Elizabeth watched with amusement as Lizzie crawled past her favorite doll and a pile of blocks and raced toward her mother. She watched with interest when Ella popped three buttons on her blouse, pulled the baby from the floor, and plopped her on her lap.
Elizabeth found the scene overpowering. She had seen women breastfeed their babies countless times in seventy-eight years, but she had never seen something like this. She was witnessing a moving episode from her own history, a deeply personal moment, a part of her past that carried as much emotional punch as a primal cry or a first step.
She looked at the mother and the child as long as she could. When the tears in her eyes began to roll down her cheeks, she wiped them with a hand and got up from her chair.
"Please excuse me," Elizabeth said.
Elizabeth walked quickly across the living room to a hallway and the only bathroom on the main floor. When she reached the room, she stepped inside, turned on the light, and shut the door. She lifted her eyes to the mirror and gazed at a very weak woman.
She scolded herself for leaving so abruptly and vowed to do better in the future. She knew she had no choice. She knew that this was only the beginning and that these moments would become more frequent and difficult as the weeks progressed.
Elizabeth returned to the living room a few minutes later with dry eyes and a smile. She reclaimed her chair, threw out her arms, and encouraged a happy baby to return to a woman who had never wanted to let her go.
She picked up Lizzie, put her on her knee, and resumed where she had left off. She let the infant reclaim her finger and reclaim her heart and carry on with the important business of giving an old woman new life.
CHAPTER 37: AMANDA
Monday, January 30, 1939
Amanda needed only five minutes in the library to know she had picked the best possible place to spend a Monday. No matter where she looked, she saw something she wanted to read, something she wanted to do, or someone she wanted to meet.
"This place is amazing," Amanda said.
"I spend at least six hours a day in this room," Kurt said. "I can think of no place I would rather be, except in your company, of course."
Amanda looked warily at the flirtatious German. She wasn't entirely sure what to make of him after two dinner dates, several walks around town, and a campus dance, but she did know she liked him and wanted to get to know him better.
"Show me what you have in here," Amanda said. "I want to see everything."
"OK."
Kurt put his hand on Amanda's waist and guided her to the law collection, which took up an entire corner of the Nassau Institute's research center. He greeted several people along the way, including two interns, a noted local writer, and Dr. Clark Abercrombie.
"Do you know everyone here?" Amanda asked.
Kurt nodded.
"I do. I even know the frequent visitors," Kurt said in a low library voice. "A lot of important people use this place."
"Have you met anyone famous?" Amanda asked.
"I guess that depends on your definition of famous."
"Have you met anyone who's in the news a lot?"
"I have," Kurt said. "I met Mr. Hull and Miss Perkins in October. I joined them for lunch after Dr. Abercrombie gave them a tour of the building."
Amanda was impressed. Kurt had met Secretary of State Cordell Hull and Secretary of Labor Frances Perkins, two of Franklin Roosevelt's most powerful cabinet members.
"How about people who aren't in government?"
Kurt paused before answering.
"I've met a few prominent writers and several visiting scholars, but that's about it," Kurt said. "I did see Dr. Einstein in passing the other day, but I didn't get a chance to meet him. He was on his way to a lecture with Dr. Abercrombie."
"Dot told me he lived here in Princeton," Amanda said. "I think that is so cool."
Amanda noticed puzzlement on Kurt's face and realized instantly that she had used a word that was not in his vocabulary. She made a mental note to tuck away "cool" and other contemporary slang until she returned to 2016.
Amanda turned her attention to the nearby shelves, which contained the legal codes of every state and more than a dozen countries. She ran her fingertips along the spines of several volumes, advanced a few steps, and then did the same with more.
"Do you like these books?" Kurt asked.
Amanda laughed.
"I like all books. I like libraries. This place reminds me of the academic libraries I used at the University of Illinois. That's where I attended college."
"Are you from Illinois?"
"I am."
"So you're only visiting Princeton?"
"I am," Amanda said. She smiled. "I just haven't decided when my visit will end."
Kurt laughed.
"I see."
Amanda quickly returned to the original topic. She had told Kurt precious little about her past and didn't want to jump into the subject now. All she wanted to do on this January morning was learn more about an amazing facility and perhaps a bit more about her guide.
"What all do you have in here?" Amanda asked. "I see serious materials on these shelves."
"We have just about everything," Kurt said. "We have thousands of books, including hundreds of volumes on economics, industry, history, and the military."
"Do you have any works on treaties and diplomacy?"
Kurt nodded.
"We have an entire section. It's over here."
Kurt guided Amanda along the perimeter of the immense room to a collection of reference books, periodicals, and other materials pertaining to foreign relations. Most of the items looked as though they had been published in the past year.
"I'm in heaven," Amanda said. "I love this stuff. I am so envious."
"Then perhaps you should stick around for a while," Kurt said with a grin. "I'm sure I could help you land a position here in the fall."
Amanda frowned.
"I'm sure you could."
"Then why won't you consider staying?"
"I won't because I have a life in Chicago," Amanda said.
I'm also allergic to world wars.
Kurt looked at Amanda closely.
"I'm sorry. I had to ask. I thought Princeton was growing on you."
"It is," Amanda said. She grinned. "So are some of its residents."
"Is that so?" Kurt asked.
"Yes."
Kurt laughed.
"Then I'll keep trying to persuade you to stay."
"You do that," Amanda said.
"All right. I will."
Amanda smiled and returned her attention to the collection. She pulled a book on Germany from the shelf, opened it to a page in the middle, and stared at her new friend.
"This book is written in German," Amanda said.
"So are most of the works on that shelf," Kurt replied.
"What's with that? Can't you find English translations?"
"We can't for those titles. I know because I looked for them myself."
"Does anyone actually read them?" Amanda asked.
Kurt nodded.
"Most writers and researchers here can read German. So can many of our visitors. Those who can't enlist the help of people like me."
"So there's a lot of interest in German works?"
"There's a lot of interest in Germany," Kurt said. "I'm sure you can figure out why."
"I can. I can also figure out why Germany interests you," Amanda said. "What I can't figure out is why you're here. I was thinking about that this morning."
"I'm not sure I follow."
Amanda chose her words carefully.
"I don't understand why a person with your education, interests, and connections left Washington, a town with hundreds of research positions, to come to a place like this."
"There's a reason," Kurt said.
"Tell me," Amanda replied.
"I will, but not here. Let's go for a walk."
"OK."
Five minutes later Kurt
and Amanda walked out of the Nassau Institute, stepped onto Nassau Street, and headed toward downtown Princeton. They traveled about fifty yards before Kurt resumed the conversation they had started in the library.
"So you want to know why I left Washington to come here?"
"Yes. I do," Amanda said. "Your actions make no sense. I know for a fact there are many more opportunities in D.C. than there are here."
"You're right. There are," Kurt said. "There are a lot of jobs in Washington for people our age. There are not so many for sons of German diplomats."
Amanda started to disagree but held her tongue. She knew that many Americans did not want to give Germans the benefit of the doubt or even associate with them.
Amanda herself had not mustered the courage to tell her family that she was dating the son of a German official. She had told Susan and Elizabeth only that she had formed a friendship with Clark Abercrombie's blond-haired assistant.
"You don't think anyone would have hired you?" Amanda asked.
"I wouldn't say that," Kurt said.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the German embassy offered me a staff position last June."
"What did you say?" Amanda asked.
"I said, 'Thanks, but no thanks.' I didn't say I would rather die on the spikes than work for Adolf Hitler."
Amanda laughed and took Kurt's hand.
"I'm proud of you."
"I did what my conscience dictated," Kurt said.
"You still did the right thing."
"If you say so."
"I say so. You will never hear me second-guess you or anyone else on something like that," Amanda said. She sighed. "That still doesn't explain why you came to Princeton or, more to the point, why the Nassau Institute hired you. Didn't they consider you a security risk or an awful person or something like that?"
"They might have. I don't know," Kurt said. "All I do know is that when I interviewed for the opening here last June, I was treated with courtesy and respect. I suspect I owe a lot to my father. He called Dr. Abercrombie, an old friend, the day before I arrived in Princeton, but he has never told me what he said to him."
"Your dad sounds like a pretty good guy for a Nazi apologist."
Kurt laughed sadly.
"Yeah. He is. It's too bad others can't see past his position."
"I'm sorry now that I didn't meet him after his lecture," Amanda said. "Perhaps I'll have the chance to meet him before I leave Princeton."
Kurt stopped, released Amanda's hand, and turned to face her.
"I'd like that."
"I'd like that too," Amanda said.
Kurt looked at her with probing eyes.
"Is there anything else I can do to convince you that I'm nothing more than a twenty-two-year-old who came to Princeton to find some peace?"
"Yes," Amanda said. "There is."
"What?"
Amanda grinned and clasped Kurt's hands.
"You can kiss me."
CHAPTER 38: SUSAN
Friday, February 10, 1939
Susan Peterson liked almost everything about Laurent's. She liked the intimate lighting, the long linen tablecloths, and the landscape paintings on the wall. She really liked the music and an atmosphere that was delightfully festive.
She didn't care much for the pretentious waiter or the poorly designed menu, but she did like how her dinner companion interacted with both. Watching Admiral John J. Hicks order French food was like watching an intelligence officer interrogate a prisoner of war.
Susan stifled a laugh as the waiter walked away. She had done so more than once since arriving at the upscale establishment on Witherspoon Street at half past seven.
"I know what you're thinking," Jack said. "You're thinking I was too hard on him."
"No," Susan said. She laughed. "I'm thinking that you must have been quite a commander in the Navy. You got him to ditch the accent in less than a minute."
Jack frowned.
"I guess I'm not the most polished penny in the drawer."
Susan smiled.
"You're perfect."
"You're kind," Jack said.
"No. I'm honest," Susan replied. "I would much rather be in the company of a man who speaks plainly than one who cloaks his thoughts in fancy words."
Jack laughed quietly.
"I like that comment. I should write it down before I forget it. I might be able to use it in the book you're writing."
Susan put her hand on the admiral's arm.
"You're writing the book, Jack. Let's be clear about that. I'm just helping you express your thoughts in language restaurant waiters can understand."
Jack smiled.
"I suppose you are. You're helping me do a lot of things."
"Is that so?" Susan asked.
Jack nodded.
"Among other things, you're helping me adjust to the civilian world. I sometimes forget my manners when I'm out in public," Jack said. "Janet used to rein me in when I started to treat civilians like sailors. I guess I'm one of those men who needs a moderating influence."
"You're fine as you are," Susan said. "Believe me."
"OK."
Susan slid her hand off Jack's arm and reached for her glass of red wine. She took a sip and then gazed at her dinner companion.
"Do you miss it?" Susan asked.
"Do I miss what?" Jack replied.
"Do you miss the Navy? Do you miss commanding men and ships? Do you miss the thrill of the hunt and making life-or-death decisions?"
Jack sipped his wine.
"I might had I ever made such decisions."
"Surely you saw some action in twenty-seven years."
"I didn't," Jack said. "I served aboard a destroyer in the Pacific during the war. The only time I saw a shot fired in anger was when I saw a tavern owner in San Francisco shoot a sailor for running off with his wife."
"Does that bother you?"
"It does at times. I joined the Navy because I wanted to test my mettle. I wanted to see if I was made of the same stuff as my father and grandfather."
"I'm sure you excelled at your job," Susan said.
"I did. I became quite adept at moving men and materiel from Point A to Point B."
"You wanted more though. Is that it?"
"I wanted a lot more," Jack said.
"You'll find more. I'm sure of it. I think you're going to find a lot of satisfaction in writing this book. You're going to change minds at a time they need to be changed."
"I hope you're right."
"I'm right," Susan said. She smiled. "Trust me on this."
Jack nodded and sipped more wine.
"What did you think of the speaker the other night?" Jack asked.
"I liked him," Susan replied. "He wasn't as interesting as the man at my table, but he was certainly worth my time. I liked that he rebutted many of the statements Heinrich Schmidt made last month and drew attention to what's really going on in Germany."
Susan meant it too. She liked watching February's guest lecturer, FDR's Under Secretary of State, denounce Nazi Germany's human-rights abuses and its failure to live up to several international agreements going back to the 1919 Treaty of Versailles. She thought that the lecture audience she had seen in January had been far too indifferent to Germany's military buildup and needed a good old-fashioned kick in the butt.
"I take it you didn't care much for the colonel," Jack said.
"I'm sure he's a nice man," Susan said. "He seemed like a nice man at the reception. I just didn't care much for his message. Did you?"
"I didn't. I thought his message was hogwash and was happy to see the under secretary blow holes in it, but I must admit I admire Colonel Schmidt personally. He fought valiantly for his country in the war and is clearly a patriot of the first order."
"Is that admirable though? Is patriotism a good thing when one's devotion is given to a nation as despicable as Nazi Germany?" Susan asked. "I don't think so."
Jack nodded.
"I s
uppose not. I will say the colonel gave me the impression he is more devoted to Germany than to the Nazis. I've met quite a few Germans like that. They are more quick to defend their country than the governing party."
"That's not an excuse in my book," Susan said. "Heinrich Schmidt still represents a noxious regime and didn't do a whole lot to distance himself from it last month."
Jack smiled.
"I'm surprised to hear you speak that way about the colonel given that his son is seeing your daughter."
Susan nearly dropped her glass.
"Excuse me?"
"I said I was surprised to …"
"I heard you," Susan said. "I just don't know what you're talking about. Amanda is not seeing anyone's son, to my knowledge, much less the son of a Nazi diplomat."
"Perhaps I'm reading too much into what I saw the other day," Jack said.
"What did you see?"
"I saw Amanda and the colonel's son near the battle monument. They were holding hands and kissing."
"That's not possible," Susan said. "I know Amanda has expressed some interest in Dr. Abercrombie's assistant, the one with the blond hair, but she hasn't mentioned anything about anyone else."
Jack squirmed in his seat.
"I'm hesitant to say more. It appears I've already said too much."
"No. You haven't said too much," Susan said. "You apparently haven't said enough. Please tell me what you know."
Jack sighed.
"All right. If you insist."
"I insist," Susan said.
"There's really not a lot to say," Jack said. "I saw two people kissing the other day, two people I've had the opportunity to meet. One person was your daughter. The other was Kurt Schmidt. Heinrich Schmidt's son and Dr. Abercrombie's research assistant are not different people, Susan. They are one and the same."
CHAPTER 39: AMANDA
Tuesday, February 14, 1939
Amanda pondered a few inconvenient facts as she threw her arms around Kurt Schmidt and gave him a gentle kiss. She reminded herself that boys were slugs who wanted only one thing and tended to get it when they asked for it with flowers and dinners. She also remembered she was a time traveler who had to weigh each and every action like it might be her last.
Mercer Street (American Journey Book 2) Page 19
