by Anna Schmidt
They were almost back to the boardinghouse before either of them spoke again.
“Are you mad at me, Theo?”
“Of course not. Just tired. And I told Mr. Smart I would come in early tomorrow.” He opened the front door and waited for her to precede him.
A single lamp burned in the front hall. He started toward the stairs.
“Theo? I didn’t mean … I was embarrassed and didn’t want you to think that I took what that waitress said seriously. The truth is …”
Theo turned around and pulled her to him, kissing her with all the pent-up feelings he’d kept to himself. Almost from the first time he’d met her he had felt drawn to her in a way that he’d never experienced before. Certainly he had had his share of girlfriends and even a couple of serious romances. But his feelings for Suzanne were far more intense. He wanted to be where she was, know what she was thinking, share his dreams and hopes with her. But he could not deny that their circumstances were unique, and even though she was definitely returning his kiss, he had no idea how she felt about him. So he eased away, kept his hands on her shoulders, and waited for her to open her eyes and look at him.
“Like I said, Suzanne, in another time … Good night.”
CHAPTER 12
January faded at last into February, and spring was a month closer, but the weather was foul with snow and wind and ice storms. The walls of the barracks were still thin as paper. The grounds were still covered with more than a foot of snow and ice. The gray sky remained threatening and overcast, and darkness seemed to come earlier than usual even though the days should be longer.
Theo spent his days in the offices of the administration building, typing reports or answering calls from his counterparts in various government agencies. The connections he was making in Washington would surely be an advantage in his run for Congress. Of course Jim Sawyer did not agree. He was urging Theo to come home and start “pressing the flesh and kissing some babies.” But the election was still months away. He had time, and the work he was doing was important.
He barely saw Suzanne. She spent most of her day moving from building to building and talking to residents of the shelter. As soon as supper ended, she left the boardinghouse for the library. More than once he had offered to walk with her and suggested they could perhaps stop for coffee after she had finished her work there. But she had always refused, citing the uncertainty of her time and not wanting him to have to sit around waiting for her. He was not fooled.
He was fairly certain that she had agreed to meet the German and record his story. Twice he had walked to the library, making sure he left half an hour after she did, and she had not been there, nor had the librarian seen her. On those occasions he had walked back to the boardinghouse, his hands thrust deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched against the wind, wondering where she was. Where was she going to meet the German?
Theo had mixed feelings about the POWs in general. He knew from working with them in the orchards that some of them were just young men who had signed on to defend their country and been sent to the Russian front. There they had experienced horrors of their own—the brutal winter, the lack of enough food or protection from the cold, the hatred of the Russian army for their country—and them.
Most of them counted themselves fortunate to have been captured by the Americans or British and not the Russians. And it was obvious to Theo that many of them knew nothing of the camps or the persecutions of the Jews and others that had transpired in their leader’s determination to rid the world of such people for the sake of a “pure” Aryan society.
But the man that Suzanne was interviewing had been a different type of soldier in Hitler’s army. Through Jim Sawyer’s contacts and the few that Theo had developed working in the shelter, he had done some checking and learned that not only had Detlef Buch been a high-ranking officer in the dictator’s secret police, the Gestapo, as Suzanne had already learned, but he had to have known a great deal about what was going on in those camps. Was he trying to use Suzanne and the power of her pen to save his life?
Discouraged by Suzanne’s apparent decision to place her career above her common sense but helpless to come up with any way to dissuade her, Theo decided to go to the shelter and see if Ilse and Liesl might like to go to a movie. For once it was not snowing, and the bitter cold that had held them in its grasp for weeks had finally abated. The theater in Oswego was showing The Bells of St. Mary’s with Bing Crosby and Ingrid Bergman.
At first Ilse hesitated, and when Liesl pleaded with her to agree, she said perhaps Liesl and Theo should go provided Liesl had completed all of her homework. “I have, but we won’t go without you, will we, Theo?”
Since arriving at the shelter and especially since attending school in town and making friends with local children, Theo had noticed how Liesl had blossomed. She was not afraid to state her opinion, and she made it clear that any opportunity she had to go to town was one she fully intended to take.
“Come on, Ilse,” Theo coaxed. “It’ll do you good to get out of this place for a few hours.” Ever since Franz’s funeral, Ilse had buried herself in caring for Liesl and her work assignments in the shelter. Theo’s mother was concerned that given her history of depression in the past, Ilse might easily become overwhelmed by the realization that she now had the full responsibility for making decisions for Liesl’s future and her own.
“Maybe we could have hot chocolate at the café across from the movie house,” Liesl suggested, and when she saw Ilse beginning to waver, added, “Come on, Mom, don’t be a killjoy. I’ll treat.”
That made Ilse smile. “And where do you suddenly acquire such riches, young miss?”
“I’ve been saving the money you give me each week.” She ran to the small footlocker that served as her dresser and opened it. “How much is hot chocolate, Theo?”
“Well, a cup of coffee is a nickel but chocolate would probably cost a little more.”
Liesl dumped out a bag of coins onto her mattress and carefully counted out the change. “I’ll put in extra just in case.”
“And I’ll treat for the movie,” Theo said. “So what do you say, Aunt Ilse? May I escort my two best girls to the picture show?”
Ilse smiled. “We would be delighted.”
“Gee, that’s swell, Mom. I’ll get my coat.”
As they walked to town, Liesl kept up a running monologue, pointing out where her classmates lived and which shopkeepers were nice to the refugees and which were not. At the theater she greeted the woman selling tickets as if they were old friends.
“Hi, Mrs. Driver. This is my mom and my cousin from Wisconsin.”
The woman sitting in the glass booth smiled. “My daughter, Nancy, is in the same class with Liesl.”
“Oh yes,” Ilse replied, but Theo noticed that she spoke very softly as if trying to hide her thick accent.
“Two adults and one child,” he said, handing over the money for the tickets.
“I am not a child,” Liesl huffed.
“You’re ten years old,” Theo reminded her.
“Going on eleven,” she replied, although she had just turned ten a few weeks earlier.
“Oh, I do beg your pardon, Miss Schneider.” Theo gave her a little bow and handed her the ticket. Liesl giggled then turned her attention back to Mrs. Driver. “Say hi to Nancy for me.”
“I will. You folks enjoy the show now.”
Inside they found seats, and Liesl immediately announced she had to go to the bathroom. Ilse stood up, obviously prepared to accompany her. “Mom, I can go by myself,” she whispered. “Stay here.”
Ilse reluctantly sat down again but not before seeking assurance from Theo that indeed Liesl could handle this adventure on her own.
“I’ve been dozens of times,” she exaggerated.
“She’ll be fine,” Theo said.
“Come straight back,” Ilse admonished her.
Liesl sighed and trudged back up the aisle toward the lobby.
�
��You should have asked your friend Suzanne to come with us,” Ilse said to Theo as around them the theater began to fill with customers.
“She’s busy working.”
“She is very …” Ilse searched for a word.
“Intense?” Theo offered.
“I was thinking dedicated. She comes to the fort every day and spends hours there. It is as if she intends to get every single story. And she also works at night? Well, I suppose she does need the time to transpose her notes. I remember when Franz was preparing his lectures. He would spend hours doing research and then more hours composing the lecture.”
For days Theo had felt the need to confide in someone—to seek another opinion regarding his concern about Suzanne and the POW. And now he found himself blurting out the news to Ilse of all people.
“She’s interviewing one of the German POWs—a man she spoke to briefly the day she went with me to the orchards. He sought her out a few weeks ago and asked if she would write his story—tell his side of things.”
Ilse’s eyes widened in shock. “And this she has agreed to do?”
Theo nodded.
“Well, I suppose if the man was only a soldier serving in the army then—”
“He was an agent in Hitler’s secret police,” Theo said, lowering his voice to a whisper when he saw Liesl coming back to her seat. “His name is Detlef Buch.”
To his surprise, Ilse gave an involuntary cry. “You are sure?” she whispered as Liesl inched her way past other patrons to reach her seat and the lights in the theater dimmed.
“I am sure. Why?”
“Because Detlef Buch is your sister’s father-in-law. He was the one who told your uncle to flee.”
The heavy maroon velvet curtains opened, and a newsreel showing grainy black-and-white footage of the latest war news flickered across the screen, the narrator’s voice excited with reports of new victories for the Allies in both Europe and the Pacific and assurances that the war was winding down and “our boys will soon be home.”
Theo barely paid attention to the newsreel, the short subject on rationing that followed, or the previews of coming attractions. Surely he had heard wrong. It was impossible that Beth’s husband could be the son of a Gestapo agent. Why would his sister allow herself to fall in love with someone like that—much less marry the guy?
But when he glanced at Ilse he saw that she, too, was paying little attention to the images on the screen. Her fist was pressed tight against her mouth, and her eyes were closed, a single tear leaking down her cheek.
Detlef Buch.
Instead of Bing Crosby dressed in the costume of a priest, his blue eyes shining with gentleness and concern, Ilse saw Detlef Buch in his dark wool overcoat, leather gloves, and Bavarian fedora with the jaunty red feather in the band. His dark hair streaked at the temples with gray was always perfectly combed. His eyes were a cold, piercing gray—eyes that could question and mock and judge.
It was true that he had warned them, given them the chance to escape a fate that surely awaited Franz, if not all of them. But at the same time he had apparently been unable to save his own son and Beth from imprisonment. She wondered if he knew that they had escaped and managed to get to England. How horrible would it be not to know the fate of your only child!
As the film flickered across the screen, she could not help but wonder where Herr Buch’s wife was. She remembered Josef’s mother as a lovely woman filled with self-confidence. In many ways Gisele St. Germaine reminded her of Frau Buch.
The music swelled, signaling the end of the movie. Around them women were sniffling and blowing their noses as the lights came up. The mood among the audience as they exited the theater was lighthearted as if for an hour or so they had put aside their worries about the war and the future.
“The café is closed,” Liesl moaned.
“I guess we’ll have to take a rain check on that cocoa, then. Come on, kiddo.” Theo wrapped his arm around Liesl’s shoulders. “It’s late, and I have to work tomorrow.”
“And you have school,” Ilse reminded her daughter.
The three of them walked back to the shelter. Ilse suspected that Theo was as anxious to talk about the German with her as she was to ask him what he knew. “Would you like to come in, Theo? I could make us some tea.”
In his eyes she saw that she had guessed right.
“May I have some, Mom?”
“Not tonight. It’s late, and you need to get to bed so you will be fresh for your spelling test tomorrow.”
“Spelling bee, Mom. That’s what it’s called here.”
“Forgive me. I am clearly not in touch with the ways of the world.” She ruffled her daughter’s hair, and Liesl went into the bedroom that she and Ilse now shared. She pulled the curtain across the doorway, and Ilse indicated that Theo should sit at the table while she made the tea. They both kept glancing toward the curtain, where they could hear Liesl getting ready for bed.
She emerged in her pajamas with a toothbrush in one hand and some toothpaste in the other. “I forgot to brush,” she said sheepishly. “And I have to go to the bathroom again.”
Ilse opened the door and checked the hallway. “All right. Go now and hurry back.” She stood in the open doorway while her daughter ran to the end of the hall and into the women’s bathroom.
“Are you certain, Ilse?” Theo asked, and she did not need to wonder what he meant.
“I am certain. How many Detlef Buches could there be? Especially ones who were in the Gestapo. This has to be Josef’s father.”
They were whispering while Ilse kept watch for Liesl’s return and anyone else in the hallway. “Let me get Liesl settled, and then we can talk.” The tea kettle whistled, startling them both.
“I’ll get it,” Theo said.
Liesl returned to the room with a frown. “We haven’t had our meeting for worship,” she announced.
“Theo and I will sit in silence while you go to sleep.” She escorted the child into the bedroom and pulled back the covers on the cot that used to be occupied by Franz. “Good night, Liebchen.” She hugged Liesl and kissed her forehead before pulling the covers over her.
“Good night, Mom. See you in the morning.” Liesl yawned and turned onto her side—the doll Theo had given her when they first arrived cradled in her arms.
Ilse stood for a moment, watching her and thinking about the certainty with which Liesl had simply assumed that all would be well through the night and they would indeed see one another at daylight. She realized that in spite of her own desire to return to Germany after the war, Liesl had taken on many of the traits common to Americans—confidence, self-assurance, and a belief that in the end everything would turn out well for them.
Suzanne had told herself that no matter what the German POW wrote in the notebook she had handed him, she would refuse to write or even hear his story. To get involved with him was to open the door to a possible renewed connection with Gordon.
When she went back to the library that next evening, he was there waiting for her. He sat at the same table in the same chair with the newspaper open before him. As she took the chair opposite him without a word of greeting or acknowledgment, he slid the notebook across the table to her.
“I should tell you,” she began, but he held up his hand.
“First, you will read as you promised; then we will talk.”
“You are hardly in a position to be setting rules,” she whispered.
He smiled, and she realized that he was a man used to setting the rules. “I apologize,” he said. “Old habits die hard, as you Americans sometimes say. Please will you not read at least the first of it?”
She fingered the notebook, glanced at him, and then opened it, purposely turning in her chair so that she was not facing him. He went back to reading his newspaper. His handwriting was neat and precise—a reflection of the man himself:
When Adolf Hitler came to power, I was employed in the Ministry of the Interior. My primary responsibility was to oversee Mi
nistry affairs in Bavaria. I was well paid and had what I and my superiors considered a bright future. My wife and I and our only child—a son—bought a home. We entertained often. We traveled extensively. We had a large number of friends. We were by all accounts successful and blessed. But slowly, almost without our being aware, our lives changed. In Germany in the 1930s, everyone’s life changed.
She stopped reading, determined to go no further, but there were only a few more lines on the page. She would finish the page and then close the notebook, place it next to him, and leave. He would have his answer. She read on:
In those early days, the changes seemed appropriate. Germany after the first war had been devastated. Hitler proposed revisions to the infrastructure of the government designed to make it more efficient. My superior became the head of the Prussian police and asked me to join him in his new office. Others I worked with were appointed to similar positions in this new agency. My wife and I breathed a sigh of relief that I still had a position—had even been promoted in a manner of speaking.
So he had been ambitious.
Like her.
She turned the page:
Gradually throughout Germany things began to improve and much of the public believed that Herr Hitler was living up to his promise to bring the country back to its rightful position as a world leader, erasing the shame and deprivations of the past. If citizens had questions about the singling out of various groups for special treatment, they did not voice them.
Enough!
“Special treatment?” Suzanne waved the notebook at Detlef Buch.
“Sh-h-h,” the librarian hissed, although Suzanne and Detlef were the only patrons.
Suzanne lowered her voice to a whisper as she leaned across the table. “Your government murdered people in cold blood for no reason other than they were against the Reich.”