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Lili had just pried opened a can of very light gray wall paint when her phone rang. She fumbled with it for a moment because she rarely received calls. People usually texted. It was Mayet calling. “Hi Mayet.”
“Hi Lili. I’m calling with good news. Several months ago, our State Department initiated an investigative query with Israel’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs about the possibility of Shmuel Meyer being the one behind attempts to assassinate Martha Eames, as well as your kidnapping. This week, I received an official notice through the State Department that we should consider the matter closed and there would be no more threats to Martha’s life.”
“Did they arrest Shmuel?”
“They did not provide any details or any admission of guilt in the matter. I don’t think we’ll ever find out what they did. You might get some hints if you and Martha talk to Talya Narkis again.”
“Is this credible? It’s really hard to believe.”
“I was told only that we should believe it and accept it. There are no more threats to Martha’s life, or yours.”
“Or Gemma’s. Wow. I’ll have to get a message to Martha to tell her she can finally come home. This is big news!”
“MI-5 has been notified, so they will inform Gemma Wells. The only thing we found out was how Martha was compromised while she was in witness protection. I can’t tell you any details, but it’s being resolved.”
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LILI, GIL, AND JEANIE drove up to Martha’s house in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. When Martha opened the door, she and Lili yelped and hugged a long hug. Then she gave Gil a big hug. “Martha, this is Jeanie Peridot, our forensic genealogist,” said Lili.
Martha served a pot of coffee and even remembered to serve a cup of decaf for Gil. She also brought out a plate with freshly-baked slices of coffee cake.
“How are you, Martha?” asked Gil.
“Oh, I’m fine. Really. Living underground, as they say, was a real hoot. It was kind of like going to Florida for the winter. I met lots of really nice people who I’ll probably never see again. But who knows?”
“Well, get ready, because Jeanie has an amazing story to tell you,” said Lili.
Jeanie unrolled a large colorful poster. “Martha, this is your family tree.”
“Martha looked at the poster, then at Lili, Gil, and Jeanie. Oh my god! I’ve lived my entire life believing that I didn’t have any family, at all. I don’t even know how to make sense of this.”
“I’ll take you through it,” said Jeanie. “One step at a time. You are part of a large family, and your family story is fascinating! But first, let me explain why your life was in danger. This was your biological mother, right here. Her name was Frieda Meyer.”
Martha whispered her mother’s name and tears filled her eyes.
“When you were born, she was just seventeen years old. She was from Berlin, Germany, and she was Jewish.” Jeanie handed Martha several black and white pictures of Frieda at different points in her life. Martha’s hands were shaking as she scrutinized each picture.
Jeanie opened a world atlas that she’d brought and showed Martha where Berlin was located. Turning back to the family tree, Jeanie pointed and said, “As a teenager, Frieda was the nanny for the children of this guy here, Horst Konig, and his wife, Helga. He was a logistics officer in the German army during World War II, stationed in Paris, France. A logistics officer is in charge of getting equipment, people, food, and fuel to wherever they are needed to fight the war. Horst’s wife and children, along with their nanny Frieda, lived in Paris with him.” Using the atlas, Jeanie showed Martha where Paris was in relation to Berlin.
“When it became apparent that France was going to be invaded by the allied forces, he sent Helga and their children back to Berlin, where it was safer. He couldn’t send Frieda back because she was Jewish and she would have been sent to a concentration camp. Almost all of the family that Frieda left behind, members of your family, died at the hands of the Nazis, probably before you were born.” Martha looked at Lili and tears were rolling down her face. Gil found her a box of tissues. They took a few minutes to drink some coffee while Martha regained her composure.
“Please go on,” said Martha.
“Anyway, one thing led to another, and you were born. Horst Konig was your biological father. Your birth name was Rebecca but, due to the circumstances, your birth was never officially recorded. At the time, things were heating up with the war, so Horst somehow smuggled you and Frieda to Bilbao, Portugal.” Jeanie showed Martha where Bilbao was. Horst bought her a ticket on a ship to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. But, for whatever reason, Frieda boarded a different boat and sailed to Bristol, England with you, her baby daugher.” Jeanie pointed out the sea route from Bilbao to Bristol. “Soon after Frieda arrived in England, she gave you up for adoption, probably anonymously.”
“I’ve never had a birth certificate, only an adoption certificate from the United Kingdom. I’ve always just assumed I was British. So, I was born in Paris, during World War II? I’m French? And German, and Jewish, and English? The Florida girls will never believe this.”
Jeanie went back to the family tree. “Frieda ended up living in Glasgow, Scotland and where she married a man named Stephen Gillies. Frieda and Stephen went on to have children and grandchildren. You are related to all of them. More on that later.”
“Over here is the Meyer family. Your grandparents Avram and Talya Meyer, Frieda’s parents, along with three of their adult children and their families, died in the Holocaust, in concentration camps.” Hearing this, Martha broke down and wept. “I know this is very hard to take in, so we’ll give you a few minutes.” They all stood up and took another break, leaving Martha to herself. Gil helped himself to a second piece of cake. Lili made more coffee for everyone.
“I’m ready,” said Martha. Let’s keep going. I’m sorry.”
“Martha, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry about,” said Gil. “Some of your story is very tragic and sad, but a lot of it is very happy. You’ll see.”
Jeanie continued. “It turns out that only one of Frieda’s siblings survived the war. He was your uncle Fishel Meyer. He eventually made his way to Palestine, where he fought for Israel’s independence in 1948, when the country was first formed. When that war was over, he became one of the founders of a kibbutz name Nevo in their southern desert, called the Negev desert. Fishel Meyer and his wife Malka had three children, Shmuel, Sarit, and Rina, who are your first cousins.” Jeanie showed Martha where they were located on the family tree. “We actually spoke to some of Fishel’s grandchildren, your cousins’ children, and they all seem very nice. They are anxious to meet you.”
“Your biological father, Horst Konig, deserted from the German army during the war. He smuggled himself, his wife Helga, and their children to Rio de Janeiro. He changed their surname to Weber, which was his mother’s maiden name. According to his grandson, Jonas Mauk, with whom we spoke, Horst searched many times for Frieda and Rebecca in Rio, but never found them.”
“Now, it turns out that the Meyer family were very successful merchants in Berlin before the war,” said Lili. “Recently, a cache of artwork belonging to the Meyer family was found in a bank in Switzerland. It had been stolen by the Nazis. It’s worth millions of dollars. We suspect that Shmuel Meyer, your cousin, was trying to have you killed so that he and his sisters wouldn’t have to share the valuable artwork with the child of a Nazi and his disgraced aunt. Shmuel was a former spy in Israel’s Mossad and is apparently a very dangerous guy. Our State Department contacted Israel’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs about him. After a while we were told that the matter had all been dealt with, and that your life is no longer in danger. We don’t know how it was taken care of or what happened to your cousin Shmuel.”
“This is crazy!” cried Martha. “It sounds like an old spy novel where everybody is trying to kill each other.”
“That’s exactly what it’s like,” said Gil. “But your story is fascinating and involves people from all over the world.”
Jeanie pointed to several highlighted areas on Martha’s family tree. “We’ve spoken with Talya Narkis and Leah Ganz in Israel,” said Jeanie. “They are Shmuel Meyer’s daughters. We’ve spoken with Jonas Mauk and his mother Liesl from Brazil. Liesl is your half-sister on Horst’s side of the family. They are also very nice people. In England, Lili and Gil met a woman named Morag Wilson. She is your half-sister’s daughter, from Frieda’s Scottish side of the family, the Gillies. Lili, why don’t you tell the rest.”
“Martha, we also met a woman named Gemma Wells in England,” said Lili. “Gemma is your daughter.”
Martha looked at Lili, shaking her head. “I don’t have a daughter,” she said quietly.
“Martha, your baby was not stillborn. Your daughter is alive. I’m afraid she was stolen from you and your husband.”
Martha slammed her hands down on the table and shrieked, “No!” as tears poured down her face. Gil found a bottle of peach schnapps in the kitchen and poured her a shot. Martha drank the sweet liquor and slumped in her chair.
“I, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do.”
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AFTER LEAVING MARTHA to rest, Lili, Gil, and Jeanie went to Portsmouth’s quaint downtown area.” Oh my God, this is like a shopping wonderland!” exclaimed Jeanie.
“Great,” grumbled Gil. “It does feel a little like the market squares in English villages. There are a lot of shoppers out.”
Once Lili and Jeanie tired of shopping, Lili found Gil on a park bench and asked, “How about dinner?”
Gil searched on his phone and said, “Over that way, there are some restaurants by the water.”
They enjoyed fresh seafood at the Old Ferry Landing, overlooking the harbor. “This is the Piscataqua River,” said Gil, as he looked at his phone. “I don’t know how to pronounce it. I’ll ask the server.”
“I’m worried about Martha,” said Lili. “We left her alone with all of those revelations about her family. Her daughter. I can’t imagine what she’s feeling about that.”
“I think we should go with her to England and Israel to meet her family,” said Lili. “Maybe even Brazil!”
“I’d love to do that,” said Gil.