‘This is preposterous!’ Lowe shouted, fury etched into the lines of his face. ‘Why should we believe this woman who we all know has taken sides with this German? She is trying to trick you to save him!’
Max saw confusion ripple through the crowd. The police officer standing on the other side of him began to back away as if unsure where his loyalties lay.
‘We all know he took the diary!’ Lowe continued. ‘We all know that he vandalized the town. Are you going to listen to this… this whore of Babylon? She is carrying another man’s child, conceived in sin while her husband was off fighting for this great nation!’
Jenni opened her mouth to speak but Pete Mitchell shook his head. ‘No, Mrs Fields,’ he said. ‘It’s time I confessed.’
Pete cleared his throat and addressed the crowd. ‘I took the diary.’ He held it up. ‘I wanted to find proof that my pop was telling the truth. And I saw Mayor Lowe vandalize the town. It was him all along. He wanted you all to blame the professor here. But the professor is innocent. It’s Lowe who tricked you. Lowe is the one who is guilty.’
With those words ringing across the square, a shocked silence blanketed the crowd, but Lowe only laughed.
‘You have no evidence! Do you dare to slander me?’
Suddenly, wailing sirens broke the stillness, and the crowd turned as one to watch as three police cars, led by a black sedan, pulled up. Max’s eyes widened when he saw Special Agent Williams, along with Kooky, step from the black sedan. What on earth were those two doing here, together? But did it matter? Williams would surely put a stop to this folly and take him to jail.
At least he hoped so.
The crowd parted to make room for Williams, and he began climbing the courthouse steps, flanked on either side by six agents, their guns drawn. Williams’s gaze fixed on Max.
‘Looks like you got yourself into some trouble, professor,’ Williams said. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised.’
Before Max could respond, Williams turned to Lowe. ‘Mayor Lowe, care to explain why you planted evidence of vandalism in the professor’s house? And don’t bother to deny it. We’ve got witnesses.’
Jenni clutched Max’s arm, and for a blissful moment, he thought it would be all right. They had their culprit, the author of all their ills. Max could dare to hope for a future now, a future that might include Jenni—
But in the next instant, everything changed.
Lowe snaked his arm around Max’s neck and yanked him against him, thrusting a pistol under his chin. ‘Stay back!’
‘Max!’ Jenni cried. People in the crowd gasped, and some shrieked in terror.
Williams scowled and held out his hands. ‘Take it easy, Lowe. No one has to get hurt here.’
The cold pistol dug into Max’s flesh, but he kept his eyes locked on Jenni’s. As long as she was safe, as long as she made it out of this alive, that was all that mattered.
Quick footsteps sounded and Max saw a woman hurrying towards them, the amber locket at her throat glinting under the lights. Mrs Macintosh.
He heard Lowe’s indrawn breath. ‘Grace! What are you doing?’
‘Evan,’ Mrs Macintosh said, approaching him as one would a frightened doe, ‘please. You have to stop now. I told the police about the letter from Phillip Janssen. They know about Dietrich. They know, Evan.’
‘You told them? How could you?’
Max heard the agony of betrayal in Lowe’s voice, but his mind was whirling. Lowe had known about his son fighting for Germany during the Great War?
He could almost feel the war taking place inside Lowe: the muscles tensing, his breathing rapid, as he fought to accept his sister’s treachery. Yet the gun continued to dig into Max’s chin. One wrong move and he would get a bullet through his brain.
‘I didn’t mean to kill him, Grace,’ Lowe said in an anguished voice. ‘It was an accident. I swear.’
‘I know,’ Mrs Macintosh said. ‘I know, Evan. It’s all right. It will be all right.’
‘No,’ Lowe said. ‘It won’t be, Grace.’
Lowe shoved Max away from him and Max stumbled to his knees. Then, a single shot. Max froze, waited to feel the pain. But there wasn’t any, just a steady throbbing in his head. He turned then, and saw Lowe, crumpled on the ground beside him, his lifeless eyes staring at the sky.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Not once did Jenni ever think she’d step foot inside the Macintoshes’ house. Yet here she sat beside Max on a beautiful white chaise longue in Grace Macintosh’s sitting room. Max slumped beside her, weary with the events of the last few days, and neither sought to conceal their clasped hands. No more secrets, no more hiding.
Mrs Macintosh, dressed in a high-necked black dress, clutched a handkerchief, though she did not shed any tears. Her husband stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder, and Kooky and Special Agent Williams occupied the other chaise longue. An interesting and rather motley group that would normally never share a room. Yet they would always have a connection now.
‘I know it is difficult, Grace,’ Kooky said, ‘but perhaps you should tell Mr Koenig why you broke into his cottage and stole the letter.’
Mrs Macintosh nodded, dabbed her handkerchief at her nose, and sought her husband’s hand. ‘Yes, of course.’ She turned to Max. ‘I must apologize to you, Mr Koenig. What I told you about my nephew reading Dietrich’s books was true. They indeed brought back painful memories. But I found Phillip Janssen’s letter in one of them years ago. The night Dietrich confronted Evan, he said he’d put the letter in a safe place. It wasn’t until after Tallulah’s death that I discovered it in the book and I decided to keep it there. But when you moved the books from the attic, well, I worried you might find it. I had to make sure that didn’t happen, otherwise you would know about my nephew, and perhaps use it against Evan.’
Beside her, Max tensed. ‘I’d found the letter before I visited you last week. I never had any intention of using it against the mayor.’
‘I – I know that now. But at the time, my only thought was to protect my brother.’
‘But why try to hurt my dog?’
Here Mr Macintosh spoke up. ‘We never wanted to hurt your dog, please believe me. She raised such a noise that we knew we had to get her out of the house. I tried grabbing her by the collar, but she pulled out of it to escape, and she ran out the back screen door. She must have been injured in the bushes or weeds.’
Jenni wanted to doubt him, but she’d never known Mr Macintosh to lie. At least they’d not deliberately harmed Katya. It was something. But one question kept tickling at her brain.
‘But why keep the letter hidden?’ Jenni asked. ‘Why not destroy it in the first place?’
‘I didn’t feel it was my place to do so. It felt… wrong, somehow.’
That raised Jenni’s ire, but she tried to remain calm. ‘But you and the board actively tried to keep Dietrich out of the museum. I don’t understand the reasoning behind such a decision.’
Mrs Macintosh sighed. ‘Dietrich was a sad reminder of that night. We didn’t want to have any mention of the tragedy in the museum.’
‘Despite it being one of the main reasons Tallulah decided to start writing novels? To uncover the mystery of why her son died the way he did.’
Mr Macintosh’s eyebrows shot up while Mrs Macintosh gaped at Jenni. ‘We had no idea,’ Mrs Macintosh said.
Kooky spoke up. ‘Understandable, Grace. I hope, however, that you will consider changing your mind and allowing the museum to proceed with their new exhibit on Dietrich.’
‘Actually,’ Mrs Macintosh said, ‘we are resigning from the board, effective immediately.’
Jenni tried to contain her relief, but oh, wouldn’t this make Celia’s job that much easier! She planned to recommend the Janssens as their replacements, considering they’d known Tallulah personally and undoubtedly knew much more about the woman than anyone in this room, save Kooky.
At this juncture, Special Agent Williams, who’d been scribbling in his noteb
ook, licked his finger and turned to a fresh page. ‘Mrs Macintosh, please describe to me what happened after your brother went to confront Dietrich Stanwick.’
‘Of course. The night of the Oktoberfest, Dietrich told Evan he wished to discuss something with him. Evan went to Dietrich’s office at the church, and Dietrich told him about the letter and what his son had done.’
Mrs Macintosh’s voice hitched on a sob, and for the first time since the entire fiasco started, Jenni actually felt sorry for the woman. Her twin brother dead and responsible for another man’s death, her nephew a traitor to his country, her own sordid role in it all. Why, she wouldn’t be surprised if the couple decided to leave town after this.
‘And what had Mr Lowe’s son done?’ Williams prodded.
After taking a sip of water, Mrs Macintosh gathered her composure. ‘He initially joined the French in their fight against Germany, but deserted to join the Germans instead. He… he was a traitor to the United States.’
‘How did your brother, Mr Lowe, take this news?’
‘He refused to believe it at first, but he knew it was the truth. Benjamin loved studying Prussia, and his visits to his grandparents in Berlin only strengthened that admiration. Benjamin often talked to me about it, and I also know how bitterly he and his father fought over it. Such horrible things they said to each other.’ Another pause and tears gathered in Mrs Macintosh’s eyes. ‘Evan said he went crazy with guilt and shame, and argued with Dietrich. He demanded to see the letter, and when Dietrich refused, Evan took a statue off the desk and hit him over the head. He killed him instantly. Evan panicked, of course, and he decided to set a fire to cover up the crime.’
Stunned silence greeted her comment, the only sound Williams’s pencil scratching on the pages. Max squeezed Jenni’s hand, and she squeezed back. Finally, they all knew the whole horrible truth.
‘Pete Mitchell said Lowe hired the men from Lincoln to come and harass the church congregation,’ Williams said. ‘Can you tell me why he would do that?’
‘He hated anything to do with Germany. My sister-in-law, Evan’s wife, was from a very noble Prussian aristocratic family, with a long military tradition. She took the children to visit Germany several times, but Evan refused to accompany them. Henrietta’s father disapproved of him. He saw Evan as a lowly Irishman, despite our father having made a fortune on the railroad. Benjamin, however, loved his Prussian grandfather, and he, too, began to see Evan as not worthy of the family.’ She dabbed at her eyes and then sighed. ‘I suspect it stemmed from that.’
Jenni tried to wrap her head around Lowe lashing out at an entire community and culture simply due to his own rejection. The wounds must have run deep, cracking open his soul and allowing hate and fear to eclipse the good inside him. But oh, how he must have hurt too, to be viewed as less than by his son because of his Irish heritage. A vicious, deadly circle of vengeance ending in tragedy for everyone involved.
‘But why did he think Max stole the diary?’
‘He was terrified Dietrich had told his mother about the letter and then she had written about it in her diary. Can you imagine if the whole town found out his son, whom he’d held up on a pedestal as a patriotic hero, had died fighting for Germany? He’d lose everything. And if the professor knew this information, he could have used it to destroy him.’
‘And why frame Max for the vandalism?’
‘To intimidate him, I suppose. Throw suspicion on him for being a German and get him arrested. He held so much animosity for the German people.’ She turned to Max. ‘I – I want you to know I didn’t share Evan’s views. I do not think you are a bad person, professor.’
Max inclined his head. ‘Thank you.’
‘Evan… he was a deeply unhappy man. He directed all his unhappiness and despair toward hating other people. I – I should have done more to help him.’
After unburdening herself, Mrs Macintosh quietly sobbed, and Jenni couldn’t stand to see her in so much pain. She stood up and crossed the room, ignoring Max’s shocked expression, and knelt beside Mrs Macintosh’s chair.
‘Grace,’ she said, ‘I’m so sorry, for the loss of your nephew and of your brother, and for the secrets you’ve carried all these years. It must have been so hard.’
Mrs Macintosh abruptly bit back her tears and gaped at Jenni. ‘Th-thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Jenni started to get to her feet, but then found Max at her side, his hand at her elbow to help her stand. The way he was looking at her nearly made her knees give way, and somewhere, beyond the noise and confusion hammering at her brain, the thought popped into her head that maybe, just maybe, she might be falling in love with this man.
‘Mrs Macintosh, I too would like to offer you my sympathies,’ Max said, putting his arm around Jenni. ‘It must be very painful for you to lose your twin brother.’
‘But… but why are you apologizing to me?’ Mrs Macintosh spluttered. ‘I don’t deserve it. Look at how I treated you and… and your poor dog…’
‘Because I know what it is like to lose the people you love, and to live with secrets. And because if we are ever to get over our differences, we need to start talking to each other. I won’t be pressing any charges.’
His words shocked not only Mrs Macintosh, but everyone else in the room. Mr Macintosh opened his mouth several times and shut it again, obviously at a loss for words, while Kooky shook his head in something like amazement. Williams actually stopped writing in his notepad and stared at Max.
A knot of tension formed in Jenni’s stomach. Max had one more secret to tell. Was she ready to hear it?
The Meadow Hills Gazette
February 23, 1944
Editorial: We Can and Must Do Better
By Avery Boon
Twenty-six years ago, the town of Meadow Hills, what used to be called Schoneberg, underwent a horrible tragedy because of fear and hatred. We have long borne the scars of that night, and have taken great pains to forget it. We have outlawed a culture and, indeed, any culture that is not American. Yet what is an American? We are people of many lands and ethnicities and identities.
We have done a grave injustice to a man. We found him guilty before knowing the facts, and judged him based upon his ethnicity. Have we not learned from the past? Indeed, are we learning nothing from the present war we are engaged in? For if ordinary people like us can so easily become inflamed with hatred, is it then so difficult to accept the horror stories we hear coming out of Occupied Europe?
We have much to atone for. And for this, I issue a public apology to Professor Max Koenig, a man wrongly accused. We are sorry for the way we treated you.
It is the very height of irony to realize that our very own Mayor Lowe, the man we thought had delivered us from our fears, is the one who instigated them. Mayor Lowe was responsible for orchestrating those terrible events at St Luke’s Lutheran Church on that night so long ago.
How could we have been so blind, to put all of our faith in such a man? We must all pause and reflect on this terrible truth and shoulder responsibility for our actions. We must remember that our leaders are not gods; they are only men and subject to the same infallibilities as us all. If there is one thing we as Americans must remember, it is to never forget that our public officials are our employees. We elect them to their positions and we must hold them accountable. But we must also hold ourselves accountable. As last week’s events showed us, we are not immune from the mob mentality. Have we learned nothing from the Hitlers and Hirohitos and Mussolinis of the world?
The war in Europe and the Pacific has taught us this inescapable truth. As a Republic, it is our duty to ensure our democracy remains vibrant and alive.
As our town heals from the recent events, we must continue to look towards the future; but we should never forget our past.
‘Wow,’ Jenni said, folding the newspaper and putting it on the coffee table. ‘That was quite the apology. I’m glad Avery wrote it, though.’
‘Y
es, indeed,’ Max said. ‘And I’ve had several people approach me to offer their apologies. Quite extraordinary. Agent Williams told me Lowe forced Chief Thompson to say they’d found the paint and posters at the cottage but it was all a lie. I guess our appearance at the dance triggered something in Lowe.’
Jenni rolled her eyes. ‘Goodness. Well, I did want to send a message, but definitely not that one!’
They sat in the sitting room of Rose Cottage, made warm and inviting by the crackling fire. A Beethoven symphony quietly played on Max’s record player, the sound broken occasionally by Marty’s laughter outside as he and Katya romped in the newly fallen snow.
All so… normal. Thank God.
Jenni watched fondly as Max turned another page in Tallulah’s diary, his black hair mussed, two days’ beard growth on his cheeks, an unlit cigarette clenched between his teeth. He’d been obsessed with trying to find out if Tallulah had mentioned the phone call with Frank Mitchell. So far, he’d found nothing.
‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ Max said, glancing at her. ‘Bruce called me this morning. They tracked down Professor Goldberg.’
‘Really? Where?’
‘In the United States Army. He went and joined without telling anyone.’ Max laughed. ‘I confess, I am glad to hear it.’
‘At least you know now that he had nothing to do with everything that happened here. Except, who made that phone call to me?’
‘I imagine it was Goldberg. Apparently Lowe called the university as soon as he heard I was coming here. Bruce said Goldberg was the one who gave him Agent Williams’s number.’
After everything they’d gone through, Jenni didn’t think she still had the capacity to be astonished.
‘So in a sense, Goldberg was responsible for some of it.’
‘I suppose so, in a roundabout way.’ He fiddled with the cigarette, his gaze distant. ‘Though I still have a hard time accepting what Lowe did.’
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