For Such a Time (7 page)

 7 

Then Esther summoned Hathach, one of the king’s eunuchs assigned to attend her. . . .

Esther 4:5

T
UESDAY
, F
EBRUARY
22, 1944

S
tella glanced out at the predawn sky. The violet-gray light pulled into focus the ghetto’s towering stone bastions. The immutable island she’d once imagined now looked like the prow of an advancing ship, a ship full of Jews.

Where was their final destination?

She’d finished sorting through the deportation lists, relieved that Morty’s name was not among those sent to Auschwitz. Sleep had evaded her, however. Stella felt a pressing need to winnow truth from rumor about the horrible place, and to know how much of a monster her employer really was.

Freshly showered and dressed, she sat on the edge of the bed and reached toward the nightstand for the wristwatch Joseph had given her.

The Bible lay beside it. Stella felt a prickle at her nape. The book hadn’t been there when she’d awoken this morning. She hadn’t seen it since she’d put it away in the drawer last week.

Had someone been in her room?

Joseph. Likely he’d removed it from the drawer while she was in the shower. He’d asked her to pray for his parents, and since she denied being Jewish, he must have assumed she was a Christian. Did he intend to give her a little inspiration?

Faintly amused, Stella picked up the book. Marta might call its mysterious appearance “Getting the Holy Nudge.” Her best friend had had lots of sayings: “The road to heaven is paved with potholes,” and “When you fall from grace it’s a hard landing.”

Stella felt a wave of homesickness. How she missed Marta! They had grown up together on the Roonstrasse, inseparable despite their different beliefs. In their teens, Marta confided to a motherless Stella the facts of life. Years later, Stella helped Marta find an apartment in Heidelberg when they started working together at Schnellpressen AG. Through the years they shouldered one another through boyfriends, bat mitzvahs, and overbearing bosses. And when the Nazis invaded Mannheim, Marta risked everything to keep her friend safe.

She must have been frantic when Stella didn’t return that night—a lifetime ago. Where was Marta now? What was she doing?

No doubt praying
for me,
Stella thought as she stared at the Bible in her hands. Not that it was doing any good . . .

A soft rap sounded at the door. “Come in.”

“You’re already up!” Joseph stated the obvious as he gaped at Stella’s fully clothed form.

The boy’s reaction confused her. If he hadn’t been in her room this morning, then who had? The colonel? Helen?

She patted the place beside her on the bed. “Joseph, I’d like to speak with you for a few minutes.” Stella couldn’t count on prayers, Marta’s or anyone else’s. She could only rely on herself. Right now she intended to find out from Joseph more about the deportation lists—without making him any the wiser. Then if the colonel did question him later, he would seem innocent enough.

Joseph sat down and eyed the Bible in her lap. “What do you want to talk about?”

What ruse could she try? Coercing the colonel rested so much easier on her conscience. “As you know, yesterday was my first day working for Herr Kommandant,” she began.

“Did you have to work hard?”

She smiled at his obvious concern. “Not too hard.”

Joseph had been her dutiful champion during the colonel’s absence. He stood sentinel at her door while she slept, and when she longed for company, the boy happily chatted with her about mundane household matters. Only when she broached the subject of life inside the fortressed walls of Theresienstadt did he become quiet.

“I found papers in a file that mention a place called Auschwitz. I wish to know where it is,” she said, hoping to sound only mildly curious.

His body went still beside her. “Why don’t you ask Herr Kommandant?” he whispered.

Slipping an arm around his shoulders, she pulled him close, ignoring a stab of guilt. “You know how busy he is. I can’t waste his valuable time with such questions.”

She met with success when he relaxed against her and said, “It’s a bad place where people die. In the east, I think. The Judenrat picks who must go there on the train.”

“Judenrat?”

“The Council of Elders. Jews that run the ghetto.”

She was surprised. “Jews actually get to control what happens behind those walls?”

“Only when the Nazis say so,” the boy clarified. “Mostly the Elders just break up fights, divide up the food, and call prisoners for
Appell
. Work that Herr Captain and his men don’t feel like doing.”

“Like making deportation lists?” She couldn’t imagine any Jew willing to send his own people to a place like Auschwitz.

“Ja,” he said, staring down at his palms. “Herr Captain makes them choose.”

Stella roughly fanned the pages of the Bible she still held. No doubt Hermann enjoyed forcing her people to turn against one another like cornered rats. “Joseph, you say ‘they’ and ‘them’ when you speak of this council. How many Elders are there?”

“Only one right now. The others got too sick.”

Anger flared inside her. One Jew must carry the weight of so many upon his shoulders? “Is he a friend of yours?”

Joseph nodded. “I haven’t seen him for a while, not since Herr Kommandant came here and gave me a place to stay in his house.”

“You said Herr Kommandant has only been here a short time?”

He counted on his fingers. “Five weeks,” he said. “Kommandant Rahm left a long time ago. Then Captain Hermann lived here in the house. He ran the camp until Herr Kommandant came to take his place.”

Tension eased from her limbs. She had her answer; the last deportation occurred well before the colonel arrived at Theresienstadt. He hadn’t sent those people to Auschwitz.

He was far from exonerated, however. “Tell me how you came to be in this house, Joseph,” she said.

The boy flexed the worn leather tips of his boots as if to study them. “It was God’s doing,” he said, then nodded with the certainty of innocence. “Herr Kommandant came to the ghetto that first day with Captain Hermann and some other SS. I stole two potatoes the day before, from the barracks kitchen, and Lieutenant Brucker did this.” He angled his head to show the scab where his ear had been. “Mrs. Brindel works in the ghetto infirmary. She wrapped my head in an ugly pink towel.” His hands fisted in his lap. “I looked silly.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Stella said soothingly while her heart filled with hatred for Lieutenant Brucker.

“Herr Kommandant thought I looked silly, too.” Joseph lifted his face to hers. “Do you know why?”

Stella shook her head.

“’Cause he stared at me and said, ‘What’s wrong with that boy?’ Captain Hermann told him how I got punished. Herr Kommandant said, ‘What was his crime?’ Then the captain told him I took the potatoes. Herr Kommandant’s face turned so red he looked sunburned. I thought he was going to tell the captain to kill me.”

When he paused, Stella absently clutched at the Bible and whispered, “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing.” Joseph lifted his skinny shoulders. “All he said to Captain Hermann was, ‘I need a houseboy. Delouse that one and send him to me.’ I came here after that.” A smile kicked up one side of his mouth. “Helen gave me a clean bandage. Herr Kommandant told her to burn the pink towel in the fireplace.”

Unsettling warmth spread through Stella. It seemed her employer’s compassion extended beyond rescuing half-starved secretaries. She planted a kiss on top of Joseph’s tousled crown. “Well, I’m certainly glad you’re here. You happen to be my only friend in this place.”

Joseph gave her an earnest look. “You will always be mine.”

He surprised her by grabbing her around the waist and burying his face against her. She hugged him hard, her maternal instincts savoring the pressure of his small body against hers.

“You smell nice,” he said against her shoulder. “Like the spices Mama and Papa used after Shabbat.”

Stella started to agree before she bit her tongue in silence. She must keep her secret, for his sake if nothing else.

The mention of his dead parents triggered another worry in her. “Do you have any other family?”

He shook his head and squeezed her harder. All at once her dreams of escape withered against a new, more powerful emo
tion. She couldn’t leave him behind. “When the war is over, you’ll come home with me,” she said with a smile.

He leaned back and eyed her in disbelief. “You mean, live with you . . . as long as I want?”

“Absolutely.” A wistful ache pierced Stella’s heart. She’d offered the same to Anna.

“Where will we live? Do you have a house?”

Her smile faltered. During
Kristallnacht
the Nazis had shattered the storefront window of her uncle’s smithy. Then they used Morty’s forging tools to destroy Herr Kinzer’s Furrier next door, stealing mink coats, sable wraps, and a jeweled muff from his broken glass display. The destruction hadn’t ended there. All along the Roonstrasse the monsters ransacked apartments above her neighbors’ shops, tossing out everything from women’s lacy undergarments to fine Dresden china plates, family photographs, and furniture—even a baby’s crib. Below in the street, their comrades laughed as frantic Jews tried to reclaim their possessions.
“They divide my garments among them and cast
lots for my clothing. . . .”

Psalm twenty-two again. Stella felt the weight of the Bible heavy against her lap. “We’ll find someplace,” she said reassuringly. “How about a castle? I know of a palace with ceilings of gold and velvet draperies and so many mirrors you can look into any of them to see all the way through to the rest of the rooms.”

“There’s a real place like that?”

She nodded. “And great golden lions spout water into a blue pool beside a beautiful garden. There’s even a grotto built inside a cave. We’ll sail our own little boat while actors perform onstage across the water.”

“Golden lions?” Joseph breathed. “Our own little boat?”

“I promise.” Stella would make it a point to take him to Bavaria’s famed Linderhof Castle. “You will also go to school.”

Faint color stained his cheeks. “Papa showed me a little how to read and write and add numbers. I’ve never been in a real school.”

Of course not—he’d been held captive like an animal instead. She kissed his brow. “Once I was a teacher at Dachau,” she said gently. “Our International Committee—a lot like your Judenrat, I think—decided the children in the camp needed an education. They chose me because I was teaching Anna her numbers.”

“Who’s Anna?”

Stella gazed at him, then said, “My very special little girl.”

“Where is she?” He seemed to tense. “Did you have to leave her at Dachau?”

“No, she died when . . .” Stella cleared her throat. “Anna died trying to save me.”

“Then she’s in heaven.” Again he spoke with the conviction of an innocent heart. “Mama told me going to heaven would be wonderful. She said she would never need a coat, ’cause it’s always summertime and there’s lots of Strudel so you never go hungry. They would never have to dig holes or shovel dirt, and they could sing and dance all day ’cause the angels would play music on accordions and trumpets.” He gave her a shy look. “I think Anna is with them now. Since God brought you to me.”

Stella said nothing as she brushed back a curly lock of his hair. She didn’t know what she believed anymore, only that when Joseph was with her, the ache of losing Anna didn’t hurt as much. Somehow she and this child had been brought together and they needed each other.

They would be a family—her and Joseph. And Morty . . .

The last required faith, didn’t it? A belief that God still listened.

She reached around the boy and placed the Bible inside the nightstand drawer.

“You and me,” she said, giving him another hug. “Just you and me.”

 8 

And the king gave a great banquet . . . for all his nobles and officials.

Esther 2:18

S
UNDAY
, F
EBRUARY
27, 1944

S
he felt like a harlot.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, Stella adjusted the red wig, then fidgeted with the daring neckline of her aqua chiffon dress. She felt conspicuous and vulnerable.

In two weeks’ time her bruised hands had healed. They swept nervously across the gauzy skirt, while her toes curled inside a new pair of soft kid pumps that fit well and matched her dress perfectly. A double rope of creamy pearls hugged the column of her throat. Stella imagined them choking her.

This wasn’t the dress of a secretary. Her employer had purchased the blue confection during his week in Prague. When he’d presented it to her just that morning, he informed her they were giving a supper party tonight. She would need clothes suitable to her position.

It was at this mental juncture that Stella paused. What exactly did he expect from her?

The distinct hum of voices rose from downstairs. Apprehension clawed Stella’s insides as she fought an urge to return to the sanctuary of her room. Taking a deep breath, she resumed her descent. An unexpected wave of nostalgia rose in her as she heard lively strains from Verdi’s “Triumphal March” coming from the living room. It had been so long since she’d heard music, and the melody made her miss her uncle even more. In Mannheim, she and Morty shared such an appreciation for the classics.

Reaching the bottom step, her gaze flew to the familiar castle painting. The misty wooded setting offered an inexplicable comfort that worked like the music to soothe her frayed nerves.

Such a tranquil place. Why had the colonel never returned? Stella hadn’t forgotten the morning at breakfast when she glimpsed a boy’s bitter yearning—

“So, what do you think, Captain? Lovely, isn’t she?”

Stella spun around to find the colonel eyeing her with appreciation. He held two glasses of pale wine. “
Pouilly-Fuisse
. My personal favorite, Fräulein.” His deep voice swept over her like Verdi’s dulcet notes as he offered her a glass.

“Danke, Herr Kommandant.” Stella accepted the wine with cursory politeness, ignoring the traitorous flutter of her pulse. Despite his black SS uniform, he seemed hardly threatening as he stood before her, tall and distinguished, his smile softening the hard angles of his face.

She’d already completed her first week of work and so far had managed to keep their relationship on a strictly professional plane. The colonel, however, seemed to have other plans, laying siege to her emotional armor with battlefield vengeance.

A day didn’t go by that he failed to compliment her, and his apparent fondness for Joseph had her wondering by the hour if he wasn’t more human than monster after all. And when the warm humor in his eyes darkened to unspeakable despair, she felt an overwhelming urge to reach out to him, to offer comfort as though he was a friend and not her vilest enemy.

It took all of her discipline to maintain the wall that must remain between them if she was to survive. But the colonel was gaining ground.

“Fräulein Muller, you remember Captain Hermann?”

Stella tensed as she turned to meet the captain’s hazel-eyed stare. Joseph had told her of his brutal treatment toward the prisoners. Hermann’s hatred of Jews seemed only surpassed by his desire to inflict pain. “Herr Captain.”

“Fräulein.” Bowing curtly, he swept off his peaked cap to reveal a mowed thatch of white-blond hair. “We finally meet again. I was beginning to think you were a phantom.”

Stella
had
managed to avoid him after that first night. Each afternoon as he arrived to give his daily report to the colonel, she fled for safety—any room in the house far enough away from his presence.

Like a mouse scurried the instant the cat was near, she thought in agitation. Now the “cat” was joining them for supper, and she had nowhere to hide. “As you can see, I’m no ghost.”

“Hardly that,” he agreed. Stella felt rather than saw his prurient interest as he stared at her. Or perhaps crudeness had become permanently etched into his glacial features.

Either way, she clenched the stem of her wineglass while heat from indignation and fear rose above her choker of pearls.

“See how beautifully she blushes, Captain? I believe even the Führer would envy my good fortune at having such a secretary.” The colonel winked. “Especially when he has so many letters of complaint to deal with.”

Oblivious to the veiled blasphemy, Hermann continued to stare at Stella. “I agree Fräulein is beautiful.” He finally glanced toward the colonel. “But I am certain our beloved Führer envies no one. Shall we join the others, Herr Kommandant?”

“You go ahead, Captain. We’ll be along.”

With another curt bow, the captain departed. Stella breathed a sigh of relief. Even in company, he made her skin crawl.

“Shall we make a toast before dinner?”

The colonel drew her attention with his raised glass. “To beauty?”

His teasing smile was like balm after Hermann’s icy appraisal, and she tried to smother the growing intimacy she felt for him. She didn’t want to trust this man; he was as much the enemy as the captain. Yet unlike Hermann, she felt safe with him—at least for the present—and he knew it. Even now he sensed her weakening resolve and tried to exploit it.

The thought roused her dislike of him long enough to raise her glass. “To ability,” she countered, “which far outlasts beauty.”

Ignoring his startled look, she sipped her wine, savoring the fruity Chardonnay. Like the music, it had been too long since she’d indulged in such pleasure.

“Ability.” His smile bore the hint of approval.

A myriad of delicious smells drifted in from the kitchen. Stella’s stomach growled.

“And to appetite.” He eyed her above the rim of his glass. “No sweeter sound.”

Stella blushed.

“Shall we join the others?”

He took her hand and led the way. Near the dining room, the din of voices grew louder, echoed by the
clink
of glass and silverware. The music in the living room had shifted into energetic measures of Schubert’s
Unfinished Symphony
while the tantalizing aroma of rosemary potatoes, sauerkraut, and fried onions assailed Stella’s senses.

Even the colonel inhaled deeply and said, “The Führer may lack nothing—nothing except the finest cook in the land. Wouldn’t you agree?” He appraised Stella with a look far less predatory than the captain’s. “In the two weeks you’ve been here, I believe Helen has performed a miracle.”

“I like a meatier dish.”
The pearls at her throat seemed to tighten as she recalled the words he’d spoken two weeks ago in
the car. She shot back without thinking, “A miracle for whom, Herr Kommandant?”

He jerked her to a halt. “You are still ungrateful for the food?”

“Nein.” Regretting her rashness, Stella looked down at their still-joined hands, vaguely aware of the contrast of skin—hers pale against his darker tones—before his fingers squeezed hers in a painful grip.

“Gut
.
Then I expect you to eat and not embarrass me in front of my guests.”

Her heart sank. They must be having pork again. It shouldn’t matter any longer, yet she still found it difficult to break faith with a divine heritage that had been hers from conception. And though she tried to avoid eating what her people considered
traif
, pork was a favorite meat of the colonel’s, and despite the difficulty in obtaining it, they ate it often.

She consoled herself with having finally realized his criticism stemmed more from an aversion to wasting food than it did over what she was reluctant to eat. Her secret was still safe.

In the dining room, Captain Hermann, along with five others—three men and two women—already sat at the table. Each man wore a black tunic sporting the silver
Tresse
and collar patches of an SS officer. They rose in unison when she and the colonel joined them.

“Our man of the hour has arrived!” the tallest proclaimed, raising his wineglass in salute.

“Prosit!”
echoed the others, raising their glasses.

The women remained seated at the table: a wispy blonde in a white satin V-neck dress, and a brunette with hair piled into a French roll and revealing her generous bosom beneath a strapless red taffeta gown. Stella’s skin felt hot as both turned their painted faces toward her, then glanced back at each other, giggling.

“Danke, my friends.” The colonel led Stella to a place near the head of the table. She was dismayed to find Hermann seated
directly opposite her on the colonel’s left. He flashed her a cold, catlike smile.

“It’s not every day we get a war hero in our midst. Or one so young,” the tallest officer continued. He winked at the blonde beside him. “At only thirty, you make the rest of us look like doddering old reservists, Herr Colonel.”

“I doubt that, Major.” The colonel smiled, pushing in Stella’s chair. “Herr Reichsführer informed me that you run a tight camp at Litomerice.”

The major flushed, clearly pleased. “I imagine that after Kommandant Rahm took ill and departed, the captain here appreciated your timely arrival. Running a camp is no easy task.”

Every head turned to Captain Hermann. Stella wondered if anyone else noticed the muscle in his jaw flinch at the major’s remark.

“Yes, well, I am equally grateful, Major, to have such a capable officer. The captain has made my transition quite comfortable.”

The colonel straightened to stand beside Stella. “I appreciate everyone braving this weather to come and officially welcome me to Theresienstadt.” His hand settled against her shoulder. “I’d also like to introduce the newest member of my household—”

“Comfortable transition indeed, Herr Colonel!” the major boomed, tipping his glass in Stella’s direction. The other men chuckled.

“. . . my secretary, Fräulein Muller.”

The colonel’s tone held an edge as speculation lit the four pairs of male eyes focused on her. A titter of female laughter erupted from across the table, fading with the final strains of Schubert. Only the gurgle of running water and clatter of metal pots from the kitchen remained.

Stella met their looks with forced calm while anger seethed in her like an acid tide. Darting a glance at her neckline, she felt her skin burn beneath the lavish pearls at her throat.

How convenient she’d dressed the part of the “Kommandant’s
mistress,” since it seemed everyone assumed as much. And the colonel only encouraged the assumption, showing her off like a conquering king’s spoils.

Though she lacked the courage to glare at the men, Stella glowered at the heavily made-up faces across from her. She knew what these women were. Many times she’d taken the train home from work and seen the scantily dressed
zoinehs
loitering along Heidelberg’s bar district
.

She was no prostitute!

The colonel pressed his fingers gently against her shoulder. Stella tensed. Did he offer an unspoken apology for their blatant insult, or was he showing possession over his goods?

“This is Dita,” he said, gesturing to the smirking blonde in white, “and Marenka. They’re here with Major Lindberg and Lieutenant Neubach.” He indicated the tall major, then a stocky middle-aged officer standing beside the voluptuous zoineh in red.

“Captain Hoth is Berlin’s attaché to the Prague office.”

“A pleasure, Fräulein.” The soft-spoken captain with sable hair and blue eyes seated beside her looked much younger than the other two.

Stella acknowledged each of them with a single nod. To her relief, Helen chose that moment to arrive from the kitchen, and all eyes turned to food. She bore to the table an appetizing platter of
Sauerbraten
, the marinated roast beef smothered in tangy brown gravy, along with carrots and potatoes. Her second trip yielded silver serving dishes filled with relishes, golden fried Käsespätzle, and freshly baked rolls, followed by dried fruit and a board of cheese.

Within minutes the feast was laid before them. Burgundy wine glistened in heavy goblets of Austrian crystal, and not an ounce of pork was in sight.