The Gardener of Aria Manor

by A. L. Duncan

  The old man laid the book on the table and sprinkled black powder over its opened pages. With a little bristle brush, he swept the powder aside, revealing writing between the lines. Mr. Kuczaj sat back with somber elation and pulled off his spectacles.

  “And this is divine revelation?” Janie prodded.

  Sam clarified. “Names of prominent German and Austrian scientists who are Jewish. What would be divine is finding them in time and getting them safely into Turkish hands, those of Ataturk and his neutral government.”

  “In time for what?” asked Ilene.

  Mr. Kuczaj carefully curled the wire rims back on his ears. “In time to save their lives.”

  Ilene frowned. “From who?”

  “The menace that is Germany,” answered Sam.

  “Germany?”

  “A terrible ambiguity where the idea of democracy is deteriorating under a beautiful Viennese sky. Thanks to Germany’s influence, this city is becoming quite a hotbed of anti-Semitism. Certainly Teddy told you his story.”

  Aghast, Ilene stepped back. “It was a small incident of bigoted youths.”

  Mr. Kuczaj held a hand up to forestall Sam’s objection. “She is simply looking at things as they appear. Perhaps, if she looked through things, toward God, she, and others like her, would see the truth of all matters.”

  Ilene sighed. “I don’t understand.”

  “There is a darkness settling upon the land that stems from the mind of one man. What happened to your brother, unfortunately, was only the beginning of a most destructive future for many people, many lives. I fear worse will come of this.”

  Sam exhaled the last of his cigarette and stubbed the butt out in a tray. “I can assure you, Miss Vaughn, thanks to your assistance a great many people will be relocated to countries less hazardous to their welfare. Oh, by the by...” Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black velvet bag. Holding it out to her, he said, “Paid in full, as per our agreement. The British government thanks you.”

  “I thought your government had no stake in this.”

  Sam grinned. “Not directly, no. Nothing on paper, anyway. You know how that goes, Miss Vaughn. Oh, and no need to count. It’s all there. One million’s worth, isn’t that right?”

  Janie tested the weight of the little bag. As she opened it and poured the contents into her palm, Sam nonchalantly walked over to the stove and poured himself a cup of tea.

  “I have to say, Miss Vaughn, your idea of payment in diamonds instead of currency was brilliant.”

  Ilene glared at the sparkling radiance in Janie’s hand. “Diamonds?”

  The sight of the diamonds suddenly turned Janie’s stomach as she recalled a more recent time when someone insisted she take money not belonging to her. It was odd, though, she mused, how one million dollars in diamonds weighed much less than a hundred thousand in bills.

  “Less traceable, no worries about exchange rates, certainly much easier to transport,” Sam added, oblivious to Janie’s frown. Lifting the cup up to his lips, he added, “Tea anyone?”

  As Janie placed the bag into her trouser pocket, she heard a scuffing sound from near the half-opened shelving.

  Mr. Kuczaj stood and motioned Janie to stay still. He shuffled around her and reached a hand into the darkness. “Come. Come, come.”

  A slight figure of a woman in her mid-twenties with dark hair and eyes stepped cautiously into the room. She held to her bosom a tiny baby, nestled snug in its dingy blanket.

  “My daughter, Chaya,” Kuczaj said.

  Janie shot a glance at Sam. “Why all the secrecy? I thought you British were helping in all this.”

  Sam shook his head. “The British Government has little interest in Jews as a people. If it means the acquisition of better technologies from a few individuals who just happen to be Jewish, well then, that’s a different story. Politics, darling.”

  “And politics in Austria?”

  “Do not deserve special investigation or even consideration. Nazi youth have been part of a few violent outbreaks, a small group of extremists led by the silken tongue of some lunatic.”

  Ilene interjected, “But, Sam you just told me…”

  “What I told you is the reality our empire doesn’t care to see.”

  “Then what’s your game, Sam?” Janie asked. “Why are you so interested?”

  Sam’s eyes drifted to the young woman, her baby, and the aged eyes of the old man. “Because I am Jewish,” he replied. “And it’s getting harder to keep Jews a secret around here.”

  “What in God’s name is happening?”

  For once, Sam answered Janie’s question directly. “Nazi Parliamentary power is what’s happening, darling. Plain and simple.”

  Ilene looked at the infant, and its mother’s tender gaze. “What on earth did these Jewish people ever do to them?”

  Sam lit another cigarette and watched the curls of smoke for a long moment. “That’s a question you’ll have to ask Adolf Hitler.”

  A pounding on the street door interrupted the explanation. Sam opened his door and they all stared down the steep flight of stairs past his figure. A vicious horde swarmed up the stairs, cursing and shouting.

  “Speak of the Devil,” Sam muttered. He slammed his door and pointed toward the back of the apartment. “Go—all of you. Now! There’s a fire escape outside the bedroom window.”

  Janie watched Sam slide a wooden beam into iron brackets to blockade the door. She leaned against it alongside him, the two able to feel the mob’s furious pounding in an attempt to enter.

  “Go on,” Sam urged.

  “What about you?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve done this before.” He reached into his back trouser pocket and drew out British visas. “Here, give these to Kuczaj and Chaya, and get them to the train. Four blocks to the left.” A piece of door split beneath an axe blade, the shiny edge clearly visible to the two inside. “Go.”

  Though loath to go, Janie dashed from the room, hearing the sounds of the door splintering in the face of the onslaught. As she dangled out of the window over the fire escape, she experienced a flash of déjà vu. “Here we go again,” she muttered. She hurried down the iron steps, into the arms of a frightened Ilene.

  “Oh, Carolyn,” Ilene gasped through her tears.

  “Hurry.” The old man took his daughter’s arm and pulled her toward the alley. “We must hurry!”

  A quick touch and an encouraging smile from Janie seemed to bolster Ilene’s courage. They ran, and not a moment too soon. Janie spared a glance over her shoulder and saw a number of thugs descending the fire escape. She hoped Sam was safe in the dark recess behind his bookshelf.

  They turned down a narrow cobbled side street only to find a group of pursuers awaiting their prey, grinning like ravenous hyenas. Chaya and Ilene screamed. Janie exchanged glances with the old man.

  “What’ll we do?” cried Ilene.

  Adrenaline rushing through her, Janie was in her element. “Go through them.”

  “Carolyn, no!”

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  Janie strode forward until she was toe-to-toe with the foremost of half a dozen young men who taunted her, deriding her because she was a woman. Janie beckoned to the loudest heckler. His eyes narrowed to slits as he approached her, knuckles white on the meaty fist that was wrapped tightly around a metal pipe. His confident sneer quickly faded when she didn’t flinch at his strike.

  The pipe whistled past her head as she dodged his intended blow. One swift punch to his gut stopped him in his tracks. When he recovered from his surprise, he swung again. Again she easily avoided his attack, following with a punch to his ribs and another to his face. Everyone watching was astonished at Janie’s street-wise moves. The attackers were aghast as their leader, his offensive swings no match for Janie’s New York training, fell to the street with a thump.

  A grin flickered across Janie’s face as her pulse quickened, and the taste of salty blood ig
nited the flame of self-preservation. She dodged and feinted and swayed, throwing kicks and punches, jabs and uppercuts, knocking the men unconscious one by one. She was whipping the last man standing when she yelled to her companions.

  “Go on,” she commanded. “Keep moving.”

  Ilene assisted Kuczaj around the fallen bodies, and they all fled.

  Just having dropped the last aggressor, Janie looked around and spotted the pistol in one man’s hand as he struggled to rise, but it was too late to stop him. The crack of gunfire echoed through the alley.

  Kuczaj’s knees buckled, dropping him to the ground. His daughter ran to him as he lay on the cold cobblestones, bleeding with a bullet wound. “Papa! Papa!” she cried.

  Incensed by the unprovoked shooting and spurred by the wailing of the young woman, Janie kicked the shooter in the jaw, knocking him unconscious. Tears welled in Janie’s eyes, the image of her father in her mind. Her own father might have deserved it, but what the hell had this man done?

  Janie staggered as she moved forward, suddenly realizing how her knuckles and her body ached. She rubbed the blood and bruises vigorously, then cast a glance over her shoulder at an approaching mob, their faint rantings growing louder.

  Ilene, trying tearfully to console Chaya, looked at Janie for guidance. “We can’t just leave him here.”

  Survival instinct took over. Without any thought, Janie was grasping the women’s shoulders and pulling them to their feet. “We have to. There’s no time.”

  “We can’t leave him here!” Ilene repeated.

  Chaya tearfully shook her head and whimpered something in Polish.

  Janie’s eyes met Ilene’s. Again she urged, “Come on, or we’re next!”

  Janie hated to leave the old bookseller’s body lying in the street. It didn’t seem humane, even though they were running for their own lives. The fleeting thought was as swift as her feet that were carrying her further from the scene. She was trying to remember the way to the train station.

  With her one glance at the gates, the hope for a clear run to the train cars was dashed. A crowd lingered, perhaps family and friends waiting to send off their departing loved ones with waves and kisses. Whatever the reason for the throng, Janie knew they had to move fast to make the train. The train whistle blew. Desperate, Janie cleared a swath through the tight mesh of bodies, pushing and shouting at people to move aside. Someone in the crowd must have seen the group chasing behind them because cries and shouts spread through the suddenly dispersing onlookers.

  Steam rolled and licked under the iron wheels of the cars as the train started to move. Janie’s heart was in her throat.

  In the last push to get to the train, Janie lost Chaya. She stopped to briefly scrutinize the many scrambling figures before she lifted Ilene onto the stair step of a car. “Stay on!” Janie shouted at her. “Whatever happens, don’t get off!”

  “Carolyn!”

  “Stay on!”

  Janie ran back into the few people still milling around in confusion, finally finding Chaya crouching over her infant.

  “It’s all right,” Janie reassured, grasping hold of her. “Come on. Come on.”

  A shadow pounced toward them from behind, but Janie’s reflexes swept Chaya and her child away before a sweeping club could crack a skull. A fist to his jaw knocked him off his feet. Janie pushed Chaya toward the departing train.

  “Go, run!”

  A growl sounded in Janie’s ear as the attacker struck from her blind side, knocking her to the ground with a powerful blow from his fist. Caroline’s Star of David fell out of Janie’s trouser pocket. As the man bent down to pick it up, Janie landed a heel to his crotch. She snatched up the weapon he had dropped and swung the club against his jaw. He hit the pavement with a thud. She snatched up her pendant with a sneer. “What’s the matter, Nazi boy, blonde hair throw you off?”

  Tugging on Chaya’s elbow, she urged her on. “We’re almost there.”

  Janie made it aboard the next to last railcar. She hopped on first so she could grab Chaya’s baby and then pull the woman up. Almost falling from the car, Janie stretched out her hand. “You can make it, come on!” She darted a glance at the pursuing horde. They were gaining fast.

  Chaya was running to keep pace with the train. She held her baby up as far as she could, until he was almost within Janie’s straining reach. Finally Janie was able to clamp hold of his collar and raise him from his mother’s arms. “Gotcha.”

  She set the child in the train car and reached out for Chaya. The look in the woman’s eyes terrified Janie. It was the same look of resolve Janie had seen in Teddy’s eyes when he had decided to end his life. The woman slowed her pace and, with a final sad smile, backed away from the train.

  “No!”

  In an instant the woman disappeared behind drapes of steam, muffled sounds of a mob fading in the distance between them. Janie’s tearful agony was swallowed by the whistle of the train. Never had she felt so helpless. Finally, she embraced the child, its cries echoing her own.

  Janie was able to collect herself eventually. She turned her attention to the baby. Slowly, she gathered her wits and covered the baby’s soft head. Holding the little face before her she smiled at its ruffled brow and pursed lips of many expressions. “You won’t even remember this, will you?” she murmured.

  Standing, Janie carried the infant into the car. About the time she noticed they were in the luggage car, she realized they weren’t alone. Someone else had managed to hop into the car, and he glared at her with hawk-like eyes. She staggered over suitcases and boxes and trunks as she backed away from his hulking presence.

  “My, you’re a big boy,” she stated.

  He stretched out a gloved hand. “Give me the diamonds!”

  “The diamonds? How did you know about the...” His British accent registered and it became clear to her.

  From his breast pocket, he withdrew a shiny blade. “Give me the diamonds and I won’t hurt the child.”

  Her fury was instant. She pulled herself to full height and lifted the baby to hang on a wall hook by his jacket. “Keep the kid outta this. You goddamn Brits want your diamonds back, you come and get them from me!”

  The dark man smiled as he rolled his blade handle from hand to hand. He lunged at Janie. She dodged his strike and threw an uppercut in response. It was like hitting a stone wall. The man pulled his shoulders back and exposed a gold tooth as he cackled.

  “Uh oh,” Janie muttered. She realized she might have overestimated her chances. She had a fleeting thought that perhaps God’s wrath was being visited upon her for her having repeatedly defeated his priest. If this was payback, she had a bad feeling she was about to be humbled.

  “I promise, if I ever get out of this, I’ll go to confession,” she said earnestly.

  Again and again the silver blade swiped, missing her by inches.

  “What is confession called in a synagogue?” he taunted.

  Janie sidestepped another lunge and tossed a heavy brass-tipped piece of baggage at his head. He was staggered by the blow. “An eye for an eye.”

  He followed her deeper into the car, swatting and kicking aside boxes and trunks. She stumbled as she moved backward and fell to the floor near the rear door of the baggage car. Just as the man overtook her, Janie spied a pry bar and scrambled for it. She rolled over and swung it at him, the hook end connecting against his face with a powerful crack.

  Goliath toppled, but he clawed at her heels as she struggled to stand. She tripped and fell through the open door against the railing, dropping the bar at her feet. She and her attacker both grabbed for it, but he grasped it first. He thrust the crowbar under her chin and pulled, strangling Janie against his massive form. “I guess God doesn’t have a sense of humor today.” As she struggled for air, he lifted her off her feet.

  Janie was barely conscious of the gunshot. She was more suddenly aware that the man’s grip loosened as he dropped her to the floor. Coughing and gasping, Janie twiste
d around to see what had saved her. There was a hole in the man’s forehead, his eyes glazed into a permanent blank stare. He fell lifeless to the floor.

  The pistol still smoking, Sam Tisdale walked into the light and eyed her with his typical smirk. “Not too late, am I?”

  Through paroxysms of coughing, Jamie stared at Sam in disbelief.

  “Had a devil of a time finding you,” he said, nonchalantly rolling the giant until he tumbled down the steps and off the back of the car. “Ilene said you made the train. Lucky for you, we were also keeping an eye on our man here.” He motioned his pistol in the general direction of the dead man.

  Janie grasped onto his coat and pulled herself to her feet, hissing at him in a raspy voice, “Hired by your Indian-giver of a government.”

  “Yes. Well. Sorry about that.”

  She limped past him with hand on her ribs, wincing.

  Looking about at the strewn baggage, Sam spied the infant hanging on the wall peg, sound asleep. “Hello. What have we here?”

  Janie swallowed down her sadness. “The only surviving Kuczaj.”

  Sam lifted the boy down and cuddled him to his chest, eyeing Janie with sympathy. “Oh. I see. Well...how do you like that? He sleeps, while others battle.”

  “Yeah. He’ll make a great diplomat someday.”

  “I understand your displeasure with diplomacy at the moment, which makes my next offer a bit more difficult to sell. His Majesty’s government would like to enlist your services, Miss Vaughn, if you’d be interested.”

  She was aghast. “His Majesty’s Government just tried to kill me, Mr. Tisdale!”

  “Slight miscommunication between departments, I assure you.”

  Janie was tired, and she ached. “I have little concern for any government or its affairs.” Resentment was apparent on her drawn features. “I’ve had enough. I’m going home, Sam.” She backpedalled and took the baby from him and turned away, tears welling in her eyes.

  Janie passed into the rear of the next car, a passenger car, then froze in astonishment at seeing row after row, seat after seat, filled with refugees. All stood and turned to her or craned their necks to assess the newcomer. Obvious were the bodies with barely an extra stitch on, as if they were forced from all their dearest possessions to flee with only the clothes on their backs. The faces were hardened by fear and misery, and dirty hands clutched to small bundles from days of traveling. She had seen such desperate faces in soup lines. It pained her to believe the world would invite more of the same suffering.