Searching for Lottie

by Susan Ross

  Charlie rubbed the calluses on her fingertips and thought about her family history report. She wanted to talk to Sarah about her project, too. Only Sarah would understand how badly Charlie wanted to be like Lottie—the very best on the violin.

  Charlie picked up her phone and texted:

  Doing research on Nana’s sister, Lottie. She disappeared in the Holocaust and nobody knows what happened.

  Sarah responded with a broken emoji heart. Wish I was there to help! Keep me posted.

  Charlie smiled and stretched out on the green shag rug under her desk. Time to focus. She opened a new red binder and printed FAMILY HISTORY PROJECT in black marker on the front. In it, she intended to write down every detail she could remember about Nana Rose and their family.

  What was Nana’s mother like? Charlie chewed the top of the marker, thinking. The highlight of Jake’s bar mitzvah had been an enormous Viennese table overflowing with fancy layer cakes and cookies. Nana Rose was practically world-famous for her apple strudel; did she use her mother’s recipe? Charlie made a note to find out.

  And what about Nana’s father, the math professor? Charlie had somehow always known that he had been killed by the Nazis, but she couldn’t remember who told her. Was it Jake? Mom and Dad didn’t ever talk about sad things. Sometimes, Mom would even turn off the TV if a show was too violent or depressing. And Nana Rose almost never said anything that wasn’t happy or cheerful.

  Once, when her parents were away, Nana Rose had helped Charlie with her math homework. The last problem was especially tricky, but when Charlie got the answer right, Nana smiled and said that a mind for figures was something you got from your genes.

  Charlie sighed. Was that all she could think of? She tapped the page with the end of the marker, trying to remember more.

  A tiny sliver of memory seeped into her brain. It floated in with strands of music, a Brahms concerto from a moment nearly forgotten. Every winter before Nana Rose moved to Florida, she used to take Charlie to a concert at Lincoln Center in New York City. It was their special outing, just the two of them. Nana Rose would carefully explain the program and tell Charlie all about the conductor, the wonderful musicians in the orchestra, and the pieces they would play.

  One time, when Charlie was little, a young soloist came onstage to perform. Charlie remembered that she was tall and pretty, with long wavy hair that fell below her waist. The girl was breathtaking on the violin. Her body seemed to melt into the instrument while her bow moved backward and forward like a graceful extension of her arm. The concerto was difficult, but the melody rang out pure and joyful.

  When the girl finished playing, the whole audience jumped to its feet and cheered. Charlie clapped and yelled “Brava!” but when she turned toward her grandmother, she was shocked to see that tears were rushing down her face faster than she could wipe them away.

  “I am sorry!” Nana’s voice was trembling. “That lovely girl reminds me of someone very dear, that’s all.” Nana Rose touched her chest. “Her music comes from here, inside the soul.” She traced Charlie’s forehead with her fingertips. “You, too, have this gift, my darling. Someday it will be you upon the stage.”

  For Hanukkah that year, Nana Rose bought Charlie her first violin. On the card, she wrote: Carry music in your heart, and love will never perish.

  After Charlie finished writing down every detail she could remember about Nana Rose and her family, she picked up the red binder and went into the upstairs hallway. It was time to see what Jake might know. She walked by his room twice before knocking.

  “Busy! Go away!” Jake yelled.

  “What’d you say?” Charlie took a deep breath, scooted through the doorway, and plunked down at the end of Jake’s extra-long bed before he could protest again.

  Jake’s room always looked like a hurricane had just passed through. Nearly every inch of the walls was covered in basketball posters, and the floor was littered with jerseys, gym shorts, and gum wrappers. Jake was lying with his iPad on a rumpled bedspread, his long legs sprawled over the sides of the bed.

  “I need to ask you something.” Charlie pulled a piece of bubble gum from her pocket and held it out in the palm of her hand. Fruity mint, Jake’s favorite.

  Jake grunted as he popped the gum in his mouth. “Okay. I guess.”

  “What do you know about Nana Rose’s childhood?”

  “Huh?” Jake propped himself up on his elbows. “What do you mean?”

  “Nana’s never told me about her life when she was young. I mean, before the war. So, I was wondering…” Charlie paused. “Do you remember her saying anything?”

  Jake chomped on the gum, thinking. “She liked hiking in the Alps with her dad.”

  “Are you sure?” Charlie was shocked. Nana Rose adored music, but she’d never once mentioned hiking.

  “Yeah. Remember that time I went with the Boy Scouts to Vermont? Nana loved hearing about that. She told me her father used to take her to the mountains. It was his favorite place.”

  “Did she say anything else?” Charlie inched forward. “About her family—or Lottie?”

  “Hmm.” Jake snapped the gum under his tongue thoughtfully. “After my bar mitzvah I heard Nana Rose talking to Mom. Nana said it made her sad that Lottie couldn’t be there.” Jake frowned. “She said she hated to think about Lottie missing everything, like her wedding to Grandpa Sam, our getting born…all the family stuff.”

  “It must have been really hard for Nana to grow up without her sister and her dad.” Charlie sighed.

  Jake blew a large bubble and sat up straight. “Did you know that Nana Rose and her mom had a bakery? Somewhere in Brooklyn. Nana worked there until she married Grandpa Sam.”

  “A bakery? Seriously? Are you sure?”

  “Hundred percent! Don’t you remember the chocolate rugelach she made for my bar mitzvah?” Jake patted his stomach. “The rabbi ate four pieces!”

  Of course, Charlie thought. That made so much sense—Nana Rose was an incredible baker, and she never, ever came to visit without bringing delicious cakes or cookies.

  “So…what about Grandpa Sam?” Charlie asked. “He died right after I was born. Do you remember anything about him?”

  “Only a little,” Jake said. “I remember he had a bushy moustache, and he liked ice cream. One time he took me to play mini-golf…I wish I could remember more.”

  “He must have been nice.” Charlie liked ice cream, too—a lot.

  “He was married to Nana Rose,” Jake replied. “He must have been awesome.”

  Charlie was in the family room practicing scales on Thursday afternoon when the doorbell rang. She had nearly finished the D-minor scale but shifted her hand a little too far and missed the final note with a hideous twang. Not good! If she wanted to be concertmaster, she would have to do a lot better than that.

  Peering through the window, Charlie could see the mail truck in front of the house. She quickly opened the door with her violin tucked under one arm.

  “Hello there. Is this the residence of a professional violinist?” The mailman pointed at the violin as he held out a small package.

  “Someday…maybe?” Charlie blushed.

  “I’ve got something addressed to a Miss C. Roth—can you sign for it?”

  Charlie signed, grabbed the box, and ran up to her room. The address was handwritten in large block letters. Inside, there were three folded pieces of stationery sitting on top of an object wrapped in tissue. She sat cross-legged on her bed and carefully opened the letter.

  My Dear Schnuckelpuss,

  I am delighted to hear from you! How does it feel to be in the seventh grade? It seems like yesterday that you were the most beautiful baby in the world. Such gorgeous red curls you had! Such bright blue eyes! Everything is fine here at my new home, Clover Manor. Perhaps it’s a little bit quiet, that is all. I miss you, too, and I am counting the days
until you come to visit.

  On the topic of my sister, Charlotte—yes, it is a sad story, but it fills my heart with joy that you want to know more about her. Lottie was eight years older, so I looked up to her in every way. Children especially loved her. She was intelligent and beautiful, and played the violin like an angel. Your mother must have told you that as a teenager, Lottie was asked to play with the symphony in Vienna, the finest orchestra in Europe! I kept a book of her newspaper notices, but I am having trouble finding this. I will keep searching, and show it to you when you come to see me in Florida.

  Charlie stopped and imagined Lottie playing on the stage of a grand concert hall. She smiled and made a quick note in her binder before finishing Nana’s letter.

  As to your question, what happened to my sister? I must tell you that yes, it is still very painful. I loved my sister dearly. And Lottie was so talented! My parents sent her to continue her music studies in Budapest. She was to study with Herr Hinkleman, the head of a famous music academy there. Then the Nazis came to Vienna. No Jewish person was safe. My dear father was arrested, and my mother and I fled for our lives. It was a terrible, terrible time.

  There were smudges on the page over the word terrible. Charlie’s heart began to pound as she picked up the letter again.

  We were not able to reach my sister. My poor mother was frantic, and I was only a little girl. We had no choice but to leave Austria as soon as we could. There was no war yet in Hungary, and we prayed that Lottie would remain safe and would someday join us in America. My mother wrote many letters to Herr Hinkleman but received no reply. After the war, Mutti contacted the Red Cross and learned that my darling father was gone, but there was never any word about Lottie.

  My darling Charlie, we never found out what happened to my sister. This remains my greatest sorrow.

  I am so happy now that you are thinking of her. I loved her very much and carry her with me, always.

  I am sending you Lottie’s most prized possession, which I brought with me when we came to America. We could each take only one suitcase, but I believed that I would see her again, and I knew that this was precious to her. You should have it now, since you are her namesake and so like my dear sister in your heart—and in your music. I will explain more when I see you, but in the meantime, please keep it safe and remember her.

  Much love, xoox,

  Nana Rose

  Charlie carefully unwrapped the tissue. Underneath several layers of neatly folded paper lay a dark green notebook with a creased leather binding. The cover was worn and tattered at the edges; its yellowed pages were filled with swirling script. She guessed that the language was German. But what was this notebook? Could it be Lottie’s diary? If so, what would it reveal?

  “Mom, I need you!” Charlie dashed up the stairs. Mom worked part-time selling real estate, and Charlie knew she hated being disturbed in her home office—but this couldn’t wait. “Nana Rose sent this to me! She says it was Lottie’s. I think it’s her diary!”

  “A diary?” Mom pushed back from the desk and took the notebook from Charlie’s outstretched hands. “Are you sure this belonged to Lottie?” Her brow narrowed into a dark line as she carefully opened the old notebook, revealing, on the very first page, a name and date: Charlotte Kulka, 1938. “I can’t believe it. My mother never showed this to me.”

  “Nana says she wants me to keep it because I’m Lottie’s namesake. Maybe it will tell what happened, or at least have some clues.” Charlie touched the handwriting gently.

  “Nineteen thirty-eight was the year that Austria was seized by the Germans. After my grandfather was deported, Nana Rose and my grandmother barely escaped with their lives,” Mom said in a hushed voice. “I had no idea they were able to save anything.”

  “You never asked?” Charlie wondered aloud.

  Mom sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. “Sometimes Mama would share a happy memory from her childhood—mostly she loved to recall Lottie’s musical accomplishments. She was extremely proud of her sister! But then it would make her so sad thinking about what happened to her family that…well, I knew better than to ask anything more.”

  “Could you read this for me?” Charlie pointed at the notebook.

  “I’m afraid not. I can say a few words of greeting in German, but that’s all.”

  “What should I do?” Charlie stared down at the swirling letters as if they might translate themselves if she concentrated hard enough. “Nana says she’ll tell me about it when we see her, but I don’t want to wait that long.”

  “Well, maybe you could try an online translator, but with this old script, I doubt it would work. What about a teacher at school?” Mom suggested.

  “We only have Mandarin and Spanish.” Charlie bit her bottom lip, thinking hard. “I know—I can ask Sophie!”

  “Sophie?” Mom looked confused.

  “Yeah, you know how Hannah’s family has an au pair who watches the baby? Her name is Sophie, and she’s from Switzerland. I think she speaks German. I’m going to text Hannah right now!”

  “Good luck,” Mom called out, but Charlie was already down the stairs and on her phone.

  After Charlie texted Hannah, she sent a quick message to Sarah, sharing the news. Keep your fingers crossed!

  Double crossed! Sarah immediately replied.

  Hannah called Charlie practically the minute she got Charlie’s text. Charlie told her all about Lottie and how Nana Rose had sent her Lottie’s old notebook, which she hoped was a diary.

  “I didn’t know you were named after somebody who died!” Hannah exclaimed. “Charlie, that’s terrible.”

  Might have died, Charlie whispered in her head. “Yeah, it’s kind of hard to believe sometimes.” Charlie sank down on the couch. “The strange thing is that I never knew Lottie—or even thought much about her, but now I feel like I want to get to know her. She was only a teenager when…well, when she disappeared. And now that Nana Rose has sent me her diary—I mean, I think it’s a diary, but—”

  “Don’t worry,” Hannah said quickly. “Sophie speaks German. Come on over and she can read it. You’ll be able to figure everything out.”

  Charlie wrapped the old green notebook in newspaper and placed it inside her backpack along with the red binder. What smelled so bad? Oh, gross—yesterday’s tuna sandwich was stuck to the bottom. Charlie threw out the sandwich, but the backpack still smelled terrible. She slung it over one shoulder, put on her helmet, and hopped on her bike.

  A strong breeze made the September air chilly, but Charlie didn’t mind. Her favorite Hanukkah present last year was her new bike; she loved the freedom of racing around the neighborhood to hang out with friends.

  Charlie gripped the brakes and slowed down as she approached the brown shingle house on the corner one block before Hannah’s street. The house was small and shabby, with ugly strips of gray paint peeling from the windows. A few pink roses bloomed in front. Charlie was always careful when she passed by the house because a mean dog with densely corded black fur that hung over his eyes lived there. His owner was an older man who rarely came outside.

  Jake called the dog Satan. It wasn’t his real name, of course, but everyone in the neighborhood avoided him. Charlie loved most animals, and she would never admit this to anyone, but she was secretly a bit fearful around dogs, especially aggressive shaggy dogs with bad reputations for chasing kids and delivery people.

  As Charlie scanned the yard, a car pulled up to the curb beside her and honked twice. She looked over to see that Devin McCarthy was sitting in the backseat. Charlie stopped breathing for a second while she slowly pedaled. Devin was the best cello player in the seventh grade. He had green eyes and thick brown hair that covered his ears.

  Devin was kind of cute, but he knew he was the top cellist and managed to show off in a million little ways, like always playing in exact time and with precise intonation—even though he acted like he w
asn’t even trying. While most players needed Mr. Fernandez’s help tuning up, Devin had perfect pitch and was especially good with tuning pegs; he would quickly tune his own cello, and then while he was waiting, launch into a solo piece that was usually two exercise books ahead of everyone else.

  For the most part, Devin didn’t say much. Sarah had always thought he might be shy, but Charlie figured Devin was more likely stuck on himself. Still, she couldn’t deny that Devin was a natural musician; besides hitting every note with precision, Devin was the only kid who played like he was having a conversation, as if the music was a language he understood. Charlie was sure he’d be a professional cellist someday.

  Devin’s father waved from the driver’s seat, and Charlie wondered if Devin would put down the window. Her throat felt weirdly tight. What would she say if he spoke? But the car quickly swerved around her and picked up speed. Devin hadn’t even looked up.

  Suddenly, Charlie heard a ferocious growl. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of a black ball of fur heading straight toward her. Charlie slammed on the brakes to avoid striking the dog, but her front tire hit a rock, and with a hard jolt, she flew over the handlebars and crashed on the ground.

  It took a minute for Charlie to catch her breath and force open her eyes. She wiggled her hands and feet, then rolled forward. There were ugly scrapes on both elbows, but nothing seemed broken. The bike lay a few feet away, and right next to it, her backpack. But before Charlie had a chance to get up, she heard a piercing yelp. Satan was sniffing and pawing at the backpack. He grabbed it between his teeth and raced away across the yard.

  “No! Stop!” Charlie pushed herself up and sprinted after the dog. “Give that back to me!”

  Satan ran around the house and ducked under the bushes. He was growling and snarling with the backpack firmly in his teeth. With a wild snort, he began to furiously shake the bag.