May 1945
Grossmutter Lena was dead. She lay in the big bed in the room that Herr and Frau Gensler had shared. Her vacant eyes stared at the ceiling.
Eva pressed Lena’s eyelids closed. When she took her hand away, Lena’s eyes opened again. Two pennies—that’s what Eva was supposed to use, to keep Lena’s eyelids closed. But wasting two pennies that Eva might need later . . . Lena wouldn’t want her to do that. Eva pulled up the sheet to cover Lena’s face, unveiling Lena’s bluish feet. That wasn’t good, either, but it was the best Eva could do.
For weeks, Lena had been experiencing pain in her chest and trouble catching her breath on the stairs. Her ankles had been swollen. No doctor could help with everyday complaints like that, especially in an old person. Doctors had more important problems to deal with, like amputating arms and legs that had been blown up or mangled.
Eva had stayed with Lena throughout the night, sitting in this very chair beside the bed, holding Lena’s hand as she moved in and out of sleep. Lena had called Eva’s name and told her things that Eva couldn’t understand. Eva didn’t want to interrupt Lena and ask her to repeat herself. The electricity was off and they’d already burned all the candles, so Eva had made her vigil in darkness.
This afternoon, when Lena was sleeping peacefully, Eva had gone downstairs. She’d boiled water in the kettle in the fireplace and pretended it was tea. She was lucky to have the water. She’d filled a bucket from a neighbor’s well the day before.
With her tea, she’d gone outside to sit in the sun. Lena had used the time to die, as if she wanted to spare Eva the moment of her passing. Or maybe Lena simply needed to be alone, to let go of earth’s bonds.
What now? Eva knew she should venture out to try to find someone to take Lena’s body away, or to help Eva bury her in the garden. Eva had seen enough of death in the past few months to know that you couldn’t leave a dead body on a bed for more than a few hours without gruesome results.
Yes, Eva reflected, she was practical now. She was fifteen, almost a grown-up, and she was past crying. Lena was in a better place. On her way to Heaven. Eva would miss her grandmother, but didn’t begrudge Lena her good luck.
For a time they’d both had good luck. After the Genslers went away, their friend Colonel Stefan Rukeyser took over the house. He brought his wife and his wife’s younger sister whose husband had died in the war, plus the wife of their son who was in the Luftwaffe, and their three grandchildren. The house was big enough for all of them.
Colonel Rukeyser’s wife, whose name was Monika, kept Lena on. Lena was indispensible, that’s what Frau Rukeyser told her friends who visited. Lena knew the house, she was an excellent cook when food was available (the Rukeysers had access to special shopping), and even when food became scarce, Lena knew how to improvise. When the Rukeysers ate well, Lena and Eva ate well, too, feasting on leftovers. Eva attended school as usual, and she grew to become a star at math. Lena was proud of her—not that doing mathematics was good for anything, Lena also said. Eva would have to work for a living like everybody else, and she’d best get started on the laundry. At school, Eva met several boys she liked, but one by one they went away to fight.
A month ago, Eva and Lena woke up one morning and the Rukeysers were gone. They didn’t even leave Lena’s final wages. For weeks, Lena had been working for nothing. Gradually the entire street became deserted, except for servants.
After this, Lena and Eva decided that if the war was almost over, they might as well live in luxury until the Russians or the Americans arrived. Lena took over the master suite, with its silken sheets. Eva took the second bedroom, overlooking the garden. She enjoyed a bath every night while they had running water. She wrapped herself in thick towels. She dressed in the clothes left behind by the women of the house.
When the electricity went off, Lena and Eva sat in the dining room with candlelight, whether they had food or not, until the candles were used up. Afterward a fire in the solarium fireplace took the chill off the evening air, or so Lena said, even if they had to burn books. They didn’t have firewood, and no one was going to be delivering any. Luckily, Lena had collected a large supply of matches, enough to last for years if they kept them dry and used them wisely.
Eva didn’t go out to meet her friends. The streets weren’t safe. She couldn’t leave Lena alone, that’s what she told friends who visited, so they wouldn’t tease her about being afraid.
And she was afraid, of this street with its big, dark houses. Of the thieves who might be peering into the windows, searching for food. She was afraid of the town down the hill, pocked by bombs. She’d seen dead bodies on the streets. She’d heard whispers about the camp called Buchenwald. Eva had gone on school outings to the forests near there, hiking and picnicking. Now the whispers said that if the Jews got free, they’d take vicious revenge. That’s the kind of people they were. Despicable criminals and Communists, the whole lot of them. They’d murder and steal from any German they could find. As everyone knew, that was the nature of Jews. Except for Frau and Herr Gensler, Eva always said to herself when she heard such talk: the Genslers were different. They weren’t like other Jews.
A sound, from downstairs. Footsteps. Muffled conversation.
Friends? Thieves?
Eva took her pistol from the bedside table. It wasn’t really her pistol. It had belonged to Frau Rukeyser. She’d left it behind in its hiding place, pushed to the back of the top shelf of the bedroom closet, where her grandchildren couldn’t reach it. No doubt she’d regretted her forgetfulness later.
Eva went to the top of the stairs. Men were talking below, in a language she didn’t understand. Whoever they were, they must be stealing. She wouldn’t allow it—not from her house. Now that everyone else was gone, it was her house. Her home.
She had to protect it from the enemy.