28

LIESELOTTE SOMMER

SEPTEMBER 1944

Saying good-bye to Frau Kirchmann was nearly as hard as saying good-bye, even for a time, to Lukas.

But there was so much to do, so much for them to arrange in the next twenty-four hours. That’s all the time Vater had given them. How or where they would go, we didn’t know, only that Dr. Peterson was supposed to be working it out. All he lacked was the money needed to make the transaction, and then a few hours to have the documents prepared. We dared not cross him. I no longer doubted his ruthlessness or power, or that of my own Vater.

The only comfort Lukas or I derived was that Vater seemed determined to protect me. Was that because I was useful to them —in that I’d led them to the Eisners? Or was it because we were mistaken, and the arrests had no link to me, to the black car?

I hurried home, my pockets stuffed with the treasures intended to buy the Kirchmanns’ papers, to purchase their lives. It was nearly dusk when I arrived —so many of our precious hours already spent.

I’d almost reached Vater’s library when I heard Dr. Peterson’s voice through the open door.

“Stop worrying. As long as Herr Kirchmann believed you, it will be done. He persuaded Lukas, and Lukas will persuade Lieselotte. You’re quite convincing when you want to be, my friend.”

I pressed my back against the wall and listened.

“I told you to wait for the arrests of the others until the Kirchmanns are in custody. The moment they learn —”

But Dr. Peterson cut Vater off. “You worry too much. Lukas will be back any moment with the payment. As soon as we have that in our possession, we’ll make our move. They’ll have no time to learn about the others. Besides, you’ve sworn them to secrecy!”

The telephone rang and I nearly jumped from my skin. Vater answered from his desk.

“Ah, Hilde —I’m glad it’s you.” His voice changed to silk in the blink of my eyes. “Lieselotte? No, I’m sorry, my love, she is not here. Out with Lukas, I suppose.” He paused. “Ja, ja, I will have her telephone you. A meeting tomorrow is good.” He cleared his throat. “Nein, no need to come here. It is better if Lieselotte comes to you, is busy with you. Peterson and I have more properties to Aryanize, and they must be done tomorrow. Having her out of the house for those transactions is good. Ja, danke. I’ll see you then. Good-bye, my love.” The receiver clicked in its cradle.

“I warn you, Wolfgang, keep Hilde away. Keep her away until this is finished.”

“That’s not simple. She’s invested herself in Lieselotte’s wedding as though she’s her mother. We must think of a reason to postpone it —for Lieselotte to call it off.”

“Hilde is not stupid. One look at Lieselotte and she will know —”

“Then she must not see Lieselotte after the arrests,” my father said quietly. “It must all be done at once, tomorrow, while they are out.”

“Nein. That may be easiest, cleanest, but it is imperative Hilde is convinced that Lieselotte called the wedding off on her own, that she chose Lebensborn over a marriage to Lukas. If Hilde learns that Jews tended Elsa, that you knew Lukas was Jewish and still part of the Abwehr, that you would allow your daughter to marry —”

“All right. All right! You think I don’t know this? But you saw her with him last night —today. What would —?”

“The Jewess, the one called Anna. A story can be made that Lukas was having an affair with her. Lieselotte only learned of it today, after their arrest.”

“Perhaps. A ruse, a lie —a good one, but we must convince Lieselotte to make it work. It would take time —proof —to convince her.”

“I can have pictures created, faces covered. She can be shown —but only after the arrest is made and they are gone. You, her father, insulted and aggrieved for your daughter —not because Lukas is Jewish, but because he slept with a Jewess.”

My father didn’t answer right away. “Yes. But it must be convincing. She loves him.”

My throat tightened. It was all I could do not to sob aloud.

“Where is he with the money? He should have been here by now.” Dr. Peterson’s chair squeaked.

“He said it might be tomorrow morning before he could get the full amount from the bank. I told you to wait —what if they hear of the arr —?”

“You were not there —they will make no connection to you, Wolfgang. Stop worrying.”

I crept into the kitchen, knowing I must get word to the Kirchmanns.

I lifted the latch and gently opened the back door. Before I could close it behind me, Dr. Peterson pulled the door wide. “Lieselotte —you’ve returned. . . . Where is Lukas?”

“He . . . he’s helping his father obtain the payment.”

“Is he?” Dr. Peterson looked wary. “Herr Kirchmann promised to send valuables, and cash —”

“Ja, ja —he sent some with me. They will bring the cash as soon as possible. It might be tomorrow if he has trouble.”

“So —” He held out his hand.

“I must give them to Vater, must place them in his hands myself,” I stalled.

Dr. Peterson stepped aside, bowing, and extended his arm to usher me toward the library.

As I walked, I separated the pouches in my pocket between my fingers as best I could, by feeling the little bundles. I’d give the gold coins —they were heavy and cumbersome —and the bundle of brooches. But I’d save the rings and precious stones —valuable trading commodities to send my true family into hiding. Shelter and food were never free.

“Lieselotte.” Father said my name without emotion as we entered the library.

I pulled the heavy bundles from my coat pocket and placed them on his desk. “These are from the Kirchmanns. Herr Kirchmann will bring cash as soon as he can.”

Father looked up at me. “The price of passports, of ship passage, of forged identity papers, is much higher than this. He mentioned rings . . . stones.”

I shook my head as if I knew nothing. “Perhaps they’re at the bank too. He said something about a safe, a box —I didn’t pay attention. I was much more interested in learning that you told them I would not be going with them —that you could only obtain four sets of papers. I told him he was mistaken —that you’d promised me,” I challenged.

“We did the best we could; there is nothing more to be done,” Dr. Peterson intervened.

“I’m not talking to you, Dr. Peterson! I’m talking with mein Vater!” My voice rose.

“Lieselotte, Dr. Peterson is my guest. You must —”

“Yes, Vater, he is your guest —not mine. As near as I can tell he’s the one who’s brought all this on our heads.”

“You must not accuse him when it is the Kirchmanns who’ve broken the law.”

“Let me marry Lukas. Let me go with them.”

“We’ve been over this, Lieselotte. There is no way —”

“Tell her, Wolfgang,” Dr. Peterson broke in. “Do not spare her. She is not a child.”

I whirled on him. “Tell me what?” And then back to Vater. “Tell me what, Vater? What more can there be?”

“I did not want to hurt you, Lieselotte, to shame you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lukas,” Dr. Peterson interjected. “Lukas and a Jewess.”

“What? What are you saying?”

He shrugged, as though what he said broke his heart. “Perhaps it is the same Anna you found him with last year. Perhaps the affair has been going on all this time.”

“Lukas?” I laughed. “An affair? That’s crazy —absolutely crazy.”

“I’m afraid not, my dear.” Vater sounded genuinely sad. “I’d hoped you’d need never know, but . . . there are pictures. Because he’s part of the Abwehr under investigation, Lukas’s life has been . . . scrutinized. He was found, sleeping with a —”

“I don’t believe you. It’s a lie —another of Dr. Peterson’s lies!”

“I will bring the pictures, so that you may see for yourself,” Dr. Peterson offered.

I sat down heavily on the chair opposite Father’s desk, as though I might doubt myself, might believe them. As though this new “truth” threatened to destroy me at last.

“It is most generous of your father to send them out of the country, Fräulein. He has every right to have the man arrested, and could do so now. You must simply say the word.”

I looked up at him, as if considering what he offered.

He shrugged. “It’s a simple thing to call off the wedding, not so simple to get them out of the country. If you do not wish —”

“I never said I believe you. I don’t! Lukas loves me —has loved me as I love him . . . for years. It can’t be. But . . . he has been away a long time, and . . .” I sat up, letting the clock tick. Then, as if resolved, “I will look at your pictures, and then I will decide.”

“I’m sorry, my dear. Hilde and I will do all in our power to help you through this time.”

It was not hard to manufacture tears. “I have a headache. I’m going to bed.”

“Shall I bring the pictures tonight?” Dr. Peterson’s voice, slick as oil, slimed over my nerves.

“Tomorrow,” I said. “I’m going to take something to make me sleep. Perhaps when I wake this will all be a horrid dream.” I dug my nails into my palms and walked out, praying my performance was as convincing as theirs had appeared.