The Light After the War

by Anita Abriel

  “Don’t you see?” Vera frowned. “There’s only one reason why this man would pay Marcus’s fare and put him up in his apartment.”

  “The reason is Marcus is a genius!” Edith folded the letter. “I’m sure there are enough pretty boys in New York that he’ll never have to return to Italy.”

  “I still don’t like it,” Vera said. “Marcus will get hurt.”

  “Marcus is an adult. He can take care of himself.” Edith eyed Vera’s plate. “I have to go. I’m meeting Kitty for breakfast at the Hotel Majestic.”

  “You can’t spend all your time with Kitty,” Vera urged. “She hasn’t gotten you a single commission. You need to be looking for work.”

  “The meeting is about work,” Edith replied. “There’s going to be a dinner tonight in the Empire Suite. All the fashionable people will be there, and my dresses are included in the fashion show.”

  “What are you talking about?” Vera asked. “You haven’t mentioned anything.”

  “An American friend of Kitty’s arrived in Caracas a few days ago. His name is Robert Kinkaid. He lives in Manhattan and owns dress shops in New York and Boston. He’s in Caracas to buy fabric and loves my designs. He’s holding the dinner tonight in my honor.”

  “A dinner! That’s very generous of him.” Vera smiled.

  “He knows how hard it is to get ahead,” she responded. “And before you ask what his intentions are, he’s married with a son. His wife looks like Ava Gardner. Why don’t you and Ricardo come? It will be nice to have someone there I know, and you’ll enjoy it.”

  “All right, we’ll come,” Vera agreed. Edith worked so hard on her dresses; all she needed was a little luck. “You know I believe in you. But we can’t pay Lola with buttons and thread.”

  * * *

  Ricardo looked particularly handsome in a navy smoking jacket when he picked her up from work. Vera glanced down at her own blue dress and thought she should have worn something more elegant.

  “You look beautiful tonight.” Ricardo jumped out of the MG and opened her door.

  “I’ll be the only woman there who hasn’t spent the afternoon at the beauty parlor.” Vera slipped into the passenger seat. “I worry about Edith hanging around with these rich Americans.”

  “Edith is more capable than you give her credit for,” Ricardo said. “She’s only been in Caracas for a month and already has her own fashion show.”

  “In Budapest our parents led simple lives.” Vera glanced in the rearview mirror. Her hair needed a good brushing and she should have applied some lipstick. “Once a month my parents attended the opera, but the rest of the time they stayed home. Edith has been going out every night.”

  “There is nothing wrong with enjoying oneself.” Ricardo reached into the glove compartment and took out a flat box. “This is for you.”

  “For me?” Vera repeated. “You shouldn’t give me anything.”

  “Open it,” Ricardo said, placing it in her hands. “I think you’ll like it.”

  Vera snapped it open and inside were silver heart-shaped earrings.

  “I wanted to complement your beauty,” Ricardo said.

  Vera remembered Anton saying she wore the same dress every day and needed to buy herself a present.

  “Thank you, they’re beautiful,” she said, and closed the case. “But I can’t accept them.”

  “It’s a small gift. They are only silver,” he pleaded.

  “I’m not ready to be anything but friends,” Vera stammered.

  “So it is a gift between friends,” he encouraged her. “Take them, be happy.”

  “I am happy,” Vera answered. “I have a good job and a place to live.”

  Vera remembered when she was sixteen and a boy put a note in her schoolbag. Her mother found it and tucked it into a box. A girl should have a place for her love letters. One day Vera would grow old, and reading them would bring her happiness.

  “All right, I’ll wear them,” Vera agreed. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful.”

  * * *

  The Empire Suite was furnished with plush velvet sofas and glass chandeliers. There was a sideboard with platters of fruit and flan—a dessert made of custard with a caramel sauce.

  Edith wore a midnight-blue dress with a narrow waist and daring neckline, like something Rosalind Russell would wear in a movie. She was chatting with a man who couldn’t have been older than thirty. He had broad shoulders like an American football player and wore a beige suit.

  “Vera, there you are! You must meet Robert.” Edith took her arm. Ricardo had gone to get champagne and hors d’oeuvres and Vera stood alone. Edith waved at the chairs set up on opposite sides of a gold carpet. “Doesn’t it look fantastic? I know the fashion show will be a success!”

  “It’s a pleasure,” Robert said when he shook Vera’s hand. “Edith has talked so much about you.”

  “You two get acquainted; I have to greet our guests.” Edith turned to Vera and laughed. “Be nice to Robert; I told him you’re overprotective.”

  Edith left them alone, and Vera found herself searching for something to say to Robert.

  “It’s so kind of you to do this for Edith,” Vera said awkwardly.

  “I feel like there’s a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence,” Robert chuckled.

  “This must have cost a fortune,” Vera replied. “I don’t want Edith to get hurt.”

  “You mean, do I have ulterior motives?” Robert asked. “Let me tell you about myself. I was the first in my family to go to college. If I hadn’t, I probably would have been blown up somewhere over France. Instead, I married my college sweetheart and had a son.” He took out a wallet and showed her a picture of a pretty blonde and a boy with freckles. “When life brings you luck, you have to pass it on.”

  “You hardly know Edith,” Vera countered.

  “I know talent when I see it.” Robert smiled. “Have a glass of champagne and relax. Edith’s dresses are going to be the hit of Caracas.”

  Ricardo returned with two champagne glasses and small plates of sweet bread stuffed with olives and raisins. The lights dimmed and the guests crowded around the runway.

  The first model appeared in a tailored skirt and a matching jacket. The outfit was finished off with a wide hat and two-tone shoes. The second model wore a silver evening gown as light and airy as a meringue. And then the last model started down the runway in a crepe pantsuit, and even Vera was surprised.

  Edith never told her she had designed pants! They were smart and elegant and the whole room broke into applause.

  Vera started across the room to congratulate Edith when a woman carrying a glass of champagne bumped into her. The champagne spilled on Vera’s dress.

  Robert appeared beside her. “You’d better dab that in soapy water or it will stain. Come with me, you can use the bathroom.”

  Vera followed him through the suite’s bedroom. A robe was flung over a chair and Vera froze. The lettering above the pocket read WIGHT HOTEL, BOSTON.

  “Where did you get that robe?” she gasped.

  Vera remembered the ad she had seen for Wight Hotels in Marcus’s LIFE magazine.

  “I collect robes when I travel,” Robert said in amusement. “The Wight is my favorite hotel in Boston. It’s like being invited into an elegant home.”

  Vera’s face grew hot and she thought about the letter she sent to Anton’s father. She had been so hopeful that he would come for them at Ellis Island.

  “Are you all right?” Robert asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I’m fine; I have to go.” She turned back to the living room.

  He stopped her. “What about the stain?”

  “It’s not even a good dress. I might not wear it again.”

  * * *

  Vera sat in the passenger seat of Ricardo’s convertible and concentrated on the road. Usually after a dinner party, they made comments while they drove. But she couldn’t think about anything except the robe.

  �
��What happened in the bedroom?” Ricardo asked.

  “What are you talking about?” Vera turned her attention to the driver’s seat. Ricardo was clutching the steering wheel and driving too fast, even for him.

  “That Kinkaid fellow took you into the bedroom and you came out white as a sheet,” Ricardo said through gritted teeth. “If he tried anything, I’ll go back and put a pistol to his head.” She was surprised by the anger in his voice.

  “Don’t be silly. He wanted to get the stain out of my dress.”

  “The stain is still there.” Ricardo pointed to her skirt. “Something must have happened.”

  Vera had never told Ricardo about Anton. Ricardo said he gave her the earrings out of friendship, but she could sense he wanted more. Vera was afraid of hurting his feelings and didn’t know how to discourage him. But if he got that jealous over a stranger leading her through his bedroom, what would he say when she revealed she had been engaged?

  “It was my fault. I was reminded of the past,” Vera explained. “All I wanted was to leave.”

  “The suites in the Hotel Majestic are furnished in a European style.” Ricardo reached over and squeezed her hand. “You are very brave. Time will make the ghosts go away. In Venezuela we have a saying: ‘life is for the living.’ ”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Vera said, and wondered if it was different when one of the ghosts was still alive.

  * * *

  Vera took off the silver earrings and placed them on the dresser. She shouldn’t have accepted them; Ricardo might expect something in return. But it would have been rude to refuse when Ricardo had been so kind, buying her dinners and escorting her to the fashion show.

  “Look!” Edith burst into their room.

  Vera noticed the pieces of paper in her hand.

  “More letters from Marcus in New York?”

  “Something better!” Edith exclaimed. “Orders for dresses from the fashion show.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Vera hugged her.

  “I got the idea for the pantsuit from Kitty’s magazines.” Edith sat on the bed. “You should see the fashions in America: gowns with billowing skirts because there is no shortage of fabric. You can wear the next dress I design; it will have shoulder pads and a fitted jacket and it will be perfect for the office.”

  “It would be my pleasure.” Vera smiled. “I’ll tell everyone it’s an Edith Ban original.”

  “Tomorrow Robert is taking me to lunch.” Edith took off her earrings. “We’re going to meet a fabric supplier.”

  “Doesn’t Robert have his own work?” Vera was suddenly wary. He was good-looking, and his wife and child were thousands of miles away.

  “You still think he’s trying to seduce me?” Edith demanded. “You work with men, why can’t I do the same?”

  Edith was right. Besides the receptionist and the woman who brought sandwiches, Vera was the only woman in the office.

  “I’m sorry,” Vera apologized. “He’s lucky to know someone so talented.”

  “This is just the beginning. One day, my dresses will be in department stores in Philadelphia and New York.”

  “What about London and Paris?” Vera asked gaily.

  “So some German can come in and try on my gowns? I’d rather stab myself with a pair of scissors.” Edith’s eyes darkened. “I’m never going back to Europe. Our lives are in South America.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  May 1947

  Vera sat at her desk at J. Walter Thompson and studied a sketch of a boxy yellow car. A blond in a bathing suit was draped over the hood, and the background showed the green of the Cerro El Ávila and the blue of the Caribbean.

  She was happier at work than she could have imagined. The small office had plenty of friendly people. Besides Mr. Matthews, there was an account executive named Mike from New York. Mike was stationed in Scotland during the war and accepted the position in Caracas because of the warm climate. The head copywriter, Harold, was in his thirties and had a thick Boston accent. Only the art director, Juan, was from Venezuela. His office was lined with movie posters; he thought creating ads for cars was his ticket to Hollywood somehow.

  Vera often wished her mother could see her name on the plaque on her desk. She would have been so proud to read her English copy: EXPLORE VENEZUELA IN A CAR AS THRILLING AS THE SCENERY, under the photo of a red car parked in front of a colonial building in the town of El Hatillo.

  There was a tapping sound, and Mr. Matthews stood outside her cubicle

  “Come in,” Vera said. “I was going to ask your opinion on this sketch. The model is blond, but most of the women in Venezuela have dark hair.” She handed him the piece of paper.

  “Juan thinks all the models should look like Lana Turner. I’ll ask him to fix it.” Mr. Matthews picked up the ad. “A gentleman called earlier; he wanted to speak to you.”

  “A gentleman?” Vera repeated.

  “A Captain Bingham?”

  She couldn’t keep the surprise from her face. How had he found her? What did he want? Perhaps it was about Anton. Maybe they had been in touch since he’d disappeared.

  “Why is he here?” Her voice was a whisper.

  “He wouldn’t say over the phone.” Mr. Matthews looked uncomfortable. “He wanted to tell you in person. He’s here.”

  “Here in Caracas?” Vera couldn’t have been more shocked if Mr. Matthews announced he’d come from the moon.

  “Here, outside the office,” Mr. Matthews said gently. “He said it couldn’t wait. I wanted to check with you first.”

  “Please, bring him in.”

  Mr. Matthews glanced around the small space. “Why don’t you use my office? This is a private conversation and these walls are thin as paper.”

  Vera sat in Mr. Matthew’s office and Captain Bingham appeared in the doorway. He looked older than she remembered. There were deep lines on his forehead.

  “Vera!” He took off his cap. “Look at you. So lovely and grown-up. I wouldn’t have recognized you.”

  “I wouldn’t have recognized you, either,” she waved at the orange chair. “Please sit down. It seems much longer than fourteen months.”

  “A lifetime.” Captain Bingham nodded soberly. “Mr. Matthews said you’re a wonderful addition to the team. I’m so happy to see you thriving.”

  “What are you doing in Caracas?”

  “As you can see, I’m still in the army.” He waved at his uniform. “I’ve been promoted, got a purple heart and everything.”

  “A purple heart?” Vera asked quizzically.

  “I was driving in a jeep near Dusseldorf when a landmine exploded,” he replied. “I wasn’t injured badly. Just enough to be sent home.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s terrible,” Vera gasped.

  “I met a pretty nurse at the rehabilitation hospital, and we got married last month.” He pointed to his gold wedding band. “Serena and I are in Caracas on our honeymoon.”

  “Your honeymoon.” Vera tried to hide her disappointment. It wasn’t about her mother or Anton. Captain Bingham happened to be in Venezuela and decided to look her up.

  “How did you know where to find me?” she asked.

  “I didn’t,” he said slowly. “I got a letter and started looking.”

  “A letter?” Vera’s heart hammered so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

  Vera reached up for a glass of water.

  “From Budapest.” He looked at her. “From Alice Frankel.”

  Her hand slipped and the glass fell to the floor. Captain Bingham bent down to pick up the pieces and Vera steadied herself on the armrest.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was sure you said there was a letter from my mother.”

  “There is. Somehow it made it to my desk in Washington.” He smiled, and for a moment the haggardness disappeared. “It’s funny how the army works. It could as easily have been buried under dinner invitations for some general. Instead it came to me,” he said. “I cleared my schedule to find
you.”

  “What kind of letter?” Vera asked. She still couldn’t get her hopes up. Maybe her mother had written it in a concentration camp before she died.

  “Your mother is alive. Your old neighbor, Miriam Gold, is a smart woman. When your mother returned from the camps, you had disappeared. Miriam recalled my visit and suggested Alice write to me. There is no American embassy in Budapest, so she contacted a relative in London. The relative got my address and forwarded your mother’s letter.” His voice caught. “I decided to deliver it in person. It’s not the sort of thing a twenty-year-old girl should have to receive in the mail.”

  “Tell me what’s in it,” Vera said quietly.

  Vera couldn’t quite grasp that her mother had survived. All the days and nights she had longed to see her again, and now her dreams were coming true. She felt guilty that she had given up hope. If she had searched harder, perhaps they would have been together sooner.

  Captain Bingham drummed his fingers on the chair as if he needed courage to tell the story.

  “Alice and Lily weren’t sent to the gas chamber, they were only moved to a different part of the camp. But in January 1945, they were part of the death march.”

  Vera had read about the terrible death march. The Germans knew the Russians were coming, so they rounded up prisoners and forced them to march thirty-five miles to Wodzislaw.

  “The object was to shoot the prisoners so the Russians wouldn’t discover the dead bodies at the camps. One day Edith’s mother collapsed and was shot on the spot,” Captain Bingham continued. “Alice was made to keep walking. Eventually she was put on a train to Flossenbürg in Germany.”

  “And from there?” Vera had heard of the concentration camp in Germany where thousands of Jews had died.

  “Flossenbürg was liberated in April 1945. The Germans made the prisoners leave before the Americans arrived. The SS fled, and your mother and hundreds of other Jews escaped. She hid in the forest and another escapee helped her to a village. After that she got sick and the next months were hazy. When she finally returned to Budapest you were gone, and she didn’t know how to contact you.”