18

LIESELOTTE SOMMER

OCTOBER 1943

Lukas did not evaporate into thin air this time. He and the entire Kirchmann family attended Rudy’s memorial service, a quiet and simple event with close friends and our dwindling family. Once the lists were published, there were so many funerals, so many memorial services, and too few bodies returned to families. The Führer ordered private affairs for the most part. It was too demoralizing for the people, just as he’d predicted.

Rudy’s body was not returned. Still, Vater erected a stone for him next to Mutti’s. Because we did not know his death date, Vater had it inscribed as July 18, 1943. Rudy would have been twenty years old on that day. So young. That was the hardest of all.

After the service, just as after Mutti’s funeral, Dr. Peterson took Vater out drinking, as if that would make him forget the death of his only son. Fräulein Hilde cast me a pitying glance, but joined them.

Sophia had gone to visit her mother, so that night I put the kettle on alone in the kitchen. Was that to be my funeral ritual?

The days had grown short, and it was dark before seven. I opened the door to the larder but had neither heart nor stomach to eat. I brewed the ersatz strong and dark and dumped a week’s worth of sugar rations into the pot. Sophia would be furious.

I lit one small lamp and sat at the kitchen table, sipping the too-sweet brew and scalding my throat. At least I felt something.

Three light taps at the window made me jump.

“Lieselotte! Let me in!”

I opened the door and there stood Lukas, a platter of sandwiches in one hand and a kettle of something hot emanating an amazing fragrance in the other. I blinked. I’d played this role before.

He held up his offerings with a conciliatory smile, recognizing the sad irony.

I stepped back, glad that he brushed my shoulder, glad not to be alone, glad it was Lukas bearing gifts. “Your mother’s soup?” I inhaled.

“You know Mutti. She means well.”

“Thank her. But I can’t eat. Not now.”

“Ah, ah.” He wagged his finger. “Mutti says you must or she will come over here herself and spoon it into your mouth.” He set the pot on the stove. “I begged her to let me do it.”

“Lukas.” I couldn’t hold back the tears.

He said nothing but pulled my head to his chest, wrapping me in his arms, stroking my hair as he would comfort a child. “I’m sorry, my little Lieselotte. I’m so very sorry.”

No more words between us. Only soft kisses in my hair and a gentle drying of my tearstained face before he slipped through the door and into the night an hour later.

I slept that night as I hadn’t slept in months.

The next morning I left before Vater came downstairs, to return the platter and pot to Frau Kirchmann, in hope of seeing Lukas once more. But he had already gone.

“A message came last night, and he packed his bag right away. He said it was urgent and didn’t know when he could come again.”

I nodded, as if that were the most natural thing in the world; inside, my heart was breaking.

Frau Kirchmann motioned me into the back garden and closed the kitchen door behind her. “Lukas thinks our house might have —what do they call it? —a listening device of some kind. That they might be suspicious of our work, or of his work.”

“Have you seen this?” I’d heard of such things in novels and films, but not in real life.

“Nein, but our house was searched. Things . . . were taken. We cannot be too careful. His life —all our lives and those we help —might depend on it.”

“That’s why you talked so strangely about Anna the other day. Now I understand.”

She nodded. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but I dared not let our conversation steer them to Anna. Marta told me what you did for Lukas and Anna. It was a terrible risk, but I thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, Lieselotte. If Lukas had been taken —”

“Shh, shh —it did not happen. We’ll all work to make certain it does not happen.”

She pulled her cardigan tight around her, as if the threat of arrest chilled her through. “I don’t know exactly what he does. But it’s dangerous, so very dangerous. We must pray hard for him.”

“Gathering intelligence? This is dangerous?” Of course it was; I knew this. What was it but spying, and what could be more dangerous except standing in front of a firing squad? But I wanted to talk to her, to anyone, about Lukas. To say his name. Despite the terrible loss of Rudy, I could not stop thinking of Lukas as I’d boldly kissed him that day in the street, as he’d tenderly held me last night. It could mean nothing for our future, or everything. It was my lifeline.

Frau Kirchmann must have understood —when had she not? She caressed my arm. “He can’t make commitments now, you know. The work he does is uncertain and depends so much on his having no ties, no inhibitions about anything —not even protecting his own life for the sake of another’s heart. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes of course, I understand.”

She nodded, as if she believed me. “Good. That’s good. You must plan your future apart from Lukas, Lieselotte. You must protect your heart.”

I didn’t want to think about what she’d said, refused to think about it. “I must get back. Vater does not know I’ve gone out. He —he came in late, and will need something for his headache.”

“Ja, ja —you go, my dear. But come anytime —anytime at all. Only remember: be very careful what you say in our house or on the phone. Ja?”

“Ja, I will. Thank you again for the soup and sandwiches, Frau Kirchmann.” I forced a smile and she hugged me in return.

The door closed behind her, and I was left in the cold. I’d come with such warmth and hope —and now, nothing. It was only October and the sun shone brilliantly, the sky a startling blue, but all the world felt gray, and the numbness of an early winter seeped into my bones.

I was halfway down the street, lost in my own world, when Marta, breathless, caught up to me, shook my arm. “Did you not hear me calling? Are you deaf?”

“Nein, I did not hear.” I stared at her. Her nose, her forehead resembled Lukas’s. I didn’t even want to think about that. “What do you want, Marta?”

“Lukas,” she panted.

“Your mother already told me he left.” I turned to walk away.

“He gave me this —to give you. He said not to tell anyone and that if something happens to him, you must ignore this. He said it breaks every rule he’s bound to.” She shoved a folded paper into my hand. “Don’t tell Mutti.”

“Did you read it?”

She laughed, “Yes, of course!” and was gone.

I unfolded the paper. Three words scribbled in the hand I had memorized since childhood: Wait for me.