Charlotte’s hand nestled inside mine, I allow her the space she needs to drift away. I would never do anything to hurt her, but I wish I could gift her with something good from her story.
CHAPTER 7
MAX
VIENNA, AUSTRIA
MAY 1938
Chandelier light glowed on the gilded walls of the ballroom as Herr Krause, the conductor, lifted his baton. Then the members of the orchestra filled the chambers and balconies of the Rathaus with the flush of music. The marble columns lining the room vibrated with their song, the German flag fluttering behind them.
The ensemble comprised eighteen players—trumpeters, flutists, a cellist—but Max only had eyes for the woman in the second row, third seat on the left. The violin cradled against the pearl sleeve of her gown, her long skirt almost touching the ground. She, like all the women on the platform, had dressed in her finest attire instead of the black frock she typically wore to perform.
The opera last weekend had been canceled after Bruno Walter left Austria, but no one canceled this dance at the lofty town hall even if a majority of the musicians playing tonight were Jewish.
The Viennese would be hard-pressed to put together an orchestra without Jewish players. An impossibility perhaps. And what was Vienna without music?
Dozens of formally suited men lifted their arms as they prepared to dance; then the beaded gowns of their partners began twirling in unison between the columns, creating their own percussion from the silk and satin in their skirts.
The world seemed to have gone mad right before Max’s eyes. The rioting in Vienna’s streets, fighting with both words and clubs. Yet hidden behind the armor of these golden walls was a respite of beauty and peace. Here, for the night at least, Austrians danced together instead of fought. Celebrated the music that once mended their fractured differences.
Herr Neubacher, Vienna’s newly appointed mayor, swept past Max, dancing with the wife of a philosopher who’d recently returned to Austria, part of the group expelled over the years for supporting National Socialism. In the past month, Nazi supporters by the thousands had flooded back into Austria, marching across the welcome mat that Hitler had laid out for them.
Many aristocrats in this room wanted to fold their identity into the greatest country in the world, even if it meant losing their beloved Austria. The humiliation of the defeat two decades past had flamed their pride, the fire burning hotter within them every passing year. Many who fought and lost that great war as young men saw the opportunity for victory now. An opportunity to show the world that they would no longer cower.
“Max.” His mother stepped in front of him, her blue satin gown glowing in the chandelier light. “Aren’t you going to dance?”
He nodded toward the orchestra. “My partner is currently occupied.”
“As she will be all night. There are many other women who’d like to accompany you.”
“I don’t want to dance with anyone else.”
When his mother glanced back at him, her lips were pressed together in disapproval. She liked Luzi well enough, and she certainly liked Frau Weiss—the two of them had been friends since their days studying at Vienna Conservatory, bonding over their love of composers such as Ludwig van Beethoven and Johannes Brahms. His mother seemed to disregard the growing animosity toward the Jewish people in Vienna. She loved music, and most of the musicians in Vienna happened to be of Jewish descent. The only time she disparaged a musician was when one appeared too lazy to hone his or her craft.
His mother didn’t disapprove of Luzi, but she didn’t want him to make any commitments before he finished school. However, it didn’t seem to him that he would be going to Gymnasium much longer if the new government was going to force him into the Wehrmacht when he turned eighteen.
His father moved up beside them, nodding toward the floor. “We should dance the next one.”
Klara Dornbach gave a brisk nod. “Of course.”
Max stood behind his parents, watching the dancers over his mother’s shoulder. Both his parents stood solemnly, displaying the air of their aristocratic bloodlines. As if they would protect themselves in the future by reminding others of their heritage.
They’d been arguing again before they left the house tonight, his father insisting that Mussolini was still going to defend their country, his mother saying that if the Italians were planning to help, they would have done so months ago.
Both his parents knew well what was expected of them in the old Austria and had tried to impart the importance of these expectations to Max as well. But Hitler, it seemed, didn’t put much stock in the bloodlines of aristocracy, though the man they called Führer was very much focused on the blood pumping through veins if it happened to be Jewish. Max had spent most of his life focused on the future, but the past was all that seemed to define people under this new regime.
The music ended, and a new set of dancers, including his parents, stepped onto the floor. Max’s gaze settled back onto Luzi. If she saw him, she didn’t give any indication, her eyes focused solely on the music stand in front of her. He inched to the front of the crowd, and when the maestro finally rested his wand, Max moved forward to escort Luzi to the refreshments in the next room. She tucked her violin into its case and clasped it shut, protecting the instrument until they began playing again.
“I wish we could dance together,” he said.
She glanced toward the floor, empty now as the dancers poured into the side room. “Not tonight, Max.”
“But at least we can eat.”
Luzi shook her head. “I don’t want any food either.”
“You must be famished.”
When she smoothed her hand over her sleeve, he saw it tremble. “My nerves can’t tolerate it.”
“But your body needs it.”
“Please, Max, don’t make me fight.”
He reached for her trembling hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “I wouldn’t dream of fighting with you, Fräulein.”
Her hand clutched his arm at first, and then it began to relax as he guided her through the crowd, out onto a balcony that wrapped around the grand city hall, overlooking the park below. They both leaned across the balustrade, breathing in the balm of cherry blossoms that sweetened the breeze.
Max smiled at her. When he was with Luzi, all the hostilities in Vienna, all the secrets, seemed to disappear. “You are playing beautifully.”
She shook her head, her dark hair glistening in the golden light that seeped through the open door behind them. “I’m playing like someone who’s forgotten most of the notes.”
“You can pretend, Luzi, but I know full well that you played every note to perfection.”
She sighed. “I don’t know how I played. I was lost in the music.”
“As was I.” He turned around, leaning back against the balustrade so he could see her eyes. “Where are your parents?”
And then he wished he couldn’t see her eyes, at least not the sadness in them before her gaze fell to the tree-lined walk below. “They were uninvited.”
Blood rushed to his face. “What?”
“They received a letter yesterday rescinding their invitation.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood as rigid as the soldiers who’d escorted Hitler into their city. “But they didn’t rescind your invitation?”
“No, they needed someone to play. I almost refused but . . .”
“Your mother?”
“She thinks the music will carry us away from here.”
He clenched his fists, anger erupting inside him. “It’s wrong, Luzi.”
“I know,” she said, her voice small. “But what are we to do?”
“We fight it.”
“Not on our own.” She turned and stepped away from the railing. “I must return to my seat.”
“A few more minutes,” he begged. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again.” His parents would insist that they leave before the musicians finished playing, at a time deemed
fashionable by his father.
She smiled at him. “I’ve no doubt it will be soon.”
And then he heard the melody of flutes inside the hall, followed by two violins playing “Village Swallows from Austria,” a piece written by Josef Strauss to accompany the Viennese waltz.
Luzi stepped forward, her smile gone. “They’ve started without me.”
“It’s too late to join them now,” Max said, reaching for her arm.
She shivered, rubbing her hands together. “Herr Krause will be livid.”
He watched the women inside the ballroom lift the hems of their long dresses, preparing to dance. It was a political waltz for their city, meant to communicate freedom for all.
“Please, Luzi,” he asked again. “Just one dance.”
She closed her eyes, as if listening for the answer in the music.
“We’ll pretend that we’re an empress and emperor,” he said. “Sisi and Franz Joseph.”
“Only part of a dance,” she finally relented. “I must return to my seat before they begin the next song.”
“Part of a dance, then.”
She slowly picked up the hem of her dress, and he took her hand. “Let’s show them how to waltz.”
It seemed to him as if the gates to heaven opened up, joy raining down as the angels themselves sang in his mind. Luzi was in his arms, following his lead as they circled the floor to music that once defined all of them in this room.
If only they could dance all night together.
Dance for a lifetime.
“I feel as if all of Vienna is watching us, Max.”
“Not us.” He grinned down at her. “They only have eyes for you.”
She smiled back at him, radiant. “Sometimes I think you must be blind.”
“No, but I only have eyes for you too.”
The music was coming to a close; he could feel Luzi releasing her hold. He didn’t want this to end, but he guided her toward the orchestra and then reluctantly released her. Herr Krause glared at him, and the moment the music stopped, Luzi found her place.
But no one’s glare could erase Max’s smile. He’d danced with Luzia Weiss, and she had smiled back at him.
CHAPTER 8
LUZI
VIENNA, AUSTRIA
MAY 1938
The conductor’s lecture lasted until long after the guests were gone, chastising Luzi—rightfully so—for dancing instead of joining the other musicians on the stage. Then Herr Krause dismissed her with a wave before he marched across the floor.
Luzi lifted her violin case and walked slowly toward a side door that led down into the courtyard. One of the flutists was supposed to drive her the seven kilometers home, but it seemed that Daphne had left with the rest of the orchestra. Only the waitstaff remained behind, bustling around the ballroom as if they didn’t see her, hadn’t heard the conductor screaming about her negligence.
But still she smiled at the memory of her dance. For a moment tonight, it had felt as if she were in a dream. As if all of Vienna were celebrating her coming out as a debutante, an event that would no longer happen next year or probably any year—at least for her.
Were the aristocrats, along with the Gentile bourgeoisie, whispering about the Jewish girl in Max Dornbach’s arms? Or did they wonder why she wasn’t playing her violin? Most of them knew her parents, and many of them knew her name as well, but these days, she doubted if they wanted her dancing among them.
Her mother would be irate at the conductor for keeping her so late, at Daphne for leaving her behind . . . and at Luzi for succumbing to Max’s charms. She didn’t doubt that Max cared for her, but her mother said that much of Vienna was closing their doors to the Jewry here, and she wanted her daughter to be known above all else for her music.
As long as Luzi could lose herself in her music, everything would be fine.
The door at the bottom of the Rathaus staircase opened into a rectangular courtyard boxed in by a portico. The scent of spring—flowers and grass—wafted through the arched corridor on the other side, from the park that separated city hall from the University of Vienna.
Spring—the warmth of this season made her heart full.
Her violin case clutched in both hands, she lifted the bow in her mind and began to play a piece from Die Jahreszeiten—Joseph Haydn’s oratorio about the seasons. The music sent sparks of light through the dark yard, chased away the miserable thoughts that wanted to repeat—da capa al coda—in her head.
Al fine.
She’d already rehearsed what would happen when her mother found out about her dance. Now she needed to focus her thoughts on reaching University Ring, the road beyond the park.
Her heels clicked against the stone pavers in the courtyard, like the hooves of horses that pulled the grand carriages around this city, her mind teasing her with its tricks in the absence of music. There was nothing to fear. . . .
Like the swift flick of a match, the bitterness of cigarette smoke invaded the scent of spring. Luzi bristled in the dim lantern light, searching the portico on both sides of her for a face. It must be one of the staff, she told herself. A waiter or custodian who’d come outside to smoke.
Still she walked faster, to the corridor across the plaza, leading into the park. On the other side of Rathausplatz, she’d hail a taxi to take her home. Or catch the tram if it wasn’t too late.
Her gaze focused on the chamber of light beyond the courtyard as she began replaying the music about seasons in her head.
Something shuffled on her left, and a shadow grew where the lantern light spilled on the ground. Her first thought was to retreat into the hall, but the door had locked behind her. So she rushed forward, focused on the arch above the corridor, on the sliver of open space on the other side of these walls.
A man stepped out of an alcove, and fear clenched her chest, talons pressing through her skin. At first she couldn’t see his face, but then she recognized him. It was Ernst Schmid, the man once employed at Max’s home.
Did he know that she was playing tonight? He might have seen her name in the newspaper announcing the event.
Luzi turned away, trying to pretend he wasn’t there, pressing one heel after the other on the stone even as her mind yelled for her to run. But where would she go? It wasn’t like the last time he’d found her—this time no one was around.
Ernst stepped in front of her, blocking her exit through the tunnel, and her mind flashed back to memories that she wanted to leave buried.
When she was fourteen, she’d stepped into a bedroom in Max’s home to rest, escape the party outside for a few moments. Ernst found her there alone, but instead of excusing himself like a gentleman, he had cornered her. She’d screamed, and she remembered so clearly the shock in his eyes at her protest. Then the anger. He’d fled from the room as if she’d been the one to accost him.
She hadn’t told anyone what happened, but she’d seen him several times after that event, and each time she could feel his gaze. Not pleasant like when she caught Max stealing a glance at her. Nor friendly. It was as if he was biding his time.
She clutched her violin case to her chest as if it were a shield and veered around Ernst. Her heels clapped loudly on the stones as she rushed under the arch, through the corridor, trying to cling to the echo of song.
Ernst didn’t say anything, but she heard his feet falling behind her, keeping pace. She wanted to run, but suspected it would only encourage him, like a panther hunting its dinner. He might only toy with her, but then again . . . she didn’t want to think about what else he might do.
She rushed along the tree-covered walk in the empty park, the chaos of traffic in the distance, honking horns and squealing brakes replacing the music in her head. The noise was a beacon to her, the promise of a crowd to ward off this man.
“Luzi,” Ernst said behind her, her name like a growl.
She walked even faster, toward the streetlights she could see beyond the trees. Surely, even at this hour, some students would be
walking the sidewalks of Universitätsring.
Ernst grabbed her arm, whirling her toward him.
“What do you want?” she demanded, wrestling against his grip. She tried to remain strong, but she felt like one of the strings on her violin about to snap.
He tightened his fingers. “Why are you out so late?”
She straightened her shoulders. He knew exactly where she’d been tonight, and he would have been at the ball as well if he’d been invited. “I’m on my way home.”
He pulled her closer, and the stench of his breath, the stale alcohol and smoke, gagged her. The canopy of branches overhead blocked out most of the city lights. “It’s as if you wanted me to find you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Perhaps you were hoping for Max Dornbach, so the two of you could sneak away.”
“Max is a gentleman,” she retorted, her arm throbbing under his grip.
“Then I’ll show you what Max is too cowardly to do.”
If she screamed out here, no one would hear her with the noise of the traffic, so she shook her arm again, praying for deliverance under her breath, but he didn’t release her.
He forced her to turn toward him. “And I’ll protect you from the Nazis.”
She cringed. “I only need protection from you.”
He laughed as if she’d made a joke.
“Let me go, Ernst,” she said, harsher now, trying to evoke the courage of her father, a man who’d fought a war to stop foreigners from bullying them.
“You don’t want me to let you go, Luzi. Not really.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Think what I could do for you.”
Her violin case was lodged between them, and she feared what would happen to the instrument if she dropped it, almost as much as she feared what Ernst might do. “I don’t want anything from you,” she insisted.
The heat from his breath burned her neck, seared her skin. With one hand wrapped around her waist, he yanked up her gown, pushed it up her thigh.
She pulled away, slamming his chest with the case. “No—”
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