Secrets She Kept (22 page)

“A dozen Jews died,” Carl insisted.

Herr Schmidt’s hands trembled. “I have not forgotten that day, have never forgiven myself.”

“It was not your decision alone,” Frau Schmidt replied softly. “I, too, was afraid. I was the one who threw them into the fire.”

I didn’t know what to say, how to comfort or reprieve them . . . if I even had that right, if I believed I should.
“I was afraid . . . a dozen Jews died . . .”

“That night the Kirchmanns disappeared. They were taken into hiding. Herr Sommer had arranged passage for them
 
—that was all he told Carl. We didn’t know where or how. But the Gestapo discovered their hiding place and came early the next morning to arrest them
 
—all of them.”

“Except Marta,” Frau Schmidt added.

“Yes, except Marta.”

“Who is Marta?” I’d not heard that name before.

“The younger Kirchmann child
 
—she and Lieselotte were of an age, fast friends, like sisters. Later she told us she’d snuck out, saying good-bye to a school friend, when the Gestapo came. Because of that, she was saved, and hidden by members of the church until the end of the war.”

“And that’s when Mama ran away? Did she try to follow them?”

Herr Schmidt shook his head. “We don’t know for certain. Only that she disappeared the same night.”

Frau Schmidt smoothed her hand over the pinned rolls in my hair. “I think . . .” She hesitated. “Herr Sommer may have been the one to report them.”

“Sold them to the Reich.”
I glanced at Carl, remembering his words, but still did not want to believe. “You can’t know that. You have no proof.”

Herr Schmidt set his pipe on the table. “When we learned that the Kirchmanns had been taken, I went to the pastor of our church
 
—Pastor Braun. I meant to tell him what I knew, what Carl had heard the day before about them leaving.”

“Yes?”

“Frau Braun said that Pastor had been taken earlier that morning. She said she would go to Lieselotte’s father, and beg his help for his daughter’s sake.”

“What happened?”

Herr Schmidt would not look at me. “Frau Braun never returned home. Pastor did not survive the camp.”

“You’re certain Grandfather didn’t try to help them
 
—any of them?”

Herr Schmidt set his pipe on the table. “They were uncertain times.”

“No one dared ask, or talk to another about such things. No one risked trusting his neighbor. They might denounce you. It was not uncommon for children
 
—brainwashed in the Hitler Youth
 
—and
brownshirts to denounce their own parents,” Frau Schmidt all but pleaded for me to understand.

My stomach scraped the floor. “What happened to the Kirchmanns?”

“Helmeuth
 
—Herr Kirchmann
 
—and Lukas were sent first to Dachau, and then somewhere else. We lost track. We heard only
 
—months after the war
 
—that Helmuth and his wife had died in the camps.”

“And what about Mama’s fiancé? What about Lukas?”

Herr Schmidt shook his head. “He came back
 
—after the war. Marta took him in. But he was a broken man.”

After the war . . . Mama and Daddy were married in 1945. Why did she marry Daddy if Lukas was alive? Did she not know that he’d survived?
“Is he alive now?”

“I do not know. We never saw him
 
—it’s just what we heard. I cannot imagine it, but we have seen neither of them for many years.”

“Does Marta live in Berlin?”

“No more. We don’t know where she lives now.”

“The envelopes.” Carl pressed my hand. “The envelopes you showed me. I didn’t recognize the address. I meant to ask you, Vater, if you knew it.”

“I left them in the car
 
—in my purse. Carl, would you
 
—”

“I’ll get them.”

Carl’s absence left a giant hole in the room, but I couldn’t bring myself to fill it.
What do I say to them? How do I even feel about what they did
 
—what they failed to do? Would I have done any better? Mama did.

Carl was back in thirty seconds and I pulled them from my purse. “Here. The writing is old
 
—faint. The stamped dates look like they’re mostly from the fifties.”

“
Ja, ja
 
—this is it.” Herr Schmidt squinted at the envelope. “Danziger Strasse, 143.”

“This is what?”

“The Kirchmanns’ address
 
—before they were taken away. It is in East Berlin today, beyond the wall. But the name has changed . . . let me think.”

“Dimitroffstrasse,” Frau Schmidt said.

“
Ja
, that is it.”

My heart beat faster. “That means Marta or Lukas wrote to Mama after the war, after I was born. Is there a chance they’re still living there, or that relatives or friends are still in the neighborhood?”

“
Nein
. I told you, they moved away
 
—I don’t know where. They had no other relatives, though perhaps there are others from the church of those days who would know Marta, and where she moved. The Kirchmanns themselves came from Austria
 
—long before the war, before Hitler came to power. Perhaps they returned there.”

“Mama always claimed she was Austrian.”

“Your Mutter?
Nein
, she was German. Only the Kirchmanns were Austrian.” Frau Schmidt sounded positive.

“Could they have married
 
—before the arrest?”

“I do not see how. The engagement celebration came just two days before the Gestapo.”

My heart fell. From what I knew of Mama, I couldn’t imagine that Lukas was my father unless he’d been her husband.

Carl must have seen my disappointment. “Marta would know. She might be the only one who would know.”

“She would at least know if Lukas is still alive,” I all but pleaded.

“Why is it important to find Lukas now? After your mother is dead and all these years have gone? If he is alive, this could only bring him sad memories.” Herr Schmidt tamped his pipe again.

Frau Schmidt covered his arm with her hand. “Because she wants to better know her Mutter
 
—the girl her Mutter once was. And, perhaps
 
—” she glanced sympathetically toward me
 
—“your Vater?”

LIESELOTTE SOMMER

SEPTEMBER 1944

Just after midnight our party ended. The hours stole the luster from Vater, but Fräulein Hilde still shone like the midday sun as she graciously thanked our guests for coming. Dr. Peterson shadowed the edges of the room and lit a cigarette, making no sign to leave.

I had no chance to warn Lukas or his parents
 
—and nothing to say. It was simply a feeling, a sick feeling in my stomach based on Dr. Peterson’s innuendos and facial expressions
 
—his very body language. But his presence shook me as though all my anchors had been cut and I was drifting, slowly but perilously, out to sea.

Before Fräulein Hilde left I thanked her and mein Vater, making certain they knew how very much the evening meant to Lukas and me,
how we looked forward to sharing our wedding day with them. Still, Dr. Peterson stayed.

I bid them all good night and made for the stairs, my ears perked for anything that might be said.

“It was a grand success,” Fräulein Hilde gloated.

“Thanks to you, my dear,” Vater crowed.

“A grand success and a very long day. I’ll bid you good night, Wolfgang. Dr. Peterson, go home and give this poor man rest. He’s played the victor’s role tonight
 
—and played it well.” I heard the satisfaction in her voice as I reached the top stair. I couldn’t wait longer without being noticed, so I went to my room. Minutes later I heard Fräulein Hilde’s car drive away and the latch close on Vater’s library door.

After tonight’s social statement before the Nazi Party members Vater and Fräulein Hilde so wanted to impress, I couldn’t imagine what Dr. Peterson could complain about. Lukas and I had comported ourselves admirably, and the Kirchmanns had engaged in witty conversation at every level.

But the telegram . . . what could that be? What more could there be to his Heyden Fulstrom story? Even if Dr. Peterson contacted Heyden again, even if he and his friend on duty swore that I’d kissed Lukas in public and that Lukas had been with another young woman, that would only show my inappropriate expression of passion for him
 
—not worth a fuss now that we were about to marry. They couldn’t prove Anna was Jewish
 
—not now. The Levys were well hidden away in the cellar of friends. It had been stupid of me to claim Anna was my cousin, but I could put that down to my foolishness or nervousness at being questioned by guards in the street.

I changed into my nightdress and turned out the light, then crawled into bed and reviewed everything I could imagine. Just before falling asleep I remembered the car that had slowed when I’d checked my bicycle chain earlier in the week. Had it come from behind me or before me? I rolled over, uncertain of my memory. That was days ago. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.

For all my worry and the previous night’s excitement, I slept until seven. Vater had already left the house. Perhaps my fears were unfounded after all. I breakfasted in my room, eager to escape the hustle and bustle downstairs and to plan my day. How soon could I see Lukas? The very thought warmed me through.

I’d promised to meet Fräulein Hilde at the dressmaker’s for one final fitting of my going-away suit and luncheon on the terrace of her favorite hotel. It would provide a suitable opportunity for her to glory in the success of last night’s dinner and for me to thank her once again for all she’d done.

I’d dressed to go out and was just pulling on my gloves and adjusting my hat in front of the hallway mirror when Vater walked through the front door. I glanced up, smiling, glad to be at last on comfortable terms with him. His barely controlled fury met my eyes.

“What is it? What’s the matter?”

He grabbed my elbow and ushered me none too gently into the library, closing the door.

“Vater? What is it? What’s happened?” My mind ran through every possible scenario that might produce such anger
 
—none of them good.

‘“What is it? What’s happened?’” he mimicked. “Do you take me for a fool, Lieselotte
 
—a fool? Is it your quest to ruin me, to destroy everything I’ve built?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But fear sped through my veins.

“How long have you known about Frau Kirchmann?”

“Frau Kirchmann? Known what?”

“‘Known what?’” he mimicked again, then pulled a telegram from inside his breast coat pocket and threw it on the desk before me. “Known this! Known that she is
Jewish
!” He spat the word.

“She’s not,” I pled. “Frau Kirchmann is Austrian
 
—they’re Austrian! Her parents
 
—”

“The woman who raised her was not her mother. Her mother died in childbirth
 
—her Jewish mother! Or did she forget to tell you this? Did Lukas fail to mention that he is one-quarter Jewish?”

“I don’t believe it.” I turned the telegram over and read it. It bore the Nazi insignia and was addressed to Dr. Peterson. “Dr. Peterson! He is behind this
 
—a plot to destroy Lukas
 
—the entire Kirchmann family!” I threw the paper back at my father. “This is an out-and-out lie. Dr. Peterson has done everything in his power to stop our wedding, and now this. You can’t believe him, Vater. This is ludicrous!”

“Peterson is my most trusted colleague. Were it not for him, I would still be clerking in a lowly government office.”

“But why does he
 
—”

“My life within the Party is an open book. Peterson knows this. The very link that my own daughter has with that church
 
—that Confessing Church
 
—is enough to make my membership questionable.”

“But Mutti
 
—”

“Is the only reason I tolerated your flagrant disrespect for my wishes. It is because I promised her, and I would not break that promise. But this
 
—this hiding of Jews behind Christian skirts
 
—is criminal. Do you not understand?”

I did understand what that meant in the New Germany, and I feared where his accusations would lead. “I don’t believe it
 
—not for a minute. This is more of Dr. Peterson’s manipulations if it’s anything at all. Even if it’s true, you’ll soon be rid of me and Lukas. It won’t matter. We won’t besmirch your good Nazi Party name.”

He slapped me across the face
 
—so hard I fell back on the chair. “You will end it. I will give you twenty-four hours to call off the wedding. Say you’ve reconsidered
 
—say anything, but call it off.”

“No
 
—no!” The sting on my cheek felt like nothing compared to the empty cavern looming before me. “Don’t ask this, Vater. I love him!”

“They will be arrested the moment this is known. They will all be arrested
 
—Frau Kirchmann, Lukas, and Marta because they are
der
Juden,
and Herr Kirchmann because he has kept this hidden. Lukas
 
—a member of the Abwehr
 
—he’ll be lucky if he’s not shot.”

“
Nein
, Vater! Please! No one needs to know.”

He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Everything I’ve built, all I’ve planned with Hilde, will be lost if this becomes known
 
—when it becomes known.”

“But it doesn’t need
 
—”

“If I don’t report it,
I
will be reported
 
—arrested. Do you think Fräulein Hilde will marry me then? My reputation, my position, my honor before the Party
 
—I will lose everything!”

I thought he might slap me again, but he looked at me with as much defeat as anger.

“Perhaps I can help.” I jumped at Dr. Peterson’s voice behind me.

“You.” I turned. “You never wanted
 
—”

“What I want is of little importance, Fräulein. What matters is your father’s position
 
—all we’ve spent years building. We need for this problem to disappear without question, without trace.”

“You’re the one who initiated
 
—”

“
Ja, ja
 
—and you should be thanking me that you’ve not married a criminal!”

Now I desperately wanted to slap him.

“What?” Vater demanded. “What can make such a thing disappear? It is recorded. It will be no time before this connection is made to the investigation into the Abwehr.”

“But the fact that they’ve not been arrested yet means it has not. There is time to move them.”

“Move them?” My head swam.

“Ja.”
Dr. Peterson glanced at the door behind him, as though he feared someone might be listening, and stepped closer into the room. “What do you think, Wolfgang? Could we get them out?”

Mein Vater’s eyes narrowed, then widened. He hesitated, searched my eyes, and turned away. “Perhaps. Perhaps there’s a way.”

“For a price,” Dr. Peterson said. “It will cost dearly to move them
 
—all of them
 
—out of the country.”

“Out of the country?” I couldn’t believe this.

“They must leave Germany,” Dr. Peterson insisted. “Leave any occupied zones. It’s their only chance . . . That is, if you care to give them that chance.”

My world had fallen apart in minutes. How? I closed my eyes to shut it out.

“What do you think, Wolfgang? Can we get four good passports? What will it cost?”

“Five!” I opened my eyes. “If Lukas goes, I go with him. After the wedding.”

“Nein,”
Dr. Peterson insisted. “That’s too long. They must go tonight
 
—tomorrow at the latest. I can have passports made from their identity papers on file. I know someone.”

I shook my head, not able to comprehend Dr. Peterson helping the Kirchmanns, and less able to comprehend that he knew about forging passports. The members of our resistance hadn’t been able to move anyone out of the country for months. But I wouldn’t let them contemplate separating me from Lukas. “Then I’ll go without marrying him.” I turned to my father. “Vater, I won’t stay.”

He hesitated, glanced Dr. Peterson’s way, and nodded. “Lieselotte, call Lukas and his father. Tell them to come here, that I must see them. Now. There is no time to lose. Do not speak openly on the telephone.”

“I’ll go to his house. I’ll bring him back with me.”

“Nein.”
Dr. Peterson spoke too quickly. “Time is of the essence. They’ll need to arrange their affairs.”

“But
 
—”

“You’re to meet Fräulein Hilde, are you not?”

“Ja.”
I looked at my watch. “But this is more important. I can explain
 
—”

“
Nein
, Liesolette! Hilde must not know
 
—under no circumstances. You must promise me. She will not understand. It is our duty to report
them.” Vater kneeled before me. “I am doing this for you, my child. You must understand I am doing this for you. Keep it from Hilde. Speak of this to no one. That is all I ask.”

“
Ja,
Vater
 
—I will do as you say.” Instinctively I hugged him. But he stiffened and pulled back.

“Make the phone call, then go to your luncheon. Act as if everything is normal. We will talk later.”

I nodded. As I passed Dr. Peterson, my stomach roiled. If he had not requested a formal inquiry, if he had not initiated the search, none of this would have become known, none of it necessary. But he had offered to help the Kirchmanns
 
—to help my Lukas and me escape. “
Danke
, Herr Doktor.”

He nodded, but his smile was so near a sneer I could not tell the difference.

As I hurried from the house my throat tightened and my stomach gripped. I did not trust him
 
—either of them. But what choice did we have?