Winter Passing (27 page)

Ingrid folded her hands and spoke calmly, but her words took them both back to the last night together. Darby could see the three in their car, speeding toward hope and safety. . . .

The car switched back and forth down the alpine road. Tatianna hummed a tune of the Glenn Miller Band.

“One more mile,” she said with her hand on Celia’s. “I will miss you, my friend.”

“It won’t be forever,” Celia said softly. “We’ll return after the war, or you will both come to America. Never can we be apart.”

“That’s right.” Tatianna spoke with a confidence Ingrid didn’t understand.

The car rounded a bend and slowed. Ingrid knew it to be the last, and then they would be separated from Celia—probably forever. She hated the thought but felt envious all the same. She didn’t have the money to leave, so she’d have to find her own way of survival without anyone’s help. A sign for the coming Swiss border flashed by them.

“Oh, dear God,” Celia said. “Dear God, help us.”

“How could they be here?” Tatianna hit the brakes.

The car lurched forward as Ingrid saw a black car blocking the road, directly in front of the Austrian-Swiss border. Suddenly headlights beamed behind them.

“Where did he come from?” Tatianna held the wheel tightly. “Celia, get in the back, and both of you lie down. I’m going to ram straight through.”

“No, you’ll never make it!” Celia shouted.

“I’ll give it my best.”

“Stop!” Celia grabbed the steering wheel. “This isn’t your fight!”

“Listen to her, Tatianna!” Ingrid said. “We’ll all be killed if you try.”

“Okay, okay.” Tatianna’s voice calmed, and she brought the car to a quick halt.

Celia turned in her seat and looked fearfully at Ingrid and Tatianna. The vehicle behind them stopped. Headlights glared through the window. A man in the front car got out and opened the back door, waiting.

Celia touched her round stomach and closed her eyes for a moment. “I want you both to go home as quickly as possible. I should never have endangered you by allowing you to come—I’m sorry for that.”

Tears filled Ingrid’s eyes. She knew Celia was only being strong. They all knew Celia would not get away. She’d never see Gunther again, would never hold that baby in her arms. Ingrid felt tied with fear for Celia, but with just as much fear for herself. Would they come after her too?

Celia leaned close to Tatianna. “I have to ask one thing first. I’m so sorry, Tati. I didn’t believe in you. After all these years together. I know you so well. I know your heart. But I lost faith anyway. When it counted most, I let you down.”

“Stop,” Tatianna whispered. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. Please. Will you forgive me?”

The girls stared into years of memories.

“I forgive you, my dear one.”

“Thank you.” Celia reached for the door handle. She winked at Ingrid and smiled at both of them. “Hey, remember, the heroine always gets away.”

“Stay inside,” Tatianna ordered, grabbing Celia’s hands. “Listen to me. I love you like a sister, no, more than a sister. I’d do anything for you, and this is the only thing I can give. Ingrid, get up here in the driver’s seat.”

“Tati, you can’t go to them. They simply want me. I won’t endanger your lives any more than I already have.”

“Stay in the car,” Tatianna ordered.

Before Celia could speak or move, Tatianna was out of the car. She motioned to Ingrid and slammed the door. Ingrid climbed over the seat as Tatianna walked forward. Her shape was illuminated in their headlights, making a long shadow across the ground.

“What does she think she can say to them?” Celia asked, putting her hand on the door. “I’m going out there.”

“Stay inside!” Ingrid hissed. “You have your baby to consider. Perhaps she can do something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Just be silent, or they’ll take us all.”

Celia watched as the man in SS uniform met Tatianna. She took some papers from her coat and handed them to the man. He looked them over and began to move toward the car where Ingrid and Celia waited. Tatianna blocked him, her mouth moving rapidly. Finally, the man in black uniform peered at the car for a long moment, then pointed Tatianna to his vehicle. He slammed the door as she got in.

“What is she doing?” Celia tugged at the papers in her own pocket. “Oh, dear Lord: No! She changed our papers! They think she is me!”

“Celia, don’t you dare get out, or they’ll kill us all!” Ingrid’s terror rose, waiting for guns or men to take them too.

The vehicle behind them moved away. The black car parked before the border crossing pulled backward and slowly passed them. Celia yelled and lunged across the seat as they saw Tatianna. Tatianna waved and motioned for them to go ahead. Then she was gone.

Ingrid looked from her hands in her lap back to Darby’s face. “Your grandmother would not stop crying, but I drove her across border and try to tell her not to worry. The Nazis would discover who Tatianna was and let her go, I say. I do not know if she believe me. Celia made me promise to help Tatianna. I promise, but of course, I could do nothing.”

“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?” Darby asked.

Ingrid was startled from her faraway thoughts. “I help save your grandmother also. She not make it across the border without me. I took her to contact location. I never see her again.”

“But you heard from her.”

“Yes. During war, she kept making danger for us with her letters. ‘What happened to Tatianna? Her family? Of course, Gunther?’ ”

“So you told her they were all dead.”

“I told truth about Tatianna. I heard nothing of Gunther and believed he was dead. Her letters had to stop. You don’t get letters from America asking about Jews and political prisoners when you live with SS officer—you would be thought a spy and shot. You cannot understand war. I have only myself—not an escape like Celia. People were starving or murdered for nothing.”

“But in the end, we know who was Celia’s real friend.”

Ingrid turned away and, with a start, Darby wondered where Richter was. She also wondered how much time she had left. This was no game, and she was running out of time. Darby hurried to the edge of the deck again and looked down. There could be rocks; it was hard to see in the darkness. She glanced back, but Ingrid watched in silence. She thought Ingrid’s expression said,
Go. It’s your one chance.

She was about to jump when she heard a noise. In the dim light, she spotted someone in a chair below. A red glow from a cigarette illuminated his exhalation. Richter was waiting.

Darby yanked Ingrid back into the room and closed the door. “What’s he going to do with me?” Darby implored Ingrid to help her. The door slammed downstairs. Richter was coming.

“No. Richter will not hurt you.” But Ingrid’s eyes moved away.

Perhaps Darby should run back out to the deck and jump. But as she made a move to do so, Richter walked casually into the room.

“Time to go.” Ingrid would not look at him. “Come on, Darby.”

“Leave her here with me,” Ingrid said suddenly. “After you go to Hallstatt, pick me up. We’ll leave her here. It will give us time.”

Richter shook his head. “No. She’s coming with me.”

“Don’t make this worse for us,” Ingrid said, taking a step toward Darby. Her hand lifted, then dropped back to her side.

“Perhaps we’ll come back here in a few hours. But I want you to be in Munich, waiting for me. I’ll take care of everything.”

Richter took Darby’s arm. She glanced back at Ingrid and saw fear in the older woman’s eyes.

A glacial moon shone through icy sheets of clouds as they arrived in the small village—the village Darby loved and where her family had once lived. Richter continued to assure her of her safety, but his words were of little comfort. What
could
he do with her after he’d retrieved what he wanted?

“The scenic town of Hallstatt,” Richter said. His fingers twisted on the steering wheel. He was close, very close. “Thousands of visitors walking here every year with a fortune beneath their feet.” The car crept into the sleeping village. “To your right, famous Hallstattersee, perfect for diving or sailing. To your left, the Celtic museum where you can see relics from the oldest salt mine in the world. And up the hill in the cemetery, the Lange family treasure, lost, but soon found.”

Darby’s heart sank as they passed Gasthaus Gerringer. One light was on in the entry room, but the rest of the house was dark. They continued through the Marketplatz down to the parking lot below the lower church.

Richter nervously glanced around as he parked. Tall streetlamps lit the asphalt lot and danced in the dark waters of Hallstattersee. But no one else was around. Richter hopped out and walked around to open her door. Cool night air hit Darby’s face as she left the warmth of the car. Richter handed her the keys.

“Open the trunk,” he ordered.

From within the trunk, Richter grabbed a flashlight and gave Darby a small toolbox and hand shovel. She evaluated the narrow street, knowing she could run to the Gerringers’ home in minutes. But would she make it two steps away from Richter?

“Remember what I have,” he said, knowing her thoughts.

She nodded and felt the cold fingers of fear reach further inside her. Richter slid his arm around her waist, trying to hide the small shovel between them.

Their footsteps echoed along the dark concrete as they started up the steep road. “Talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say, Richter?”

“I don’t know.” He stopped and turned her toward him. “I guess, I don’t know.”

From the road, they turned up a stairway onto a steep upward trail. Darby imagined Gunther’s annual pilgrimage at this time of night. Over sixty years for nothing.

“This wasn’t how I wanted it,” Richter said quietly, pausing to look at her. “Don’t think I’m enjoying this. I’ve traveled the world, gambled and played with the wealthiest men, but here I am creeping up a dark mountain, sneaking, forced to drastic means. It’s not what I want.”

“You chose this, Richter.”

“I can’t live a life in poverty, can’t leave everything I know behind. I’ve worked hard taking care of my grandmother. My father and uncle used her money.”

Darby remembered how Bruno Weiler had changed from a youth seeking grandeur into an SS killer—all with the best of intentions. Selfish ambition, denial, conceit, and greed led downward until evil was justified as good. Bruno only saw himself by a jolt of humanity in the face of Tatianna. Was there a way to open Richter’s eyes?

“I’ve made mistakes, and it only takes a few to mess yourself up,” Richter continued.

“Why should I pay for your sins?”

He turned toward her and thought for a moment. “It’s hard, I know. But doesn’t someone always pay for another person’s sins?”

Darby opened her mouth to speak when she heard a car approaching.

“Wait.” He pulled her into a dark alcove. On the road far below them, a police car drove by. Richter cursed. “Why is he here?” They waited as the car continued down the street and out of view. “We’re moving too slow. Come on, but be quiet.”

They switched back and forth up mountain stairways and passages until the red lit candles behind a wooden gate bid them entrance.

Richter pushed the gate open. “Which one?” His voice was hushed and anxious as his flashlight bounced from one headstone to another.

They walked the gravel rows, though she knew the general location. On the top, near the bone house. Every moment prolonged was a moment more.

The headstones in daylight with tall, narrow roofs were symbols of lives once lived. In the cold night, the roofs were arrowhead fingers pointing from grave to sky. The flowers planted in rich soil in spring were bright and hopeful in daylight with dim, red candles flickering undying love. Night and winter brought the flowers into a matted mass, like spirits caught and tangled, unable to find escape from the ground. The red candles were one-eyed creatures, staring and promising that soon she’d join them.

“We’re wasting time.” Richter squeezed her arm till it hurt. “At the top, in the Protestant section.”

They walked carefully between eyes and spirits to the upper graves. Even the few stars that broke in from the clouds peered at her coldly with no twinkle or hint of peace. The shadows no longer hovered and jeered, but waited to consume and make them her own. She saw where houses, not too far away, were swallowed in shadows. Houses that offered safety and life.

Richter dragged her along awkwardly with the shovel in one hand. The gravel ground beneath their feet; she hoped loudly enough to awaken someone. Winter snow was still piled behind the bone house and on several graves. Darby followed Gunther’s instructions to the middle grave close to the upper railing. She moved from grave to grave until she stood in front of a wood and wrought-iron headstone. The wooden post had a pruned rosebush twisted around the base and up a wooden cross. Like some of the other headstones, a black plate covered the nameplate. This had to be it.

“Are you sure?” Richter whispered.

Darby knelt on the edge of a short, concrete border and opened the metal door. Inside it read
Celia Rachel Müller.

“This is it.” Richter’s voice had changed, and she wished to read his expression. He handed her the shovel and flipped off the flashlight. “Dig.”

Darby gathered her hair into a ball and stuck it into the back of her jacket, then she began to push the hand shovel into the cold dirt. She uprooted several bunches of flowering plants and rested them on the ground, leaving the rosebush at the top of the grave alone. With every reach of the shovel, she pushed herself closer to the end of her chances. Her hope was dwindling.

Richter had moved away. He was listening, watching, seeing if they were followed. He was nervous. She could imagine his thoughts.
What am I going to do with her? Brant will be looking now. Gunther will tell him we’ve come to Hallstatt. They could come at any moment. Can I let her live? How can I?

Darby shivered as her hands pushed the shovel into the grave. What would it be like to die, and to die tonight? She pictured her mother far away at home . . . probably having breakfast or taking a stroll with her friends. Gunther would be sleeping safely in his bed. Brant? Where was Brant right now? She wished for tomorrow and a thousand tomorrows to be with him.

Darby brushed her hands off on her pants and continued to dig. This grave devoid of a body—would it take her life? She looked down into the cold, frozen ground her hands reached into. It was the only grave here without a body.

She stopped. A quiet, comforting Voice spoke in her thoughts and she realized,
There’s something here that you want me to find. There’s something in the dirt of this empty grave that’s for me. I’m in the valley of the shadow of death, and you are showing me something. What? That I am to meet you tonight? That the cold ground will not be my home? What?

Suddenly her fingers touched something. Using the shovel in her right hand, Darby hit a hard object.

“Did you find it?” Richter said from over her shoulder.

“I think maybe.”

She could see only his profile as he looked one way, then the other. When he faced her straight on, she saw only a black shadow.

“Hurry up!” Richter loomed over her. “Get it out.”

He flipped on the light and kept it shining into the hole. Darby continued to dig and move the dirt away with the shovel and her hands. A rectangular shape was uncovered several feet down. Darby pulled and dug until the earth released it. She set the object on the concrete border.

It was a metal box wrapped in heavy plastic. Richter took out a pocketknife and cut the waterproofing. Then from somewhere surrounding them, Darby heard something. She couldn’t get a direction but thought she heard footsteps. Then Richter heard it too. He flipped off the flashlight, grabbed her close to him, and crouched by the grave. His eyes pierced the darkness like a hunter seeking its prey. The noise stopped.

“Come on,” Richter insisted. They crept in the night, beside bushes and around to the tall, white, cylindrical building of the Bein Haus.

“Stay there.” Richter pushed her against the side of the entrance wall. The stone chilled her back. Richter sat a few steps away, listening. She noticed the gun in his hand. And even then she could hardly believe it was real. Richter holding an antique gun in his hand, her on the ground of a bone house. The surreal moment should feel anything but that. It was more real than any moment of her life, for it could be the last.

Richter tried to pull open the heavy doors, then noticed the lock. Her eyes caught the image of a skull on the door as he swung the flashlight around. Above the door, Darby remembered the symbols of Alpha and Omega—the beginning and the end.

Richter found something in the toolbox as he returned the gun to his coat. He bent in front of the door. Darby was on the ground beside him, her eyes closed. She heard the sound of rapid sawing and then Richter removed the lock. The heavy door opened and a stark, musty smell billowed like ghosts loosed from their chains. Richter pulled her up and pushed her inside. She stumbled in and leaned against the corner. Darby knew a thousand empty eyes stared. Open jaws cried eternal screams. Richter again paused and listened. Then he closed the tomb door behind them.

“I need to see what we have here,” he said, flipping the flashlight on. “Then we’ll go.”

Darby crouched in the darkness as he opened the metal box. “At last. I almost didn’t believe it, but here they are.” Richter held up the three coins, one at a time. He flipped them over and examined them in the light. “Amazing.”

Shaking against the cold cement wall, she felt fear again. Thousands of bones circled the room and waited, waited. She wanted to be strong and have faith.
God, I’m so afraid. Why are you letting this happen?

And then she thought of Tatianna. A woman who gave her life that others could live. Grandma had said once that death was a stepping-stone, like childhood into adulthood. But to Darby, that step terrified her.

She remembered Grandma saying, “Eternity is closer than we realize, Darby. Like a child cannot perceive the workings and thoughts of his parents, so are we children unable to see eternity all around us. For like the apostle Paul said, ‘To live is Christ, but to die is gain.’ ”

But I want to live.

And then she saw it—in a flash of understanding. Brant had said not to forget to live. To live is Christ. To live something meant more than just believing in it. Tatianna knew it. Grandma Celia knew it. No greater love than to give up your life for a friend. And to truly live was to live for what you believed until the gain of eternity. This was what she could only find in the shadow of death. This she found in a grave empty of a body, in a house of bones without souls. Perhaps, at the last moment of her life, she was finally discovering what it was to live.

Richter snapped the lid closed on the metal box. “It’s not here. Where is the brooch?”

“Gunther said he never had it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me!”

“The coins themselves are priceless,” she stammered. “They’ll be enough. Celia’s father gave the coins to Gunther, but not the brooch. He knows nothing.”

“Fine,” Richter said, his voice calming. “The coins will have to do.”

“What happens now, Richter?”

He stared at her a long time, and she could almost hear his thoughts, searching for what to do. It all seemed to lead back to the easiest escape for him. “My options are limited.” He shone the flashlight on his watch. “How did it get so late? I’ve got to get out of here.”

He swept the flashlight around the room, revealing a mass of skulls with dark eye sockets. He ran his hand over his chin, then glanced down to where she sat against the wall. His jaw tensed as he bent and gathered the coins back into the box, then stood with the box under one arm. His eyes on the door, Richter pulled the gun from his pocket.

A sharp knock suddenly sounded.

“Quiet!” Richter hissed and flipped off the flashlight. He crouched, grabbing her tightly against him.

Darby heard shuffling footsteps outside, then another quick knock on the door. She wanted to call for help, but the gun was pushed against her ribs.

Hands clenched to the wheel, Brant tackled the miles in what seemed to be slow motion. His car couldn’t go faster, but it wouldn’t be fast enough. He’d called the police in Salzburg and Hallstatt. But no one helped. They’d keep an eye out, but there was no evidence of a kidnapping. Brant knew he looked like a jilted lover. He dialed numbers on the car phone. It rang and rang. He was about to hang up when she answered.

“Ingrid, have you talked to Richter?”

“I haven’t seen him. Why?”

“Ingrid, listen to me. I don’t know everything, but I know enough. If Richter has been there with a woman, there is serious danger—I must know the truth.”

Ingrid paused long enough for Brant to know she knew something.

“Did he call you? Has he been there? Tell me!”

“I do not know what you mean—”

“Listen to me, Ingrid. Gunther and I know about Celia, that you lied to her and to him. We know all of that. Now if something happens to Darby, I also know that she was last seen with Richter. You have to tell me!”

The line was silent.

“Are they in Hallstatt?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Now I know for sure. I just passed Bad Goisern and will be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Brant,” Ingrid said, “you’ll never make it in time.”