by Susan Ross
Charlie dove into the bushes after him, numb with fear that it would be too late; Lottie’s notebook would be torn to shreds! She managed to grab the backpack by one strap and yanked with all her might. The bushes scratched against her face and arms, but she wouldn’t let go. Satan planted his paws in the loose dirt at the edge of the flower bed. The harder Charlie pulled, the harder the dog hung on.
“What is this? What are you doing in my yard?” The owner appeared out of nowhere. He was tall and slightly bent, with a heavily lined face and a small tuft of gray hair at the top of his forehead. He had a deep voice and spoke with a formal, old-fashioned lilt—a little like Nana Rose, Charlie thought.
“Your dog took my bag! It has something important inside. I have to get it back!” Charlie exclaimed.
“Kinga!” The man shook his head and hurried toward the bushes. He pushed aside a branch and grasped the dog by the collar. “Bad dog! Nem! Give me that, you rascal!” The man raised the dog’s head, forcing it to drop the backpack. Charlie fell backward with the bag in her lap.
Jagged tooth marks and small holes pierced the bottom of the backpack. Charlie’s heart thudded against her ribs as she felt inside for Lottie’s notebook. Still in one piece! She let out a long, exhausted moan as she brushed leaves and twigs from her clothing.
Then she eyed the beast suspiciously. “What kind of dog is that?” It had to be some sort of wild guard dog.
“Kinga is a Puli. Her breed is Hungarian.” The man stiffly reached forward to help Charlie up.
“Puli? I’ve never seen a dog like that before.” Charlie frowned, her arms wrapped tightly around the backpack. She hadn’t expected the nasty dog to be a girl.
“They are common in Hungary. They are used for herding sheep….You are not hurt, I see?” the man added without smiling.
“No, I’m okay, I guess.”
The owner’s lips were thin and pressed tightly together like two worms. His eyes were narrow and hooded. He didn’t respond or look at all friendly.
“I’m Charlie Roth,” she finally offered. “I live over there.” She pointed toward the street behind them.
“Dr. Szemere.” The man nodded slightly, holding fast to the dog’s collar. “Kinga does not care to be teased by children. You must keep your bicycle on the road, young lady.” He turned and started to walk toward the house.
“Excuse me,” Charlie called after him.
Dr. Szemere stopped and turned halfway around.
“Are you Hungarian, too?” Charlie asked.
“That is correct.” Dr. Szemere tilted his head to one side as if he was curious, but still did not smile. “Is there a reason that you ask?”
“N-no, not exactly. I guess I’d better leave now.” Charlie coughed.
“Yes, you ought to be on your way.” Dr. Szemere went into the house, with Kinga, tail between her legs, following him.
Charlie opened the backpack and pulled out the red project binder. The third page was titled Lottie in Budapest, and underneath, Charlie had already listed several famous musicians from Hungary she’d found online.
With a quick nod, she scribbled a note and circled it twice: Kinga is Hungarian.
“That crazy dog up the street took my backpack!” Charlie pointed at the ragged holes as Hannah opened the screen door to her house. “I met the dog’s owner—that guy is sca-ry!”
Hannah pulled Charlie inside. “My parents know Dr. Szemere. He used to work at the hospital, but he’s retired now.”
“Well, his dog almost bit off my arm, and he didn’t seem to care.” Charlie removed her helmet and checked the bruises on her knees.
“Dad says he got a little strange after his wife passed away.” Hannah frowned. “Mrs. Szemere was really nice, though. I remember she brought us roses from their garden.”
The girls went down to the basement playroom, where Sophie was busy picking up toys while Hannah’s baby sister napped. Sophie was the coolest au pair in Connecticut. She had spiked lavender hair and wore brass-studded boots. Her left eyebrow was pierced twice.
When Charlie handed her Lottie’s notebook, she opened it with a long silver fingernail and glanced at the first page. “Ah yes, I can see that this is old.” Sophie spoke English in a singsong voice; every word sounded distinct and interesting.
Charlie’s heart was thumping. What would the notebook reveal?
After studying the yellowed pages, Sophie flipped to the back, returned to the middle, and ran her fingers through her hair.
“What does it say?” Charlie sat up on her knees.
“I’m afraid I cannot read this so well,” Sophie answered slowly. “You know, it is very old-fashioned, this script—it is difficult to understand. I’ve seen something like it with my granny.”
“Can’t you tell us anything?” Hannah asked. “Is it a diary?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie replied. “I can only make out a few of the words. This one says nacht…that means night.”
“What else?” Hannah asked.
“Well, here, I believe this says Mo-zart…”
“Mozart?” Charlie repeated.
“Why would she be writing about Mozart?” Hannah frowned.
“Lottie played the violin. She was studying music.” Charlie dropped from her knees to the floor. “Maybe she had to learn a Mozart piece for her lessons.”
“I am terribly sorry,” Sophie said, “but I can’t read much else—just some dates. Here it is written August, and here, September. Otherwise, I cannot be certain. You need an older person, someone very old perhaps, to read this.” She scratched her eyebrow above the gold rings, and Charlie’s brow felt itchy, too.
“Wait,” Sophie said suddenly. “I think this is again a name; yes, it is a name.”
“What name?” the girls asked in unison.
“Here I see Nathan—yes, I am sure it is Nathan—Nathan Kul-ka.”
“Kulka!” Charlie exclaimed. “That was Lottie’s last name, too.”
“Perhaps she had a brother?” Sophie suggested.
“No, there were only two sisters.” Charlie shook her head.
“Then who could it be?” Hannah asked.
“I don’t know,” Charlie replied. “But I’m going to find out.”
Sophie closed the notebook and handed it back to Charlie. “This relative of yours, the one who made the book—did she come to live with your family in America?”
“Lottie never…” Charlie faltered. “Lottie’s sister—my nana—came to America on a ship with her mother, but she wasn’t with them. Lottie got lost—or we think she—I mean, she disappeared…” Charlie’s voice trailed off. “…during the Holocaust.”
A deep furrow set in between Sophie’s eyes. “I am so sorry to hear this. How horrible! We learned about this history at school, of course, but in Zurich, I didn’t know anyone who lost a family member like that.”
* * *
—
When Charlie got home, Mom was cooking pasta for dinner. “Any luck?”
“Sophie couldn’t read the diary.” Charlie shook her head. “She could only make out a few words. She said the old-fashioned script was too hard.”
“I’m sorry.” Mom sighed.
“It’s okay. Nana can tell me more when we see her. I was just hoping I wouldn’t have to wait until then.” Charlie took out dishes to set the table. “I might have gotten a clue, though. Sophie made out a name in the notebook—Nathan Kulka. Do you know who that is?”
“I don’t know anyone named Nathan. Maybe a cousin?” Mom thought for a minute while she stirred the pasta. “Another question for Nana when we visit.”
Charlie and Mom were going to Florida the following Friday. Mom was letting her leave school a little early—right after orchestra auditions, Charlie thought with a silent gulp.
“It’ll be a nice visit for just
us girls, don’t you think?” Mom smiled. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk over the weekend.”
Charlie nodded. Jake couldn’t miss preseason basketball, and Dad was in the middle of a trial, so it was only going to be Charlie and Mom visiting Nana this time.
Charlie hesitated. “There’s something else….”
Mom looked up, waiting.
“Sophie seemed surprised that we had someone in our family who was lost in the Holocaust. She said it was something she learned about in history class. But it was like none of it seemed real to her until now…I mean, until she met someone with a relative like Lottie.”
“Oh, I see.” Mom had that vague, you’re-too-young-to-understand-this look on her face. “Well, the Holocaust occurred long before Sophie was born, and I suppose, even when truly terrible events happen—after many years, sometimes people forget exactly how real they were.”
“The thing is, Mom, I want to find Lottie—I don’t want her to be forgotten!”
Mom put down the spoon and smoothed a curl from Charlie’s cheek. “Just keep on going. I think you are finding Lottie—as best anyone could.”
Charlie lay in bed that night, totally exhausted. Even texting Sarah felt like an effort: Sophie couldn’t translate Lottie’s diary. The German script was too old-fashioned. She said maybe an older person could do it.
Isn’t Amy Klein’s nana German??? Sarah texted back. She is definitely old!
Sarah was always right. Amy’s grandmother was from Germany and had recently moved in with them. Charlie recalled that Amy had raised her hand when their Hebrew school teacher asked which students had family members who died in the Shoah.
Charlie texted Amy before turning out the lights. She stared at the dark ceiling, trying to sleep, but her mind wouldn’t stop jumping between thoughts of Lottie and worrying about her orchestra audition.
What would it be like to play with a symphony in front of hundreds of people? Once in a while, Mr. Fernandez would perform a solo for them. Charlie loved watching his expression, his face transfixed and his eyes fluttering as he swayed to the music. Sometimes it didn’t seem like he was even in the room.
Mr. Fernandez had a beautiful wooden bow decorated with inlaid mother-of-pearl. It dipped and floated on the strings, the sound waning, then soaring. Had Lottie played like that? Immersed in the music like she was part of the sound?
When Charlie finally fell asleep, she had the strangest dream. It was the middle of orchestra rehearsal, and Mr. Fernandez had just pointed out to his new assistant, Ms. Patel, how superbly Devin did vibrato on the cello. It was Charlie’s turn to play, but she couldn’t read a single note. The noteheads and stems began to separate from the staff and dance across the sheet music, refusing to stay still; Charlie couldn’t follow them.
Just as she was about to burst into tears, Charlie thought she heard the soft refrain of one of her favorite Beethoven sonatas. She turned her head toward the music, and there was Lottie, wearing a long linen dress and a yellow straw hat. She was holding a finely carved violin with a maple flame across its back.
Lottie lifted the instrument and began to play. Everyone stopped to listen. Devin’s jaw dropped as Lottie stood on her tiptoes, did a pirouette, and played the most difficult section without missing one note.
When she was done, Lottie handed Charlie her instrument—it was light as a feather. Suddenly, Charlie could play the piece perfectly, too. Mr. Fernandez was beaming, and Devin’s mouth hung open. But when Charlie finished and tried to give the violin back to Lottie, she simply floated away. All that was left was her straw hat, lying carelessly on the floor.
Charlie’s eyes opened. Shivering, she glanced at the alarm clock—6 a.m. She rolled back on her stomach and buried her face in the pillow, but it was no use, her eyelids wouldn’t stay shut. Slipping out of bed, she silently crept down the stairs to the family room. Thin daylight streamed through the blinds, casting shadows across the couch and coffee table. Charlie pulled the photograph album from the shelf and flipped through its pages until she found the picture of Lottie with her violin.
Dad’s magnifying glass was lying on the coffee table. Peering through it, she could see Lottie’s dimples clearly. Mom was right, they did look alike! What was that around her neck? Charlie hadn’t noticed it before, but Lottie was wearing a necklace with a small pendant. Charlie hesitated for a moment, then pulled the picture from the album and hurried back upstairs to her room. She pinned the photograph on the bulletin board above her desk and studied it for a long while.
“What happened to you?” Charlie finally whispered. “Did you find a safe place to hide?”
She traced the length of Lottie’s violin with the tip of her finger. “I love playing violin, too, you know. My bowing technique is solid, and I have the best rhythm in the orchestra. I practice every day. We have orchestra auditions next Friday morning—a week from today. I think if I try super hard, I have a shot at making concertmaster.” Nana Rose would come visit and watch her perform. She would be so proud and excited to see her granddaughter at the front of the orchestra—nothing would make Nana happier. Charlie leaned back and smiled.
And wouldn’t Devin be surprised!
Before getting dressed for school, Charlie took one last look at Lottie’s photo. “I am going to find you. I promise, I will.”
When Charlie checked her phone after math class later that day, there was a text waiting from Sarah: Didn’t your nana arrive by ship? Have you Googled Ellis Island? We found Poppa Antonio there.
Good idea, will do!! Charlie texted back.
As soon as Charlie got home from school, she opened her laptop and found the website. Charlie’s class had gone on a field trip to Ellis Island in fifth grade, and now she wished she’d paid more attention. She remembered that the huge hall where many thousands of immigrants had arrived in America seemed like an abandoned train station, cold and gray. Charlie and Sarah had spent most of their time chatting with Amy and Hannah and listening to their voices echo in the enormous room.
What if Lottie had found her way to America all alone? How would she feel standing by herself in that giant hall—a girl who spoke no English and had no family there to help her? Charlie wondered whether Lottie would even be allowed to enter the United States—didn’t the guide say that many people—sick people, people without the right papers—were turned back?
The Ellis Island archive was simple to use. There was a place to search passenger ship records, so Charlie quickly typed in Charlotte Kulka. She left the date blank and held her breath.
In a flash, a screen appeared with a few names that might have matched, but none from the right time and country. When she tried Lottie Kulka only one match appeared—from a ship that arrived in the 1800s.
No luck, Charlie texted Sarah. I couldn’t find Lottie at Ellis Island.
Maybe she changed her name? Sarah asked.
Sarah had a point. Charlie suddenly recalled that the Ellis Island guide had talked about that being common. Lots of people had chosen or been given new names when they reached America. Sometimes the clerk taking down the information simply didn’t understand or misspelled foreign-sounding names. What if Lottie Kulka had become Lottie Cohen or Lottie Katz or Lottie Smith? How would Charlie ever find her?
Another text from Sarah appeared: Any other relatives?
“Mom!” Charlie called at the top of her lungs, but no one answered. Then she remembered that Mom was out with a client. What was Nana’s mother’s name? she texted her mother. Need it for my research.
A minute later Charlie’s phone buzzed: Aurelie Kulka. Good luck!
Charlie typed in the names Rose and Aurelie Kulka. There it was! Aurelie Kulka, age forty-six, on the ship the Fräulein Hilda, and next to it, an entry for her daughter, Rose. How strange to picture Nana Rose as a child on the boat to America; how would Nana have felt coming into New York Harbor and seeing the Statu
e of Liberty for the first time?
And what about the mysterious Nathan Kulka from Lottie’s diary? Charlie carefully typed in the name Kulka and left the other information blank. She swallowed hard. A new list came up with other names, including Magda, Herman, Erwin, Valerie, and N. Kulka. Charlie stared at the screen, wondering whether N. could be Nathan.
Found Nana’s ship!!! Charlie texted Sarah.
Yay!! Sarah replied.
“Dinner!” Charlie jumped as Jake banged the door open. “Didn’t you hear me yelling? Mom said she’d be late and Dad’s at the gym, so I took the liberty of making us some excellent burgers.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m a vegetarian, Jake?”
“Too bad! Wait till you see how thick and juicy I made yours—and you’d better eat every bite.” Jake loudly licked his fingers. “But…if you really want, I could make you grilled cheese—”
“Hey, yeah, thanks, that’d be—”
“—with yummy bits of corned beef, of course.”
Trying not to smile, Charlie growled and pushed Jake out the door. “I’ll make myself a salad later. Go away!” With a sly grin, she sent one last text to Sarah: Brothers, ugh!! SO annoying!
Charlie’s phone buzzed again; it was Amy this time: My nana says she can read the old German. Come right over!
With an excited “Yes!” Charlie carefully packed up Lottie’s notebook and headed for her bike.
“Hi, Charlie, come on in.” Amy’s mom answered the door with a worried look on her face. “I’m afraid my mother is a bit tuckered out today. I’m not sure whether she’s entirely up to this.” Mrs. Klein’s foot tapped rapidly on the stone floor of the foyer as she glanced back and forth behind her.
A white-haired lady with enormous tortoiseshell glasses hobbled into the front hall. She was puffing and leaning heavily on a walker. Amy stood beside her, holding her steady.
“You remember Charlie Roth from down the street, Mother?” Mrs. Klein asked.
