by Cat Gardiner
“Is that an invitation?”
“Yes. I’ll buy you a fresh one for dinner tomorrow night … and the next night.”
She tucked the flower into her hair and beamed the smile that reached into his soul as only hers ever could.
Will poured two cups, handing her one prepared just the way she had once liked it.
It surprised her when he sat in the bed with his back against the headboard, crossing his bare feet upon the mattress. She giggled that mellifluous sound. “You still have perfect feet, I see.”
“And you still laugh like a little devil.”
As if the most natural action in the world, he draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. A peace washed over her. Gone was the anxiety or any modicum of fear of telling him the things she had kept hidden all these years. They sat leaning against each other, drinking their coffee, connected and feeling as though they had never been separated.
“Where have you been, Will?”
“Everywhere. I traveled a lot when I came home from the war. Then after our night in ’49 I waited a year, hoping for your return. Dad died a few months later and when you didn’t come back to me I left Brooklyn permanently. It was really hard to live in Primrose after all the plans you and I had made. Your leaving again destroyed me.”
“Oh, baby, I’m sorry. I couldn’t; believe me, I wanted to come back, but I couldn’t. It took everything I had in me to stay away, stay focused on the children.”
He kissed her forehead when she looked up to him. “It’s in the past.”
“Where did you go?”
“I left for Amsterdam. I needed to find out the status of my grandfather’s house, which I found occupied by a family who refused to leave. I stayed and between fighting them in the Dutch courts, I began flying dozens of still-displaced Jews to Israel on a C-47.” He looked down at her reaction when her posture instantly straightened.
“We donated a C-47!”
“So I’ve recently found out. And, yes, it was donated to the organization I flew for.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too, when my lawyer informed me.”
“So how long did you stay in Holland?”
“A few years until I decided to relocate to Israel. Later in ’67, I flew in the Six-Day War. I left Israel after my divorce in ’77 and moved to Alaska where I still live, flying medical transport and fishing whenever I can.”
“Divorce. Oh. I wasn’t sure if you had married. I mean, I’m sure you … um … it’s not like I expected you wouldn’t.”
He tried hard to keep a straight face when he said, “What—are you kidding? I had them coming out of the woodwork. I didn’t live like the fuddy duddy you used to claim I was. I was quite the roving bachelor before and after Sandra.”
A sly glance down at her astonished expression tipped her off to his teasing.
“Oh you!”
Lizzy swatted his chest then settled back down into his arm and he kissed her forehead, relishing the petal softness of her skin below his lips. “Sandra and I were happy for a short while, but it couldn’t last. When I couldn’t give her all of myself, she surmised that I was in love with someone else.”
“I see, but … were you happy? Is your life happy, Will?”
“Yes. My life was and is happy, only now it’s complete and at peace.”
“I feel the same way.” She took a deep breath, let out a faint sigh, and finally said, “My father was forcing me to marry George Gebhardt. In fact, on the day my pregnancy was confirmed, he proposed—and, of course, I declined, but Frederick was relentless. They had even chosen a wedding date for the early spring. That’s one of the reasons I took John’s offer of marriage in February.”
She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Will, it was just as you had suspected, both Frederick and Gebhardt were members of the Nazi Party. They had plans for John, too, with a marriage to my eldest sister. They were going to take over Robertsen Aviation for the Luftwaffe in America. When the FBI got closer in their investigation, Frederick hung himself at Greystone in a secret office dedicated to his Nazi activity. Actually, I discovered the office on the day of Annette’s quickening and I telephoned the FBI about four weeks later—after I moved Kitty someplace safe. The room had files about your family, confirming their arrest, deportation, and then their … murder.”
“He knew of my family?”
“Yes.” She swallowed, her eyes pooling with tears. “He may have been responsible for their death. I will never forgive myself; It’s my fault.”
“No, baby. You can’t think that way. You can’t carry that guilt. It wasn’t your fault.” He sighed. “I’m sorry you had to experience all of it without me. I wish I had known. When I returned home from the war, my father told me of Renner’s demise. Apparently, it made all the papers, but he never told me that you had turned your father in. That was extremely brave of you.”
“It never made the papers because I made the contact as an anonymous tip. John helped me through it, encouraging me to do so after we were settled. We were newly married when I made the call.”
Lizzy snuggled closer. “Frederick and Ingrid knew you were Jewish, and then your letters stopped coming. As the baby showed, I became more desperate. At first, I just thought the mail had been delayed, but then I feared you dead. I wrote your parents but never received word from them either. I was so ill, I could hardly keep up appearances. I would have traveled but I was so sick all the time. As it was, I had a doctor in the Bronx and it wore me out to travel uptown to see him when I did. I was afraid for the baby if I had waited longer. John had offered a solution if I found myself alone. He did so to honor you and your sacrifice.”
“I don’t understand why Kitty took the letters.”
“I do. She was afraid I would leave her, maybe she’d be sent away—she was afraid for her life and that of the baby. She was a desperate teenager who saw John as the only viable option, one where I could take her with me. To her, your fate was uncertain, your possible return, surely not imminent.”
Will’s arm squeezed around her, and he let out a deep sigh. What could he say to that?
“Have you been close to Kitty all these years?”
“Yes. Her betrayal of us, and hiding the secret all this time cuts me deeply, but I have done the same to you in keeping our daughter from you. Kitty hopes for your forgiveness, too. I have a letter from her to you, explaining everything.”
Forgiveness … the damage was done long ago. He had to look forward now, not back. He’d think on it.
“Tell me about our daughter, Annette.”
“She was born July 21, 1943, and is as beautiful inside as she is out. I’m so proud of the woman she has become, but even as a child, she held your genuineness, your thoughtfulness. Sometimes, I would just watch the way she cared for Henri and Danny, as though she was a little mother, and I saw your gentleness in her. It resembled the kindness you once showed to Kitty. In some ways, Annette is the best of both of us. She’s a wonderful mother of three sons. You’re a grandfather, Will.”
“Wow, Newly made a father and a grandfather. Paris restores my family. Amazing. You named her Annette—for my mother?”
“Yes, and her middle name is Estelle, in honor of your aunt.”
“And Robertsen … the man who protected my family. I’m thankful, more than I can express, for what he did in my stead.”
He placed his coffee cup down on the nightstand and turning, collected hers to place beside his. Shifting his weight, their bodies touched in places that they hadn’t in a long, long time. His strong frame hovered over hers as they moved to recline slightly upon the bed pillows.
“I’m sorry for having maligned John and insulting you. Will you forgive me?” his voice quiet and remorseful.
She nodded and touched his cheek.
“Lizzy, why did you not tell me about Annette that night you came to Primrose?”
“I meant to. That’s why I went
to your home—that and to just see you again. I didn’t mean for what happened to happen and then afterwards, I realized that in telling you about her—I would end up destroying John who had given us so much. He was so sickly and the children gave him life. It would have been all over the newspapers, and following the scandal of my father, I just couldn’t bear the thought of wounding everyone, especially the children. I recognize that you would have worked something out with us, but back then, in ’49—it just seemed too unrealistic to hope for.”
“I guess I understand. It’s not like I gave you much opportunity to discuss anything that night.”
Lizzy snorted, “What was it—six seconds before you had me undressed?”
“What can I say, you were quite an alluring vision, and … I needed you.”
Their eyes drank in the other. “I needed you.”
“So Annette doesn’t know about me?”
“No, but she’s here in Paris. It’s my hope that we can tell her together.”
His eyes fastened on hers, a crease of consternation suddenly marring his brow. “What will I say?”
A gentle smile formed on her lips. “ ‘Hi duckling’ is a good place to start.”
“Duckling?”
“Yes, that’s what John and I called her—child of Ducky. He even christened a P-47 in honor of you on her first birthday, ‘Daddy’s Baby Girl’.”
Will adjusted the flower in her hair, securing it further in her tendrils. He smiled, gazing deeply into her eyes that remained focused on his. “I knew about that. I saw a newspaper article a couple of weeks ago. I … um have a confession to make.”
Lizzy raised an eyebrow. “Bigger than mine?”
“I started to look for you about a month before Juliana and Jack showed up on my doorstep. I had my lawyer track you down and that’s how I found out about Annette—and the foundation, and I knew then, that I had to see you again.”
“You know … about the foundation … it was how I could show the world how much I love you—through my actions, even if I couldn’t be standing beside you. I have loved you more deeply every day since 1942, channeling it into the foundation.”
“I did the same, Lizzy. When I visited Paris in 1980 to find out more about my grandfather and aunt, I stayed awhile to establish a school for disabled students, to turn their home into a secondary school. It was my way of honoring what you felt most passionate about. It’s called The DeVries School for the Handicapped where they meet the needs of children with both physical and learning disabilities. Some students live there so they need never feel isolated.”
“You did that? In honor of Kitty?”
Will blushed. “Yeah. In honor of your love and devotion to your sister. It was for you.”
She bit her lip to keep from grinning at his expression of love.
His hand slid down her silky form, gliding over the curves of her shapely figure. In spite of the pooled tears in his eyes and the choked up feeling in his throat, he teased seductively. “I’m going to have to kiss you to keep you from biting that lip of yours.”
“Oh Ducky, don’t you know by now?—that’s the reason I do it.”
Their kiss began as a needy crash of lips that burned with re-ignited desire, and sustained unrelenting fervor, capturing so much more than yielding flesh—youthful love, home, and peace—all within a single kiss.
~~*~~
Jack stretched in bed, raising his arms above his head and feeling quite satisfied. He had a great night’s sleep. The best he’d had in a long while, even though actual “sleeping” only consisted of about three hours. He’d been to Paris many times. He’d slept in hundreds of hotel beds, and almost every city in every country had its special unique flavor of romance and allure, but never before had travel been so fulfilling since meeting Juliana.
The sun streamed across the tiny suite, and he could smell the hopefully still warm cup of coffee beside him, obviously procured as he slumbered. His ears perked when he heard from the bathroom the shower turn off, then a not-so perfect voice singing Fleetwood Mac’s “Don’t Stop.” Suddenly, the song he had heard played, ad infinitum back in the States, wasn’t annoying him. It held a different significance for him and Juliana, one that didn’t represent an optimistic political presidential campaign. No, for them it represented the hopes of his grandmother, the romantic future he hoped to continue with Juliana, and the closure for two unknown families who had waited for the return of their priceless paintings. But he had also come to learn that looking back had been integral to everyone’s journey. Yesterday may have been gone but addressing it through the letters and visiting Meercrest, Primrose Cottage, and synagogue had opened his heart to love. He was now able to see how exploration of the past can shape the future. Yes, to never forget was tantamount.
He sat up in bed and bent his leg, the blanket haphazardly draping across his naked torso. His girlfriend continued to sing, and he imagined the sway of her towel-clad hips as she looked into the steam-fogged window in the bathroom, most likely using a hairbrush as a microphone.
The door opened and Juliana stood at the threshold, smiling with playful intimation. She was a seductive vision with her wet blonde locks slicked back and the perfectly sized small towel wrapped around her, barely concealing her sex. “Good morning, babe,” she cooed.
“Good morning, sex goddess.”
“How do you like my singing?”
“Is that what you were doing? I thought you were strangling a cat in there.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. I thought you liked the way I sing. You didn’t object last night when we danced to “At Last” before bedtime.”
Narrow hips sauntered flirtatiously toward him and his arousal grew harder at the sight.
“Well, Julie you were naked and I was enamored by the feel of your soft body in my arms. I wasn’t concentrating on your pitch, just your willingness for me to make love to you.”
She sat beside him and curled into his arms, resting her head upon his shoulder. When her hand smoothed through his chest hair, it took great restraint by him not to roll her onto her back and make love to her again.
“Are you going to say what I know you really want to say?” he asked raising an eyebrow as he looked down at her, his arm tightening around her waist. She had come so close last night, but stopped herself not allowing the words to come. He wasn’t pressuring her, he just wanted her to feel comfortable in releasing the sentiment, wanted her to be reassured that he welcomed her declaration.
“I will.” She drew errant circles around his nipple and watched the goose flesh appear from her tickle. “I’ll say it when the time is right. I’m not going to rush it, but you know what’s in my heart. I’m just afraid that I’ll say it and then everything will go to shit—even if we are in a city known for love.”
“And lovers.” He did roll her onto her back then, the wet towel between them cooling his heated flesh. “It won’t go to shit, Julie. I won’t let it. I’ll fight for it because we definitely have something special.”
“How do you know that? How can you be so sure?”
“Because it’s the manifest love of our family legacy, lifelong love that brought us together. After all these decades the love between Lizzy and Will never died, and their reunion today will finally bring them the relationship they waited for.”
“But that’s them. How can you be sure that our destiny is the same?”
“Because I’m an optimist and because I’ve never felt this way before.”
Juliana whispered. “I’m afraid.”
He whispered back as his lips inched closer to hers. “Don’t be. Let yourself go. I got you babe, and I always will.”
“Always?”
“Yes, always.”
She felt the thrill of his kiss as his lips descended and his tongue plundered hers with sweet intensity. There was no mistaking his feelings for her. His emotion was evident in his gentle caress of her leg, his desire fueled by tenderness as he slowly opened the knotted towel, pressing his hot
body next to hers.
Yes, she loved him and even though the words wouldn’t come, by G-d she could show him.
~~*~~
Forty-Two
It’s Been a Long, Long Time
July 15, 1992
Three families, one from Germany, another that had settled in Brazil and the third, hailing from New York congregated within a private gallery of the Louvre. These rightful dignitaries attending this auspicious ceremony comprised of children, grandchildren, nephews and other extended relations of victims of so much more than material spoliation during the Shoah. Their shared, yet unique, experiences and journeys following the war formed a tangible bond between these former strangers. All were present to witness this much-anticipated restitution of looted paintings to their rightful owners, due entirely to one woman’s personal mission.
Juliana stood in the center of the room, attentive to the distinct accents and gentle laughter that reverberated within the opulent Louis XV salon. Used exclusively for special events, the walls were lavishly adorned with gilt moldings that reached upward to high frescoed ceilings framing sparkling crystal chandeliers. The palpable energy of joy within this Eighteenth Century salon was the perfect atmosphere for these masterpieces as well as the memories of those whose heavenly crowns had come for them. Smiles and handshakes abounded as media crews captured every moment for worldwide telecast on the evening news. Reporters from the Associated Press availed themselves every opportunity to interview the first generation survivors who explained how they had waited fifty years for the return of their family’s plundered paintings.
The priceless works of art soon garnered Juliana’s attention, individually covered by fine linen, each perched upon a simple wooden easel. Roped off from the public’s curious exploration, the three masterpieces stood adjacent to the presentation podium where six chairs flanked a Lucite lectern.
