Secrets She Kept (2 page)

“It was just after she died in her room
 
—right there
 
—that I didn’t want to go back.” I spread the fourth wet tea towel on the rack to dry. “I couldn’t go back. But now, before I let it go forever, I’m thinking I should go through things
 
—things Mama never let me see. No telling what I’ll find.”

“Wallowing in that old house will just make you miserable.

Couldn’t Aunt Lavinia understand that I needed Mama
 
—no matter that she hadn’t needed, maybe hadn’t even wanted me? “You sound like one of your soap operas.”

“I’d arranged everything
 
—just like you asked me to, let me remind you. You
 
—”

“I need some time, Aunt Lavinia. My career as a teacher is over if I don’t get my act together. And I can’t get on with my future if I don’t settle things with Mama
 
—once and for all. Running away from home resolved nothing. Coming back to nurse her last summer didn’t redeem our years of misery. She barely spoke to me the whole time, except to say things out of her head. Crazy, raving things as if she was fighting someone, and other times whispering and then pleading, begging for something not to happen. Once she screamed, and I had no idea what any of it meant. All things that made absolutely no sense, at least as far as anything I ever knew about her. But that’s it. I never knew her, not really. Going through her things is the only thing I haven’t tried. I’m going to live in the house
 
—alone.”

“Please don’t do this to yourself. Let God close that door.”

“God never opened the door, Aunt Lavina. I don’t see what reason He’d have to close it.”

“Leave it alone, Hannah. You don’t want to dig up things that can hurt you.”

“What, you believe in ghosts now?”

“There are ghosts and then there are ghosts.” She peered at me over her glasses.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means leave the past alone. What you don’t know can’t haunt you.”

“Then tell me. What is it you and Norma were talking about this morning
 
—‘do the math,’ or whatever?”

Aunt Lavina paled and turned grim in one go. “Still listening at keyholes?” she quipped defensively. “I’d have thought you’d outgrown that.”

I stared her down.

Aunt Lavinia pulled off her dirty bib apron and tossed it toward the washer, then pushed her fists into her hips. “I will say that I did not always treat your mother as kindly as I could have . . . as I should have. But she didn’t do right by you or your daddy from the get-go. Joe would tell you to let sleeping dogs lie and get on with your life. Even Lieselotte would have wanted that.”

“What ‘math’?”

But Aunt Lavinia simply closed her eyes, threw up her hand, and headed for the door.

“Why did they move to the mountain in the first place?”

She stopped, shook her head, as if I’d asked a wearisome question, but turned to face me. “You know that Henry and I settled here because his family was here. What you probably don’t know is that he’d joined up out in Oklahoma because he was going to college out there. That’s why he and Joe ended up in the same unit once the war started. Henry and I met through Joe
 
—you know that. When Joe came back from Germany there was just no reason for him to stay in Oklahoma.”

“But all your family was there
 
—all Daddy’s. I never understood why Mama and Daddy followed you out here.”

Aunt Lavinia wouldn’t meet my eye. “Joe and I always got along
 
—the closest of the siblings, and I guess he thought your mama might be more accepted here than out there where so many families had lost boys from their unit.”

“Why wouldn’t people accept Mama in Oklahoma?”

Aunt Lavinia sighed again, this time exasperated. “The war changed the way people treated foreigners. The war changed everything.”

“I know about the U.S. internment camps during the war. But the war was over by the time she got here, and it’s not like she was German or Japanese. She was Austrian. They were victims of the war
 
—people we fought to liberate.”

“So she said.”

“What? You think Mama wasn’t Austrian? C’mon, Aunt Lavinia.
She’d have no reason to lie about that. And she certainly sounded Austrian.”

But Aunt Lavinia had turned again and taken off, down the hallway for her favorite fireside chair and footstool.

“This isn’t about me,” She pulled off her shoes, rubbed her arches, and lifted her feet to the ottoman. “It was a different time, and you’re too young to understand.” She massaged her temples, as if to relieve an ache lodged there. “Leave sleeping dogs lie, Hannah. That’s all I’m going to say.”

“But what if I find something that tells me who my mother was
 
—I mean, who she was really?”

“I don’t believe anything or anyone could explain that woman.”

“Nobody’s born so closed off, Aunt Lavinia. I need to know if that was her own warped nature or if something happened to her. . . .r if it was because of me.” That confession cost me everything, though I turned away, fussing with the afghan on the sofa, so Aunt Lavinia could not read my face.

“It wasn’t you, sweetie.” She shook her head. “What if you find it was because of something she did? Something neither she nor you can ever reconcile? A lot of bad things went on in the war. You just never know. Besides, she couldn’t love herself; how could she love another person?”

I sat heavily on the sofa, swinging my legs up to lie down and stare at the ceiling. “She never loved Daddy; that’s for certain. I hated that
 
—for both of them. I think part of him wanted to love her, but he wasn’t good at it. He could be soft with me but awfully hard on her. But she must have felt something for him, sometime. They married. They had me.” I couldn’t keep the hope from my voice, or my glance from her eyes, just in case she knew something, anything.

But Aunt Lavinia closed her eyes and turned away. “I don’t believe your mother ever loved another soul.”

LIESELOTTE SOMMER

NOVEMBER 1938

I’d loved Lukas Kirchmann all my life
 
—from the time I was old enough to breathe, or at least to bat my eyelashes. Lukas was my older brother Rudy’s friend
 
—both two years older than I. But, unlike Rudy, Lukas took the time to smile and talk with me, to ask the names of my dolls as I set out their china plates and cups and metal spoons, or to mention that his mother and sister were very fond of tea parties too.

When I was old enough to walk to school, Rudy ignored Mutti’s instructions to walk beside me, determined to run ahead. But Lukas insisted they keep a step behind to watch over his sister, Marta, and me. No one dared tease or torment us with two big boys on patrol. In all those years I never saw Lukas afraid of anyone
 
—not until Kristallnacht, the Night of Broken Glass.

I’d just turned thirteen and was long past playing with dolls. My father had warned me to stay home that night and keep the door locked, no matter what I heard or saw from our windows. He and Rudy
 
—so full of himself in his Hitler Youth uniform
 
—would be out late. Our housekeeper had long gone home to her family for the evening, and of course Mutti lay upstairs, sound asleep from the laudanum drops taken to ease her pain.

I’d finished my school lessons and the dishes, then hung the dripping tea towel to dry. It was half past ten, and still no sign of Rudy or Vater. Only when I stepped outside to stuff rubbish into the bin did I catch the faint far-off whiff of wood burning and a faded light painted across the sky. No one dared openly burn brush or wood with the current rationing, certainly not at night and not in Berlin
 
—unless a house was burning. I’d followed my nose to the street when a roughened hand clamped over my mouth and a strong arm yanked me back into the shadows. Scratching, kicking, clawing, biting
 
—I did it all
 
—but he dragged me into the bushes.

“Lieselotte! Lieselotte, it’s me, Lukas!” he hissed in my ear. “Stop biting me, for pity’s sake!”

“Lukas!” He relaxed his grip and I jerked away. “You scared me to death. What are you doing?”

“Is Rudy home? Your father?”

“
Nein
. Lukas, what
 
—”

“Let us come in, just for a bit.”

“Let who?” And that is when I glimpsed another shape in the dark, one I couldn’t make out, hunched and lurking behind the courtyard door.

“Please,” Lukas begged. In that moment I sensed his fear
 
—a thing so foreign in Lukas Kirchmann that I immediately shoved open the door and pulled him through, the hulking form on his heels. “Bolt it.” Lukas had never ordered me to do anything before, but I turned the lock without thinking. He put out the kitchen light and peered around the edge of the curtain. “Your father’s not home?” he repeated, as if he’d not quite believed me.

“
Nein.
He said he’d be late. Your arm is bleeding
 
—and your face! What’s happened?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

The other man, more than twice Lukas’s age, moaned toward the pale light cast from the street, nursing a crumpled arm.

“Herr Weiss?” I recognized him as the butcher from the market three streets over. The Jewish market where I was no longer permitted to shop, no matter that we’d shopped there ever since I could remember and it was so very close and had always carried the best cuts of meat
 
—at least, Mutti claimed that once it did. According to Vater, good Aryan girls didn’t buy from Jews
 
—not meat, not anything. The Führer had made that clear for a long time.

Herr Weiss nodded miserably.

“Lieselotte, do you have some cloth? A strip I can make into a sling for Herr Weiss?”

“Sit down, Lukas. You’re bleeding all over the place! Let me get you a face flannel.”

“Never mind me.” But he sat and grabbed my arm, warming me through despite the shock of seeing him roughened up. “Help us.”

“Anything,” I swore.

“I’ve got to get Herr Weiss and his family away.”

“His family? Where
 
—?”

“That doesn’t matter. Can you help us? Can you help me, without telling your father or Rudy?”

He wants me to do something secret and dangerous
 
—he wants me, without Rudy.
I didn’t know exactly what Lukas needed or had planned, but I knew that helping Jews was forbidden and that I ran the risk of my father’s wrath, Rudy’s wrath, and of being denounced by our neighbors. It was frightening, and thrilling. “What do you need? What can I do?”

“We need bandages, coats, some food. And we need a place to hide Herr Weiss and his family until tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?” Bandages and food and even coats were one thing, but hiding them . . . Where could I hide them? Did I dare?

“Others will be able to get him away from Berlin by then.”

My heart raced. This was more than I knew how to do.

But Lukas stepped near, so near I could feel his whispered breath on my face. “The brownshirts smashed his shop. They threw all his meats and goods into the street. They’ve set fire to the synagogue and to a whole string of Jewish houses. No one’s trying to stop the fires, unless they endanger Aryan houses. There’s a good chance every Jewish shop and house nearby will burn, including the Weisses’. His son’s been beaten senseless and arrested for trying to protect his parents. Herr Weiss and his wife need to get their daughters away before . . . before something worse happens to them. Help them. Please. Help me help them.”

How can I refuse? But not in the house
 
—there’s noplace safe.
“The garden shed in the courtyard. No one goes there now. There’s room for all of them in the cellar just beneath, where you and Rudy made your clubhouse when I was little
 
—when you wouldn’t let me in.” I remembered the long-ago slight, even in that moment.

He kissed my cheek. “You’re an angel, Lieselotte! I’ll take them there now. The key
 
—I need the key.”

I pulled it from the hook by the back door. “I’ll cut some sandwiches.”

“And cloth
 
—something we can fashion a sling from.”

“Yes, I’ll find something.”

“And coats or blankets
 
—anything you
 
—”

“Yes, yes, you’d better go. Vater and Rudy might return any moment. I’ll get them to you.”

“
Danke schön
, Fräulein Sommer.” Herr Weiss took my hands in his, then seemed to think that too forward and stepped back, bowing his head twice. “There is no way for me to thank you.”

“There is no need, Herr Weiss. I can’t imagine who would do such a thing.” But the reserve in Herr Weiss’s eyes and the pain in Lukas’s told me I should know, and without being absolutely certain, I’m afraid I did. They slipped through the door and into the night. As I pulled bread and cheese from the pantry, I remembered the chest of woolen steamer blankets in the attic above Mutti’s room. I ran there first, pulling out
three of the heaviest, and two coats Rudy and I had each outgrown. I couldn’t remember the Weiss girls, how old or tall they were, but it was all I could carry.

“Lieselotte,” Mutti called faintly as I passed her room. I froze outside her doorway, realizing I must have woken her with my rummaging through the attic.

“I’ll be back in a moment, Mutti. Just give me a minute.”

“Lieselotte,” she called more urgently. “Lieselotte, come now!”

I hadn’t heard her so strong in weeks, but it could mean her pain had returned. I dropped the coats and blankets in the hallway and stepped into the dimly lit room. “What is it, Mutti? Do you need more laudanum? It isn’t quite time yet.”

“My coat.” She lifted her hand toward her wardrobe. “Take my coat.”

“We’re not going anywhere. It’s the middle of the night. You must have been dreaming.”

Her voice was frail, as was everything about her, and I knew it took great effort for her to speak. “I heard them . . . Herr Weiss. Take my coat for Frau Weiss, my warm fur. It will keep her warm.”

“
Nein.
That’s your best. You’ll need that.” I pulled the duvet above her shoulders, horrified to realize that she’d heard us, fearful of what she thought, if she knew and would tell Vater. He would never approve, and the trouble it would mean for Lukas . . .

“I won’t need it. I won’t be going out again. Frau Weiss was always so friendly and kind to me. Herr Weiss gave generous cuts whenever I shop
 
—” But Mutti gasped, her back arching and her face contorting as she cried out in pain.

Quickly I repositioned the small pillow beneath her back to better support her. It was so little to do and did so little good. “I’m not sure Vater will think it a good idea. I’m afraid
 
—”

A crash came from the street, followed by raucous shouts and the broken rhythm of a poorly beaten drum.

“Take it. Go quickly.” Mutti closed her eyes.

I stood beside her bed, uncertain. But there was no more time. I
grabbed Mutti’s rich brown fur coat from her Kleiderschrank, inhaling her sweet scent from days when she was well enough to walk down the stairs and out into the world. I knew she would not wear it again, that she was past those days forever. But I couldn’t let myself think about that now.

I grabbed the pile of blankets from the hallway and a sheet and pair of sewing scissors from the linen shelf, balancing the load on my hip as I made my way down the stairs and carefully crept out the back kitchen door before I lost my nerve.

More shouts and drunken laughter erupted from the street in startling bursts. Smoke hung in the air and the odor of something pungent that I couldn’t identify, couldn’t separate from the smell of wood burning.

A furtive knock on the shed door, and I passed the load through, into Lukas’s arms. He squeezed mine in gratitude, and I raced back to the kitchen. My knife had just cut through the loaf of bread when Vater and Rudy burst through the kitchen door in high spirits, Rudy recounting some exploit and Vater laughing too loudly in hearty approval. My stomach flipped.

“Lieselotte, what are you doing up at this hour?” Vater’s tone suddenly changed. “Why is this door not locked? You’ve been out?”

“Nein,”
I lied, something I never remembered doing to my father. “But you were both so late. I was worried.”

“Did the noises in the street worry dear little Lieselotte?” Rudy teased. “You’d best get used to it. It’s only the beginning!” He rose up on his toes and stretched his arms above my head, menacing like a gremlin.

“Enough, Rudy,” Vater admonished. “You’re making sandwiches at this hour?”

“I thought you’d be hungry.” To lie again came more easily.

“That’s good of you,” Vater approved, pulling off his overcoat and muffler. “It was cold out tonight.”

“I’m famished!” Rudy tore off his coat and threw his cap to the table. “Make me two! Is there any coffee?”

“
Ja
, a little ersatz. I’ll heat it up.” I turned to the stove, praying my face would not betray me. But Rudy was too full of himself to notice, and Vater had other things on his mind.

“How’s your mother? Did she wake while we were out?”

“I don’t think so. She’s sleeping now. The laudanum . . .”

“
Ja, das gut
. She didn’t need to hear this night.”

“Mutti wouldn’t understand.” Rudy sounded so offhanded.

“What were you doing that Mutti wouldn’t understand?” It was a bold question, but I wanted them to tell me they’d been drinking or playing cards or anything but beating up young boys and burning synagogues. For the first time in my life I wanted Lukas Kirchmann to be a liar.

“It’s retribution for the murders by those Bolshevik Jews in France. Haven’t you listened to the radio? You must keep up with these things. You’re not a baby anymore, you know.”

“Rudy, that’s enough. Lower your voice. Don’t wake your mother. She needs her sleep.” Vater plucked a sandwich from my board. “Bring the coffee when it’s ready. I’m going to check on Mutti, then to bed.” He stopped. “Ah, I have a gift for you, Daughter.” He pulled a book from his coat and handed it to me. “Take good care of it.”

“
A Christmas Carol
? And in English! Vater, where did you ever find such a thing?”

“A first edition, so mind how you keep it.”

“
Ja, ja,
I will.
Danke schön
.” It was not like my father to bring me gifts. And this book
 
—my favorite!

He was through the door when Rudy whispered, “There’s more where that came from.” He winked. “And what he meant is that he doesn’t want Mutti to know about tonight. She’s been giving him grief about the ‘growing militancy’ of the Hitler Youth. She doesn’t understand. Der Führer has plans we’ve not dreamed of
 
—mark my words! He’ll call us to arms before long. The world will see what the New Germany is made of, and I’m part of it!”

“That’s a boy’s bravado. You’re all about rowing and exercising and camping and
 
—”

“Not anymore, little sister
 
—not after tonight. The Hitler Youth of today will become the army of tomorrow.”

“What did you do tonight? You still haven’t answered.”

“Poor little Lieselotte.” He stroked my cheek, uncharacteristically kind
 
—or was he being sarcastic? “Your world is about to change and you don’t even know it. You’ve been too much at home with Mutti and her old-fashioned ways. You’ve missed more meetings of the Young Girls League than you’ve attended. Next year you must join the other girls in the Bund Deutscher Madel. You won’t be excused, even if Mutti’s still alive.”

“Don’t say such a thing!”

He shook his head. “It’s a mercy for her if she’s not. She’s draining our finances and her life is no longer productive. You must see that. You need to take your place in the New Germany. Because Mutti’s dying, she’s excused. But you’re not. Your laxness looks bad for me and for Vater. The Führer says
 
—”