The Time Between (28 page)

I smiled smugly. “Yes, I have. I’m trying to get Helena to like me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. She likes you just fine.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Actually,” he continued, “the last mention of the motherhouse in Budapest that I could find was from 1944.”

“The year of the Nazi occupation.”

“Right. So if they were forced to move or close, that would have been a reason. Up until March of that year, Hungary was allied with Germany. From what little Helena and Bernadett told me, people’s lives in the capital remained pretty much the same until the occupation.”

“Even for the Jews?”

“If I recall correctly from my own high school history classes, they weren’t forced into ghettos or deported, but most lost their jobs and livelihoods, and many of the young people were forced into labor camps even before the occupation. It’s why many Jews went into hiding. They realized it was just a matter of time.” He paused. “Neither one of the aunts really liked to talk about that period in their lives, so I’m a little ashamed that I don’t know more.”

“I haven’t read the World War II section of the book yet—trying to save the most interesting part for last, I guess. I started with the really old history—the warlord period—and then I skipped to the Communist years and modern day since that was more current. When I was done with that, I was going to go back to the World War II history.” I sent him a sheepish look. “I’m afraid I was never much of a history buff.”

“But you’d study Hungarian history to make an old woman happy.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” I tapped my fingers on the keyboard, making one of the notes sound. “I’m just wondering why Bernadett would have that box, and why she’d hide it away.”

Finn’s brow wrinkled. “I thought you said it belonged to Helena.”

I closed my eyes, wishing—as usual—that I could call back words. “To be honest, I’m not sure whom it belongs to. We found the basket with the box inside it under Bernadett’s bed.”

“We?”

Realizing that I needed to be completely honest, I said, “Actually, Gigi. Please don’t be angry with her. She was bored one day and exploring the house, and she found the basket under Bernadett’s bed. To her credit, she didn’t look inside until after she’d told me about it and I decided we should see if it held any of Bernadett’s music.”

“And you found the box instead.”

“Along with a few other items that I wanted to ask you about. I don’t know their significance, so I don’t know if we should bury it back under Bernadett’s bed or show it to Helena.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, and then, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For your kindness. To Gigi and Helena. For considering their feelings.”

Embarrassed, I looked away. “Anybody would have done it.”

“No. Not really.” He straightened. “Is the basket back in Bernadett’s room?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go put back the silver box and see what else is in there.”

I felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and we climbed the stairs. I retrieved the basket from under the bed while Finn went into his room to get the silver box. We sat on the floor, as if neither one of us wanted to be reminded why the bed frame was starkly empty. As I’d done before with Gigi, I sat like Pandora before the basket and lifted the lid.

As Finn examined the Bible, I took out the photos and spread them on the floor between us, spotting a few that I hadn’t had the time to examine before. I attempted to group all the wedding photos together, and then the random ones of Helena and her two sisters and mother. Finn was already looking at those by the time I moved to the remaining photographs that were too disparate to be grouped—unlabeled pictures of buildings and scenery and people I could not name.

As I was stacking a small group of photos, I realized that two of the photos were stuck together with some sort of adhesive, the front of one attached to the back of another. Very carefully I pried them apart, the yellowed tape coming away easily and making me think that the photo had once been taped to a wall.

It was a photo of a baby propped up in an old-fashioned stroller staring at the camera with an openmouthed grin. Two feminine hands could be seen on the stroller’s handle, the arms covered in long black sleeves, but the woman’s face wasn’t visible. I turned the photograph over, disappointed to find nothing written on the back.

“Do you know who this is?” I asked, holding it up for Finn to see.

“I have no idea. Is there nothing on the back?”

I shook my head. “No.” My gaze fell on the photograph of the soldier. I picked it up again and looked into those wide eyes, wondering what he was trying to say to me.

“Who’s that?” Finn asked.

“I think this was the love of Helena’s life. She told me his name was Gunter Richter, and that name is written on the back.”

He took the photo and flipped it over before studying the front for a long moment. “Helena said that he was the love of her life?”

I nodded. “She told me that they had plans to marry after the war but that he never came back for her.”

He held up the photograph in front of me. “And this is the man?”

“I don’t know for sure. I just assumed.”

Finn was looking at me oddly, as if I’d just told him that the sky and ocean had switched places. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Don’t you recognize this uniform?”

I shook my head, trying not to look as ignorant as I felt.

“It’s a German army uniform from World War II.” He paused as if to let his words sink in. “So if you’re correct, then my aunt was in love with a German soldier.”

Eleanor

T
he following weekend, I sat in the sunroom with a book from the stack of new ones I’d selected from our last visit to the library. These books focused on Hungary during the war years, the years Helena and Bernadett knew well yet would not speak of. And the more I read about the deprivations and death tolls, the more I began to understand why.

In the middle of the stack was an old booklet that I’d found stuck between two larger books and that I’d added as an afterthought:
The Catholic Church and the Holocaust in Hungary.
At the time, I’d been thinking about the silver box from the Daughters of the Divine Redeemer and how they’d disappeared from Budapest in 1944. I didn’t know what I expected to find in the obscure booklet. All I knew was that for somebody who had never made higher than a C in history, I was now burning with curiosity.

I looked up as Finn walked in, smelling of soap, his hair still damp from his recent shower. He’d spent most of the afternoon at the beach with Gigi in exchange for leaving her at home with Nurse Weber this evening. She’d been promised a nonending marathon of Disney princess movies—something Nurse Weber said she was looking forward to, as her own daughter was now in college and long past the Disney stage.

I’d been invited to go with them to the beach, but I’d had to point out that my job was to be with Helena, who had a list of things she wanted me to do. Secretly, I’d been glad. Spending time with Finn at the beach would mean that every time I saw him at the office, I’d most likely be picturing him with his shirt off.

“Are you ready?” he asked, straightening his cuffs.

“Yes,” I said, noticing his clothing for the first time. “Your suit is gray.”

“It is,” he said slowly. “Is that a problem? The Waterfront restaurant isn’t really fancy, but I could find a tux if you think it’s necessary.”

“No, I meant your suit isn’t black. I didn’t think you owned one in any other color.”

He frowned at me. “My father and grandfather always wore black suits and built a successful business.”

“Sure—but I bet it wasn’t because they looked like funeral directors.”

Still frowning, he said, “Have you been talking with Gigi? She said I looked like the character Gru from
Despicable Me
.”

“She’s a very observant girl,” I said, repressing a smile. “So you bought a new suit based on that?”

“Actually, I bought it last year. Just haven’t worn it yet.”

“Well, it looks very nice,” I said, noticing how the shade brought out the color of his eyes.

“Thank you for noticing,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” I said. I placed the book on the ottoman in front of me and stood, taking my time smoothing down the skirt of my dress. It belonged to Eve, who’d practically threatened me if I didn’t wear it tonight. It was a soft, sapphire blue knit with a wrap top and wide belt that flattered any figure. I loved the way the skirt swished against my legs, and the way the shade of blue brought out the color in my eyes. All the reasons why I wanted to refuse Eve’s offer. But it’s very hard to argue with a woman in a wheelchair.

Finn and I were taking Helena to dinner, ostensibly to celebrate her Hungarian name day, but in reality to talk about her past. I hadn’t expected Finn to be so eager to delve into a part of Helena’s life that nobody seemed to know anything about. But when I’d placed Gunter’s photo back in the basket and suggested we replace everything under the bed, he’d touched my hand to stop me. His eyes had been shuttered as he’d regarded me, and it had suddenly occurred to me that this wasn’t the first time he’d seen the basket. And that there was something he wasn’t telling me.

Now, as he stood in the sunroom looking at me with serious gray eyes, his body moving with restless anticipation, I knew that I’d been right.

“I like your dress.”

I flushed, embarrassed that he’d noticed the dress, but flattered, too. “I borrowed it from Eve. She wore it for her engagement party, but we’re about the same size and she’s saved it all these years and thought it would work for tonight and because I don’t really have any dresses and it didn’t need alterations, I thought I might as well . . .”

He held up his hand. “Stop. Please. Maybe it’s not such a good idea for you to be hanging around Gigi so much.” His lips twitched into a half smile. “You look beautiful tonight. And it’s okay to accept a compliment.”

I opened my mouth to say more, then closed it and just said, “Thank you.”

“She’s ready!” Gigi shouted from the front of the house.

I picked up the gift bag from the end table and preceded Finn from the room.

I almost didn’t recognize the woman standing in the foyer. Helena’s white hair had been brushed until it shone and was coiled in an elegant French twist at the back of her head. Her blue eyes were accentuated with a tasteful application of eye shadow and mascara, her cheeks and lips delicately colored with rouge and lipstick. She wore an old-fashioned green floral silk dress that still managed to look regal, despite the low hem and sensible pumps on her feet.

“You look wonderful,” I said, meaning it. She had come such a long way in the three months since I’d first met her, a bedridden and wan old woman. She’d managed to transform herself into this person who bore a strong resemblance to the beautiful young woman she’d been.

“And you do not look too terrible, either, Eleanor.” She waved her free hand as if to signal an end to all compliments for the evening. Turning to Finn, she said, “I am starving. I suppose if you had asked, you would know that I eat at five o’clock and then you would not have made the reservation for the ungodly time of six o’clock.”

“Yes, Aunt Helena,” Finn said graciously. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

Her eyes were bright like a little girl’s as Finn escorted her to his car and settled her into the passenger seat.

I hugged Gigi good-bye, suspicious that there weren’t more protestations, despite the promise of Disney movies.

“We’ll be fine,” Teri Weber said, waving me through the front door. “We’re going to make a sparkly tiara and my world-famous brownies, so don’t worry about us getting bored.”

“I won’t,” I said, the door closing before the last word had left my mouth.

The Waterfront restaurant was located on Jungle Road on Edisto Beach, almost on the elbow where the island jutted out into the Atlantic. Although the food was excellent, the Waterfront wasn’t a jacket-required eatery, but Finn’s suggestion that we take Helena to Charleston and one of its myriad high-end restaurants had been quickly dismissed by both Helena and me because of the long drive for Helena.

We were seated at a table near the front of the restaurant where we could see the toy-sized lighthouse through one of the large windows. We looked conspicuous in our dresses and suit compared to the groups of tourists and locals in shorts and T-shirts, but Helena’s only request was that wherever we went to eat wasn’t far and that they served fried food and had dessert. After a quick glance at the menu, I realized we’d come to the right place.

Our waitress was a college-aged girl name Jenn who took our drink orders with a promise to return soon to take our dinner orders. While we waited, Helena looked pointedly at the gift bag I’d brought and had placed on the extra chair.

“Are you going to wait until dessert to allow me to open my presents?” she asked.

“Of course not,” I said. “Unless you don’t plan to eat your vegetables, and then I’ll have to reconsider.”

Finn picked up the bag and placed it in front of Helena. “I must confess that my gift to you was Eleanor’s idea and that she wrapped it.”

“This should be interesting,” she said with one raised eyebrow. “I wonder if it is one of those romance novels she always insists on reading to me.”

I glared at her as she reached into the tissue. I’d wrapped everything lightly so she wouldn’t have any problem opening her gifts. “That one’s very fragile,” I said, sitting on the edge of my seat, ready to assist as I watched her lift out the present.

She sat it on the table in front of her and began to peel back the tissue to reveal the blue-and-white Herend rooster. It was the same design pattern as the broken one she had at home except this one was blue and stood in a different pose so that they could be placed together as a set. It had its glazed head down, as if pecking for corn.

She didn’t say anything for a long moment, and I thought that I’d made a terrible mistake.

“I broke the other one,” she said quietly, her eyes focused on the china bird in her hand. “I knocked it over by accident.”

“Yes, you told me. I’m not suggesting that this should replace the broken one, but it would be a nice companion for it.”

Her eyes met mine, but I was aware that she was no longer seeing me, or Finn, or anything else that we could see, too. “It was so dark that night. Inside the house. I had been forbidden to turn on lights. The Americans were bombing us—bombs and leaflets. But it should not have happened that night. Of all nights it should not have been that night.”

Before I could ask her why, Jenn returned to our table with our sweet tea and a scotch and soda for Finn. Helena seemed to recall where she was again and sat back in her chair. “And because I could not see, that is how I broke it.
Anyukám
’s favorite possession and I broke it.” She smiled at Finn. “She would be very pleased to see this new friend for it. Thank you, darling. And thank you, Eleanor.”

I wanted to hear more, and I knew that Finn did, too, but it was clear that Helena had moved on from the dark house and the bombs and a broken piece of china.

We ordered our food, and then Helena reached into the bag again and withdrew the tissue-wrapped framed photograph of Bernadett with Benjamin at the café. I remembered how her hand had shaken when I’d shown it to her but how she’d seemed grateful when I suggested framing it for her bedside table. Remembering the look on her face when she’d unwrapped the rooster, I was no longer sure I’d done the right thing.

The tissue fell away to the floor, but nobody reached to retrieve it. Helena’s face paled slightly, her lips opening as if she wanted to speak to the subjects in the photo, words she’d been wanting to say for a very long time.

She began to look around as if searching for the tissue, and then simply placed the frame against her chest, the photo side pressed against the silk of her dress.

“What is it, Aunt Helena?” Finn asked gently.

She seemed reluctant to show him, as if she’d suddenly realized why we were here, as if showing Finn the photograph would be like opening a book to chapter one.

After a brief hesitation, she placed the frame on the table so Finn could see. “Eleanor found this photo in one of Bernadett’s music books. It is Bernadett and her Benjamin.”

He studied it for a moment, then raised his gaze back to Helena. “Who was Benjamin?”

Slowly meeting his eyes, she said, “It does not matter now, does it? It is too late to do anything to change everything that has happened.”

Finn took her weathered hand in his own strong one, and something passed between them that sent a cool shiver across my skin, something dark and unspoken and not completely understood.

“For Gigi,” Finn said quietly. “And for me. We should know.” From the look they shared, it became apparent to me that he was no longer speaking only of the distant past.

Very carefully, Helena lifted her iced tea glass and took a sip from her straw. “You are planning for me to die soon?”

Despite the lightness of her tone, Finn winced. “No, Aunt Helena. Gigi is already planning what shade of pink you’ll wear to her wedding, which is a long way off.” He smiled softly. “But you and I both know that life has its own current, and we can’t hold it back.”

She placed her hand on top of Finn’s and squeezed, and I knew they were both thinking of a childhood cancer that lurked like a monster in a child’s closet.

“Who was Benjamin?” he asked again.

After settling back in her chair, Helena took a deep breath. “Bernadett never wanted to speak of him after . . .” She gave a small shrug. “But I suppose it does not matter now. The dead cannot hurt us, can they?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “Can they?”

Her chest rose and fell, and I glanced at Finn, wondering at the edge in his voice, wanting to remind him that she was an old woman.

“He was a Jewish resistance fighter.”

Finn sat back in his chair, his face contemplative. “And he and Aunt Bernadett . . . ?”

“They were in love. It sounds so simple now, but back then it was not. He was a Jew, working with the underground resistance, smuggling medicine and food to his people, who were hidden throughout the city. And she was a Catholic, teaching music to orphaned and handicapped children at a local convent. They were doomed before it began.”

I looked at her. “Is that why you told me that you wished they’d never met?”

Her lips moved; too many words stored in her heart seemed to be rushing forward at the same time. But she stopped them at the last moment, as if realizing those words were her last safety net, and to cut one loose would allow them all to spill out. “No, Eleanor. There were many, many more reasons.”

“And Gunter,” Finn said. “Did he know Benjamin?”

Her eyes widened. “How do you know about Gunter?”

Finn and I exchanged a glance. “Eleanor and Gigi found a photo of him while searching for Bernadett’s music. Eleanor said that you told her that Gunter was the love of your life.”

She looked down at her clasped hands. “Yes. He was. There could never be another love for me. It is why I never married. Why I never wanted to.”

Finn waited for her to say more, but I knew she would give him only what he asked.

“Did Benjamin and Gunter know each other?”

Her eyes were hard as she stared back at him. “They met. Once. Maybe twice.”

“And did Gunter know who Benjamin was?” Finn pressed on.

I placed a hand on his arm, wondering how he could not see the weariness in Helena’s eyes or the way her ruined fingers had begun to pluck at the skin of her hands.

“We did not speak of it,” she said. “Gunter and I spoke only of his family in Lindau, in the Bavarian Alps on Lake Constance, where from his bedroom window he could see snow on the tips of the distant mountains even in the summer. Of how his father was a butcher with a shop on the main street in town.” Her face softened. “We spoke of how Gunter would open his own shop in America when the war was over, or we could live in Lindau and watch the moon rise over the lake.” The last word cracked in half, as if spilling all of her lost hopes. “We spoke of the children we would have and what we would name them. We did not speak of the horror around us.”