The Curator's Daughter

by Melanie Dobson

  Hanna leaned forward again. “She seems to be struggling with some of her words.”

  “She’ll be confused for a while,” Kolman said. “She’s been living in a foster home for the past year, but she comes from a strong family. Her father died in the Wehrmacht.”

  Hanna’s eyes narrowed. “I thought her parents died in a bombing.”

  “The mother’s body was found with Lilly in a bombed house. According to the social worker, she was a notable woman in their community.”

  “Do you know their last name?” she asked again.

  “She’s a Strauss now. That’s all that matters. I know you’ll take good care of her while I’m gone.”

  “You can’t just come and go from this house whenever you please, Kolman. Bringing me children. You need to tell me where you are and when you are coming back.”

  His eyes narrowed. “So you can hide things from me?”

  She stiffened. “So I’m not surprised to find someone here when I come home.”

  “Why are you hiding things, love?”

  She glanced up at the portrait of Hitler, the unwavering gaze that unnerved her, then lowered her eyes back to meet her husband’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Your friend Marianne Weber is a Jew lover.”

  She shivered at the term, as if it were a crime to love their neighbor. “Frau Weber is the best seamstress in Nuremberg. She has many customers in town.”

  “Stay away from her, Hanna, or you will get us both in trouble.”

  But he’d also told her to find help for Lilly, and Frau Weber needed the work. Perhaps she could step in as a nanny, just until Hanna was able to find Lilly’s family. And it would give her a viable reason to visit every day and gather any remaining stories.

  “Frau Weber was my mother’s best friend,” Hanna said. “You brought me a child, and she is the only one I trust to take care of her. Unless you want to watch Lilly while you’re home . . .”

  He looked back down at the ledger. “I am leaving again soon.”

  “You don’t treat me like your wife, Kolman. You treat me like a mistress, not bothering to tell me where you are or when you will be home.”

  “Wife. Mistress. They are both the same really.”

  That smirk, she wanted to scrub it right off his face. This person before her was nothing like the man she’d worked with in the field.

  “Why did you ask me to marry you?”

  He shuffled through a stack of papers as if he had something of vast importance to find.

  Since Himmler had united them in marriage, she hadn’t spent much time reflecting back on the time in the vineyard when Kolman had proposed, but she saw it all again in the film of her mind, those moments after Kolman read the telegram from Himmler, when she’d run down the hill.

  Somehow she’d convinced herself that he had proposed because he loved her. Or respected her, at least. But after their short honeymoon, he’d not only disappeared back into himself, he had disappeared almost completely from her life. It wouldn’t be any different, she suspected, even now that he’d adopted a daughter.

  Not that she minded his departures, but why had Himmler insisted they marry if Kolman didn’t want her as his wife?

  Her mind rolled back further on that fateful evening in France, to the telegram that Kolman had received right before he’d asked her to marry him. The telegram that stole her job away.

  But perhaps it wasn’t an impulsive offer. Perhaps this marriage was a direct command from above, like the fathering of children.

  “Himmler ordered you to marry me,” she said slowly. “He wanted me to leave the Ahnenerbe, but he didn’t want me to go far.”

  “It wasn’t an order,” Kolman said, looking back over at her. “Himmler suggested that we marry.”

  “And you agreed.”

  “Of course.”

  Not only had she not wanted to marry Kolman, he hadn’t wanted to marry her. The Reich had required it of him.

  While she was simply biding her time, Kolman would do anything to further Himmler’s plans, including marry an Aryan woman to build a family from the strongest of German stock. A woman who happened to own property outside this prized Nazi town, in a house that had recently been vacated.

  “Did you know Luisa and Paul were gone before you proposed?”

  “I am not privy to such things,” he said.

  But this marriage still bought him a house in the country. A wife to meet his needs whenever he liked. Another mother for the Reich.

  Did Himmler have a further purpose for their union?

  She stood up. “I’m an Aryan means to an end.”

  When she turned away, Kolman grabbed her arm, whirling her around. She felt as if her bone might snap. “There are things you don’t understand, Hanna. Things much bigger than us.”

  Like a dictator who was misusing his people. She almost said the words, but Kolman’s eyes were fierce, the gray in them clouding the blue.

  Fear was her protector now, keeping her pride in check.

  “You are doing a great service to our Reich,” he said.

  The first compliment he’d paid her since their wedding day.

  Before she went to bed, Hanna checked on the girl who’d fallen asleep in Jonny’s room. Like her own mother, she wanted to think, once checked on her.

  During the night, she heard a cry. Kolman didn’t move beside her, so she hopped out of bed and hurried down the hall. Lilly was sitting up, gazing straight ahead, staring in fright as if someone else were in the room.

  Hanna turned on the light, hoping it would scare away the haunts like it had done when she was a girl.

  “Nie,” Lilly said, under her breath at first. Then she began to scream the word as if no one could hear, her eyes wide-open.

  “It’s all right,” Hanna said, reaching out her arm.

  Lilly fought back, kicking and screaming. Clawing at Hanna’s sleeve. Sweat poured down her cheeks, her eyes wild as if no comfort could be found. Shouting more words that Hanna didn’t understand.

  Hanna looked down at the pricks of blood on her skin. How was she supposed to console this child now?

  “Lilly,” she whispered and then she said her name a bit louder. But whether the girl was awake or asleep, she couldn’t tell. Whatever frightened her had settled deep into her mind. No comfort was to be had.

  “You’ll have to leave her be,” Kolman said from the door.

  Lilly was tossing off all the covers now, throwing them over the hobbyhorse, spilling blankets and pillows across the floor.

  “I can’t leave her like this.”

  “There’s nothing you can do about it. She must be remembering the bombs.”

  “I will sit here then, until it passes.”

  Kolman reached for Hanna’s arm again, tried to pull her away, but Hanna wouldn’t leave her to face this torment alone.

  When Kolman finally closed the door, she propped herself up on a pillow as Lilly screamed for her mama.

  Eventually the girl quieted, falling back asleep on the tumbled mess of covers, and Hanna pulled a blanket off the bed, too tired to walk back up the hall.

  She was awakened by footsteps in the morning. Minutes later, she crossed the corridor and looked out the window. Kolman was walking through the meadow again, this time with a messenger bag strapped over his shoulder, the olive scarf around his neck.

  Lilly woke with bags under her eyes.

  “How did you sleep?” Hanna asked as she made a breakfast of sausage and toast for her guest.

  “Fine.”

  In her eyes, Hanna saw the frightened girl that she once was.

  “You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” Hanna said.

  Lilly stood up a bit taller. “Ich bin Deutsche.”

  As if she had to convince Hanna that she was German.

  30

  EMBER

  Lawrence was a solid foot taller than Ember, his skin as dark as Noah’s. A man who didn’t mince words as
he drove her home in a gray BMW and escorted her up to the condo so she could pack.

  He’d worked in security for almost thirty years and didn’t seem to be the least bit nervous about a stalker, but Ember was a wreck.

  We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.

  The author of the letter addressed to Sarah had repeated this familiar mantra in block letters. Fourteen words that had been ingrained in her when she was a girl.

  The writer knew the slogan, and he knew both of her names, but it was the next sentence that did her in.

  Stop playing with the—

  Her lunch had ended up on Rebekah May’s lap.

  After she helped the woman clean up, she told their head of security everything. About her parents. The Aryan Council. The man who’d been sent to prison. Even the daughter she’d lost.

  Someone from the Aryan Council might threaten her, but she wouldn’t allow them to harm Noah.

  Rebekah assured her that she would talk to law enforcement in Idaho and to Noah’s father. Then she suggested that Ember leave for Nuremberg right away.

  On the car ride home, Ember had called Noah’s dad, and Jack said that he’d meet Noah at the bus stop. The airline hadn’t been able to change her ticket, but Alex invited her to stay with his family in Pennsylvania, for as long as she needed to hide out.

  How had the Aryan Council found her now? She’d been gone for twenty years with no communication and a completely different name.

  Would someone follow her up to the Poconos if she went north for a few nights? Would they threaten her brother?

  That thought sent another bolt of fear up her spine—she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize Alex or his family.

  The doorbell rang, and she glanced at the clock in her bedroom. It was only 3:30. Jack had promised that he’d be at the bus stop, but the man didn’t always keep track of his promises. If Noah’s bus had come early, she had to get him out of the hallway.

  Lawrence was looking through the peephole when she stepped out of her bedroom, a toiletries bag in her hand.

  “Is it a boy?” she asked.

  “A man.” He pulled a gun out from under his jacket. “You recognize him?”

  Her heart began to race again as she glanced tentatively through the hole, afraid of who might be looking back, but it wasn’t a stranger from Idaho. It was Dakota, dressed in a pilot’s uniform with a navy cap and gold wings on his jacket.

  He wasn’t supposed to meet her for coffee until five, but in all the confusion, she’d forgotten he was even flying in.

  “It’s a friend,” she said, stepping back from the door.

  Lawrence looked back into the hole. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.” This time she was certain. “I’ve known him since high school.”

  Lawrence slipped the weapon back into its holster, but he stood nearby as she opened the door.

  Dakota took off his cap before holding out his hand to Lawrence. “You must be Noah.”

  The security guard didn’t shake it. “No.”

  Dakota glanced back and forth between them. “My flight got in early. I texted you.”

  “I didn’t get your message yet,” she said, waving Dakota across the threshold. “Lawrence is from my office. I’m afraid I can’t have coffee. I have to leave for—”

  She wasn’t entirely certain where she was going, but she told him about the threatening letter, about needing to leave Washington while law enforcement tried to find out who’d been stalking her.

  He raked his hand back through his curly hair, whiskers shadowing his face. “I thought you were going to Nuremberg this week.”

  “My flight is scheduled for Friday.” She locked the door behind him. “The airline wasn’t able to change my ticket.”

  “You mind if I make a call or two while you pack?” he asked, pointing at the bag in her hand. “I’ll stay out of the way.”

  She directed Dakota up to the loft; then she tossed her bag into a chair and reached for the doorknob. If Jack didn’t come home, she needed to meet Noah at the bus stop.

  The doorbell rang again before she opened it.

  “This time it should be a ten-year-old,” she told Lawrence.

  “It’s a regular party around here.”

  Noah held up his gold spoon on the other side of the door. “Surprise!”

  She waved him quickly into the room. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  He stopped when he saw Lawrence. “Who are you?”

  “I’m helping Ms. Ellis today.”

  Noah wielded his spoon at the guard. “I can help her.”

  Ember directed him toward the kitchen. “You can help me most by eating what’s left of my ice cream.”

  Noah kept his eyes on Lawrence as he climbed onto a stool. She pulled the Phish Food out of the freezer and handed over the whole tub before texting Jack, telling him that he must come home right away.

  The staircase creaked, and she braced herself at the sound of Dakota’s steps, moving down toward the kitchen.

  “If you can be at Dulles by 5:30,” he said, “a friend can switch your flight to one headed to Frankfurt tonight. Then you can take a train from there to Nuremberg.”

  She blinked, processing yet another change, a much better one so she didn’t endanger Alex or his family. “Thank you, Dakota.”

  “I’m glad it worked out.”

  It was a simple kindness, this willingness to help her once again when she hadn’t even asked. And it disarmed her.

  She glanced down at Noah, scooping the Phish Food into his mouth at a rapid pace, the gold spoon gleaming in the overhead light. Now to introduce Dakota to the only barrier left between them.

  “I can leave here in about fifteen minutes,” she said, “but first, I’d like you to meet one of my best friends.”

  Dakota smiled at Noah. “Hi there.”

  The boy didn’t look up, his gaze focused solely on the caramel and fudge, and she lost the courage to say his name.

  Dakota checked his watch, then sat down on the other stool. “What are you eating?”

  “Phish Food.” Noah’s spoon dug back into the tub as if he were mining for treasure, his lips coated in chocolate.

  “I’m Dakota.” He drummed his hands on the counter, waiting for a moment before he asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Noah.”

  The word sank like an anchor between them before Dakota turned back. Even though he spoke to Noah, his eyes were on her. “Ember’s told me a little about you.”

  Noah’s eyes narrowed as if she’d betrayed him. “We’re supposed to be remembering right now.”

  “You’re right,” she said, checking her phone. Jack had texted to say he was on his way. If she left in a half hour, she could still make it to the airport by 5:30.

  She sat down on the third stool, focusing back on the youngest man in the room. “What did you remember today?”

  He smiled. “After you divide a number, you can add it right back up again.”

  “That’s a good thing to remember.”

  “And no matter how many times you divide, it can always go back together.” He took another bite, his mouth full when he spoke again. “What did you remember today?”

  She hesitated, avoiding Dakota’s gaze. “I remembered that if you can forgive what happened in the past, it’s possible to redeem the future.”

  “Second chances,” Dakota whispered.

  And in her heart, she agreed.

  31

  LILLY

  NUREMBERG

  SPRING 1941

  The new mama picked up a gold piece and held it out to her. “What is this?”

  “Löffel,” Lilly said, the word for “spoon” rolling across her tongue. She’d learned lots of new words as they played with the dollhouses.

  Mami stood to reach for something in the tiny bedroom that looked a lot like Lilly’s room downstairs. Along the wall were several small toys, and she held up a bat.

&
nbsp; “Der Schläger.” Like the bat her brothers used to play with in palant, except she must call the game Schlagball now.

  “My brother used to play Schlagball,” Mami said with a smile.

  “Mine too.”

  When Mami’s eyes grew big, Lilly realized she’d made a mistake.

  This woman wasn’t mean like the matron. She didn’t whip Lilly when she said the wrong words or send doctors to measure her up.

  Would she hit her now? Feed her to the wolves? Lilly braced herself for a slap that never came.

  “You have a brother?” Mami asked.

  Her stomach tightened like the metal of a nutcracker, crushing everything inside. How could she answer Ja to this question? She wasn’t supposed to talk about her old family. The matron said someone would tell if Lilly talked, and the wolves were always waiting in the woods.

  Mami set the bat along the wall again. “What was your brother’s name?”

  “I’m not supposed to . . .”

  “Who told you not to speak about your brother?”

  “The woman at the sunny home,” Lilly said.

  “You’re safe to speak the truth here.”

  Lilly shook her head. The truth was never safe, even if she wrapped it up in cotton.

  “What was your brother’s name?” Mami asked.

  Antoni, she wanted to say. And Piotr. “I don’t have any brothers.”

  “But you just said—”

  “No brothers.”

  “Do you remember anyone from your family?”

  “No.”

  Mami peeled back a blue bedcovering as if she was waking up the doll who’d been tucked underneath. “I’m sorry, Lilly. It hurts very much to lose a family.”

  But she hadn’t lost her family. They’d been taken away.

  At least that’s what she thought. Her old mama’s face was a blur now; so were the smiles of her brothers. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t even remember what her papa looked like. Just the shine of his eagle buttons, the kiss on her cheek before he left for the war.

  Sometimes she wondered if her other family was even real. Piotr and Antoni. Mama and Papa. What if they were pretend, like the figures in these dollhouses, wandering in and out of her strange dreams?