Marguerite joins Gisela and Friedrich at the table. She sits down and puts her head to one side as she talks. Her eyes fill with tears; she is full of sorrow for their loss, repeats this several times. Her wide face crumples as she talks about her own son and her fears for him. All through this, Friedrich and Gisela sit impassive, too scared to speak. Marguerite tells them how brave they are, and brings out a cake she has made. Gisela studies her face closely, looking for signs that she has heard what they were talking about.
The floor above them creaks. Marguerite glances at the ceiling, surprised. “You have visitors?” she says.
Gisela half-smiles at Marguerite. “You haven’t heard then?”
“Heard what?”
“We’ve adopted a little girl, an orphan from Hamburg. Her father was a war hero, died at the front.” She sighs and glances at Friedrich. “Why don’t you go and get Helena, bring her down to meet Marguerite.”
Friedrich grunts and goes to the bottom of the stairs. He climbs up, praying that Wilhelm won’t call out. His prayers are answered. Wilhelm is in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring into space. Friedrich puts his finger to his mouth as he goes into the room. “Stay very quiet and don’t move. We’ve got a visitor. I’ll give you a shout when she’s gone.”
Wilhelm nods and gets back into bed as Friedrich goes in to get Helena. She’s asleep, but doesn’t make a sound when he wakes her up, just smiles at him. He smiles back. “Come on, petal. There’s someone for you to meet downstairs.” He lifts her out of bed and carries her downstairs.
“What a pretty child!” exclaims Marguerite. She reaches out to stroke Helena’s hair, but the child shrinks from her, hides her face in Friedrich’s chest.
“She’s very shy,” says Gisela. “She’s been through a lot.”
“What happened to her?” asks Marguerite.
“Shortly after her father was killed in action, her mother died when Hamburg was bombed.”
“Poor thing, was she with her mother when she died?”
Gisela looks to Friedrich to answer.
“Well, we don’t know for sure what happened – whether she was with her mother or…” He tails off.
Marguerite tries again to touch Helena’s hair, and the child burrows deeper into Friedrich’s arms. He hugs her protectively.
Marguerite tuts. “You don’t want to encourage this bashfulness. She needs to mix with other children. What about kindergarten? That might help her.”
Gisela’s voice is firm. “No, I don’t think so. She’s fine at home with us for the time being.”
Marguerite nods. “Ah well, you know best.” She looks once more at Helena, the longing shining through her eyes. “I would have loved to have a daughter, and such a beauty as this. The Führer himself would be proud to have such a child.”
“If you would excuse me, I have things to do…” Gisela pauses, takes out a hanky and wipes her eyes.
Marguerite nods, rising from her seat. “Of course, your poor Wilhelm. I should go. I’ll see myself out.”
“I’ll be at the service for Wilhelm, let me know when—”
“There will be no service.” Friedrich interrupts.
“What do you mean? You have to have a memorial service.”
His eyes narrow, and a muscle twitches in his cheek. “Wilhelm is missing. Who knows, miracles can happen. Perhaps he’s wandering around, a lost soul, with no memory of who he is.”
“Perhaps,” she says. “But still, you should have a service for him.”
“There will be no service,” repeats Friedrich firmly.
Marguerite raises an eyebrow and turns to leave.
Friedrich and Gisela stand at the door and watch until she disappears out of sight. Helena has stayed inside, playing with a piece of wood that Wilhelm has started to carve into a doll for her.
Gisela lets out a long sigh. “Do you think she suspects anything?”
“I don’t know.” Friedrich shakes his head. He looks exhausted. “I don’t think so, but we must be careful. Let’s go inside and talk to Wilhelm.”
The day has almost gone. Little work has been done for the family have argued all day about what to do. The plan to hide Wilhelm in the attic has been abandoned. Although they are as sure as they can be that Marguerite did not hear them, they cannot take the small risk that she might be dissembling. Gisela especially doesn’t trust her. She’s a fanatic. Before Hitler she had been a fervent Catholic, never away from the Church. That was the type of person she was, never did things half heartedly. It was all or nothing for her. No, that plan had to go. But where else could he hide? Wilhelm wanted to leave; he knew he was putting them all at risk.
“There’s nowhere for you to go,” argued Gisela.
Wilhelm put his head in his hands. “It would have been better if I’d died.”
“No! You mustn’t say such a thing. We’ll think of somewhere.”
After many hours of thought they have a plan. Early on, Friedrich had suggested the barn. Both Gisela and Wilhelm had rejected it: Gisela because she couldn’t bear the thought of her boy sleeping in a place with so many rats, Wilhelm because he had seen a barn surrounded, the entrance boarded up then set on fire, heard the screams of the Jewish family who were hiding inside as they were burned to death. He doesn’t tell his parents about this, though – best keep these scenes to himself. But Friedrich keeps coming back to this idea for try as they might they cannot come up with anything better.
“We can build an underground room. We must, for anything else is too risky. It will have to be small, just a space big enough to sleep in. The entrance can be covered with hay to hide it. Tomorrow we will start work on it. There can be no delay.”
Gisela watches Wilhelm as his father speaks. His face is pale and drawn; he has lost a lot of weight. There are fine lines on his forehead. He looks older than his twenty years. She feels sick thinking of him in a tiny cell underground, but accepts that he will have to go there. There is no alternative.
Friedrich and Wilhelm work uninterruptedly for the next two days on the underground room. Gisela keeps watch for any visitors; she worries that there will be many visitors now that people know about Wilhelm being missing in action – but there is only one, a teacher from Wilhelm’s old school. His words are kind as he speaks about Wilhelm, telling stories about his mischief in school. Gisela has always liked this man, and she is tempted to confide in him. She’s sure he would understand that no one can be expected to kill women and children in the way that Wilhelm was. As he gets up to go, she broaches the subject.
“Mein Herr, have you heard any rumours about this war?”
“What do you mean?”
“About what they are doing to the Jews.”
His mouth tightens. “I’m not sure what you’re asking, meine Frau.”
Gisela takes a deep breath. “I’ve heard they’re killing women, children too, even the babies.”
The elderly teacher looks around as if expecting to see someone listening. He takes a hanky out of his pocket and wipes his brow. “Who told you this?”
Gisela stutters, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. “I… I’m not sure. I think I heard someone talking in a café in the town. I just wondered if it was true.”
“Meine Frau, it is best not to speak of these things to anyone. These are dangerous times. You never know who may be listening. I too have heard such stories, about terrible things. But I speak of them to no one, do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He puts a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry about me. You look after yourself and remember what I said.”
After he’s gone, Gisela thinks about what he said. He’d looked terrified when she asked about the Jews. As if he were hiding something. But what could he be hiding, a respectable old man like that? She puts the thoughts out of her mind and carries on with her chores, mindful always to watch the track to the farmhouse, in case any more visitors are on their way.
The room is finished. Friedrich and Wilhelm take her to see it once Helena is safely in bed. They cannot risk her seeing it or hearing anything about it in case she says anything to anyone. She is too young to be let in on the secret.
Gisela looks down at it in dismay. It is tiny. When they mentioned a room, she thought they meant just that. A small room, yes, with space to walk about in. But this is little more than a box. It is about two metres deep and long, and a metre and a half wide, lined with wood to shore up the walls. Wilhelm has already taken the mattress from his bed and thrown it down along with some blankets. On one wall there are pieces of wood sticking out as a makeshift ladder so that he can easily climb in and out. “How will you live here?” she exclaims.
Wilhelm smiles. “I’ll read and sleep. At night, when it’s dark I’ll walk in the woods so that I get some exercise. It will be hard, but it’s infinitely better than what I was doing.”
Friedrich shows Gisela the wooden cover he has made for the room. It fits very precisely onto the wood that shores up the walls, and once it is covered with muck and straw like the rest of the floor, no one would suspect there was anything unusual about the barn. She has to admit they’ve made an excellent job of it. There are holes in the cover to let in air, and when the oil lamp is lit it is almost cosy. She worries that he will be too cold, but he reassures her that with blankets and quilts he’ll be fine.
Later that night they help him move to the hiding place. Gisela weeps as Friedrich places the cover on the room. It reminds her of how the undertaker put the lid on their daughter’s coffin.