All That Shines and Whispers

by Jennifer Craven

  There were no right answers. In the end, Gerald had no choice but to trust his gut. And his gut told him to wait a little longer.

  As the bright light of the day faded into the dim glow of evening, another knock came to his door. Gerald jumped up from the bed, hungry for news—or food, whichever it happened to be.

  It wasn’t Sister Magda or Sister Birgit. This time, the Reverend Mother’s face appeared. He impatiently searched her expression for an update.

  “You have a visitor,” she calmly announced. The woman pushed the door open and in its frame stood a short, slim man with dark hair and a neatly trimmed painter’s mustache. He wore a gray houndstooth suit with a deep burgundy bowtie. Atop his head, a homburg hat was fashioned with a wide grosgrain ribbon and finished with a downy feather. The look was smart and refined, if not mildly garish.

  “I had hoped I’d never see you again,” the man said with smooth sarcasm as he stepped into the room.

  “Markus.” The men embraced. “I knew I could count on your brains to figure out my little riddle.”

  “Quite clever, but I must know. What on Earth is going on, Gerald? I’m hesitant to even ask. Something tells me you’re not just here for a visit.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  The Mother Abbess shifted in the doorway. “I’ll leave you two to talk,” she said, and shut the door.

  Markus, a man who struggled to take anything seriously, wiped the smile from his face.

  “What is it, Gerald? Tell me.”

  “I need your help, Markus. My family needs your help. We’re in a bit of trouble. You have connections.”

  “You know a lot of people with connections too, Gerald. Why me?”

  “I can trust you. You’re a loyal friend. Unfortunately, that can’t be said for all Austrians anymore.”

  Markus nodded in acknowledgement.

  “A lot has happened in the two years since we left,” Gerald continued.

  “Yes, I know. The Nazis are taking over this place. It’s bloody awful, Gerald. SS everywhere you look. They’re rounding up Jews left and right. We keep hearing about these camps…”

  “No, Markus. I mean a lot has happened with me. My family.” The correction stopped his friend in his tracks. Soberly, Gerald continued. “I know things are bad. All of Europe knows. But that’s not why I’m here.”

  “What’s going on, Gerald? Now you’re starting to frighten me.”

  “I need to find Rubin.”

  “Rubin? You mean that weaselly kid who Lara always hung around? Why on Earth?”

  “He kidnapped my grandson.”

  “Your what?” Markus’s mouth hinged open, knocking his chin against his neck. Dumbfounded, his upper body pitched forward.

  “My grandson. Lara’s baby.”

  Markus blinked several times, his jaw still agape. “But, but how?”

  “Rubin is the father.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Markus pumped his arms in front of him. “Back up a minute, Gerald. Let’s start from the beginning. What in God’s name happened between the time you left Austria and now? What happened to my wholesome little family?”

  Gerald dropped his head and sat down on the bed. Markus was right—so much had happened, it was hard to remember a time before their lives revolved around secrets and lies.

  He patted the mattress, motioning for his friend. Markus followed, coming to sit side by side with Gerald. Over the next fifteen minutes, Gerald retold the entire story: Lara’s pregnancy, the coverup, living as if Erich was his child, Lara’s disappearance and return, and finally his journey over the last twenty-four hours that brought him to the abbey.

  Markus stared, astounded. “Unbelievable,” he whispered.

  “Oh, believe it. It’s all real,” Gerald said. “Now, I need your help. I must find Rubin. The more time that passes makes me worry he’ll take Erich even farther.”

  “But what do you want me to do?” Markus asked, perplexed. “I’m a publicist, Gerald, not a high-ranking official. I work in the entertainment business, for crying out loud.”

  “You know people, Markus. Important people. Rich people. Plus, you’re a schemer.” Markus beamed at the off-handed compliment, as Gerald continued. “It’s not like I can just call up acquaintances here in Salzburg or wander around town until I find him.”

  “Okay…”

  “So you’ll help me?”

  “Yes of course I’ll help you, Gerald. What do you take me for?”

  “That’s the Markus I knew.” Gerald wrapped his arm around Markus’s shoulder, giving his friend a playful shake. They sat, co-conspirators with a mission to plot. In a low voice, Gerald laid the groundwork.

  “Rubin was under the command of Hans Rainer. He was loyal, even before Rainer became Gauleiter.” The thought of his nemesis being named as the head political figure of Austria under Hitler’s command made Gerald cringe. “But loyalty runs deep with those cronies,” he continued, “and I have a feeling Rainer would repay Rubin’s loyalty.”

  “Are you saying you think Rainer is helping Rubin hide Erich?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Or at least, what I’m thinking. We need to get to Rainer and figure out a way for him to give up the boy’s location.”

  “But how?”

  “You’re a charmer, Markus. Think of all the antics you’ve pulled over the years. You’ve been pulling the wool over people’s eyes since you were ten! Don’t you remember fooling that teacher into thinking you were someone else? She bought it completely.

  “Well,” Markus snickered, “it was pretty clever, if I do say so myself.”

  “See? Now we just need to come up with something that will trick Rainer.”

  They thought, each staring at the ceiling as if stargazing, focusing on nothing, searching for a stroke of brilliance. At last, Markus whipped around, pointing a finger in the air.

  “I’ve got it!”

  Gerald faced him, anxiously waiting to hear.

  “I think it will work,” Markus mused aloud. “I mean, it should, if we play our cards right.”

  “Tell me, for God’s sake!”

  Markus clapped his hands together. “A television show.”

  “A television show?”

  “Yes, a television show. Highlighting Nazi officers. I’ll say it’s a new way to spread the German message. Give viewers a chance to see inside the lives of the men who are leading ‘their great country.’” He made air quotes with his fingers, but his mouth turned down in a look of disgust. “You know those Hitler-followers are all full of themselves. Bunch of self-righteous narcissists. They’ll love the idea of even more self-promotion. Heck, I bet they’ll throw viewing parties just to see their faces on screen.”

  “Okay, that may be true, Markus,” said Gerald, “but I don’t see how this helps me track down Rubin and Erich.”

  “Patience, Gerald. I’m just getting to the good part.”

  Gerald’s eyes rolled.

  “I’ll set up a meeting with Rainer to explain the project and once he’s on board, I’ll ask for the addresses of the officers I want to interview. Rubin Pichler has risen in the ranks a bit since you’ve been gone, so it won’t be unusual for me to request his participation.”

  Gerald nodded along, finally seeing the big picture. “And once you give me the address, it will be me who shows up on his doorstep instead of a camera crew,” he said, the idea sinking into his head.

  “Exactly.”

  “Markus, I always knew you were a genius.”

  Markus stroked his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Well, Gerald, they don’t pay me the big bucks for nothing.”

  Twenty-Six

  Marlene placed the serving dish on the center of the table. It was her favorite; bright yellow with a hand-painted floral motif. She liked to think it offered a lightness, an optimism to the meal. But now, as she rotated it just right, her reflection bounced off the bowl’s highly-glossed surface: troubled and pale.

  The hea
rty, comforting fragrance of beef and tomatoes floated around the room. It was the kind of aroma Gerald always commented on when he got home from work: “I smell something pretty tasty!”

  Only today, of course, he wasn’t there to give his typical compliment.

  Next to the yellow dish sat a platter of steamed vegetables—green beans and zucchini Marlene picked from their backyard nursery. Gardening reminded her of her time at the Abbey, where she and the nuns tended the crops in their little courtyard. It was something she did for herself—a way to keep in touch with her roots.

  “Dinner’s ready!” Marlene called through the entryway of the dining room. The well-known sound of feet followed—she often thought her growing brood sounded more like a cavalry—and the children entered, taking their seats around the table. Marlene took a chair at the far end. She looked down each side of the table at the somber faces of her children.

  “Cheer up, my darlings,” she said. “We mustn’t dwell in our worry. That will do us no good. Besides, I’ve made one of your favorites tonight.” She pointed to the dish, which sat prominently on a flat pedestal.

  “Goulash,” Bettina said. “Father’s favorite.” The reminder doubled their melancholy to the point Marlene was sure their frowns couldn’t dip any lower. She’d planned the meal to raise their spirits—it wasn’t just her husband’s favorite, it was a dinner of choice for them all. What she hadn’t considered, however, was that the children would connect the beloved supper to the one person missing from the table.

  Across the length of the table, the chair opposite Marlene’s sat empty. Gerald’s absence weighed heavily on the house—when they were all together, and especially when she was alone. Nothing felt right without him home. Everything was wrong. Add to that the fact that they knew he was very likely in harm’s way, and the mood took an even more grim turn.

  “Your father would want us to eat, and to enjoy this delicious meal,” she urged them with a smile. “Come now, eat up.”

  The children picked at the food on their plates. It was hard to work up an appetite when their stomachs were in knots. After an hour, when Marlene accepted that no amount of begging would make them eat, she tossed her napkin on the table.

  “Well, I’m certainly not going to force you,” she said.

  There was still a great deal of food left in the dishes—much more than a typical evening, where the children ate freely and plentifully and asked for seconds. Ah well, Marlene thought. Leftovers. I suppose I won’t have to cook again tomorrow.

  After cleaning and putting away the dishes, the family gathered in the coziness of the den. Lena snuggled on the couch under a shearling blanket, tucking her legs beneath its long, curly wool. Felix drew the blinds, closing them in from the outside world.

  “Why can’t we go for our evening walk?” Gloria asked.

  Marlene responded gently. “It’s best we stay inside for a while.”

  “Yeah,” Karl added. “Remember? No one knows where Father is. What if someone brought it up and you slipped.”

  “I wouldn’t!” Gloria said defensively. Marlene smoothed the girl’s hair and said, “We know, dear.”

  Everyone was on edge. Normally carefree and jovial, the family had become a pack of highly-strung snapping turtles, eager to take each other’s heads off.

  Miriam, Karl and Bettina kneeled around the low coffee table, playing a dice game. Gloria, still brooding, climbed onto Lena’s lap while she read a book. On separate chairs, Lara and Felix sat quietly, staring off into space.

  Marlene’s heart ached at the sight of her children so distressed. They were shells of themselves. How could she liven their spirits?

  “Lara, why don’t you get your guitar?” she suggested. “A few tunes will cheer us all up.” Gloria’s face lit.

  “I don’t feel like singing,” Lara said softly.

  “Well, you don’t have to sing. Just play.”

  “Mother, please.”

  “I don’t feel like singing either,” Lena added, looking up from the book in her hand.

  “Oh, alright,” Marlene resigned. Music had always been her go-to for every emotion—joy, despair, confusion. Yet she understood how her children felt—maybe this was one situation that music couldn’t fix.

  When the littlest girls started to yawn, Marlene shuffled them upstairs for bed, despite their insistence at not being tired. She sat cross-legged behind them on top of the lofty spread. Brushing their long, wavy hair, Marlene admired both of her daughters for the striking beauty each possessed: one kissed by the sun, the other as dark as a raven’s feather.

  “Mother?” Miriam said, pressing against the bedpost with hands and feet for resistance.

  “Yes?”

  “Will father bring Erich home?”

  “I hope so. I believe so.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “No one knows anything for sure, Miriam. All we can do is have faith that God will protect and guide him.” She stroked the girl’s cheek, then continued brushing. Moving on to Gloria, Marlene divided the girl’s locks into three handfuls and braided the pieces down her back.

  “Mother?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “Do you really think singing makes people feel better?”

  “I do.”

  “I know the others didn’t want to sing, but do you think the three of us still could?”

  Marlene smiled softly at her daughter’s sweet innocence.

  “Of course we can. What would you like to sing?”

  “You choose.”

  Marlene pressed a finger to her lips as she thought. She knew dozens of songs, but a select few always seemed to come to mind first. These ones, the ones she heard the nuns sing daily, held the most meaning. Remembering that long-ago time, her heart swelled as the voices of the abbey filled her ears. A single voice stood out among the rest—a voice of gentle authority and endless compassion. One that once gave her so much peace.

  Marlene closed her eyes and began to sing, her angelic voice rich in tone and honeyed in melody.

  After the first verse, she opened her eyes to see not only the girls, but all of the children—even Lara—standing along the perimeter of the room. A smile bloomed across her face as she continued the hymn. They watched her, mesmerized by the purity of her voice. Marlene stood from the bed. She walked to face the row of children, giving each one a personalized gesture: grasping and squeezing their fingers, running a hand down the side of their faces.

  Marlene’s voice rose in pitch and intensity for the culmination of the song. She swooped her arms up, welcoming the children to join in singing. All seven opened their mouths and belted the remaining chorus—about following your path and finding your dream—drawing out the final words of the tune in perfect harmony.

  Marlene held the last note longer than the rest, then gasped for breath. She opened her arms and the children raced into them, forming a group hug in the middle of the room. Marlene felt the tension lift; the song had done the trick. Standing back, she beamed at the tender faces of her children.

  “Better?”

  They nodded.

  “Alright then, off to bed.” She patted Miriam on the bottom and the girl hopped up on the fluffy comforter. The rest followed Lara out and turned to their respective rooms. With contentment restored, Marlene tucked Miriam and Gloria into their beds, pulling the covers up tight around their chins.

  “Goodnight, my sweet girls,” she said, and gave them each a kiss on the forehead.

  “Night, Mother.”

  Marlene made her rounds through the children’s rooms, wishing them pleasant dreams.

  “Tomorrow’s another day,” she told the boys. “We must stay positive.”

  At the far end of the hall, Lara and Lena’s room was quiet. Inside, the eldest girls changed into their long cotton nightgowns. Lara hung her dress in their joint closet. As she did, her eyes fixed on a pale pink chiffon dress. She ran her hand along the gauzy fabric and felt the familiar smoothness of the ruche
d bodice. The dress had always been her favorite, its feminine cut and alluring movement making her feel sophisticated and beautiful. She’d worn it on many occasions, but one in particular stuck out.

  Lara closed her eyes. She remembered the feel of the skirt spinning around her as she swayed with Rubin outside the boathouse on the grounds of her old home. She wanted him. He wanted her. The force pulling them together was magnetic. Like a mouse drawn to the cheese on a trap, there was no way for her to know the danger ahead.

  That night was the first time they kissed, and Lara thought her heart might explode at that very moment. He’d been so charming; she’d been infatuated by his maturity, his charisma.

  How little she knew.

  Climbing into bed, Lara rolled to face Lena in the bed parallel to hers. The sisters stared into each other’s eyes, a thousand unspoken truths between them. The urge to spill her darkest secrets was overwhelming. Lara wanted so badly to confess, to talk to someone. Would Lena understand? At the same age Lara was when she first met Rubin, Lena had matured over the past two years. Yet, Lara struggled to see her sister as anything more than an inexperienced child. How could she disclose the ways of a woman?

  Lara shut her eyes, willing sleep that would fast forward the hours. She prayed she could dream away reality and wake up with Erich toddling toward her.

  Lena’s voice broke the silence and made her open her eyes once more.

  “Lara? Why did you do it?”

  The question hung in the air between them like a bomb, sparked and about to detonate. There was no need for clarification; they both knew what she meant.

  Lara propped herself up on an elbow. “I loved him,” she said, plainly. “I thought he loved me.”

  “But you knew better. I mean, you knew it was wrong to take Erich and run.”

  “Yes. I suppose love makes you do irrational things.” Her voice trailed off. The girls were quiet for several minutes, as they lay in the darkness of their room.