The Stranger From Berlin

by Melissa Amateis

  ‘If it helps any,’ her father said, cutting into the silence, ‘I don’t think the professor is guilty of anything going on in this town. Someone was looking for a scapegoat, and when he came here, they found it.’

  ‘A scapegoat for what?’

  He shrugged. ‘Plenty of folks were angry after the fire. They were Germans but they couldn’t be Germans anymore, even after the war was over. Can you imagine not speaking your language or having to change your last name because people thought you might be traitors? Lots of resentment there.’

  ‘You and Mom didn’t have to go through anything, did you?’

  ‘No.’ He stretched his legs out in front of him and folded his arms over his chest. ‘People around here didn’t pay too much attention to your mother being German since she was married to me. And no one much bothers with us Swedes. Though I wish Sweden hadn’t decided to remain neutral in this war. If I were younger, I’d be marching right into Berlin with the rest of our boys.’

  Jenni remembered the conversation she’d had with Max that first day about Berlin. Would there be anything left after it was all said and done? Would he be able to go home? Did he want to go home? The thought of never seeing him again made her heart hurt.

  ‘I just wish I knew how Mrs Stanwick’s diary figured into all of this.’

  ‘Mrs Stanwick was proud of her German heritage. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wrote some unflattering things about people in town. Not something you’d exactly want published for all to see.’

  ‘I suppose not. But is that enough reason to steal it?’

  ‘It would be if your reputation is important enough to you.’

  Which threw the door wide open for suspects. How could they possibly find out who took it? It was hopeless.

  ‘Have you figured out what to do yet?’ her father asked.

  Jenni nodded. ‘I’m going to stand beside him. No one else will.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’

  ‘How can I refuse to help him after everything he’s done for me? How can I let him go it alone?’

  ‘It was his choice to make.’

  ‘He’s just trying to protect me, Dad.’

  ‘And I’m grateful to him for that.’

  ‘But don’t you see? He has no one on his side. No one. I’ve got to help him.’

  Erik angled his head to look down at her. ‘Honey, I’ve always been proud of you for standing up for yourself and for doing what you thought best with your life. But…’

  Jenni clenched her hands. ‘I knew that was coming.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got to say it. You’re outspoken and opinionated and a lot of folks in this town don’t like that. You’ve made some bad choices in the past, like we all have, only…’ Here he smiled and she knew it was to soften the blow of his next words. ‘Only you are rather public with your bad choices.’

  Jenni thought back to how often she’d thumbed her nose at people around her, acting the way she felt was right and not caring what they thought. Very few of those incidents had been justified; most had been born from sheer stubbornness and stupidity.

  She had to count Rafe in the latter category.

  Her father gently tapped her head with his knuckles. ‘You’ve got a head as hard as a bull’s, you know that? That’s caused you some grief in the past and it’s taken a while for you to learn a few lessons.’

  He was right. All of it.

  She leaned her head on her father’s shoulder. ‘You always have a way of making me understand without me wanting to lash back like I do with Mom.’

  Erik chuckled. ‘Where do you think you get that hard head of yours? You and your mother are more alike than you think.’

  Though it would be better to dismiss that thought immediately, she knew it was true.

  ‘But I think you probably inherited my charm,’ Erik joked.

  Jenni laughed. ‘Not a bad thing to inherit.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ He turned serious again. ‘Now, about this German fellow. I can’t in good conscience tell you to stand beside him. It’s noble, but you don’t want to put yourself or the baby in danger. He has my thanks for taking himself away from you.’

  Jenni crumpled his handkerchief in her hands. She remembered the agony on Max’s face when he’d told her he’d done nothing to help those people in Germany. How could she now do the same to him?

  ‘Sometimes staying safe is the most selfish thing you can do,’ she said.

  ‘Now wait a minute. It’s not selfish to keep your baby safe.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ she conceded, ‘and I don’t plan on doing anything stupid. But I can’t just sit by while Max goes through all of this. If a person doesn’t stand up for what’s right, then that’s how the Hitlers of the world get into power, and that’s how people die.’

  He regarded her for a moment, then said, ‘You truly believe he’s innocent in all of this, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  And it was true. Yes, he’d made mistakes; yes, he still carried that guilt. But who else was better able to understand all of that than her?

  Erik sighed and stood. ‘I know I can’t stop you. But as your father, I can tell you to be careful.’

  ‘I will.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m proud of you, Jenni.’

  Jenni threw her arms around him and whispered, ‘Thanks, Daddy.’

  * * *

  The tiny room off the kitchen in Kooky’s cottage barely had room for a bed and a dresser. Just as well, considering Max had little to store. That first night, after burning the photo of Ilsa and her friends, Max had crawled into bed and let Katya sleep beside him. He unashamedly had wrapped his arms around her warm, soft fur, needing her solid security. The next morning, he’d heard Kooky up and around just after dawn broke, but he couldn’t make himself get out of bed.

  Leaving Jenni was the right thing to do, certainly, but he could never have imagined the emotional cost. It hurt to breathe. It even hurt to think.

  Jenni had brought him back to life. Melodramatic, perhaps, but in this case, it was the truth. Because of her, he’d approached something akin to happiness again. And how long had it been since he’d felt anything close to joy? Before he met Ilsa. Years ago. Years.

  Max stared at the family picture he’d put on the dresser. It had been taken the day Max matriculated from the university at Stuttgart. Mutter’s oyster pearls around her thick neck; Vater’s wire-rimmed spectacles planted on the tip of his nose; Max smiling in his freshly pressed brown suit; dark-haired Trudy flaunting her best floral frock. He missed them with such fierceness he could hardly stand it.

  His parents had celebrated their wedding anniversary in the spring of 1938, the last time they’d all been together. Ilsa had refused Max’s invitation, and when he arrived in Stuttgart, he was glad, no, relieved, she’d decided not to come. Because over that weekend, surrounded by family and friends, he’d understood how completely he’d fallen away from his morality. After he’d nearly knocked over the punch bowl at the reception and cheered a little too loudly during the toasts to Vater and Mutter, Trudy had cornered him.

  ‘You are lost,’ she’d told him. And he hadn’t known if she’d meant he was lost to their family, lost in a haze of alcohol, lost in this bizarre new world of Nazis and black boots and ‘Heil Hitlers!’ or lost in immorality and self-pity.

  Now, he thought, staring at the photo, he realized it had been all of those things. His sweet baby sister had seen through his façade, his assurances that he was fine, that Ilsa, whom she’d never met, was getting closer and closer to saying yes to his marriage proposals, that yes, his research into Napoleon’s impact on Prussia was going splendidly.

  Lies, all lies.

  ‘You were right, Trudy,’ he whispered. ‘You were right.’

  * * *

  For perhaps the first time in her life, Jenni decided to wait before speaking to Max. Dad had suggested it, perhaps in the hope that she might reconsider her decision. Nevertheless, Jenni followed
his advice.

  For two days, she worked at the museum and stayed busy, turning the problem around in her mind, examining it from every possible angle. She didn’t ask for anyone else’s opinion or advice because everyone thought Max guilty. That snide little voice inside her sarcastically intoned that perhaps there was a reason they all thought him guilty, but she paid it no attention. She even stopped by the police station and politely asked Chief Thompson, again, to search for the mysterious museum visitor she’d spotted leaving the cottage and gave him Goldberg’s name. Thompson refused, and instead of lashing out at him, she flashed him a brilliant smile and encouraged him to at least think about it. Small steps.

  After the police station, she visited the library and asked to look through all the newspapers from 1918 through 1920. Except for one article, she didn’t find anything on the Oktoberfest fire. Nor any news coverage on the law that had banned speaking German, Wolfgang Wagner’s defunct German-language newspaper, or even an article on the town being renamed Meadow Hills. The Schoneberg Gazette masthead simply changed to The Meadow Hills Gazette with no explanation.

  And even though Celia thought her crazy, Jenni phoned Mr Macintosh, Josephine Harris and Rosamond Miller to ask them why they didn’t want the diary translated. Each one said the same thing: the past needed to remain the past.

  Never in her life had she witnessed something like this. This town and its citizens had chosen to completely forget the events of that night in 1918 and the days and months afterwards. With no one willing to talk, Jenni could almost believe that Mayor Lowe had made them all sign an agreement to keep their mouths buttoned.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll ever find out the truth,’ Celia told her.

  ‘Oh, I will,’ Jenni replied. ‘They want to talk. They’re just too afraid. They need something to shake them up.’

  Celia briefly closed her eyes. ‘Please tell me you aren’t going to do anything stupid, Jenni.’

  Jenni winked. ‘You never know.’

  Privately, however, she didn’t know what to do. But she refused to give up.

  Tony called Tuesday evening. They’d taken Sue to a sanitarium in Lincoln for further treatment. Jenni was glad she’d be getting the care she needed, but couldn’t help feeling partly responsible for the whole sad situation.

  When she drove downtown on Wednesday afternoon to get a Valentine’s Day card and candy for Marty, she braced herself for the onslaught of sideways glances and outright snubs. Not for one second did she believe that Tony and Sue hadn’t spread the news of their daughter-in-law’s little secret to the hospital staff. After all, their son, a hero by all accounts, had been humiliated. And who knew how far the gossip had travelled since then?

  When she walked inside, the drugstore hummed with activity as customers bought gifts for the holiday. Pink and red hearts hung from the ceiling and dotted the white plaster walls, and Jenni felt a pang of nostalgia. Danny had always made a big deal out of Valentine’s Day, showering her with chocolate and flowers and candy. It was the one day of the year she saw the old Danny.

  She picked up a little heart container of chocolates, then headed for the cards section and balked. Oh no. Mabel Grayson, her neighbour from across the street, was perusing the stacks, wearing a smart blue suit and hat. The lines on her stockings were perfect, her black hair in silky, brushed-out curls as usual.

  Every time she ran into Mabel, Jenni flashed back to the time on the playground when Mabel had righteously declared that Jenni couldn’t play with her and her friends. Things had only soured from that point on, and though they’d managed mostly to steer clear of each other for the rest of their school years, there’d been a couple of altercations when Jenni had come close to punching out Mabel’s teeth: once, when Mabel tried to flirt with Danny, and the second when Mabel had embarrassed Jenni in front of her English class by calling the story Jenni had written ‘trash’.

  Jenni forced herself to move forward. She picked up a random card and pretended to read, praying Mabel would leave.

  ‘Why, Jenni Fields!’

  Jenni bit back a groan. Sweet sassafras! She pasted a smile on her face and turned. ‘Hello, Mabel.’

  ‘And who are you buying a Valentine for?’ Mabel asked, peeking at the card in Jenni’s hand. ‘Have a special fellow in mind?’

  ‘Yes. My son.’

  ‘Oh.’ Mabel sounded disappointed. ‘I thought maybe it was for that German professor. He’s the bee’s knees, isn’t he?’

  If that didn’t beat all. Leave it to Mabel to throw the truly important issues to the wind and focus on something as shallow as Max’s looks. Max was a dreamboat, sure, but she wouldn’t admit it to Mabel. The dame didn’t need any more ammunition.

  ‘I guess I haven’t really noticed.’ She replaced the card and picked out another one, muscles tensing.

  ‘Now that surprises me.’ An edge of malice tinted Mabel’s tone. ‘You sure noticed that fellow from New Orleans who was here last autumn. Of course, who wouldn’t notice a man like that? My stars, if I wasn’t married, I would have tried to chat him up. You were so lucky, getting to escort him around town like that.’

  Jenni clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached. ‘That was part of my job, to show him around town. He was here for the fall book festival, remember?’

  ‘Of course I remember. Who could forget?’ Mabel put a card in the basket over her arm and then leaned closer to Jenni. ‘I heard you had quite the commotion over at your house the other day.’

  ‘Yes. My mother-in-law wasn’t well.’

  ‘Well, I don’t imagine so, losing her son and well… the other thing.’

  Jenni’s breath caught. If Mabel knew about the pregnancy, then Jenni’s secret had well and truly been revealed. Mabel would have taken great pleasure in sharing it with anyone who would listen, most notably her circle of gossipy friends. ‘What other thing?’

  ‘Why, I heard a nasty rumour is all.’ She stared pointedly at Jenni’s stomach before turning back to the cards.

  So it was going to be like this. Mabel would drag it out for as long as possible, pulling Jenni along, making sure she wallowed in her shame and guilt. Better just to end it now and save herself the hassle. She was too tired to play games, too tired to be used as a toy by this uppity broad.

  Jenni lifted her chin. ‘It’s not a rumour. It’s true. I’m pregnant and it’s not Danny’s. I’m also keeping it. I don’t think you or anyone else can make me feel guiltier than I already do, but I made a mistake, and I admit it. Anything else you’d like to know?’

  Mabel stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment. ‘Why… why, no.’

  ‘Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some more errands to run.’

  Jenni took her card and candy up to the counter and paid for them, pasting the nicest smile she could muster onto her face. Behind her, she heard Mabel talking, and out of the corner of her eye she saw her gesturing to a few other women, her cheeks still stained pink with embarrassment. Well. If the cat hadn’t been out of the bag before, Jenni had just flung it screeching out into the open.

  As she walked out of the store, she felt lighter than she had in months. Not only had she managed to put Mabel Grayson in her place – something she’d wanted to do since the fourth grade – but now she no longer had the burden of hiding her secret.

  There was something to be said for that impetuous nature of hers after all.

  The euphoria quickly faded, however. Now came the real test of her mettle. Maybe she’d better pick up a copy of The Scarlet Letter and get some pointers from Hester.

  Drat. It shouldn’t be like this! Yes, she’d made a mistake. She wasn’t proud of it. But she was still a human being, still deserving of compassion, right? She wasn’t going to hide herself away for the rest of her life. She shouldn’t have to.

  And… neither should Max. He hadn’t done anything in this town to be ashamed of, not like her.

  A red and pink advertisement on the beauty salon window caught her eye, and as she
read it, an idea began to take shape. Before she could change her mind or even think about something as trivial as consequences, Jenni hurried to her car and headed out to the cemetery.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  There was something oddly comforting about taking care of the dead. Perhaps it was because they all got along no matter if they were German, Swedish, Czech or Italian. Side by side, row by row, they existed in silent harmony.

  The living could learn a lesson from that.

  Over the last few days, Max had helped Kooky sweep snow off the graves, kept the paths cleared for visitors and learned to appreciate the wind humming among the stones in a melody both mournful and peaceful. On the first day, he’d been drawn to one grave in particular, a grey granite stone tucked inside a black fence. When he’d discovered it was Dietrich Stanwick’s final resting place, somehow he hadn’t been surprised. Since he’d arrived in Meadow Hills, he’d begun to form a picture of Dietrich and his life. A man of the cloth with a love for great literature, classical music, and the German language, a romantic engaged to marry his high-school sweetheart, a dedicated son and friend. A good, honourable man, snatched from life far too soon.

  So on this Friday afternoon, when many people wished the hours gone so the weekend could begin, it felt fitting that Max worked on Dietrich’s grave, chipping away at the ice and snow that had accumulated around the stone. Beside the granite, a bouquet of dead red roses lay encased in a sheet of ice, beauty suspended for a moment in nature’s canvas. When Max broke the ice, the flowers wilted into wet detritus, their splendour instantly gone.

  Max tossed the bouquet aside. Would Germany would be like those flowers when he returned? He didn’t know when that day would come. But, someday, he’d step foot on German soil again. His beautiful country, wrapped for so long in the red and black band of the swastika, ripped apart by war and defeat, exposing the ugliness, guilt and pain of millions. A country once beautiful, now broken.