by Cat Gardiner
Jack nodded, thinking he should do a little covert investigating on his end as well. Something else must have happened, something other than the Renner scandal. His mind rapid fired of all the possibilities that could have separated two close-knit brothers, and he wondered if Lizzy, Kitty, or Lillian were at the heart of it. Maybe Ingrid. He shuddered at the thought.
Juliana looked behind her at the brick, municipal building. “I better go in. Thanks again for everything. I really appreciate your time and generosity.”
“No thanks necessary. I enjoyed myself and meeting you. Thanks for a great lunch.” Jack started the car and put it in gear. He abruptly stopped, turned around, and placed his arm on the headrest of the passenger seat.
“Hey, Juliana? You wouldn’t have any objection to loaning me a photograph of Lizzy and William until the next time I see you?”
“You’re serious?”
He nodded, and she squatted beside her briefcase, removing a snapshot that she had tucked inside her notepad. It was a particular favorite and she kept it with her at all times to remind her that great romance is truly possible.
She handed it to him, suddenly intrigued by his eagerness. “What’s your plan?”
“I don’t know yet.” He glanced down at the image, then broke out into a fit of laughter looking up at Juliana then back down at the snapshot. “You’ve got to be kidding?”
She laughed, too. “I told you it was her nickname.”
Lizzy and her sweetheart beamed into the sun, posing beside his B-26 at an airfield. He wore his pilot flight uniform, and she wore a light-colored, print dress, gloves, and hat. Together they stood arm in arm at the plexi-glass nose turret of his plane below its clever, significant nose art: the spitting image of Ducky’s girl wearing a two-piece, white bathing suit, flowing chestnut locks with a flower tucked in one side. Lizzy’s sexy gams seductively dangled from the side of the bomb on which she sat. Beside the vibrant image, the aircraft’s name, “Pistol Packin’ Lizzy” was proudly identified in white paint.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said driving away, laughing, and waving.
~~*~~
It was already late in the afternoon when Juliana entered the library greeted by a bespectacled librarian standing behind the circulation desk. Her smile did nothing to quell the heaviness of Jack’s ominous implications of what Lizzy’s family had done. Juliana took a deep breath, just as she had done before entering the attic of Primrose Cottage. Were the actions of this family what caused William and Lizzy’s breakup? She thought the worst but was in too deep to turn back now. She owed it to herself to find out.
“Hi. I’m looking for a Mrs. Tinsdale.”
“Mrs. Tinsdale? Oh, honey you’re about twenty years too late. She retired in 1973. Is there something I can help you with?”
Juliana rested her briefcase before the desk. “I hope so. My name is Juliana Martel, and I’m writing an article for The New Yorker magazine. I’m trying to track down any living descendants of the family who resided at Meercrest on Rosebud Lane during the 1940s.”
The woman immediately redirected her attention to her task, clearly avoiding Juliana’s questioning gaze. She made no reply and her hand continued to stamp “Property of Glen Cove Public Library” inside the cover of each book stacked beside her. The heavy thump of the vintage metal stamper filled the sudden frigid silence from the librarian.
Again, the M gate snapshot slid across wood. It was becoming a familiar action with this photograph. Juliana continued with persistence, “Meercrest? One of the mansions? Wealthy family of five sisters? It was demolished in 1975 and will be the location of a nursing home for veterans?”
Again, silence and an obvious head turn to facilitate the avoidance of eye contact met Juliana’s smile. The woman’s hand continued to depress the large stamper in assembly line fashion. It seemed apparent that the librarian’s activity was a wee bit more vehement than it should be.
“Okay, I get it. You don’t want to talk about that family and the scandal surrounding Meercrest. Would it help if I were to tell you the article is more about the library’s bookmobile and the Victory Book Campaign that took place here during World War Two? That’s why I was looking for Mrs. Tinsdale.”
The librarian looked up to meet Juliana’s smile. “Oh, well now I can help you. We have a whole section devoted to the campaign in our Local History and Genealogy Room. The campaign was sponsored by the American Library Association beginning January 12, 1942. However, the bookmobile was Mrs. Tinsdale’s idea and highly successful. In-house circulation may have been down due to the gas rations but that didn’t keep residents or war workers from reading. I’d say it was one of her greatest achievements.”
Apparently, this woman was a non-stop, veritable treasure trove of interesting, yet extraneous information when one hit on the right subject, or rather, one she was willing to discuss.
“Great, I can see I came to the right place. Can you tell me, did any of the local residents volunteer for the book campaign? Collections and sorting?”
“I imagine so. We couldn’t have done it without the generosity of the women from the Yacht Club. I do believe that the Gold Coast Social Diary published several articles about the girls who set up collection centers throughout town. Follow me.”
After one final stamp into a pristine copy of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, the two women moved toward the quiet back of the library to a small, unoccupied room at the end of a hallway.
File cabinets lined the perimeter facing five, tall shelving units, surrounding three microfiche, two microfilm machines, and one word processor. The obligatory and necessary Dewey Decimal System, wooden, card catalog sat beside the door. Posters tacked above the metal cabinets invited readers to “Donate Good Books” and “READ.” Maps of the North Shore hung beside local family genealogy trees as guides for the novice.
“Well, Miss Martel. This section here is where you will find almost everything pertaining to the war years, and this section here contains every Social Diary dating back to 1922. Good luck in your research. If you need anything, my name is Barbara, just come and get me.”
“Thank you, Barbara.”
“Oh, and we close in twenty minutes.”
Juliana placed her briefcase on the long table and removed its precious contents, placing them neatly beside her yellow legal pad and pen. Left alone in the relative silence, all she heard was the air conditioning forcefully blowing through the ceiling vents, as she pondered where to begin. This was it—the treasure trove of information, all tucked away in file cabinets.
Her vision raked over several metal cabinets where little identifying labels read: 1921 U.S Census, 1911 U.S. Census, 1925 NYS Census. Yes!
Juliana was sure that searching through rolls of microfilm without a last name would only leave her arms and eyes tired and frustrated. Searching the census records could take days before finding who lived at Meercrest on Rosebud. Without a last name, she couldn’t even translate it to a Soundex code to use the index. She sighed heavily, resigned to go the gamut if necessary but, for now, she’d start small utilizing the World War Two files.
The first drawer she slid out was the obvious place to begin “Victory Book Campaign 1942—1944.” Filed amidst papers and thin ledgers, listing every book donor and book title along with the book’s ultimate disposition, Juliana saw the booty: hundreds of eight by ten glossy photographs.
One after another, she sorted through until she found one image of Lizzy tacking a poster to the side of a building. She wore a beret and a smile, and swung a hammer. Juliana’s giddiness surfaced; an elated chortle escaped her jubilant lips, breaking the library’s stoic silence. Could it be any easier? Juliana wondered when she flipped the photograph over and it read, “Elizabeth Renner 1942.”
The words caused her to spring from her seat, jumping up and down excitedly in her pumps. Aloud, she proclaimed in victory, “Renner!”
She kept flipping through the photographs and found another image of
Lizzy standing beside a handsome, fair-haired man. His joyful exuberance matched hers as they stood beside a large collection box formed into the shape of a book with a depository slit on the side. The structure read, “Victory. Be a Book Buddy.” Turning the glossy photograph over, written in fine penmanship were the names, “John Robertsen and Elizabeth Renner—1942,” staring back at her.
“You dirty dog, Jack. You do know Lizzy. Is this your grandfather or uncle? Is Lizzy your aunt or just a friend of the family? Oh. My. G-d, no wonder you didn’t want me to research her.”
Juliana rose up from the floor, grabbed her purse, and hurriedly returned to the library’s main entry to find Barbara.
The librarian still stood positioned behind the circulation desk, stamping books with rhythmic dedication. She smiled as Juliana drew near with assertive steps practically announcing success.
“Excuse me, Barbara. Do you have a copy machine?”
“Of course, dear, twenty cents a copy. Did you find something helpful?”
She held up the two photos. “Paydirt. I need front and back copies, please.”
Barbara took the photographs and furrowed her brow when she read the back. “You’re very skilled as an investigative reporter aren’t you?”
“It’s what I do. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mislead you. It’s just that this is personal, not really an article, and with your imminent closing and my scheduled departure on the 6:10 back to the city, time is of the essence.”
“I see. So you would consider this genealogical work, then?” The librarian raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, I guess I would. Do you know the Robertsen family?”
“The Robertsens? Well, now that’s a family I have no problem discussing. Generations of well-respected pillars in our community, benefactors and patrons of the new Long Island Holocaust Museum here in Glen Cove. They live in Mill Neck where they continue to do good works, not just for the community but also for the world through The Phoenix Foundation, their private charity. Their roots on the Gold Coast date back to 1910, known then as Robertsen Aviation, which, of course, today is called Zephyr Avionics.”
“And the John Robertsen in the photograph?”
“A kind, sickly man most of his adult life. But in spite of his illness, he built Zephyr as one of the leading avionics companies in America, following his father’s death in the late sixties. Unfortunately, he died in 1985. His loss will be greatly felt here on the Gold Coast for many more years.”
“How sad, and do you know Jack?”
“His grandson? Not as much as I know his parents. I think he travels quite a bit, works for a newspaper or something.”
His grandson. “Yes, he works for Newsday. Do you know his affiliation with Elizabeth Renner?”
The question was met by silence, again. The only thing missing was the stamper in Barbara’s hand.
“Please?”
Barbara looked at her watch. “We’re closing in five minutes. I’ll make these copies for you, but then I have to lock up. Might I suggest that if you care to find out more about the Robertsens or the other family you may take a ride down to Our Savior’s Lutheran Church in Glen Head. If she’s willing to talk, their organist might be of assistance to you.”
Juliana laid her hand upon the librarian’s with a begging plea, “Is there anything you can tell me about the Renners and Meercrest? Anything at all?”
It seemed strange to Juliana that Barbara would cautiously look to her left then to her right since they were the only two remaining in the library.
Until she whispered, “They were Nazis.”
~~*~~
Fourteen
It’s a Blue World
July 16, 1942
Pictorial gold leaf covers, leather bounds, florid gilt edges, and rare first editions lined the walls in the built-in bookcases of the Renner two-story, sixty-foot wide library. Lingering in the air was the unmistakable scent of old books mixed with Lizzy’s cigarette, as she sat on one of the wrought iron spiral steps leading upward to the balcony. Impressive ornate bronze balusters, elaborate hand-carved corbels, and old world crown moldings encompassed the stateliness of the mahogany room. However, it was the Pellegrini ceiling fresco of The Chariot of Aurora that Lizzy loved the most. Sometimes, she just lay upon the chaise lounge, staring upward lost in the clouds among the angels, a disregarded book lying open upon her chest.
The silence in the room at that moment reflected the peaceful companionship she always felt in the presence of Kitty or Lillian. Today was one of those days with her sister Kitty. Both missed Lillian’s chatty presence, even a whirlwind at times, though there were moments when the sisters enjoyed each other’s company without words. But these days, Lillian rarely visited Meercrest. Her volunteering kept her busy and after her argument with their father regarding the GIs she had invited to the Memorial Day lawn party, she had moved out and in with a fellow ARC volunteer.
Lizzy thumbed through one of the many like-new volumes of the ten thousand that made up her second favorite location on the estate. Breaking the silence of her activity, she spoke to her sister sitting beside the globe. She, too, busily removed and examined books from the wall for the Victory Book Campaign. “Are you sure Nurse Keller has gone to the market? If not, we really should move this endeavor to my bedroom.”
“Don’t worry, she won’t be back for a couple of hours.”
Lizzy paused from her inspection of Dante’s Inferno and inhaled from her Chesterfield. Her eyes drifted toward the back of Kitty’s wheelchair as she watched her push herself to their grandfather’s horn phonograph, reach over to place the arm down upon the Tommy Dorsey record, and turn the crank. Frank Sinatra, singing “Careless,” broke the library’s normally requisite silence.
“Have you seen Ingrid today, Kitty?”
“No and I’m not keen on doing so either. Have you?”
Lizzy frowned. “She’s with Johnny this afternoon. They went sailing. I think he’s getting ready to ask for her hand. He’s a fool, but he’s been in love with her since we were kids. I just don’t know what he sees in her. Honestly, all it would take is one word from me on how she treats you and I think he’d break it off with her.”
“You promised, Lizzy. You promised to never tell a soul what she did last week.”
“I did, and I’ll take that to the grave. You’re just lucky to be alive is all I have to say.”
From aloft, Lizzy noted how Kitty’s lip trembled when she said, “Maybe she didn’t mean to push the chair toward the stairs. Maybe she didn’t do it and it was a problem with the wheels. I mean, she’s my sister … I can’t imagine that she’d try to hurt me. Right?”
Lizzy descended the spiral steps, coming to kneel beside her sister, taking Kitty’s hand in both of her own. “I know you don’t believe that, and I know you’re afraid, but I’m here. I’ll protect you. If only Will and I were married, then I could take you away from Meercrest so you could live with us.”
“I am afraid, Lizzy. I don’t trust her.”
“Won’t you consider going to Aunt Helga’s?”
“I won’t leave you, especially now that Will has left for Florida, and particularly since we’ve embarked on this great campaign. I’m having so much fun, sissy, please don’t make me go. I know I can take care of myself, truly.”
Lizzy’s smile must have looked pained because that was how she felt. It certainly didn’t come from her heart nor reach her eyes. She wished she could take her sister far, far away. “I am having a gas, too, but I’m afraid for you. I’m spending so much time in the bookmobile and manning the campaign collection centers at The Polish Hall and St. Rocco’s Chapel, I just can’t be here. I should quit … I’ll quit.”
“Please don’t. You only just began, and you’re so happy. I just need to watch my back and be more careful not to be alone with her. What you’re doing for the war effort and the community is important. The workers who have come from all around the country to Jakobson’s Shipyard really enjoy the book
s from your library on wheels.”
Concerned, Lizzy squeezed her sister’s hand, rubbing her thumb against the callus in Kitty’s palm. “You didn’t go into detail, but won’t you please tell me exactly what transpired on the landing?”
“I can’t be sure. One minute I was wheeling past Ingrid, and the next minute, the chair was rolling of its own accord—quickly—headed toward the entrance hall stairwell. I grabbed the balustrade just in time and called out to Ingrid to help, but she was gone, the elevator door had just closed.”
Lizzy sighed. “And where was Nurse Keller? She should have been with you!”
“I don’t know. She’s gone a lot, Lizzy. Like today, why does she need to go to the market? We have everything she needs at Meercrest. Mrs. Davis gives her access to the kitchen even with the ration and all.”
“I don’t like her but, for no other reason, her presence may deter future accidents or acts of suspect behavior.” Lizzy rose, walking to one of her favorite bookcases where American literature novels were catalogued. “Enough of this disturbing conversation about Ingrid, let’s not give her a second thought. Let’s find books for the boys!”
With Frank Sinatra’s Bel Canto voice behind her, she slid one of her favorite books from the shelf. Its familiar, green spine caused her heart to swell with patriotic pride for one of America’s great pieces of literature. She was sure this book was perfect for some lonely soldier to get lost in as an escape from battle. Calling to mind her first reading of it, she smiled and smoothed her red fingernail over the green and gold cover, making small circles over the embossed image of Mark Twain’s hero. Yes, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn was the perfect novel to send to the boys. She began to examine the book, making sure that no dog-ears marred the edges.
