If he closed his eyes, he could imagine that this was his life, a wife and child, a cosy home, warmth and safety, while the cold wind howled and moaned outside. All that was missing was Katya dozing at his feet, but he’d left her at home, not sure if a dog would be welcome at the gathering.
He wanted it all so badly that he tucked the feeling away in a deep corner of his heart and he pretended, just for a minute, that it was his.
Then a commercial came on the radio about war bonds, boasting of how the Americans were making strides against the terrible Nazi horde, and reality thumped him hard in the chest.
But he didn’t say anything, too afraid his accent would ruin the moment by reminding Jenni and her son just what they’d lost because of Max’s countrymen.
It made his fingers twitch and he excused himself, going to smoke outside before the shakes got worse. When he returned, Sherlock Holmes revealed the solution to the case and Marty fought to keep his eyes open.
‘Time for bed for you, mister,’ Jenni said. ‘Go brush your teeth.’
‘Aw, Mom, do I have to?’
‘You say that every night and every night I tell you yes.’
Grumbling, Marty shuffled towards the bathroom and Max shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘I should be getting home too.’
He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay, talk with her, avoid that miserable cottage and the overwhelming feeling of despair that lived there.
Jenni stifled a yawn and nodded. ‘Thanks for coming over. I hope Hank and Celia can join us next time.’
She planned to invite him back? He might actually find friends here, belong with good, moral people who did the right thing. Not like the old crowd in Berlin, who laughed and joked about piano wire and kicking and beating someone to death in the street.
How he had let Ilsa draw him into that world showed just how much moral fortitude he lacked.
‘Professor? Are you all right? You look almost angry.’
He drew up short. ‘My apologies, Mrs Fields.’
She held up a hand. ‘Please, call me Jenni.’
He hadn’t expected that, and he smiled. ‘Very well. I was just thinking of Berlin, and how it used to be filled with good people like you and the Drapers.’
‘Used to be?’
‘I suppose there are still people like that there. But they are silent, too afraid to speak up, stand up for those who can no longer defend themselves.’
‘I always wondered how they let ol’ scramble brains into power,’ Jenni replied. ‘As a history professor, maybe you have a theory.’
When she couldn’t hold back another yawn, he reached over to turn off the lamp. ‘Perhaps we can discuss it another time. It’s late.’
‘I’ll get your things.’
After she left the room, he stood, his knee accidentally bumping into the coffee table and knocking off a pile of papers. He picked them up and noticed the typewritten words and pencil scrawls, and although he knew he shouldn’t pry, he couldn’t help but start reading.
It was a short story and though he rarely read fiction, he recognized good writing when he saw it. He became so engrossed in reading it that he didn’t notice that Marty had wandered back into the room until the boy’s loud yawn roused him from the page.
‘Time for bed, then?’ Max asked.
Marty nodded and held out his hand. Surprised, Max shook it.
‘Thank you for coming, professor,’ he said.
‘It was my pleasure. But you must call me Max.’
‘Okay. Next time you come, I’ll show you my Captain America comics. Would you like that?’
‘Very much.’
‘Swell.’ He yawned again. ‘G’night.’
Jenni came back and handed Max his coat. ‘Wait while I put him to bed, will you?’
He shrugged on his coat and tied the scarf around his neck, then pulled on his gloves. He wasn’t looking forward to the walk home, even if it was only a few blocks. He couldn’t remember Nebraska winters ever being this cold in all the time he’d lived here. Of course, he’d never lived a winter under threat of being thrown out on the street before. Perhaps the chill bit deeper because of it.
The story he’d been reading niggled at his brain, and he picked the pages back up. He’d never pegged Jenni as a writer. Weren’t they all rather quiet, keeping to themselves while they spun tales in their head? If anything, Jenni was the exact opposite: outspoken and vibrant and lively.
He looked up as Jenni reappeared and began tidying the living room.
‘Well, I don’t think it’ll take him long to fall asleep,’ she said. ‘I let him stay up late on Mondays to listen to Sherlock Holmes. It’s his favourite programme. Hank and Celia and I always make a little friendly bet as to who the villain is. Whoever loses has to bring dessert the next time.’
‘I take it you lost last week?’
Jenni laughed. ‘I did, as a matter of fact.’
‘Since I am new to the game, I’ll bring dessert next week, if that is all right with you.’
She regarded him, and even though dark circles of fatigue ringed her eyes and a few flakes of pie crust clung to her dark curls, to him she looked beautiful.
‘That would be swell,’ she said finally. Her gaze dropped to his hand where he held the story and she blanched.
‘What… what are you doing with that?’
She sounded accusing and he immediately thrust the papers at her. ‘They fell on the floor. I didn’t mean to pry.’
Jenni took the pages and cradled them to her chest. ‘Did you read it?’
That she feared his response astonished him, and he rushed to reassure her. ‘A few pages.’ When she remained silent, he asked quietly, ‘Did you write it?’
She nodded. ‘It’s… a hobby of mine.’
But Max knew by the way she clutched the papers, by the anxiety in her expression, that this was not a hobby; it was her passion, one nurtured only by a fervent belief in herself. The same type of passion had driven him to study history, to somehow understand the patterns of the past. When Max had decided to pursue history instead of learning the ins and outs of the family’s department store, his father had disapproved, viewing it almost as a personal insult.
He owed Jenni something for helping him, even if it was simply some encouragement.
‘It’s quite good,’ Max murmured. ‘In fact, if you would permit me, I’d like to read the rest of it.’
Jenni eyed him warily, and then her shoulders relaxed. She gave him a tentative smile. ‘Truly?
He smiled back. ‘Truly.’
‘Well then.’ She handed the story back to him. ‘I’d love to know what you think. Especially the ending.’
That she was entrusting him with her creative work humbled him. ‘I will give you my honest opinion.’
‘Good.’ The spark returned to her eyes. ‘Empty compliments won’t help me get it published.’
In that moment, Max felt the connection between them, a fragile thread right now, one that would need tending, but a connection all the same. He swore to himself to care for it, to make it stronger.
They’d come a long way from that first awkward meeting, and he dared to hope that he might at last have made a friend.
He put on his hat and pulled the brim low, knowing how cold that wind would be on his face, especially after he left the warmth of this cosy home. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening and for the great privilege of reading your work. I look forward to it.’
‘I hope you enjoy it. And I’m glad you came tonight.’
‘Yes. It was nice to not think about the diary and the rest of my troubles for a few hours.’
Pain twisted her lips. She hugged herself and stared at the gold star flag hanging in the window. ‘Yes. It’s good not to have to think about your problems for even a short time, isn’t it?’
Silence engulfed them, and Max wished he could break it with something other than awkward words she must have heard a million times before. But there was nothing else
to say.
‘It must be very hard to lose someone you love so much.’
‘It is. But there are worse things.’
Stunned by her frank admission, Max wanted to probe deeper. What things could she be referring to? But it was none of his business. He could tell by the set of her shoulders, her body turned from him, that she couldn’t – wouldn’t – share. She would undoubtedly hold it inside, just as he did.
‘Goodnight, Jenni.’
She didn’t look back at him. ‘Goodnight, Max.’
He slipped out of the door and the icy wind sliced into him. As he walked, a car drove towards him, headlights bright. The four-door Chevy slowed and Max ducked further into his coat, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t recognize him.
But, of course, that was wishful thinking on his part, for as the car passed under the streetlight, the strong jaw of Special Agent Williams emerged, cigarette dangling from his lips. He gave Max a wry smile and a nod, then drove off.
The agent’s simple gesture robbed Max of the warmth he’d felt only a few minutes ago, within that small living room, cocooned from the outside world. Reality was a bitter, harsh mistress, cold and unforgiving. He had been coaxed into believing life was not so very terrible, that a light beckoned at the end of the tunnel, only to cruelly be reminded that happy endings did not exist.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The phone jangled her awake at 6 a.m. Only one person ever called her this early.
‘Hello, Mom,’ Jenni said, scrubbing her eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’ve had a call from Mrs Grayson.’
Ah, crumbs! She’d just known Mabel would be watching last night.
‘And what news does she bring you today?’
‘That professor was at your house last night.’
Jenni puffed a pillow behind her and sat up. Might as well make herself comfortable. No telling how long this would take.
‘He sure was. Is that a problem?’
An indignant huff blasted through the earpiece. ‘You know it is! You are a widow with a small child and should not be entertaining strange men in your home. It just isn’t done.’
This Victorian sensibility really needed to stop. As she listened to Virginia Lund rant about propriety and protecting her reputation, Jenni glared through her bedroom window at Mabel’s brick house. She wasn’t even surprised that uppity dame had called her mother. It was more surprising that Mom had waited until early this morning to call instead of late last night.
When her mother paused her rant to take a breath, Jenni cut in. ‘Every Monday night, I have Hank and Celia come over to listen to Sherlock Holmes. Celia invited the professor. But Hank got sick, so he and Celia didn’t come.’
‘Then you should have sent the professor home.’
‘Absolutely not. I’m not going to be rude to the man. Everyone else in this town is doing a good enough job of that as it is.’
Virginia sighed. ‘Of course you don’t want to be rude. But I’m sure he would have understood if you’d told him the reason.’
‘And what would that reason be? “By the way, professor, you have to leave so that my mother won’t be calling me tomorrow morning to tell me what a bad person I am?” ’
‘I never said that.’
‘You’re implying it.’
‘You’re being childish,’ Virginia snapped, ‘and I have no time for childishness this morning. I have to go help your father. Think about how this will reflect on Marty. That’s all I’m going to say on the subject. Goodbye.’
Instead of slamming the phone on the cradle liked she wanted to, Jenni carefully hung it up. Think about how this will reflect on Marty.
She certainly didn’t need to worry about how Max visiting for the evening would influence Marty. Indeed, Max’s presence had been nothing but positive. But she did need to worry about how this pregnancy would impact him.
Jenni put her hands over her slightly bulging stomach, rubbing circles around it. She couldn’t wait until she could feel the tiny feet pressing against her skin, or when he or she began rolling around doing somersaults.
But the accompanying black looks, whispered conversations and open snubs she’d get from the Meadow Hills residents would dim her happiness. Marty’s reaction might be even worse. He may not know much about the birds and the bees, but he would eventually figure out that the baby had a different father. And then what? How could she explain the horrible mistake she’d made?
There was no more time to put it off. She had to start making a plan to leave by the end of next month, before she could no longer disguise her condition. Already she’d have to do some creative dressing to avert suspicion, especially since grieving widows normally didn’t gain weight.
Where would she go, though? Not Lincoln or Omaha. She could head east, go to Chicago or New York and work at a publishing house like Celia had.
Celia! Maybe she could get her a job with the contacts she had in New York. Worth a shot at least.
If Mom ever found out about her only daughter’s infidelity, Jenni could expect a tongue-lashing to rival the one she’d received when she and Danny had eloped. Good gravy. She didn’t even want to imagine.
In some ways, she felt like Hester from The Scarlet Letter.
The clock now said 6.30 and she threw the covers off, shivering in the cold. First things first. She needed a job. She’d ask Celia for help, then go from there.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself not to think of it now, not when she had to get Marty up and ready for school; not when she had to go to work and put a smile on her face for all the tourists.
But most especially, not when she thought of how Max had looked at her last night with such longing in his eyes. It hadn’t been for sex or anything so base, but for permanence, comfort and family. He wanted it badly, and she was getting ready to leave it all behind.
* * *
Being useful again felt good. Idleness was the devil’s own handiwork, or so Oma had told him. He’d learned early never to admit to boredom when at Oma and Opa’s house. Oma always found things for him to do. His family may have reached the heights of success and lived in a luxurious home in Stuttgart, but Oma didn’t care. She’d make him sweep floors and scrub laundry.
In that way, Celia Draper could compete with Oma. Her fix-it list had doubled since he’d started working at the museum a week ago, and he had to thank God his grandparents had, despite his penchant for intellectualism, forced him to learn all manner of basic skills from carpentry to plumbing to cleaning.
Max shifted his position on the ladder and carefully sanded the dried plaster on the crack he’d fixed yesterday. Staying focused shouldn’t be hard since Jenni’s tour group had already passed by ten minutes earlier. She’d given him a wink when no one was looking; he’d almost fallen off the ladder.
The days had taken on a pleasant routine, and the darkness that constantly engulfed him had receded enough to make getting out of bed in the morning easier. He no longer dreaded the daylight. He also didn’t crave cigarettes quite so badly. Perhaps it was seeing Jenni every day. She would often stop by wherever he was working to regale him with stories of the tourists. Through elaborate gestures and voice imitations, she would have him in such stitches that her visits became the highlight of his day.
But when he returned to the cottage each night, shadows invariably awaited. A few days ago, he’d found a note taped to the front door warning him to watch his back or else. He’d crumpled it up and thrown it in the trash. He’d told no one. What good would it do? But he avoided the downtown area as much as possible. Celia had told him they’d removed the graffiti, but Max knew it wouldn’t be so easily forgotten.
A slight scraping noise made him turn and he spotted Georgie ducking through a doorway. He might have won over Jenni and Celia, but Georgie was another matter.
Georgie, though, served as a reminder of Kooky’s warning: This is far from over.
And if he allowed himself to think of it, he knew he was only bidin
g his time, waiting for the next calamity to come barrelling down the hill towards him. Naturally, no one had been apprehended in connection with the vandalism downtown. No one ever would. They’d actually have to search for the culprit instead of steadily watching and waiting for Max to trip up.
Towards the end of the day, after the museum had closed, Max was just finishing up another patching job near the ceiling in one of the bedrooms when he heard heels clicking in the hallway behind him. He recognized Jenni’s quick steps and looked down to see her coming towards him with a mischievous smile.
‘Have I got a treat for you, mister!’ she said, holding onto the ladder and beaming up at him. ‘You’ve got to come and see.’
‘I’m almost finished.’
She waved her hand. ‘That can wait.’
They climbed the stairs to the attic door, and Max followed her in, already smelling the musty stench prevalent in nearly every attic the world over. Dust motes floated languidly in the light from the smudged attic windows and his nose tickled. He sneezed, surprised to hear Jenni say, ‘Gesundheit!’
‘Careful,’ he said in a mock whisper. ‘Victor might put out a warrant for your arrest.’
She laughed. ‘Let him try.’
He shivered at the chilly air, but Jenni didn’t seem to mind it, moving quickly through the cluttered space filled with wooden boxes, battered old trunks, dust-covered furniture and a whole assortment of odds and ends. He tried to focus on his footing instead of on the way her hips moved against her polka dot dress as she twisted her way through the maze – and utterly failed.
Spending this much time around Jenni perhaps wasn’t the best idea.
She stopped in front of several trunks, the name DIETRICH STANWICK embossed on top of them all. A tremor slid through him. Just what had she found?
‘Yesterday, Celia told me she wanted to put up an exhibit on Dietrich,’ Jenni said, ‘so I came up here to see if there was anything we could use.’ She opened the trunk’s lid to reveal neatly stacked piles of clothing. ‘All the trunks look the same on top. Folded clothes. And then I thought, did Dietrich Stanwick really have four trunks full of clothes? Did his mother keep them all?’ She began to remove some shirts. ‘But then curiosity got the better of me.’
The Stranger From Berlin Page 13
