Songbird Under a German Moon
Page 7
If a million nights passed, Dierk would not forget.
He approached the opening to the fence and glanced around, just in case some poor beggar saw him enter the woods and followed, hoping for a companion and maybe a little food. Seeing no one, he slipped through the opening and stayed crouched as he hurried to the warehouse’s back door. He entered and noticed the moon’s rays streamed through the high windows. He didn’t need to use his flashlight tonight, which was fine. Dierk felt more comfortable in darkness.
He went through three boxes, pulling out the parts he needed, and made a pile. These parts were designed for rockets, but he had different plans. The explosives were marked for the enemy of the Reich, but he’d use them against the enemy of the town—those who trampled their heritage. Dierk could not change how Bayreuth and Wagner, its most famous citizen, were disgraced, but he could ensure the abuse didn’t continue.
When he found all he needed, he put it into a sack and tucked it under his shirt. Then he buttoned his shirt and his jacket over it.
He wasn’t greedy. He only took what he needed for this night’s work.
He had enough time for the task set before him. A limited number of days to work—until his masterpiece was complete. Until the chosen date of the final show.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The sound of footsteps in the hall pulled Betty from her fitful sleep. Her first thought was that Kat was right—this place was haunted. But as Betty opened her eyes, she was amazed to find that it was morning. And as she sat up and listened closer, she could tell the footsteps were mixed with the voices of women preparing for the day.
Betty rose and stretched. She noticed Kat still sleeping, with her silk eye mask in place. As quietly as she could, Betty padded across the room to the window where she got her first real look at the place.
Villa Wahnfried was a beautiful estate. Their bedroom window faced the front of the house. A long driveway lined with trees led to the front door. Expansive lawns stretched in all directions, and Betty was sure that at one time they’d been well cared for. Now the lawns were brown and scraggly. The shrubbery was unkempt, and some of the trees nearest to the main roadway had been blown down—not by high winds, but by bombs. It must have been the same bombing raid that hit the house. To her right, she could see the piles of rubble where the rest of the house used to stand.
She tried to imagine what it would have been like to be here when that raid took place. It must have been so frightening.
She quickly pushed those thoughts out of her mind. It was war, and the bombers did what had to be done. If they hadn’t bombed—who knew what would be happening now? Who knew how many more American lives would have been lost? Who knew how many more prisoners would have died in the death camps?
Last spring, right before the end of the war, the newsreels had shown why they’d fought. Even now, her stomach ached, thinking of the images of thin prisoners and stacks of bodies in Hitler’s death camps. It was all more real to her. The fighting wasn’t something that happened “over there.” She would now walk the streets where it had taken place. She had sung in the auditorium where Hitler had been entertained. She might even be sleeping in the room—No, don’t think of that. Don’t dwell on those things. But despite her attempt to push those thoughts from her mind, a shiver traveled up her spine.
Outside on the front lawn, three girls she recognized as the dancing sisters were busy washing their clothes in a large tub placed near the front door. They’d strung a line between the porch handrail and a nearby tree and now hung their garments out to dry.
Betty chuckled as she noticed how they hung their dresses with the same uniformity that characterized their act. Three blue dresses, three scarlet dresses, and then three black gowns glimmered in the morning sun. The wind whipped the women’s hair, and the dresses swayed as if warming up for their act.
Seeing the women work together made Betty think of her friends back home. Even simple tasks like knitting or bandage-rolling parties had become fun when they worked together. Would she find that kind of friendship and camaraderie here? She unpacked her suitcase into the small bureau, organizing all the items the USO Camp Show advisor had told her to bring—hosiery, dresses, theatrical makeup, cold cream, sewing kits, and bobby pins. She also pulled out her Bible, and a yearning filled her chest. She pulled it to herself, thankful she’d remembered to pack it. She sat down on her bed, with her Bible opened on her lap, but a call from one of the women interrupted her.
“Twenty minutes, girls, until we leave for breakfast!”
Betty’s eyes widened. She didn’t have time to read. Not today. She set her Bible in the top drawer of the dresser and closed it. If she didn’t join the others, she had no idea where to get food, or how to get to the Festspielhaus.
Tomorrow. I promise.
Grabbing up her things, she opened the door as quietly as she could and hurried to the bathroom that Kat had pointed out last night. Betty soon found that the bath was almost as uncivilized as their laundry facilities. She filled the basin with cool water, washed, and then dressed in the olive trousers and jacket provided by the USO.
Her stomach rumbled, and she was eager for breakfast.
When she returned to her room Kat was still sleeping.
“Kat,” Betty whispered.
“Hm?” Kat mumbled.
“Are you coming to breakfast?”
“No. I—I feel awful. Tell the others to go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
Within two minutes, the whole foyer was filled with women, dressed and ready to head out to the mess hall.
Betty followed the rest of her troupe as they walked down the road to the mess and lined up for breakfast chow. The mess hall was an old, brick building that looked as if it had previously served as a dance hall on the property of a wealthy family. The GIs around them laughed and joked, yet they all seemed to quiet and brush their fingers through their hair as the performers entered the building. Betty scanned the faces looking for Frank. She tried to hide her disappointment when he was nowhere to be seen. Maybe later, during rehearsal. He knows I’m going to be there—maybe he’ll stop by.
The room smelled of burnt toast and bacon. Her stomach growled, and she hoped there was plenty of food to go around. She was sure she could eat any soldier under the table.
“If we wanted, we could eat in the officers’ mess, but things are often more interesting in the mess halls with the GIs,” Irene explained. “We follow their schedule and use their tins. I’ve actually learned to like dehydrated eggs and Spam—although the food has gotten a bit better lately.”
Betty got her food and sat down. As she did, she looked for Kat, but still didn’t see her. Most likely doesn’t feel like eating, with her condition and all. Betty wondered what Irene and the others would think about Kat’s big news. But she was determined not to betray Kat. It was Kat’s news to share, in her own good time.
Betty chatted with a group of GIs, but couldn’t truly enjoy the conversation because she was wondering about Frank and where he was. Even though they’d agreed they’d see each other tomorrow at the performance, she hoped he’d come around today.
Betty was pleased to find Kat waiting outside the mess hall when they were finished, even though her face looked pale and her hair hung limp on her shoulders. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and she gripped her stomach.
“Is everything okay, Kat?” Irene said, rushing to her side.
“I’m feeling a little under the weather, that’s all.” Kat waved a hand toward them.
“Should we run ahead and have Mickey send down a jeep and driver?”
“No, I need exercise. I’m sure the fresh air will do me good.” Kat looked to her feet and kicked at a rock. Betty wondered if she was going to tell her news, but Kat quickly changed the subject. “Just thought I’d like some company, no big deal. Maybe it isn’t too wise after all to be walking alone in these parts.”
“Did something happen?” Dolly took Kat’s hand.
“Yes,
Kat, spill it. We know you aren’t telling the truth. Something happened, and I think you should tell us. You’ve never wanted our company before.” Irene’s words spilled out. “I mean, not that you’ve been rude or anything, just independent.” She placed a hand on her hips. “And if there is something going on, you better tell us. We walk that path too, you know.”
“Well, last night…” Kat paused. Then she lifted her eyes, peering up from under her eyelashes. “I think there were some kids trying to play games with me. I thought I heard footsteps following me from the opera house to Wahnfried, but I never saw anyone behind me.”
“I told you not to walk alone,” Irene said.
“I thought you said it was perfectly safe.” Betty crossed her arms over her chest. “You should have said something last night.”
“It is safe.” Kat attempted a light-hearted laugh. “Personally, I think it was the Nazi ghost. He’d gone up to watch our show and needed directions getting back.”
All the girls laughed, but Betty could see they were still concerned. With cautious steps, they headed up the tall hill. And even though she couldn’t see it through the trees, Betty knew the opera house was waiting, as it had waited for its singers for the last sixty or so years.
They were halfway up the hillside when the trees opened up to a beautiful garden area with a pond. Betty paused her steps, taking it in. The pond was light green and nearly as big as the swimming pool at her old high school. Lush bushes ringed half its shore and tall trees shaded the waters. In her mind’s eye, she could almost picture Snow White’s cottage beyond the trees. She’d taken her niece Hazel to watch that show and wished she could get a photo of this place to send back to her.
Maybe I can ask Frank later. It would be a good excuse to come back and enjoy the spot—and the company.
“This is so beautiful. Oh, I wish it were warm, I’d love to take a swim,” Betty said, reluctantly hurrying to catch up with the others who’d continued ahead.
“It is a good swimming hole, and we tried it out a few times this summer. It was fun until word got out and all the soldiers thought us flopping around in our swimsuits was a show of its own. When one guy brought a movie camera, we stopped coming. The last thing we wanted was movies of us to be sent home,” Irene said.
“Not that we’d be recognized.” Dolly brushed her red hair back from her forehead. “Still, it’s the idea.”
“Kat would be recognized.” Betty turned to her friend, who was starting to get a little color in her cheeks. “They’d like that, wouldn’t they? I’m sure it would have shown up in the newsreels.” Betty laughed.
“Oh no, not me.” Kat held up her hands. “I didn’t go near that death trap.” She continued to look ahead, as if she was afraid to so much as look at the pond.
“Kat told us the story once, after we begged her to join us taking a dip. It turns out her cousin drowned when she was a little kid and Kat almost drowned trying to rescue her.”
“How sad.” Betty covered her mouth with her hand.
“And that,” Kat said, marching forward, “is why I only wear my bathing suit for photo opportunities.”
Laughter carried up the hill and through the trees. Betty had only been here one day, and she already enjoyed getting to know the other women. She wished she had more time to get to know Kat. She found it hard to believe Kat was leaving so soon. Only one more performance, Kat had told her, and she’d fly away.
Mickey was working with the band on a jazz number when they arrived. The band sat on the practice stage, on the other side of the dressing room wall. They all wore slacks and white shirts, and their eyes were focused on the metal music stands in front of them. They were practicing a jazzy number, and Mickey stood to the side of the conductor’s stand with one hand on his chin and his eyes closed, nodding along as he listened.
Betty followed the others into the large dressing area, with the heavy scent of talcum powder mixed with dust. Bright lights ringed a row of mirrors and reflected light around the room, brightening the faces of the singers and dancers.
“Well, I guess this will be as good a time as any to pack up my things.” Kat moved to a rack of dresses. “I’ll only leave out two gowns. Which do you think I should wear?”
“Depends on what Mickey asks you to sing,” Shirlee, one of the sisters, commented.
“I think she should pick what looks best.” Irene pulled out a white gown with layers of thin, light fabric. “This is my favorite, with the wide black belt.”
“Or what about the red dress with flowers? I have a hat that will go perfect with it,” one of the other sisters piped up.
“You don’t have room for all these dresses to go back with you, do you?” Dolly asked. “I mean, it’s so hard to get anything decent around here—don’t you think you should leave some?”
The other singers were busy trying to convince Kat to leave some of her little-used gowns behind when Betty looked through the doorway and noticed Oskar working on a beautiful landscape set in the back corner of the rehearsal area. The curtain was open, yet he wasn’t giving the women, or their fashion chatter, any mind. Instead, he studied the large wooden-backed set as intently as a Van Gogh.
Betty left the others and approached him. He looked sad, and Betty wondered why. Then she noticed the paint can on the floor and the paintbrush in his hand.
“Hey, Oskar, how are you doing today? Busy at work?” She attempted to sound chipper.
Oskar’s head jerked up as if surprised by Betty’s approach. “Oh, well. I have these old sets and Mickey wants me to—change them.” Oskar’s gaze was narrow, and Betty could tell he wasn’t happy about it.
“Were these sets used before? For the operas?”
“Ja, Wagner designed them himself. They were for his great Ring opera trilogy.”
“Maybe you can talk to Mickey—explain the importance of them?”
“No.” Oskar lowered his head. “It is no use. Wagner is banned, and I see no hope of things changing. Wagner existed before Hitler, but no one remembers. I am afraid there will be no Wagner operas performed here again.” He sighed, and his shoulders trembled slightly. “What is the use of saving what will only become rubbish?”
“How do you know that? Maybe someday in the future Wagner’s operas—” Betty’s voice trailed off, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t know why she was saying anything at all. She knew very little about Wagner, his music, or this opera house. The one thing she had heard is that Hitler had first gotten some of his ideas from Wagner’s work, and he also used Wagner’s music in his big rallies and propaganda events.
Oskar opened the can of paint, dipped the brush, and painted a large white stripe down the center of the forest scene with a quick stroke. Betty cringed. If she knew Mickey better, she’d consider talking to him herself, but who was she? She was new—to this place, to this show. What did she know?
“Betty, come over here and look at this white dress with black polka-dots. Kat’s leaving it and I think it will look perfect on you.”
“Be there in a minute,” Betty called over her shoulder. Then she turned back to Oskar.
“I’m sure the Germans wouldn’t be happy if they knew what will happen to these sets,” she said.
“My father would weep. My neighbors—no, I cannot tell them.”
“Wait, you’re German?” Betty took a step back. “But your English is spoken so well. I thought you came with Mickey—from Hollywood or something. I never would have guessed you’re—” She didn’t know how to say it—that he used to be one of the enemy.
Irene strode up and Betty noticed a belt in her hands.
Oskar offered Betty a soft smile. “Ja, yes. Many tell me I have good English.” He winked at Irene. “I do not know as much as I used to.”
“Go ahead, Oskar, tell Betty the story,” Irene pleaded. She turned to Betty. “He has the most amazing story.”
Oskar waved a hand in the air. “You have work to do. I have work to do.”
Oskar nodded, put down his brush, and wiped his hands on a paint cloth. “I have lived in this town my entire life. My father worked with Wagner himself—was a carpenter on the original sets. He also worked on building Wahnfried—the mansion you are staying in. He would be heartbroken to see it in this state.”
“Wahnfried, that’s a strange name—at least to me. What does it mean?” Betty asked.
“In German it means ‘Peace from Delusions.’” Oskar rubbed his chin, and though he was looking at Betty, she could tell he wasn’t focused on her. His mind was in another place. “Hier wo mein Wähnen Frieden fand—Wahnfried—sei dieses Haus von mir benannt,” he said. “Here where my delusions have found peace, let this place be named Wahnfried.”
Betty thought about that for a minute. When she thought about peace, she didn’t think about a building. To her, peace was the oak tree in the meadow behind her house. It was there she often took her Bible. Those were her favorite moments, sitting in the sunshine, listening to the birds, reading and praying.
“Yes, things are different now. Our world will never be the same.” Oskar swept his arm toward the band. “The music will never be the same.”
“Did you learn English from your father?” Betty asked.
“Oh no, my father was a good German. He wouldn’t think of speaking anything other than his mother tongue. My mother was deaf, you see. She became deaf from an illness right after she was married. She did her best to care for me, but my father didn’t think she could take care of me alone. He hired a nanny. She was American, the daughter of one of the American opera singers who lived here for many years. Her native tongue was English—and so mine became.”