Songbird Under a German Moon (7 page)

“I hope not, although if it meant I could lay down…” Betty stepped from foot to foot, suddenly realizing how much her feet ached. She looked down, noticing they were swollen. Her ankles too. And she wondered if she'd be able to pry off her shoes.

“Oh.” Irene covered her mouth with her hand. “The only problem is that we don't have someone who can drive you back. They're taking all the jeeps to the canteen, which is in the opposite direction—”

“I can give the two of you a ride,” a man's voice said from behind her. A voice she recognized.

Betty turned and saw Frank.

“Sorry to interrupt. I was just coming to congratulate you on your first international performance. You did swell, Betty. More than swell.”

Betty placed a hand over her heart, her fingers trembling. “It is my first international concert, isn't it—I mean, wasn't it? Wow, it really happened.” She studied Frank's face, appreciating again how handsome he was. Remembering how comforting it had been to scan the audience and see him there, smiling up at her.

“Yes, you did it, and I have to say that I never would have guessed
you'd just arrived in Bayreuth thirty minutes before you took stage, but since I was riding with you, I know better.”

“You can give us a ride? You have a jeep?” Betty asked.

“I don't have one, but I can find one. Give me five minutes. I'll ask around. There's a whole pool of drivers out there, and I have a feeling any of them would think it would be a special privilege to give a ride to the star of the night.”

“Sure.” Betty forced a smile despite her weariness. “That will give me time to change.”

Frank offered a small wave. “Be right back.”

Betty hobbled to the dressing room. She hated getting back into her rumpled uniform, but she had little choice. At least her hair looked great, and her makeup too, even if it was hard to hide her exhausted eyes.

When she emerged from the dressing room, Mickey and Frank waited.

“Got a ride, Betty, whenever you're ready.”

“Thanks, Frank.” She turned to Mickey and shrugged. “Well?”

“Great job, kid. You really shined tonight. You were like Cinderella at the ball. And your voice is as pure as a crystal sea. I wasn't worried one bit. My buddy Marv always comes through.”

Frank looked sharply at Mickey. “Marv? From HQ?”

“Yup, said he saw this little songbird when he was back stateside. Called me right away and told me to sign her. Gave his word that I wouldn't regret it.” Mickey pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. “Also told me about you, kid. I told him I needed someone great to shoot my girls, and he said he had someone in mind.”

Frank nodded. “Did he now?”

Mickey placed the cigarette between his lips and was preparing to light up when a man rushed toward him.

“No light up in opera house, Mr. Mickey. You know the rules.” The man wore slacks and a button-up shirt that looked two sizes too large. His pants were held up with a belt, and he nodded and smiled as he spoke.

“Yeah, right, Oskar. A habit, you see.” Mickey tucked the cigarette back into his pocket. “Songbird, I'd like to introduce you to Oskar, our prop manager. He runs the place. Knows it inside and out.”

Oskar brushed his graying brown hair back from his wide forehead and then extended his hand. Betty liked him immediately. He reminded her of a younger version of her grandfather. Thin but strong, with large hands that looked like they were used to work. He seemed like someone you could count on to get the job done.

“Beautiful music tonight, yes. Great crowd.” Oskar nodded again.

“I agree. It was.” Betty looked around. “Oskar, I'd love a tour of the Festspielhaus. Not tonight of course—but this place looks amazing.”

“More amazing than anyone realizes.” He pointed a finger in the air. “We will make sure and see that this happens.”

“Yes, wonderful.” Betty blinked her eyes.

“Let's get you home, Betty. You need some rest.” Frank gently took her arm and led her down the hall, outside to the jeep.

“Is—Irene coming?”

Frank shook his head. “No, she told me to tell you she'd catch up with you in the morning, but I asked Jimmy here and his date to chaperone. Even though I'm a gentleman, I didn't want to do anything to make you uncomfortable. You know, an ‘appearance of evil'? Got a reputation to protect—I mean—not just mine.”

“Thank you.” Betty raised her eyebrows, made a mental note of Frank's scriptural reference. She noticed her luggage was already loaded in the back of the jeep. In the front sat a soldier, and next to him was a beautiful blond woman. She nodded and smiled, and Betty wondered if she spoke English. By her guess, she was one of the locals—despite the non-fraternization policy. What she'd heard before she left the States was that even though the policy was still in place, no one really did much about it, except try to occupy the soldiers' free time with activities and performances. Basically, the more often she sang, the less often the guys in the occupation zone would get into trouble. Or so she'd been told.

Betty settled into the back seat next to Frank, noticing he was still lugging around his duffle bag and camera bag.

How nice of him to see me home. Surely he's tired.

The jeep rolled down a winding hill, away from town, through a park that the bombs had somehow missed. The park was like a fairytale land with tall trees, endless lawns, and a large golden moon that hung over it all. As they drove, she tried to imagine what it would have been like, living here a hundred years ago. Nothing much had changed, she supposed, except for her mode of transportation. Now she had a motorized carriage instead of a horse-drawn surrey.

“So what did you like most about singing the canteens?” Frank's words interrupted her thoughts.

“The people, I suppose. Some came from nearly a hundred miles to help in the canteen. There was a stream of volunteers always coming and going, always making sure there were smiling faces to greet and feed the soldiers on leave or on their way to foreign locations. The guys were great—from all over the U.S.—but the best part was meeting folks from down the street that I'd somehow never become acquainted with. Everyone pitched in and did his part. Washing sheets, making beds, serving up meals—”

“And singing?” Frank said.

“Yes, and most of the time I felt bad because I had the easiest job. I just opened my mouth instead of rolling up my sleeves.” Betty yawned. “It was nice. The people were nice.”

“The complete opposite from here, huh?” Frank grinned.

“Well, I wouldn't say that—”

“The rest of the troupe will warm up to you. Well, except for Kat. I think she's too high on her horse to notice how rude she is.” He snickered. “I bet it's hard to have so many egos in the same room. I suppose everyone's threatened by the new girl at first, thinking she's prettier or more talented.”

Betty laughed. “Is that right?” She shook her head. “
That
is far from the truth. I mean—”

“Actually, I disagree. Both are true. And for the others, well, they'll have to get used to it.”

Betty turned to him. He was sitting just as close to her as that soldier on the airplane, but somehow this felt different. She cleared
her throat, hoping he wouldn't notice how unsettling his nearness was. “Well, sir, those are flattering words. You're just the type of handsome soldier my mother warned me about.”

“I can say the same about my mother. I received plenty of warnings myself.” Frank snickered.

The jeep turned onto a circular driveway and up to a house. Betty couldn't believe her eyes.

The house was a large rectangle with six steps leading up to the front door. It was stately and beautiful—more like a museum than a bunkhouse for traveling singers.

“Most of the main house was destroyed by bombs,” the driver explained. “But I hear the USO girls are in the annex that Hitler stayed in when he visited. It's still intact.”

Betty placed a hand to her throat. “I'm sorry. Can you repeat that?”

“Oh, your rooms are in good shape. The bombed part has been blocked off. There's only one entrance—the front door—but as long as you don't mind that half the house is open to the night air, the rest is good,” the driver said.

“No, not that part. The other part. Did you say
Hitler
stayed here?”

“He sure did. He'd come here often. A great fan of Wagner and friends with Winifred Wagner, Richard's daughter-in-law. It's because of Winifred's pro-Nazi stance that she had to turn over her home to us. But Hitler's not the only one who stayed in this home. All the Nazi bigwigs did. There are spas nearby, and when they came here, it seemed the war was far off. They came to relax and not think about the war for a while.”

Betty scoffed. “Sounds nice. Wish the rest of the world could have done the same.”

The driver parked the jeep near the front door. The German girl still sat by his side, quiet, smiling.

“Do you know which room was Hitler's? Which bed?” Betty's eyes widened and she was suddenly more awake than she had been since her performance. The thought of sleeping in the same room Hitler had once occupied made her skin crawl.

“I heard the old beds are gone—they took out the larger ones for simpler cots,” the driver said.

“We could find out which room,” Frank said, “but do you really want to ask? If I were you, I don't think I'd want to know. It's frightening, don't you think?”

“My father would keel over dead if I told him. My mother would insist I take the next airplane home.”

Frank chuckled and patted her hand. “If you tried, there'd be two hundred GIs blocking that plane.”

Would you be there too?
She wished she had the nerve to ask. She looked into his eyes, seeking an answer in his gaze—but Frank quickly looked away.

Betty was thankful Frank had offered to walk her in. They'd made it just inside the door when the light switched on, startling her. Standing by the light switch was the beautiful blond singer named Kat.

“Hey,
Songbird
, didn't expect you here so soon. Thought you'd be out with the others, living it up.” Kat held a long silver cigarette holder in her hand and, with the grace of a ballerina, lifted it to her lips and drew the smoke deeply into her lungs. Her hand shook slightly, and Betty assumed it was from the cold.

“You can set that luggage there. No guys allowed farther than the doorway. Mickey's rules.” Kat flipped her hand toward Frank as if he were a vagrant she wanted to shoo away.

“Yeah, sure. Good rule.” Frank set down the luggage and took a step back. Betty's heart warmed to see him eyeing the place, as if he was concerned for her safety.

Betty offered him a parting smile. “Thank you. For everything. I think I'm all set now. Glad we survived the flight and my first performance. What a day.” She blew out a low whistle.

“You can say that again. See you tomorrow most likely.” He snapped his fingers. “Gotta make sure I don't miss any of this
very important
assignment.”

“Not tomorrow. Tomorrow's a rehearsal day. Friday is our next performance. Maybe that will give you time to rest up. I know you worked
so very hard
tonight. I can imagine keeping up with us performers was nearly as hard as your work in the combat zones.” She jutted her chin, letting him know she was all too happy to play along.

“Okay, you got me.” Frank chuckled. “See you Friday then.” He offered Betty the same cute wave he'd given her when she was on stage.

“'Bye.” She gingerly closed the door, almost afraid to be alone with this woman. Even though Kat reminded her of one of the China dolls in Haggin's Toy Store, Betty guessed there was more going on beneath the beautiful exterior. Irene had said Kat acted this way because she was a star, and Frank had implied the same thing. Betty wasn't sure she agreed. Kat had a hard look on her face, but there was something else Betty saw in her eyes. It was as if Kat had been hurt too many times, and she made it clear she didn't want anyone too close.

Well, Mama, here's my chance to exercise that “gift” you've always said I have. I just hope Kat doesn't end up agreeing with Dad.

Trying not to show how intimidated she was, Betty turned and smiled. “So how did you get here? Maybe I should have caught a ride with you.”

Kat shook her head and exhaled the smoke from her cigarette, blowing it toward the ceiling. “I walked. It's only ten minutes at the most.” She looked away and Betty could see something in her eyes that resembled fear, but when Kat glanced back at Betty it was gone.
“It would have been trouble, with all you packed. Did you think you were moving in for good or something?”

“You walked at night? In the dark? Alone?”

“C'mon, kid. The Nazis are gone. The trail's mostly quiet. It's no problem, really.” Kat rubbed her brow, and it sounded to Betty as if Kat was trying to convince herself with her own words.
Something happened out there on the trail, something Kat's not telling me.