The Emerald Horizon (The Star and the Shamrock Book 2)

by Jean Grainger

  Liesl was mortified, but a warm glow filled her chest. Daniel wasn’t sanctioning anything more than a friendship, but it was something.

  ‘That’s fine,’ she managed, and began her letter.

  Dear Mutti…

  Chapter 5

  Frau Braun went to the other bedroom, leaving her alone. Ariella took the woman’s absence as an opportunity to take in the surroundings. On that first day, more than four long years ago, she’d been so distraught, confused. She was so hungry, having given Liesl and Erich all the food she had left for the journey, and she’d been too terrified to go out onto the street for days following their departure. She had no ration book so couldn’t get food, and she’d been warned that the protection she’d enjoyed by being married to a Christian was at an end. Peter was dead, and her children were gone… There was no hope. She’d left her Jewish identity card in the apartment in case she was stopped, and she had not one penny in her purse. She had nothing but the photo of their family.

  When Frau Braun insisted brutally that Ariella follow her home, she was terrified but had no choice. The woman had never been friendly – she’d never even seen her smile in all the years she delivered the mail. She may well have been taking Ariella to hand her over to the authorities, but ravenous and terrified, Ariella was almost past caring.

  But that day she didn’t hand her over. Without a word of explanation, she shoved her in the front door, checking that nobody was watching, and directed her upstairs. Then, using a stool, she pushed her into the attic. Ariella wanted to ask what was going on, why she was doing this, what her plan was, but for some reason, she couldn’t. Silently, she did as the woman bade her and pulled the bedding up behind her. She made her bed and that was that.

  Frau Braun disappeared, only to return a while later with the rope and two buckets, one for food, another as a toilet. Ariella would never forget the food that day – some bread and cheese and a cup of hot coffee. She thanked Frau Braun and fell on the food gratefully, as she’d not eaten for days. The coffee was like nectar, and Frau Braun refilled the cup once she’d drained it.

  ‘Thank you for doing this,’ was all she managed to say at the time. ‘Why are you helping me?’

  Ariella remembered the older woman fixing her with a steely gaze. She was hard in every way, thin and lacking any womanly curves. Her hair was cut short, the colour of salt and pepper, and her skin was leathery and prematurely wrinkled. Ariella had never seen her dressed in anything but her post office uniform. Frau Braun stood on the stool, her head poking through the access to the tiny attic.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. You just make sure that you do not make a sound once my husband gets home. He leaves each morning at seven fifteen and returns around seven in the evening. If he knew you were here…well, you know. So stay absolutely silent. During the day, I will bring food and you can relieve yourself in that bucket.’ She pointed to a metal pail. ‘I’ll empty it.’

  ‘But I don’t understand. Am I to hide here?’ Ariella felt braver with the food inside her.

  ‘You don’t have any options, Mrs Bannon. You are a Jew, your husband is dead, your children are safe now that they are out of Germany. This is your only chance.’ She nodded as if that were enough of an explanation and promptly disappeared, shutting the trapdoor behind her.

  That was so long ago, it felt like forever.

  Now, back in the house proper, Ariella tried to stretch her limbs. Her legs ached painfully, having borne her weight for just a few moments. Her hair was to her waist now. There was a mirror attached to the dressing table on the other side of the room, and even if she could have walked over to see herself in it, she doubted she wanted to.

  Frau Braun returned with some clothes over her arm. ‘Those men you heard earlier, they were from the housing office. They say that anyone with space in their house must provide accommodation for those who are bombed out. They say we can take four people. Our address is on a list that will be handed out to people who are destitute, or soldiers on leave, or whatever.

  ‘Keeping you here is too dangerous. Someone might hear or see something, and it’s too risky. You have to go. I’ve done my best for you, but it’s just too dangerous now. I thought it would just be for a few weeks, and I’ve lost count of the number of times I was sure I’d been found out. I can’t live like this any more. No, it’s time for you to go.’

  Ariella fought the swell of panic. ‘But where can I go? I don’t have any papers, nowhere to go. I can’t…’ She tried to keep the hysteria out of her voice.

  ‘Look, that’s not my problem. I’ve taken a huge chance keeping you here, and now it’s just not possible any longer. You’ll be fine. You don’t look Jewish with that red hair and so on. And there are no Jews left now anyway, so they are not so busy seeking them out. We’ll tidy you up, cut your hair.’

  ‘But Frau Braun –’ Ariella tried to reason with her, but the other woman went on.

  ‘Now, we don’t have much time. Hubert is in Munich for three days, but someone could appear at any moment looking for lodging. Go, quickly! The bathroom is across the landing. Wash thoroughly, and then I will cut your hair.’ She shoved Ariella out of the bedroom.

  Walking was still excruciating, and her back and shoulders protested painfully at her newly erect movement, but she did as she was told.

  Once in the bathroom, she had no choice but to see what she’d become, and it shocked her. She didn’t recognise the woman who stared back at her. Her normally lustrous curly red hair was matted and dull, and it hung limply. Her skin was dry and flaky, and while she had always been pale, now she looked malnourished and ill.

  She ran her hands through her long hair. Peter had loved her hair, had told her she looked like a wild Irish princess. His father was Irish, and he’d told Peter stories of the folklore of that country. Peter in turn told Liesl and Erich. His father had taken him to Ireland once when he was a little boy, and Peter spoke so fondly of the place, it sounded almost mystical. He wouldn’t see a wild Irish princess if he could see her now; she looked like a frightening old witch.

  She leaned into the mirror, examining her face for the first time in years. Her skin was grey, as were her lips and cheeks; her face was almost monochrome. Her dress and cardigan, the same ones she’d been wearing the day Frau Braun rescued her, were worn and had holes. She had taken them off and washed them in the bucket, using the water from the tank as often as she dared, but that only helped a little.

  She ran a bath.

  In the summers, she sweltered in the hot attic – there was no respite of a breeze from the dead heat – and in the winters, she froze. Frau Braun had given her the only spare blankets she had, but still she shivered, desperate for warmth. Each year, each season brought its own conditions, and she’d endured it all, wearing the same clothes, the same underwear, because she was determined. No matter what it took, she would see Liesl and Erich again.

  She stripped off her clothing and stepped into the bath. The water was barely tepid, and in the spring air, she shivered. She managed to lower herself in, every muscle and joint resisting movement after such a long time immobile.

  She took a bar of soap – tiny and obviously used many times – from the shelf and began to wash herself. She tried her best with her hair, but it was matted and her scalp hurt when she tried to untangle it. She washed as best she could and then pulled herself out of the bath, wrapped her thin frame in the towel Frau Braun had thrust through the door and returned to the bedroom.

  The other woman was there, and on the bed were a brassiere, some underwear and a pink and blue floral-patterned dress. It was actually quite pretty, though Ariella suspected it would be too big for her.

  ‘Put those on,’ Frau Braun demanded, and Ariella once more wordlessly did as she was told.

  As she suspected, she swam in the dress, and it came to her mid-calf rather than her knees as it was intended, but Frau Braun produced a slim white leather belt and buckled it around her waist, cinching the dress in. Then
she left and returned with a navy blazer and a pair of low-heeled court shoes. Again, they were too big, but they were better than nothing.

  ‘I thought I was slim when I wore that dress, long ago now. I suppose I was wrong.’ A sad little smile threatened as the memory of herself as a younger Katerin Braun in a pretty dress seemed to cross her mind.

  ‘It is lovely,’ Ariella said shyly.

  ‘Yes, well, it may be, but you most certainly are not with that mop of hair. And we’ll have to stuff the toes of those shoes.’

  She pulled Ariella, sat her at the dressing table and placed the discarded towel around her shoulders, grimacing as she pulled up the red tresses. ‘I’ll have to cut it off, most of it anyway, and see if I can’t shape it a little better.’

  Ariella watched in silence as the other woman used kitchen scissors to chop her hair off. Once she had cut it to Ariella’s jaw, she set about shaping it a little, and Ariella had to admit the end result wasn’t too bad.

  Frau Braun fetched some pins and pinned the remaining hair up and back off Ariella’s face. Then she produced a little silk bag, which contained some foundation, a pot of rouge, mascara and lipstick. Ariella tried to hide her astonishment at the dour and utilitarian Frau Braun ever owning such frivolous things.

  Once the older woman was finished, she stood back and didn’t exactly admire her handiwork but at least seemed satisfied.

  ‘Now, go. You need to get out of here. And don’t come back.’ She paused and looked straight at Ariella’s reflection in the mirror.

  ‘But I don’t have anywhere to go. They’ll pick me up for sure without papers…’

  ‘Look.’ Frau Braun stood and, grabbing Ariella’s elbow, manoeuvred her out the door. She practically shoved her down the stairs with a hand on her back, and Ariella almost stumbled.

  Ariella stopped before the front door and turned. ‘Please, don’t do this. I can’t survive, and what was all of this for, all the risks, if you’re just going to put us both in danger like this?’ she pleaded. ‘If they catch me and find out where I’ve been –’

  In an instant, she found herself pinned to the wall. The older woman’s face was inches from hers.

  ‘Don’t you mention my name, do you hear me? If you do, we’ll both suffer. I took such a chance, I’ve made such sacrifices for you – don’t you throw that back in my face.’

  The mixture of terror and panic was frightening. Ariella realised she’d come to think of Frau Braun as her protector, but she was just a frightened old woman.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ Ariella asked. Suddenly it was important to know.

  A shadow crossed the other woman’s face, and it was impossible to know what she was thinking.

  ‘It doesn’t matter now. I just did, and now I can’t any more.’ She seemed to soften a little.

  ‘But where should I go? I don’t know anyone now and…’

  Frau Braun exhaled impatiently. ‘Look, there was a man – Wilhelmstrasse – the house had a black door, I think. He was suspected of making false papers, ration books, that sort of thing. He was arrested but let go. I don’t know, but he might be able to help. Hubert and some of the others were talking about him.’

  ‘Can you remember what number? Or a name?’ Ariella was focused now. She was being thrown out either way; she needed to get as much information as she could.

  ‘I don’t, but it’s the one beside the shoe shop, I think. Maybe the name was Olfson or something like that.’ Frau Braun seemed relieved that Ariella was making plans to leave. It could all be a lie, of course, anything to get rid of her, but it was all Ariella had to go on, so she memorised the details.

  As they stood beside the front door, Frau Braun pressed a purse from the hallstand on her. ‘Here. There’s some money inside – it’s all I can spare. It’s enough to get you some food. I…I hope you make it. Don’t come back here, please. I can’t do any more for you, not now. If someone found out, Hubert… And Willi isn’t here… You have to go now.’

  She opened the front door and glanced up and down the street. She held her hand up, indicating Ariella should remain inside. Ariella saw the shadow of someone pass the front door. Then Frau Braun turned and said, ‘All right, go quickly. The street is empty.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ariella managed to say, despite her heart thumping wildly.

  ‘Good luck.’

  Did Ariella mishear it, or was there a slight softness in her voice? A kindness? Her actions and her demeanour didn’t match. She was hostile, borderline aggressive in her dealings with Ariella, but then she had taken a huge risk helping her, and Ariella had no idea why.

  ‘What date is it?’ Ariella asked.

  ‘It’s the 30th of April. Please…’ Frau Braun was pushing her out now. ‘Anyone could come any minute.’

  ‘What year?’ Ariella persisted.

  The other woman let out an exasperated sigh, as if Ariella were being a particularly annoying child.

  ‘It’s 1944. It’s the 30th of April, 1944. Now go.’

  Ariella left, her head down, staying close to the buildings as she walked through her old neighbourhood. She wrapped her hands around the purse, hardly able to breathe. Her limbs hurt and she was terrified.

  All she had were the clothes she wore and the small wad of notes in the purse in her hand. She’d left the photo and her letters from the children behind in Frau Braun’s haste to be rid of her. She longed to return to the safety of her attic, the comfort of that picture and her children’s handwriting, but she couldn’t. Luckily, it was warm and she didn’t need more than the dress and blazer. She tried to look inconspicuous by pretending to walk calmly and not scurrying with her head down.

  The street was at once familiar and also totally alien. The rubble everywhere was shocking; the water mains were leaking and spurting. For four years, Frau Braun had told her how Germany was winning, how the victory was going to be glorious. But this was not the capital city of victors. It was totally decimated. She’d heard the bombers, felt the shuddering vibration of the blasts, but nothing could have prepared her for this carnage.

  Several houses on the street where she’d lived were without glass in the windows. She walked purposefully to the corner, where once there had been a baker’s where Peter often stopped to get pastries for the children on his way home from work. It was closed now, the windows boarded up. Turning right onto the main street, she crossed over and saw that there was no point in waiting for a tram – the tracks were buckled and twisted, so nothing could run on them. Her old apartment was only two blocks up, but she didn’t dare turn in that direction. What if someone recognised her? She needed to get away from these streets.

  These people, these Nazis who stood by while the Jews were rounded up, weren’t strangers. They were her neighbours, people she and her family had interacted with all the time. She could recall the shocked horror she felt as one by one the Germans around her joined the Party. Had they hated her and her children all along? It seemed inconceivable, but seeing Frau Loss and her daughter Heidi – from the greengrocer’s on the corner – in the uniform of the women’s and girl’s Nazi organisations made it real. Frau Loss had always been so nice, giving Erich and Liesl an apple or a plum when Ariella shopped there. Or Herr Krupp with the handlebar moustache, who had a bicycle repair shop and who mended the wheel of Liesl’s pram when it came off one day in the Tiergarten. He made funny animal noises to entertain the children, and they would giggle at him, but then he put on a Brownshirt uniform and became a different man.

  Surely they couldn’t all believe it? Maybe they were like Frau Braun? She was a loyal Nazi, a hausfrau with medals from that despicable regime for being such a fine example of German womanhood, her husband a card-carrying Nazi and proud of it, their son wearing the uniform of the regime that had killed Peter.

  But she was also her rescuer. Ariella wouldn’t have stood a chance alone in the city in 1939 with no money, no ration card and a notice to vacate their apartment. Frau Braun took her in. The risk w
as unfathomable. She would no doubt have paid the ultimate price if she were caught helping a Jew, but she did it, and though Ariella had no idea why, she would be in her debt until the day she died.

  She passed the railway station on Friedrichstraße, the place she’d dropped Liesl and Erich that day. It had felt like someone reached into her chest and squeezed her heart as she saw their little backs retreat down the platform onto what became one of the last Kindertransports out of Berlin, but every day she thanked God that she’d had the strength to do it. And that her husband’s best friend, Nathaniel, had arranged it. She thought of him and Gretel. They were the only people she could conceivably go to. But should she put them in danger like that? They were such good friends. It had been to Nathaniel and Gretel’s she went the night she put Liesl and Erich on the train, and sobbed for her husband and her babies.

  Nathaniel was Lutheran. He’d worked at the same bank as Peter, and he and Gretel had a beautiful house overlooking the Tiergarten. Ariella and Peter often went to supper there, long before either couple had children. They would drink wine and eat delicious food – Gretel was a fabulous cook – and they would laugh. How innocent they all were, never imagining for one moment that life could ever turn sour. They married the same summer, each couple attending the other’s wedding, and when Gretel became pregnant a few months after her, it was perfect. Their son, Kurt, was five months younger than Liesl. She wondered where he was now? They had two daughters in rapid succession before Erich was born, and Ariella remembered how Kitti and Elke could wrap their father round their little fingers.

  She wondered if Liesl and Erich would just slip into the old easy friendship with them if they were reunited. Could that ever happen? That life would go back to normal? What was normal any more?

  Chapter 6

  Liesl and Erich walked up the hill to school. Other siblings they knew bickered and didn’t like to spend time together, but the promise Liesl had made to their mother to care for her little brother was something she took seriously, and so they rarely had a cross word. The Bannon children were totally united, and everyone who knew them was aware of it.