The Stranger From Berlin

by Melissa Amateis

  ‘Is she well?’ Max asked. ‘She looks a little…’

  ‘Tired? She has good reason to be.’

  She most certainly did. And he had only added to the list. ‘It’s not because of all of this with me and the diary…’

  ‘No,’ Celia replied. ‘Jenni hates injustice against the innocent.’

  Innocent. Oh, how he prayed Jenni would never find out just how guilty he was…

  ‘I appreciate her help.’ Max fiddled with the tool before looking up at Celia. ‘You know, the whole town believes I’m responsible for taking the diary. Whoever is behind this has planned it well.’

  ‘Not all of them think you’re guilty.’ When he opened his mouth to protest, she shook her head. ‘I really believe that. I think a lot of people in this town would be on your side, but they’re too afraid.’

  ‘Fear again,’ he muttered. But what right did he have to rail against fear? He’d watched how fear had cowed the very best people of Berlin, how it had eroded their confidence, their trust, how it had even given birth to mannerisms like the Berlin look, the act of glancing around you twice to make sure you weren’t being watched. And he’d contributed to that fear by doing nothing.

  He’d lived with fear from the moment he’d made that fateful decision in his Berlin apartment. He, too, had become a man obsessed with checking his own shadow.

  ‘Fear is powerful, as I’m sure you know,’ Celia said. She sighed. ‘Look, we all need a break. How about you come over to our little gathering tonight? Hank, Jenni and I always get together on Monday nights and listen to Sherlock Holmes on the radio. It’s Jenni’s turn to host and I know she won’t mind if you come.’

  He wasn’t so sure about that, but he said, ‘It sounds nice. Of course I’ll come.’

  ‘Great! I’ll tell Jenni. Now I’ll let you get to work. Do you know anything about plumbing? The faucet in the kitchen is leaking.’

  As Max listened to Celia, he wondered how Jenni would react to seeing him at her front door. He only hoped she didn’t slam it in his face.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes until her guests were due to arrive, Jenni grit her teeth as she tried to button her skirt. Damn, damn, damn! There was no way that button was going to make it into that hole, no matter how she pulled and prodded and tried to suck in her stomach.

  She yanked the skirt off and flung it across the room. It was too soon for this, too soon to start thinking up creative ways to hide this pregnancy. Her last one hadn’t been like this. Why, she’d worn her normal clothes until almost five months along. Either she’d gained more weight with this pregnancy, or the baby planned on being bigger than his or her older brother.

  Jenni sank onto the bed and fell back onto the quilt coverlet. Having a baby was supposed to be a happy occasion, a cause for celebration, and here she was, trying to figure out ways to hide it. She wasn’t the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last woman to do so. But she never thought she’d be stupid enough to get herself into this predicament in the first place!

  The letter on her nightstand caught her eye. Rafe had stopped calling and had instead sent this letter. No use trying to avoid it anymore. Whatever Rafe had to say, she’d deal with it.

  Tearing through the envelope, she pulled out the single sheet of paper. His note was short and direct.

  Your refusal to speak with me leaves me no choice. I will not claim parentage should the question arise. You are on your own.

  Anger rippled along her spine. She snatched a pen and scrawled a response underneath Rafe’s words.

  I don’t need or want your help. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

  Her fury propelled her off the bed and over to her writing desk. She pulled out an envelope, crammed the note inside, then wrote his address on the front. Maybe she should address it to his new wife, show her what she had chained herself to!

  Calm down, sister. Putting him out of her mind was the best thing to do. She had to focus on her guests, especially since one of those guests was Max Koenig.

  Oh, she could just strangle Celia for inviting him. What was she thinking anyway? Jenni had just started making progress in relegating Max and his problems to the back of her mind today when she got to work. For a few minutes, anyway. Then she’d spotted him, shirt sleeves rolled up, wavy hair mussed, standing on a ladder and pounding in a nail to hang a picture. He’d looked over at her and grinned and something balled up tight in her for years had come undone. And that scared the dickens out of her.

  And not only did she have to deal with him at work every day – which was her own damn fault – but tonight he would be in her house, eating at her table, sitting in her chairs. She liked Max and wanted to be his friend. But she couldn’t even allow herself that.

  The nagging sensation that he was hiding something hadn’t abated, and as she dressed in a white blouse with a blue cardigan and a tan skirt, she tried to convince herself that she did trust him. But then why would the FBI still be so interested in him? Who had made those accusations at the university?

  Enough. Time to put it out of her mind, think about it tomorrow, just like Scarlett O’Hara. Though it was perhaps strange that she kept turning to that particular fictional character for advice. Look at how well Scarlett’s life had turned out because she refused to deal with the reality of her present.

  Jenni went into Marty’s room and found him sprawled on his bed, reading the latest Captain America comic she’d bought for him at the drugstore this afternoon. A world map was tacked to the wall and, using stick pins, he’d marked and labelled the locations of battles in Europe and the Pacific. Ever since his father left, he’d been keeping track of the war, and his interest in it had only increased after Danny’s death.

  Marty didn’t move and she bounced on the bed to get his attention.

  He jerked his head up in frustration. ‘Aw, Mom, I’m at the best part.’

  ‘I just wanted to tell you that Hank and Celia are coming for dinner.’

  ‘Okay.’ He turned back to his comic.

  ‘And there’s someone else.’ She paused, not sure how he would respond.

  ‘Professor Koenig, the man living in Mrs Stanwick’s cottage.’

  ‘You mean that German guy?’ he said, turning the page. ‘He’s not a Nazi, is he?’

  She laughed, but couldn’t ignore her slight shiver of doubt. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Then I guess it’s okay. But you better make sure Granny Sue doesn’t come over. I don’t think she’d like him too much.’

  ‘I’ll make sure. I’ll need you to set the table in a bit.’

  Ignoring his groan, she went into the kitchen. What would her mother-in-law say when she found out about her cheating daughter-in-law’s pregnancy? Friendship with a German would be a drop in the bucket compared to that. An involuntary shudder made her shoulders squirm.

  No one knew except Celia and Hank, but once she started showing, it would only be a matter of time before everyone found out. Gossip spread like dandelions and was even harder to kill.

  If only she could move to a grand city like New York where she could write her short stories in some high-rise apartment building, anonymous in a city of thousands. There, no one cared what you did with your life. No one gave you the stink eye when you said the wrong thing or spied on you before calling your mother to tattle. It sounded heavenly.

  She’d always wanted to leave Meadow Hills, move to the city, and be free to be herself. Danny, though, had been a small-town boy through and through. Any mention of moving to Omaha or even Lincoln met with his sharp disapproval.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he’d told her in that way he had of cutting off the conversation before she could even give him her point of view. So they’d bought their small house in town, even though every wall needed fresh paint, the flower beds needed a good weeding, and she had to ignore the slanting living-room floor.

  She’d done her best with what she had, and now, as she looked at her simple kitchen with its green gingha
m curtains, the square wooden table with the four mismatched chairs and the white cabinets with their shiny metal knobs, she knew she’d always love this little house.

  At the same time, though, it carried memories of her and Danny, of their awful fights and the times he’d stormed out of the house and come back home stinking of cigar smoke and booze. He’d hated how she stood up to him, hated how she wouldn’t give an inch when she knew he’d take a mile.

  It hadn’t always been that way. When they’d dated in high school, he would laugh at her, squeeze her chin, and tell her she was cute. Once they were married, he figured he could lay down the law and she would become the submissive wife.

  But, Jenni reflected wryly, stirring the pot of vegetable soup on the stove, she simply didn’t know how to be submissive. She and Danny had made great sweethearts, but a lousy husband and wife.

  And when Rafe Deveraux came to town and actually admired her strong will, her refusal to back down, and her impetuous nature, why, she’d fallen for him, loving that someone else appreciated her for who she really was.

  Except, even now, she didn’t know if Rafe had used it all as an excuse to get her into his bed or if he’d truly believed any of what he’d told her. She’d probably never know, and once she sent her stinging reply back to him, she hoped she would never hear from him again.

  Marty wandered in and slumped into a chair. ‘Mom, I think I want to be Captain America.’

  ‘You don’t look very happy about it,’ she said, shaking salt into the soup pot.

  ‘Well…’ His finger traced a rip in the tablecloth. ‘I don’t know any scientists that can make me all strong and give me big muscles.’ He peered up at her. ‘Do you know any scientists?’

  She hated to dash the hope in his eyes. ‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t.’ She took the bowls down from the cabinet and set them in front of Marty. ‘Why do you want to be Captain America?’

  ‘Because he kills Nazis.’

  Her heart thudded and she tried to keep her tone light as she watched him set the dishes around the table. ‘You want to do that too?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said, gathering spoons out of the silverware drawer. ‘That’s not bad, is it, Mom?’

  Was it?

  ‘That’s a hard question.’

  Marty carefully placed each spoon by its bowl. ‘I don’t think so. I think it’s easy. Nazis are bad guys. We don’t want bad guys around. They hurt people. They do awful, terrible things. Captain America kills Nazis, and Captain America is a hero.’

  Jenni didn’t know what to say, wondering how her little boy could talk about war with such ease.

  When the doorbell rang, Marty ran into the living room, Jenni calling after him to be on his best behaviour. She smoothed her apron over her skirt and followed at a slower pace. Heavens to Betsy, she was exhausted. She hadn’t been this tired during her last pregnancy. Of course, she hadn’t been on her feet all day either. Danny had forced her to quit her job at the drugstore the day after she found out she was expecting Marty.

  Jenni hovered behind Marty as he opened the door. He stilled when he saw Max standing there.

  ‘Are you the professor?’

  Max stepped inside, smiled and took off his hat. ‘I am.’ He held out his hand. ‘And you must be Marty Fields. It is a great pleasure to meet you.’

  Marty’s eyes widened slightly at being treated like a grown-up and he shook Max’s hand. ‘Hello. Nice to meet you too, sir.’

  Jenni let her breath out and clutched the chair beside her, feeling suddenly dizzy.

  Max looked at her in concern. ‘Are you feeling all right, Mrs Fields?’

  She nodded, briefly closing her eyes and trying to regain her equilibrium. ‘Yes, I’m fine. Just a little light-headed. I – I’m tired, is all.’

  ‘Then maybe I should just go home.’

  ‘Absolutely not. I’ve got a huge pot of vegetable stew on the stove and pumpkin pie; more than enough food for everyone.’

  ‘Then you must let me do the dishes.’

  She laughed. ‘Well, I won’t argue with you there. Please, make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.’

  Funny how she was already accustomed to his German accent, Jenni mused as she took his coat and hat to the spare bedroom.

  The phone rang and she hurried to the kitchen to pick it up. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Jenni, its Celia.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  A sigh, then: ‘I’m awful sorry, but Hank has come down with the stomach flu. We won’t be able to make it tonight.’

  ‘Oh no.’ But she didn’t know if she said it because she felt bad for Hank or because it would now just be her, Marty and Max. The whole neighbourhood had probably watched him come into her house.

  ‘Is Professor Koenig there?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jenni backed further into the kitchen and lowered her voice. ‘It’s just the three of us here! How much you wanna bet we’re tomorrow’s gossip at the bakery?’

  ‘Oh, gosh, Jenni, I’m so sorry. You know they’ll chatter no matter what you do.’

  ‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘Tell Hank I’m thinking of him.’

  She hung up the phone and leaned against the wall. Sweet sassafras. She hadn’t bargained on this. She was half tempted to look across the street at Mabel Grayson’s house and see if her curtains moved. That nosy busybody would surely be snooping.

  But Jenni wasn’t doing anything wrong, for heaven’s sakes!

  And that’s exactly what she’d told herself last October when she’d walked over to Rafe’s, knocked on the door and let him take her to bed. So who was she to judge what was right and wrong anymore?

  Marty galloped into the kitchen but stopped when he saw her. ‘What’s wrong, Mom?’

  She rubbed the back of her neck, almost wishing she could just forget the whole evening and go to bed. ‘Hank is sick, so he and Celia won’t be coming.’

  ‘Awww, nuts! I was going to ask him about the scientist.’ His eyes suddenly lit up. ‘Hey, maybe the professor will know someone! I bet he knows lots of smart people!’

  Before Jenni could stop him, he tore off into the living room and stopped just short of falling into Max’s lap.

  ‘Professor,’ he said, his hands curling around the arm of Max’s chair, ‘do you know any scientists?’

  Jenni held back, curious to see how Max would react. He probably didn’t even know who Captain America was.

  Max put aside her latest issue of Look magazine. ‘Hmm, I might. What do you need a scientist for?’

  Marty puffed out his chest. ‘I want to be Captain America! But I need a scientist to invent a potion like they gave Steve Rogers. He used to be just a puny guy, but then they gave him a shot of that super strong liquid and he became invincible.’

  ‘I see.’ Max rubbed his chin. ‘Did you know that the scientist who made the serum was a German?’

  ‘Yep. I know all about him. His name is Dr Josef Reinstein.’ Marty scrunched his nose. ‘But he isn’t a Nazi!’

  At that, Max laughed. ‘No, you’re right. He isn’t. He hates the Nazis and all they stand for.’

  ‘Just like I do.’

  ‘And that is why you want to be Captain America, to fight Nazis?’

  The professor knew about Captain America? Well, this was a surprise!

  Fascinated, Jenni watched as Max talked to Marty without any condescension, but as an equal. It tugged at her heart and she abruptly turned away, feeling tears close to the surface. Marty so needed his father. His grandfathers both tried in their own ways to fill the gap, but it wasn’t the same. It never would be.

  ‘I asked Mom if it was okay to kill Nazis,’ Jenni heard Marty say and she jerked her head towards the two of them. Marty now sat in the rocking chair next to Max, his legs dangling inches above the floor.

  ‘And what did she say?’ Max asked.

  ‘She said it was a hard question. Do you think it’s a hard question?’

  Max’s expression turned grim. ‘I think it’s a ve
ry serious question. We shouldn’t want to kill people.’

  ‘But killing Nazis is okay… isn’t it?’

  Max paused a moment before he responded. ‘I think that when there is true evil in the world, it must be stopped, and sometimes, the only way to stop it is to kill it.’

  His legs now perfectly still, Marty’s brow furrowed in thought. Jenni wanted to pull him into her arms, squeeze all this talk about war and Nazis and evil out of his young mind, and fill it with nothing but goodness and light.

  ‘Well, those Nazis killed my dad,’ Marty finally said, his voice very quiet. ‘They can’t get away with it.’

  ‘They won’t.’ Max put a comforting hand on Marty’s shoulder, squeezed it gently. ‘I am very sorry about your father. He must have been a very brave man, braver than Captain America, even.’

  Marty’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course. He didn’t have a special shield or a special potion to make him a super man. He battled the Nazis with his courage and his own strength. That takes a lot more bravery, don’t you think?’

  A burst of pride broke on Marty’s face, propelling him up from the chair. ‘Boy, my dad was braver than Captain America!’

  The tears fell then, silent trails down her cheeks, and she wiped at them with the edge of her hand. Max had handled it all so well. Could such a kind-hearted man really be capable of being a Nazi spy, or of stealing the diary and lying about it? Surely not.

  Marty gave a whoop and ran through the living room, using his fists as machine guns. Ratt-a-tat-tat. Boom! Kapow!

  Max saw her in the doorway watching him, and he slowly got to his feet, a sad smile crossing his lips.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, not knowing what else to say, not when the tears clogged her throat.

  He nodded. ‘You’re welcome.’

  * * *

  It was all so normal.

  Basil Rathbone’s voice intoned the latest clue to Nigel Bruce’s Dr Watson on the radio as they tried to solve the mystery of The Amateur Mendicant Society. Max sat in the rocking chair, an unlit cigarette between his fingers, his stomach full from Jenni’s vegetable stew and pumpkin pie. She and her son sat on the couch, he tucked under the crook of her arm, her hand absently combing his thick hair. She looked tired but content, wisps of hair curling beside her temples, lids droopy.