by Cat Gardiner
This recognition caused the hair on her neck to stand, not from goose flesh but rather, alarm and revulsion. As though a curious child, she pressed her eye to the crack, immediately seeing the roaring orange blaze within the granite fireplace. She strained her neck to scan the room with a wide eye.
Horrified, from her limited view, she observed her father bent over an unrecognizable woman, a blonde, lying with her back upon his desk. Her stocking-clad legs spread, revealing her garters, as they wrapped around the girth at his waist. His hidden face was nuzzled at her neck and her hands grasped the back of his head, holding him to her.
Lizzy’s palm flew to her lips. She ran from the door, appalled and repulsed from the image now forever burned upon her brain. Grabbing her coat, she shoved her arms within and barreled to the entrance, opened it, then with deliberate intensity, slammed it. Remaining inside at the threshold, she heard nothing and waited for what felt like minutes of catching her breath, attempting to calm her heart rate. She called out, “Hello? Father? Mrs. Albrecht? It’s me, Lizzy. Is anyone here?”
Renner exited the study with an imperturbable smile, smoothing his hair. “Elizabeth, dear. What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect your arrival at Greystone.”
She kissed his cheek trying not to remember that the woman in the study had just done the same. “Hello, Father. You look flushed, is everything okay?”
“Just surprised. Let me help you from your coat.”
She shirked her arms from the wool, and he draped it over the banister just as she had moments before. Her mind was scrambling, her heart breaking, and her expression struggling to remain placid
“Is Mrs. Albrecht here? I sure could use a hot bath and a cognac after my long trip. I’d like to go directly upstairs.” She trained her ears upon the study door, now fully closed, but heard nothing.
“She has left for the evening. I’m afraid I’m the only one in residence. Come into the study and we’ll have that cognac together.”
“Your ... your study?
“Yes, I have a fire going and since it is such a rainy, cold evening, you can warm yourself while we chat a bit. You can tell me all the news of Rosebriar and your trip south. I’ve missed you, Daughter.”
“Thank you. It’s swell to be back in New York.” Not really.
Her father opened the door, and Lizzy’s eyes frantically scanned every space of the massive room. Apart from the fire and the taxidermy owl staring back at her, it was empty. She knew what she saw. She unequivocally knew that a woman was here and felt confident that the fatigue of travel and her salacious thoughts of Will hadn’t caused her to imagine things—imagine that. Only the lingering perfume in the air gave testimony to her sanity.
She sat with crossed legs, removing her hat and resting it upon the red velvet settee as her father poured two snifters of amber liquor. Lizzy could hardly look at him, so diverted by her searching she was, so disappointed in him. “Have … you eaten, Father?”
“Yes. Have you?”
“I ate aboard the train. Although nothing like the southbound Orange Blossom, it was sufficient enough.”
He handed her the nightcap with an unusual shake to his hand. “The War Department is certainly changing the face of rail travel, especially with the introduction of innovative streamliners and diesel locomotives. Although, I must admit Seaboard is reporting profits like never before. Gone are the days of the depression’s diminished revenue and steam engine travel. I am quite enjoying these OPA restrictions on gas and rubber. Along with the modern technology, we rail investors are benefitting greatly.”
“I had the pleasure of witnessing troop transportation on both my trips. The men were certainly appreciative of their treatment on board the Orange Blossom. With the exception of not allowing them into the Pullmans, Seaboard spared no expense.”
“That’ll eat into their profit margin significantly. I’ll have to discuss that with SAL’s Board.”
Sitting in the armchair opposite, her father crossed his stubby legs as he lit a cigar.
She hated the sudden realization that he never seemed to care about her disdain of the putrid stench. Crinkling her nose would be fruitless. He made several consecutive puffs to start the embers, and she, in deliberate defiance, lit a Chesterfield. Normally, she smoked privately behind closed doors, but it pleased her to see him raise an eyebrow at her boldness.
“How is Mother?” she quickly asked a bit louder than her natural dulcet tone.
“Traveling as usual, visiting Blanchette Rockefeller at their retreat in Westchester. She’s expected home to Meercrest the day before Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, that’s nice to hear. Have you heard that the President has changed the date of Thanksgiving again? It’s so confusing.”
Renner made an annoyed sound with his lips. “More propaganda.”
“And Gloria? How is she?”
“In residence at Miss Chapin’s. I have instructed Jamison that he’s not to drive her anywhere. She needs to be under supervision. Now, tell me about Rosebriar? Did you have an enjoyable visit? Good weather?”
Still covertly searching the room, unconsciously, she smiled warmly. “It was much needed and the weather was simply sublime. The humidity was gone, and I was still able to swim up until my departure for home. Everything went smoothly with sealing up the house.”
He looked to the fireplace as though lost in thought for a moment.
Lizzy followed his line of vision and furrowed her brow. “And Ingrid? How is she? Gotten herself engaged to John yet?”
Renner’s lips pursed into a thin line. “Not yet. That boy is dragging his feet, and I’ve about had my fill of his indecisiveness. I expect both my daughters to be married by spring, and he seems to be in need of a push or two in that direction. It’s no wonder his father doesn’t give him any responsibility in Robertsen Aviation. John must be blind not to see what an opportunity it is to marry into the Renner family.”
She delighted in the fact that no engagement had happened in her absence, but ignored his insult to John, choosing instead to take the bait for the subject she had feared. In light of his evening liaison, she felt emboldened. “Both your daughters?”
Renner placed his cigar in the crystal ashtray before him and leaned forward, tenting his fingers. “Yes, Elizabeth, both daughters. It’s time. In my day, a young woman of your age would at the very least be courting with serious intentions for marriage.”
“Then it is a good thing we have entered the modern age—diesels and streamlining and all that. Why should relationships or the roles of women not evolve as well, especially now with the war on? Women are working in factories, driving taxicabs, changing the future. The traditional roles are over. Lillian is an example of that.”
“And your wayward sister will end up a spinster. What she does with her future is of no concern to me. I no longer consider her a member of this Renner family. She is a disappointment to me in every way. The Renner women of this family clearly understand that a female’s role is at home, attending to her husband and many children.”
She guffawed. “That’s bonkers! Mother is rarely home and nineteen or twenty are hardly ages verging on spinsterhood. I have no intention of marrying just anyone for the sake of marrying, particularly someone to whom I feel such repulsion.”
Her father stood, and she noted how he attempted to reel in his displeasure. He smiled down upon her as she brought the cognac to her lips with as much equanimity as she could muster. She was no longer that naïve, misguided debutante with her head stuck in the sand. The last three weeks had fully opened her eyes, and the lens in which she now saw her father was no longer rosy hued. In fact, in light of tonight’s glimpse into his extramarital affairs, she had serious reservations about the man she once thought him to be.
“It is my wish, Elizabeth, and it is your duty. Gebhardt is a man of power and means and has expressed his interest in you repeatedly. A marriage into his affluent, racially pure German family is an opportunity any young
woman of our circle would kill for. Have you not given this serious consideration as we discussed before your departure? You gave me your word.”
And there it was, the second unavoidable fact she feared in the depth of her soul. Spoken by her father—“racially pure German” hung in the air as clear as Heil Hitler.
“I have, Father, and I do not believe that in 1942 there is a place in society for arranged marriages, no matter one’s ancestry. I’m sorry, but my answer is no. I do not love him nor will I, ever.”
He placed his hands upon his hips. “It’s that soldier. The Jew.”
She rose, standing eye to eye with him, the coffee table separating them as the raging blood raced through the pulse points of her neck. Oh, G-d. How did he know?
“The what?!”
“You understood me. You’re consorting with a Jew!”
“I am not! My answer is final on the subject. I find George Gebhardt a creep of the highest order. His opinions and assumptions are as vulgar as his slimy touch upon my flesh. His blatant bigotry is abhorrent to me, and if you make me marry him, I’ll jump from the Brooklyn Bridge to my death.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Elizabeth! This is your future we’re talking about here.”
“Exactly. My future, Father. Not yours.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “You’ve changed, Elizabeth.”
“Perhaps, so.”
Bending, she snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray beside her father’s freshly abandoned stogie, its robust streaming smoke attacking her senses as her hand trembled. She couldn’t control the sneer or the condemnation with her words. “Besides, marrying Gebhardt runs the risk of offending your precious, perfect Ingrid—the other bigot.”
“Ingrid? What does she have to do with this?”
“Because she’s been sleeping with him for months. My sister is a whore.”
He slapped her.
Stunned, Lizzy’s hand flew to her stinging cheek. A long second passed as she stood shell shocked by his violence until fleeing the room with him calling out after her.
“Elizabeth … Lizzy … I’m sorry. Come back. Let’s discuss this rationally.”
“Dammit!” he finally exclaimed a minute later into the silent room as a decorative wall panel flanking the fireplace quietly popped open.
Ursula whispered. “Is she gone?”
He motioned with his hand for her silence and nodded. This night had not gone as planned. His daughter’s arrival here at Greystone was totally unexpected. Her newfound self-awareness and the confidence she exhibited were utterly baffling. Three weeks in Florida, and she had returned an entirely different woman, one that might prove difficult to indoctrinate into the expectations of the people’s community. She simply must be educated that her primary role as a woman within National Socialism was for the purpose of pure Aryan propagation.
Certain that Lizzy had retired to her bedroom, confirmed by the reverberating slam to the door two flights above, he closed the study door. “What do you know of Ingrid and Gebhardt?”
Ursula shrugged an apathetic shoulder. “Nothing worth worrying you over. It’s a simple dalliance on her part. A young woman’s first love should be with someone powerful and virile, and Gebhardt has proven to be very effective in educating her in the ways of the Party. She idolizes him and while she may have bedded him, she has done so willingly. I would think you proud that she is consorting with one as pureblooded as he, not upset.”
“Why did you not tell me this? I do not approve. He has deceived me and my generosity.”
“Liebchen, with any luck he will impregnate Ingrid, and you will have the bloodline we wish for. His and Ingrid’s racial purity would make for the perfect Lebensborn, no?”
“Without access to Robertsen Aviation? No, Robertsen’s Scandinavian genes represent the ancestral home of every German. He alone is for my Ingrid. Without his realization, he represents the Lebensborn Initiative even more than Gebhardt does. Only their child will not be adopted or brought to Germany. You forget my position in society, Ursula. A pregnant, unmarried woman of superior blood in Germany may be acceptable and encouraged under the initiative, but not here among my circle in America—not until we have victory. No, Ingrid will marry Robertsen and Elizabeth will marry Gebhardt, and that is my final word.”
~~*~~
Shocked but refusing to give into her tears, Lizzy leaned against her closed bedroom door, breathing heavily with her hand still adhered to her cheek. She had never been struck before by anyone. Pigtails pulled by Henry Morgan in the Japanese garden, yes, but that was what happened during childhood crushes.
“He hit me. My father hit me. He knows about Will.”
Suddenly Will’s words of caution came back to her in a flash that if, in fact, her father was a member of the Nazi party, and she demonstrated any signs of dissension, he could become violent. Their cultish ideology was unwavering. Their cause was not receptive to diplomacy, no matter who tendered the appeal, beloved daughter or not.
She closed her eyes, regretful for having pushed him, but he had spurred her on by his inflammatory bigoted opinions and despicable unfaithfulness to her mother. Drunk as she always is, infidelity was wrong, wrong, wrong.
Lizzy locked her bedroom door, then dragged the carved mahogany chair from the writing desk over to it, wedging the top firmly beneath the crystal doorknob. She couldn’t believe that she was resorting to this in fear of her father. Withdrawing to the private adjoining bath, she pulled the light fixture cord, and promptly turned on the water to fill the claw-footed tub. The hot steam soon rose, warming the white marble, but not her.
After long minutes of distracted undressing, she finally slid into the bath, allowing the warmth and bubbles to soothe her chilled flesh and trembling nerves. She imagined Will’s arms surrounding and comforting her. In her despair, she wept, knowing that beginning tomorrow her focus must be turned to discovering her father’s possible hidden actions and affiliations. She needed to find evidence.
~~*~~
Twenty-Six
Confess
June 21, 1992
On the Sunday following Jack’s visit to Primrose Cottage, Juliana arrived earlier than usual at the Exeter Senior Apartments. Along with a barrage of questions, she brought with her two things she should have considered earlier to get her grandfather’s lips flapping: onion bialys and lox. Bribery she hoped would be just the ticket, after all it worked with Jack four nights earlier regarding Alaska and now she had a first class plane ticket and a week’s lodging secured at Sea Otter Bed & Breakfast in Sitka.
She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button with anxious determination. Torn between the need to lambaste her grandfather for keeping important secrets from her and her hope to coax him from his silent world, she vacillated in her anger. Not that she wasn’t pissed off—oh, she was—but she was determined to reach deep down into herself to find diplomacy. Awakened by a nightmare of Mimi laughing at her, she felt emboldened in her pursuit of answers as well as an apology from him.
The elevator slid open onto the sixth floor, and Juliana observed Mr. Wooten leaving Mrs. Brighton’s apartment, holding a small overnight bag. The sheepish look upon his face when she greeted him with a polite, “Boy you’re up early, Mr. W,” caused her to remember Vera’s unannounced entrance into her grandfather’s apartment last week. This only seemed to reinforce her dismay at his past and present behavior. This senior home seemed a veritable brothel, and she couldn’t help wondering if it was the reason he had insisted upon this particular place.
Even still, she didn’t expect that anything untoward would be going on inside at this hour. She slammed the door a bit harder than usual.
“Grandpa, are you still asleep?”
She could hear the shower running inside his master bath. “Grandpa. It’s only me. I’ll put up some coffee. We need to talk.”
To her surprise, it wasn’t Vera who came through the bedroom door but another woman wearing a beige towel wrapp
ed around her torso. Ginger-haired, buxom, attractive and in her sixties, she greeted Juliana’s shocked expression with a pleasant smile.
“Oh, hello. You must be Lou’s granddaughter, Julie. I’ve heard so much about you. Everyone has told me what a beauty you are. Why, you’re as cute as a button.”
The offending stranger squeezed Juliana’s cheek just as Mimi used to do. Unable, unwilling to welcome the woman with even a cordial acknowledgment or smile, she stammered.
“Um, er … and you are?
“I’m Louise but everyone calls me Lou. Your grandfather is in the shower at the moment.”
Lou and Lou, oh isn’t that just too cute. Not.
“Can you please let my grandfather know that I’ll be in the kitchen preparing breakfast for me and him?”
“Of course. Make yourself comfortable, dear.”
Fuming, Juliana walked to the galley kitchen.
How could he? What happened to Vera? And who the hell does this stranger think she is telling me to make myself comfortable!
Already the morning was off to a bad start. Her anger was about to explode to the surface, but she shamefully had to admit that this Louise person, unfortunately, found herself in the line of fire. Perhaps if the woman had answered the door wearing actual clothing that might have helped, but the thought of her grandfather in some shag fest with a sixty-year-old was too much to handle. Pinching my cheek! Only Mimi gets to pinch my cheek! Oh, that’s right … Mimi’s dead and this one obviously thinks she can fill her shoes!
The coup de grâce was pulling open the refrigerator door and finding two different Pyrex designs and four different Corning Ware patterns, all dating between the 1960s and 80s, none of which he actually owned. Apparently these were the modern day, senior citizen equivalent to a calling card. Perhaps the pattern names suggested some subliminal message to the recipient from the giver, potentially a physical trait or a promise of dessert to come: Cornflower, Balloons, Floral Bouquet, Country Festival, Autumn Harvest, and the ever-present Spice O Life that seemed to sum up his playboy behavior toward them all! She wondered if Louise had brought Strawberry Sunday.
