I shall never forget any of this.” Danielle gritted her teeth. “Never.”
15
The voice behind her was a mere whisper. “Pardon, Madame von Hoffman?”
Danielle had just entered the wide square of the Place Vendôme, and had spied Nazi soldiers guarding the entry of the Hôtel Ritz, where occupying German forces had taken up residence. Were her parents still there? Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Slowly she swung around.
“Oui?” She recognized the Ritz hotelier’s uniform.
“Wait here,” the dark-haired man said, then made his way past her into the hotel.
Danielle watched as Nazis paraded in and out of the hotel, many with German wives, and others with slender young French women extravagantly clothed.
Minutes turned to an hour, and Danielle tried to look nonchalant. The Ritz had been requisitioned and was now under German control, as were many of the grand palace hotels in Paris, including the Georges V, Le Meurice, Lutetia, Crillon, and others. Only the Ritz allowed civilians to stay, and only with Luftwaffe commander-in-chief Hermann Goering’s approval.
Danielle pursed her lips. Most likely, her parents had been moved from the hotel on the order of some Nazi officer who wanted their lovely suite. Paris was a mess of fear and confusion and armed soldiers, but at least it had been spared the Luftwaffe air attack that had decimated Poland. She prayed her parents were safe.
