Legacy of Silence (9 page)

“Oh, it’s possible,” Vinnie answered. “You of all people should know by now about cruelty. They lied and stole, whoever they were. When people are desperate—” He shook his head. “It stinks. They knew what she needed it for.”

Jake ventured a suggestion. “Don’t misunderstand, but shouldn’t they maybe get a second opinion? Not that I doubt—”

“No offense taken, Jake. And it would be a good idea to get an appraisal on the ruby. That at least is genuine. I’ll give them the name of a guy in the market who’s pretty straight. He’s a friend of mine. Not that he’ll do you any favors. Business is business.”

The future loomed near and dark and complicated.
Lore and Caroline were given a list of instructions in duplicate: how to telephone Annie at work or at home, how to take the subway, and how to reach the jewelers’ street. It was like setting out into a desert or a jungle.

The sun blazed. Never had they felt such wet, suffocating, airless heat. Everyone hurried. Never had they seen so many people crowded on the sidewalks, jostling each other, pouring across the streets the moment the light changed, and sometimes before, so that brakes shrieked inches away and barely in time.

“A madhouse,” said Lore.

On the first day, they went to six places, where Vinnie’s report was each time confirmed. The ruby was really not bad, not bad at all, but flawed. Of course, it was a rare treasure that did not have some flaws; everyone knew that. But this one, where you had an expert eye—and so on, and so on.

“The best offer came from Vinnie’s friend,” Caroline told the Sandlers, concealing her discouragement as Father would do. “He offered four hundred dollars more than the others. I think he did it because Vinnie told him our story, and he felt sorry for us,” she finished, wondering whether “our story” included her own very personal part of it.

“So what’s the total?” asked Jake.

“Twelve hundred.”

The ring lay on the table among the coffee cups. It means very little to me, Caroline thought again. But Mama had called it
heart’s blood, a lover’s gem
. And
slipping it onto her finger, she held her hand up toward the light.

“They all said this one was not bad. If they admitted that much, then it must be pretty good, but I don’t really know.”

Jake smiled. “You know plenty. There’s a shrewd brain in that little head of yours. Personally, I think you should keep it. Someday we’ll be out of this depression and values will rise again.”

“Lore can tell you I never cared about jewelry.”

“What can I tell?” asked Lore.

“That I’m not interested in jewelry.”

She didn’t care much about anything anymore. Every morning now she woke up with an immediate, vague sense of dread, of something hovering and fearful; it took only two seconds to recognize reality.

“All the more reason why you should sell it. We need the money,” Lore said.

“Better to keep something back for a rainy day,” Jake argued. “Then if a rainy day never comes, please God you’ll have it.”

“He’s right,” agreed Annie. “Don’t rush into things. Especially now.” She stroked Caroline’s bent head. “It looks so beautiful on your hand. Hide it away. Keep it. That’s my advice.”

The glare from the overhead bulb, the bickering voices, and the stifling heat in the apartment were exhausting. No fortune-teller, no prophet of doom, Caroline thought, could have predicted anything more bizarre than this scene tonight. How long ago
it seemed that she had slept in the white bed overlooking the rose garden with Peter lying on her feet! How long ago the Swiss lake, the last embrace and kiss and promise!

“Look,” Annie said, “she’s worn out. Go to bed, Caroline. It’s been too long a day for you.”

She got up and said good night. Already she was being treated like a pregnant woman who needs to be considered.

I
T
was still early enough in the morning for Lore to have the lamp lit while she wrote. For a few minutes, Caroline watched her, as, half crouched on her bed, she raced her pen across the notebook.

Father had said, “Lore, that autobiography is going to be a classic someday. When are you going to give us a look at it?”

“When I’m dead,” was the answer. “Or maybe I’ll burn it up before I die so you’ll never see it.”

Whereupon Father would tell her that she was “a funny female, but we all love you, anyway.”

“Lore, how did it all end after I went to bed?” Caroline asked now.

“We’re to buy a strong chain and you’ll wear the ruby around your neck under your clothes until, when we’re settled, we can put it away in a bank.”

“Are you angry about keeping it?”

“No, they may be right. But listen, Caroline, this is our second week here. We’re bound to be a nuisance
to these strangers. If we aren’t already, we soon will be. So right after seeing the jeweler today, we’re seeing the refugee committee. Jake gave me the address. They’ll be glad to settle us somewhere, especially since we’ll have a little money of our own.”

The city was still hot, it was still crowded, and the waiting room at the refugee committee was more crowded than the streets outside. It was, nevertheless, very quiet. And Caroline felt the tension. All these people had retreated into themselves with their anxieties. They were a varied group: Americans, some obviously well-to-do, inquiring, probably, about relatives; foreigners from every European country inquiring about families left behind.

Were there any who had her problem? That serious girl about her own age, sitting there with her relatives? Certainly not that young woman, far into pregnancy, sitting there with her husband? He had his arm around her shoulders. Caroline tried not to stare at that arm.

“Lore, don’t tell them about me, will you?”

“No, why would I?”

“You told Annie.”

“That was different. Annie’s like a friend.”

Friend or not, the disgrace was the same.
Moral turpitude
, that doctor, that one on the ship, had said. Disgrace.

After a long wait, they were called into an office, a cubicle with a desk and a tired woman behind a partially obscured sign that read: Hilda ——.

“Do you speak English?” she inquired.

“I do,” Caroline replied. “Lore knows a little. I’m teaching her.” It seemed strange to be sounding so authoritative, when she was actually so dependent upon Lore.

“We’ll speak German,” said Hilda.

She was efficient and compassionate, which was quite wonderful, thought Caroline, when you considered how many times she must have listened to the same sad story.

As the first half hour moved on to the second half, a plan took shape; an entirely new life emerged out of nowhere and settled onto a geographical dot. The dot was a Great Lakes town with the attractive name of “Ivy,” the small center of a stretch of farming country. A few immigrant families had settled there and established a community shortly after Hitler took power.

The smart ones, Caroline thought ruefully, and then reminded herself of Mama’s visa. Another thought came.

“My father isn’t Jewish,” she said.

“That doesn’t matter. We’re not concerned with how anyone wants to worship God, or whether he wants to at all. Where are your parents now?”

The question was a shock. It was Lore who replied quickly, “We don’t know.”

“Oh.” The tone was very gentle. “I asked because there is a sizable hospital in the county seat, about half an hour’s drive away. I was thinking of some
possible opportunity for a doctor. And for a nurse, too,” she added.

Caroline, still unsure, had a question before they left. “Do you think our money will see us through? We don’t know what money is worth here, and we’d really like to be independent.”

“Well, as everywhere, some people would say it’s a substantial sum, and others would think it’s small. So it depends on your wants and your needs. I would say in your case that you should live very frugally and spend as little of it as possible. Try to live on what you can earn. You’re both young and healthy. Between the two of you, you should do all right.”

Two, Caroline thought as they left. No, not two. There are three of us.

They were to wait two weeks before their departure. The little community was preparing an apartment for them, and it had not yet been vacated by the previous tenants.

“Well, we’re glad about the delay,” Annie told Caroline.

They were alone on a Saturday morning. Lore had gone out to buy a pair of shoes, and Jake had gone to the synagogue.

“You’ve given us so much, Annie. We can never repay you or thank you enough.”

“It’s far, far from one-sided. You’ve given us an experience we’ll never forget. We’ve learned so much.” Annie studied the red geraniums, which were bending under a downpour. Then she said slowly,
“Maybe I shouldn’t bring up the subject, or again, maybe I should. I know you’re ashamed that I know about what’s happened to you. But you shouldn’t be. Jake and I have talked about it—no, please, you shouldn’t be upset that Jake knows. He’s a good, religious man, he doesn’t condemn people and especially, for heaven’s sake, especially a girl who’s been raped.”

The lie, although it was not hers, made Caroline feel unclean. Lore should not have told it, but she said nothing.

“Raped by a Nazi. My blood boils to think of it. I’ve been thinking about it all week.”

When she still said nothing, Annie continued. “I was wondering whether you’d like to come with us tomorrow to Jake’s aunt’s house. You and Lore haven’t been anywhere at all. We’re invited to have dinner there, and you’re invited, too. Aunt Tessie would love to meet you.”

Caroline would have preferred to eat a sandwich, read a magazine, and go to bed early. Although she understood that her tiredness was mostly psychological, it was also real. But it was clear that Annie wanted her to accept, and so she did.

Later that day, she scolded Lore. “Whyever did you make up a story like that?”

“Because it arouses sympathy.”

“Pity is what you mean, and I don’t want to be pitied.”

“Life is very, very hard and cold, Caroline. You
don’t even understand that much yet? We’re going to have a struggle. We’re going to need all the sympathy we can get. We’re two women and a baby in a new world, without a man to defend us.”

Neither slept more than a few restless hours that night. In the humid air, the sheets were damp; shrill voices carried from the building in the rear; desperate thoughts sped through a maze.

“Dress nicely,” Lore said in the morning. “It’s too bad you got grass stains on the pink linen.”

“I wouldn’t have worn that anyway. It’s not a dinner dress.”

“To these people it is. Besides, we’re not going for what you and I call dinner. It’s at one o’clock, lunch-time. What about this black and white print? It’s quiet enough, and still very pretty.”

Here was Lore turning the clock back again, treating her like a child. Why on earth should she look “quiet enough”? But it wasn’t important, and Caroline wasn’t going to argue about it, so she put on the dress and was ready on time.

They were to walk the short distance. Jake, walking alongside Caroline, described the points of interest along the way.

“There’s the ballpark where I pitched. My high school is just down the street, that redbrick building at the end. I’ve lived in this neighborhood all my life. We’ve got everything here. I seldom need to cross the river. Most of my relatives still live around here. You’ll meet a few at my aunt’s. She’s a character.
Know what I mean? Speaks out whatever’s on her mind. Some people don’t understand her. But her heart’s gold. She’ll do anything to help somebody. That’s the way she is.”

Except for the red geraniums, the building was a replica of the Sandlers’. They climbed the narrow stairs and entered a front room, just like the Sandlers’. The radio had been moved to accommodate a large table set for ten people.

Caroline counted. From the way they had spoken, she had expected a fair-sized gathering. But in addition to the newcomers, there were only six more: the widowed, elderly Aunt Tessie, two married couples, also old, and a young man who looked uncomfortable. Introductions were made. The couples were cousins. The young man, Joel Hirsch, was a distant relative of Aunt Tessie’s late husband. In stiff European fashion, he bowed.

“Joel’s a newcomer here like you, Caroline. Arrived two months ago. Do you understand what I’m saying, Joel?”

“A little. I learn, Uncle Jake.”

Almost immediately, they sat down to dinner. The women waited on the men, as well as on Lore and Caroline, bringing a succession of bowls, platters, and pitchers of hot coffee, iced coffee, and iced tea. The food was appetizing, although there was too much of it.

The poor old woman must have labored for the last two days to prepare such a feast, thought Caroline,
and was for some reason made uneasy by the thought.

Jake opened the conversation. “What about it? Can Aunt Tessie cook, or can’t she?”

“Everything is delicious,” Caroline said.

One of the cousins remarked that Caroline’s English was perfect and asked about Lore. “But your sister doesn’t speak it at all?”

“A little. I am teaching her.”

“She’s a good teacher,” Lore said, smiling.

Caroline was thinking: They have been discussing us. How else would this woman know that Lore is my sister? Nobody, on seeing us together, would assume that we were sisters.

“I wish we could find a good teacher for Joel,” Aunt Tessie remarked. “He’s so smart and ambitious. Once he learns the language, he’ll get somewhere.”

Automatically, everyone looked toward Joel, who now seemed more uncomfortable than ever. He had very fair skin, so that, in contrast, his blush looked raw. Although he was not fat, his cheeks were puffy, and he kept blinking as though his eyes hurt. His thick sandy hair was curly; having tried unsuccessfully to slick it down with water, he kept pushing it back. He was—what was the word?—pathetic, like a lost, bewildered dog.

Her mind jumped erratically from “dog” to Peter, then to the garden, the house, and her parents.…

Where were they, now that the war had sealed
them off from the world? Where was her brave resolve to “think positively”? What was she doing here in this place?