Unlike the speedy Orange Blossom, the Advanced Silver Meteor streamliner train arrived at Pennsylvania Station behind schedule from Florida. This delay was almost expected since the Office of Defense Transportation began moving over one million men a month. The institution of the East Coast’s ration on gas and rubber put usage of public transportation at an all-time high, causing every “chair-car” coach seat to be coveted and filled. Between Lizzy’s disdain of train travel, coupled with leaving her heart at Drane Field, the delays only made the thirty hour trek north all the more unbearable.
She hated to leave so early but that was the deal she made with both her father and Aunt Helga. Lizzy Renner might seem flighty or flippant to some, but her word was her word. She would never break her promise to anyone especially when it involved Kitty’s care. Moreover, with the arrival of Will’s parents at Rosebriar the day prior to her departure, she acknowledged that the time he spent with his family was more important for his morale than anything else. He needed their supportive, loving send off, and as much as she wished she could visit with them as part of the Martel family, she had made promises to her own family to stay away no longer than three weeks.
There were tears though at her farewell. She couldn’t help sobbing like a baby knowing this was the last time she would see Will before his departure. They spoke tender promises, both vowing with certainty that after the war, they would be together. Their romantic rendezvous, whenever he could steal away with a pass, had left her confident that unbounded love, uniting them on so many levels, would follow him into battle. She held no regrets whatsoever for going all the way and giving herself to him completely. The time together and that act had sealed their commitment to one another. Like the swans on Lake Mirror, they had mated for life and what a mating it was—all three times. Yowza.
Walking below the great arched glass roof of the station’s grand concourse, she glanced upward noting the diminished daylight beyond. Hovering storm clouds in the late afternoon sky were promising winter rain on the Big Apple. Lizzy’s thoughts traveled to the social season calendar and the many Gold Coasters who would not be traveling to Florida. With a wry smile, she mused how infuriated her father would be to know that the Martels were vacationing in Rosebriar’s guesthouse until Will’s imminent embarkation for who knew where. People of the day-to-day working class were not and never would be welcome in any capacity other than as servants at any Renner home. Keeping her word was one thing, but no one ever said she wasn’t proficient at subterfuge and willful disobedience. Ingrid, in particular, would have quite a lot to say given her obvious antisemitism. Now that Will had confided his religion, Lizzy was sure that, if divulged, quite a bit would be said about that. All of it was of no consequence, however. She would remain steadfast and true to Will. No one would know and certainly not from her lips. Repeating her usual mantra in the back of her head, I’ll take that secret to the grave, she nodded distinctly, confirming to herself the resolute commitment.
Gripping her small suitcase, she navigated through the crowds of servicemen, many of whom had arrived most likely for rest and recreation or for their embarkation following their stay at Last Stop U.S.A. A few of them could very well be with the 322nd Bomb Group’s ground echelon now that they had left Florida. She tried not to pay attention to the wolfish whistles and stares, remaining focused on the stairwell ahead leading up to 33rd Street, intent on hailing a checkered cab to take her across town. She was just another weary traveler in the city that never slept in spite of the new dim out restrictions. A wrinkled mess and ready to dim out herself, her unscheduled destination was Greystone Mansion in Murray Hill, a hot bubble bath, and a snifter of her father’s cognac. It was too late to travel back to the Island and, frankly, another train ride would be the death of her. Hopefully, the aged head housekeeper, Mrs. Albrecht, would still be at the townhouse to see to her needs.
Through the center archway, Lizzy exited out onto the darkened street where the tops of skyscrapers disappeared into the cloud cover. A long row of parked taxicabs sat at the curb waiting for fares, and Lizzy felt drawn to the colorful green cab catching her eye in contrast to the bland looking others. Her lips curled into a pleasant smile at the surprise of a woman exiting from the driver’s side to take her suitcase.
“Where ya’ headed?” The cabbie asked, smacking her chewing gum in hardboiled fashion, as though attempting to conceal her gender. She wore uniform trousers and a pea coat. Her hair was buried under a black cap, but Lizzy could still tell she was a woman, and thought it pretty swell that she had braved to enter into this man’s world.
“Can you take me to Murray Hill? 233 Madison Avenue.”
“That’s Greystone Mansion, right?”
“How did you know?”
“Toots, I know this city like the back of my hand. Why, this summer I had a guaranteed fare to that ritzy place twice a week.”
Lizzy climbed into the taxi and removed her gloves, warming her hands against one another in a fast rub. She furrowed her brow, wondering who on earth would visit Greystone from Pennsylvania Station. Immediately, she recalled Will’s encouragement to “dig deeper” into his suspicions about her father’s supposed actions.
“Twice a week you say?”
The taxi eased into the busy thoroughfare, and the cabbie spoke while navigating the crush. “Like pennies from heaven … up until three weeks ago. I had it down to a science, sitting here waiting every Wednesday and Friday at nine-fifteen in the morning for my fare to exit from the station.”
“Really? Always the same person? Is it a short, chubby man with grey hair and a mustache?”
“No, Miss. Some highfalutin’ dame: blonde, tall, and dressed to the nines. Like you, dripping with greenbacks. I figure, she was meeting up with her sugar daddy.”
Lizzy started to cough and promptly removed a handkerchief from her purse to cover her mouth. That last remark was unexpected. She didn’t think she dressed so hoity-toity, and at once touched the fur collar surrounding her neck. Perhaps it was Mother who hired this cab? That speculation was promptly dismissed acknowledging that she would never take the railroad into Manhattan. Never with a capital N and certainly not twice a week. Where would she keep her Gordon’s gin?
“I’m sorry, Miss, I didn’t mean to imply …”
Horns blared from the congested traffic on Seventh Avenue and Herald Square. Lizzy watched Macy’s department store become shrouded in darkness as one after the next, each display window light dimmed.
“That’s all right. Can you tell me anything more about this woman?”
“She never smiles. In my book, that just ain’t right, but I suppose everyone has someone shippin’ out these days and that’s enough to make any woman melancholy.”
“Hmm, yes. I suppose so.” Lizzy continued to stare deep in thought out the cab window. Sudden raindrops splattered the glass in long streaks, blurring her vision. Her musing drifted to her Agatha Christie novels and how they always inspired her to play detective—even if the discoveries of late had produced horrific incriminating evidence where her sister was concerned. Perhaps it’s Ingrid traveling to Greystone? No, she wouldn’t be caught dead in a taxicab. Greta? No, why would she need to see her father? Well, she is a golddigger. Maybe it was Mrs. Robertsen en route to one of those “slenderizing salons” she spoke of at the Memorial Day lawn party. No, No. I’m too tired to think of this, not tonight.
Long minutes of speculation had passed when the cab pulled up to the curb directly in front of Greystone. It looked dark and menacing as it always did to Lizzy’s happy spirit. Its five-story, stone edifice reminded her of an old world castle, a place she never liked to stay, even with its magnificent artwork and décor. Nothing like Meercrest with its palatial grounds of gardens, fountains, and the view of the Sound, she hardly came here.
“That’ll be one dollar, Miss.”
With thanks, Lizzy paid the woman, making sure to give her a generous tip. She grasped the handle of the suitcase and exited the taxi.
She stood in the drizzling rain, unperturbed by the precipitation, protected by the brim of her Stetson. In fact, she was more disturbed by the conversation about the frequent visitor—a possible mistress, she considered. From her position on the curb, no interior light was visible from the dark grey exterior of the mansion, and she wondered if her father was on the Island, which would be fine by her—a relaxing bath in a house without the ever-present Mr. Gebhardt was surely more appealing than the alternative. Father’s absence would also put off the inevitable conversation about said creep that she was sure would be forthcoming.
The front door opened without a sound into the darkened grand foyer and judging from the narrow beam of light casting into the hallway from behind the stairwell, she assumed that Mrs. Albrecht was still preparing the house for the evening. A glowing sliver of orange light breached the narrow aperture of her father’s study door, ajar only a mere inch or two. A woman’s low laughter assaulted her through the crack—and it wasn’t followed by the usual hiccup at its end. Lizzy resisted calling out. Instead, she silently removed her coat, draping it over the end of the stair’s handrail. Prompted by the fiction-inspired detective in her, she followed the light with tiptoeing footsteps. From behind the door, she heard muffled voices of non-discernible conversation. Some she thought to be German. The woman cooed in a familiar tone, sounds of passion and ecstasy, sounds she had recently made herself when in Will’s arms.
This recognition caused the hair on her neck to stand, not from goose flesh but rather, alarm and revulsion. As though a curious child, she pressed her eye to the crack, immediately seeing the roaring orange blaze within the granite fireplace. She strained her neck to scan the room with a wide eye.
Horrified, from her limited view, she observed her father bent over an unrecognizable woman, a blonde, lying with her back upon his desk. Her stocking-clad legs spread, revealing her garters, as they wrapped around the girth at his waist. His hidden face was nuzzled at her neck and her hands grasped the back of his head, holding him to her.
Lizzy’s palm flew to her lips. She ran from the door, appalled and repulsed from the image now forever burned upon her brain. Grabbing her coat, she shoved her arms within and barreled to the entrance, opened it, then with deliberate intensity, slammed it. Remaining inside at the threshold, she heard nothing and waited for what felt like minutes of catching her breath, attempting to calm her heart rate. She called out, “Hello? Father? Mrs. Albrecht? It’s me, Lizzy. Is anyone here?”
Renner exited the study with an imperturbable smile, smoothing his hair. “Elizabeth, dear. What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect your arrival at Greystone.”
She kissed his cheek trying not to remember that the woman in the study had just done the same. “Hello, Father. You look flushed, is everything okay?”
“Just surprised. Let me help you from your coat.”
She shirked her arms from the wool, and he draped it over the banister just as she had moments before. Her mind was scrambling, her heart breaking, and her expression struggling to remain placid
“Is Mrs. Albrecht here? I sure could use a hot bath and a cognac after my long trip. I’d like to go directly upstairs.” She trained her ears upon the study door, now fully closed, but heard nothing.
“She has left for the evening. I’m afraid I’m the only one in residence. Come into the study and we’ll have that cognac together.”
“Your ... your study?
“Yes, I have a fire going and since it is such a rainy, cold evening, you can warm yourself while we chat a bit. You can tell me all the news of Rosebriar and your trip south. I’ve missed you, Daughter.”
“Thank you. It’s swell to be back in New York.” Not really.
Her father opened the door, and Lizzy’s eyes frantically scanned every space of the massive room. Apart from the fire and the taxidermy owl staring back at her, it was empty. She knew what she saw. She unequivocally knew that a woman was here and felt confident that the fatigue of travel and her salacious thoughts of Will hadn’t caused her to imagine things—imagine that. Only the lingering perfume in the air gave testimony to her sanity.
She sat with crossed legs, removing her hat and resting it upon the red velvet settee as her father poured two snifters of amber liquor. Lizzy could hardly look at him, so diverted by her searching she was, so disappointed in him. “Have … you eaten, Father?”
“Yes. Have you?”
“I ate aboard the train. Although nothing like the southbound Orange Blossom, it was sufficient enough.”
He handed her the nightcap with an unusual shake to his hand. “The War Department is certainly changing the face of rail travel, especially with the introduction of innovative streamliners and diesel locomotives. Although, I must admit Seaboard is reporting profits like never before. Gone are the days of the depression’s diminished revenue and steam engine travel. I am quite enjoying these OPA restrictions on gas and rubber. Along with the modern technology, we rail investors are benefitting greatly.”
“I had the pleasure of witnessing troop transportation on both my trips. The men were certainly appreciative of their treatment on board the Orange Blossom. With the exception of not allowing them into the Pullmans, Seaboard spared no expense.”
“That’ll eat into their profit margin significantly. I’ll have to discuss that with SAL’s Board.”
Sitting in the armchair opposite, her father crossed his stubby legs as he lit a cigar.
She hated the sudden realization that he never seemed to care about her disdain of the putrid stench. Crinkling her nose would be fruitless. He made several consecutive puffs to start the embers, and she, in deliberate defiance, lit a Chesterfield. Normally, she smoked privately behind closed doors, but it pleased her to see him raise an eyebrow at her boldness.
“How is Mother?” she quickly asked a bit louder than her natural dulcet tone.
“Traveling as usual, visiting Blanchette Rockefeller at their retreat in Westchester. She’s expected home to Meercrest the day before Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, that’s nice to hear. Have you heard that the President has changed the date of Thanksgiving again? It’s so confusing.”
Renner made an annoyed sound with his lips. “More propaganda.”
“And Gloria? How is she?”
“In residence at Miss Chapin’s. I have instructed Jamison that he’s not to drive her anywhere. She needs to be under supervision. Now, tell me about Rosebriar? Did you have an enjoyable visit? Good weather?”
Still covertly searching the room, unconsciously, she smiled warmly. “It was much needed and the weather was simply sublime. The humidity was gone, and I was still able to swim up until my departure for home. Everything went smoothly with sealing up the house.”
He looked to the fireplace as though lost in thought for a moment.
Lizzy followed his line of vision and furrowed her brow. “And Ingrid? How is she? Gotten herself engaged to John yet?”
Renner’s lips pursed into a thin line. “Not yet. That boy is dragging his feet, and I’ve about had my fill of his indecisiveness. I expect both my daughters to be married by spring, and he seems to be in need of a push or two in that direction. It’s no wonder his father doesn’t give him any responsibility in Robertsen Aviation. John must be blind not to see what an opportunity it is to marry into the Renner family.”
She delighted in the fact that no engagement had happened in her absence, but ignored his insult to John, choosing instead to take the bait for the subject she had feared. In light of his evening liaison, she felt emboldened. “Both your daughters?”
Renner placed his cigar in the crystal ashtray before him and leaned forward, tenting his fingers. “Yes, Elizabeth, both daughters. It’s time. In my day, a young woman of your age would at the very least be courting with serious intentions for marriage.”
“Then it is a good thing we have entered the modern age—diesels and streamlining and all that. Why should relationships or the roles of women not evolve as well, especially now with the war on? Women are working in factories, driving taxicabs, changing the future. The traditional roles are over. Lillian is an example of that.”
“And your wayward sister will end up a spinster. What she does with her future is of no concern to me. I no longer consider her a member of this Renner family. She is a disappointment to me in every way. The Renner women of this family clearly understand that a female’s role is at home, attending to her husband and many children.”
She guffawed. “That’s bonkers! Mother is rarely home and nineteen or twenty are hardly ages verging on spinsterhood. I have no intention of marrying just anyone for the sake of marrying, particularly someone to whom I feel such repulsion.”
Her father stood, and she noted how he attempted to reel in his displeasure. He smiled down upon her as she brought the cognac to her lips with as much equanimity as she could muster. She was no longer that naïve, misguided debutante with her head stuck in the sand. The last three weeks had fully opened her eyes, and the lens in which she now saw her father was no longer rosy hued. In fact, in light of tonight’s glimpse into his extramarital affairs, she had serious reservations about the man she once thought him to be.
“It is my wish, Elizabeth, and it is your duty. Gebhardt is a man of power and means and has expressed his interest in you repeatedly. A marriage into his affluent, racially pure German family is an opportunity any young woman of our circle would kill for. Have you not given this serious consideration as we discussed before your departure? You gave me your word.”
And there it was, the second unavoidable fact she feared in the depth of her soul. Spoken by her father—“racially pure German” hung in the air as clear as Heil Hitler.
“I have, Father, and I do not believe that in 1942 there is a place in society for arranged marriages, no matter one’s ancestry. I’m sorry, but my answer is no. I do not love him nor will I, ever.”
He placed his hands upon his hips. “It’s that soldier. The Jew.”
She rose, standing eye to eye with him, the coffee table separating them as the raging blood raced through the pulse points of her neck. Oh, G-d. How did he know?
“The what?!”
“You understood me. You’re consorting with a Jew!”
“I am not! My answer is final on the subject. I find George Gebhardt a creep of the highest order. His opinions and assumptions are as vulgar as his slimy touch upon my flesh. His blatant bigotry is abhorrent to me, and if you make me marry him, I’ll jump from the Brooklyn Bridge to my death.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Elizabeth! This is your future we’re talking about here.”
“Exactly. My future, Father. Not yours.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “You’ve changed, Elizabeth.”
“Perhaps, so.”
Bending, she snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray beside her father’s freshly abandoned stogie, its robust streaming smoke attacking her senses as her hand trembled. She couldn’t control the sneer or the condemnation with her words. “Besides, marrying Gebhardt runs the risk of offending your precious, perfect Ingrid—the other bigot.”
“Ingrid? What does she have to do with this?”
“Because she’s been sleeping with him for months. My sister is a whore.”
He slapped her.
Stunned, Lizzy’s hand flew to her stinging cheek. A long second passed as she stood shell shocked by his violence until fleeing the room with him calling out after her.
“Elizabeth … Lizzy … I’m sorry. Come back. Let’s discuss this rationally.”
“Dammit!” he finally exclaimed a minute later into the silent room as a decorative wall panel flanking the fireplace quietly popped open.
Ursula whispered. “Is she gone?”
He motioned with his hand for her silence and nodded. This night had not gone as planned. His daughter’s arrival here at Greystone was totally unexpected. Her newfound self-awareness and the confidence she exhibited were utterly baffling. Three weeks in Florida, and she had returned an entirely different woman, one that might prove difficult to indoctrinate into the expectations of the people’s community. She simply must be educated that her primary role as a woman within National Socialism was for the purpose of pure Aryan propagation.
Certain that Lizzy had retired to her bedroom, confirmed by the reverberating slam to the door two flights above, he closed the study door. “What do you know of Ingrid and Gebhardt?”
Ursula shrugged an apathetic shoulder. “Nothing worth worrying you over. It’s a simple dalliance on her part. A young woman’s first love should be with someone powerful and virile, and Gebhardt has proven to be very effective in educating her in the ways of the Party. She idolizes him and while she may have bedded him, she has done so willingly. I would think you proud that she is consorting with one as pureblooded as he, not upset.”
“Why did you not tell me this? I do not approve. He has deceived me and my generosity.”
“Liebchen, with any luck he will impregnate Ingrid, and you will have the bloodline we wish for. His and Ingrid’s racial purity would make for the perfect Lebensborn, no?”
“Without access to Robertsen Aviation? No, Robertsen’s Scandinavian genes represent the ancestral home of every German. He alone is for my Ingrid. Without his realization, he represents the Lebensborn Initiative even more than Gebhardt does. Only their child will not be adopted or brought to Germany. You forget my position in society, Ursula. A pregnant, unmarried woman of superior blood in Germany may be acceptable and encouraged under the initiative, but not here among my circle in America—not until we have victory. No, Ingrid will marry Robertsen and Elizabeth will marry Gebhardt, and that is my final word.”
~~*~~
Shocked but refusing to give into her tears, Lizzy leaned against her closed bedroom door, breathing heavily with her hand still adhered to her cheek. She had never been struck before by anyone. Pigtails pulled by Henry Morgan in the Japanese garden, yes, but that was what happened during childhood crushes.
“He hit me. My father hit me. He knows about Will.”
Suddenly Will’s words of caution came back to her in a flash that if, in fact, her father was a member of the Nazi party, and she demonstrated any signs of dissension, he could become violent. Their cultish ideology was unwavering. Their cause was not receptive to diplomacy, no matter who tendered the appeal, beloved daughter or not.
She closed her eyes, regretful for having pushed him, but he had spurred her on by his inflammatory bigoted opinions and despicable unfaithfulness to her mother. Drunk as she always is, infidelity was wrong, wrong, wrong.
Lizzy locked her bedroom door, then dragged the carved mahogany chair from the writing desk over to it, wedging the top firmly beneath the crystal doorknob. She couldn’t believe that she was resorting to this in fear of her father. Withdrawing to the private adjoining bath, she pulled the light fixture cord, and promptly turned on the water to fill the claw-footed tub. The hot steam soon rose, warming the white marble, but not her.
After long minutes of distracted undressing, she finally slid into the bath, allowing the warmth and bubbles to soothe her chilled flesh and trembling nerves. She imagined Will’s arms surrounding and comforting her. In her despair, she wept, knowing that beginning tomorrow her focus must be turned to discovering her father’s possible hidden actions and affiliations. She needed to find evidence.
~~*~~