by Cathy Gohlke
“That I should live long enough to grow fat. There is no better way to do it.” Grandfather watched me with what looked like a mixture of pride and some amount of ownership. I tried not to rattle the cups and saucers.
“Well, neither of you have tasted it yet, so you’d best reserve judgment.” My teasing was lost on them.
“Ja, well, sit yourself, please, Hannah. Herr Eberhardt will explain our meeting.”
Definitely not a social call. I sat across the desk from Grandfather, in the chair beside Herr Eberhardt, and sipped my coffee.
“Your Grossvater has asked me to create a new deed for him, one in which he makes you co-owner of his property and its contents.”
I nearly dropped my cup.
“As you know, neither of his children are living, and you are the only child of your mother. This is correct, is it not?”
I could barely speak, but stumbled, “I am. Mama never had another. But I didn’t expect this—truly.”
“Nein?” Herr Eberhardt’s skepticism cut me.
“No.” I glanced from man to man. Not even Grandfather looked convinced. “This is most certainly not why I came to Germany.”
“Why did you come now, after all these years, Fräulein Sterling?” Eberhardt pressed.
“You know why. Because I only learned that my grandfather existed after my mother passed. I wanted to meet him, to learn about my mother and her family—my family.” I turned to Grandfather. “Is that what you think? That I came for your money?”
Grandfather raised his brows. “I did not say this. Only Herr Eberhardt is concerned. I told him you have agreed to stay, to care for me in return.”
“What?”
“That arrangement is not agreeable to you?” Herr Eberhardt prodded.
“It’s not that; it’s that I have a job waiting for me at home—my home in North Carolina. I never intended this visit to go on as long as it has.” I felt like I’d been turned on my head. “Grandfather, we talked about this.”
“You promised to consider my request that you stay.”
“Consider, yes, but I didn’t promise to stay indefinitely.”
“I see.” Herr Eberhardt set his cup and saucer on the desk and reached for his attaché case. He pulled a sheaf of papers from the top folder. “Do you understand the nature of your Grossvater’s illness? That he has less than a year to live?”
“He’s been doing so much better.”
“Since you arrived,” Grandfather interrupted. “I feel stronger, more sure with you here, Hannah. I want you to stay. You can see that I need someone.”
“You said that Frau Winkler will return as soon as her family is stable.”
A tiny spark of caution and perhaps anger flashed through Grandfather’s eyes.
“We can all appreciate that the begrudging service of an employed housekeeper is not the same as the loving attention of a family member, particularly an appreciative heiress.” Herr Eberhardt pulled a sheaf of papers from his case. “Because your Grossvater lives simply and responsibly, you may not realize that he is also extremely wealthy.”
“No, I don’t know anything about his financial affairs and don’t need to. It’s not a question of wealth.”
“Perhaps more of family loyalty.” Herr Eberhardt was not a lawyer for nothing.
“If I agreed to stay, it would not be because of inheriting money,” I challenged. “And it wouldn’t be because I felt a need to prove my loyalty, but because I chose it.”
“I told you, my friend. My granddaughter knows her own mind and will not be purchased.”
“Thank you, Grandfather. I’m glad someone understands.”
“That is why I told him to make you co-owner. It is not a binding agreement to coerce you to stay. I am sharing my worldly goods with you, Hannah—even now. They are yours to do with as you will. Only I will live in this house as long as I live—as long as I am able—and maintain a staff necessary for my comfort and well-being. All of the remainder is yours—should be yours, now rather than later.”
“Grandfather, I don’t know what to say. I appreciate your generosity more than I can tell you, but I’m extremely uncomfortable with this. I don’t know if—”
“If you wish to stay?” Herr Eberhardt broke in.
“Heinrich, Heinrich, do not push so. Hannah will decide in her time. You have the papers?”
“I did as you required, Wolfgang, but I must urge you once more to reconsider. By all means, rewrite your will to make Fräulein Sterling your heiress, but do not make her a co-owner. You could end up homeless and ultimately penniless if Fräulein Sterling decides to liquidate your assets now.”
Grandfather motioned for him to hand over the papers. “You forget that the needs of the old and dying are not great. I have confidence that Hannah will not see me neglected. Will you, my granddaughter?”
The walls closed in. “Grandfather, we must talk about this—about all of it, about—”
“Talking is done.”
“Rushing into this before talking it through is foolishness, Wolfgang. I beg of you—”
“Where are my witnesses? You brought them?”
“Peterson refused to come, refused to be a part of it. I brought two clerks from my law office.”
“Call them in.”
Herr Eberhardt walked to the window and rapped on the pane. He motioned to someone, pointing round to the front of the house. “I’ll let them in.”
When he left the room I took my only chance. “Grandfather, really, we must talk things through. I don’t want you to do this against your lawyer’s better judgment. There’s no hurry—no reason to do this now.”
“I am an old man, Hannah.”
“Then if you want to leave me something, leave me something that meant a great deal to you personally—something about Mama. That’s what—”
Herr Eberhardt and his two associates walked in at that moment.
“Talking is finished.” Grandfather pulled a pen from his middle desk drawer and signed the last page of the contract with a flourish. “I have set my seal. It is done. My witnesses?”
The two men came forward, signed their names, and Herr Eberhardt, his mouth in a grim line, set his seal.
My stomach dropped to the floor. I could barely comprehend what had just happened. Have I been gifted or bought?
Herr Eberhardt motioned for his minions to leave. He folded the papers.
Grandfather sat back, smiling. “You will keep them on file for us?”
“Of course. But I fear you have done foolishly this day, my friend.”
“But we are still friends.”
“Friends, ja, but you have flouted my advice as your attorney. That makes me angry.”
Grandfather shrugged. “That is unfortunate. Please close the door on your way out.”
Herr Eberhardt purpled like he might explode, cast me a scathing glance, and shoved his hat onto his head. He grabbed his coat and attaché case and left the room without another word.
I rose to see him out.
“Let him go, Hannah. He knows his way, and we have much to talk about, to plan.”
“He believes I’ll abscond with your property.”
The front door closed with force, sending a gush of cold air down the hallway and into the library.
“He is . . . protective. That is all. He has guarded my privacy and finances for several years. He does not understand that your coming to Berlin is the most wonderful turn of events in my life. I believed I had no family, and you have come—as one from the dead.”
It would be so easy to melt into this welcome, to let it swallow me up.
“You do not need to work—not for the rest of your life, unless you choose to do so.”
The thought took me by surprise—financial freedom. What might that mean? Travel? A home of my own here in Germany or, if I sold the house, perhaps a home in Winston-Salem? I looked around me. Even the fine things in this room—the mahogany desk, the marble-edged fireplace, the shelves of
books, some first editions if I guessed right—could not keep me in sneaker tread the rest of my natural life. Either he was exaggerating or delusional or there was something I couldn’t see . . . something more than a man of his means and life experience as a government employee should have—and that was what worried me.
“When I am gone—I only ask that you stay until then—you will be free to travel, to study anything you wish wherever you wish, to marry anyone you wish and live in any country of the world.”
“That sounds so lavish, too fantastic to be real, Grossvater.”
He smiled. “I like it best when you call me that, Hannah. It means a great deal to me.”
I smiled in return, hesitantly.
“Now, it is nearly time for luncheon. I propose we dress and go to town. I will call a driver and we will dine in the best restaurant Berlin has to offer. It is time we celebrated.”
“Please, Grandfa—Grossvater. Please, there are questions I need to ask you, things I’ve put off entirely too long.”
He sat back. “Ask me anything, my granddaughter, as long as it is not about the past. I choose not to remember darker days, but to go forward. . . . We must go forward together.”
“I don’t wish to bring any sadness to you, but I must know two things. The first is, how did you come by such wealth? Dr. Peterson told me you worked as a government employee until you retired.”
He breathed deeply, and I’m sure his chest trembled. “This is true. But I have worked hard and invested wisely. And you must remember that for many years I have lived alone. I had no son to set up in business after my Rudy was killed, no daughter to marry to another after she ran away. My wife died years before.”
“You never remarried. Was there never anyone else?”
He looked away and his eyes filmed, as if I’d plucked hairs from his head.
“Grossvater?”
“There was someone.” He swallowed. “But she was above my station. I was not so well established at that time, and she accepted the attentions of another after . . .”
“After what?”
“After Lieselotte disgraced our family. I do not wish to discuss this.”
“I’m sorry. It must have been very lonely for you.”
He tensed.
“And you missed Uncle Rudy.”
“My handsome boy—my warrior son—rotted and starved in a Russian prison.” I could see Grandfather age before my eyes. “Why do you bring these things to mind again?”
“Not because I wish to hurt you, but I need to know, to understand. Most of all, I need to understand what happened to Mama.”
“Peterson told you that she ran away—though it was not his to tell.” His voice rose. “She ran away and left me—alone—with nothing and no one.”
“Where did she go? It must have been in the middle or near the end of the war. Where could she have gone all alone? Was she alone?”
“How would I know this? If I knew where she had gone, would I not have brought her home?” He turned away.
“You searched for her?”
“She made her choice—she was disloyal.”
“Disloyal to you?”
“Ja, disloyal to me, to the Fatherland, to her brother who was fighting for the Führer!”
“How was she disloyal? In what way?”
He shook his head. “Stop interrogating me!” But he looked less certain, and I knew this might be my only chance, his most vulnerable moment.
“What was Mama’s connection to the Confessing Church?”
He paled. “How do you know of this?”
“I’ve heard of it. I heard something from Mama about having been a member, an advocate.” That part was a lie, but the fear in his eyes showed me that I’d hit the nail on the head.
“Heretics, traitors disloyal to the Führer and the Reich, saboteurs. A shame to the national church and the German Volk. Lieselotte might just as well have stabbed a knife into her brother’s chest as taken up with them.”
“Because she was part of a church?”
“A church that was nothing but a front for breaking the law—a pretense at holiness to thwart the Reich and all the hopes of the German people.”
“How could Mama do that?”
“She was a sneak—a thief, a liar!” He stood, enraged. “She is dead. She has been dead to me since the day she ran away with—” He stopped abruptly.
“With who? Who did she run away with?” My heart beat faster. Who would she run away with but my father?
“It does not matter now.”
“It matters to me. Did she run away or did you drive her away?”
“Drive my daughter away? Nein! Why would I do this?”
“She was young and ran away at a terribly uncertain time. There must have been a reason. Was it because she discovered you had tricked Jews and were selling them to the Reich?”
Grandfather swayed, as if I’d punched him in the stomach. “This is a lie! Who told you such things? I demand to know! Frau Winkler, yes? Always sympathy for die poor Juden! Why is it you Americans always want to dredge up the past? To accuse us?”
“I’m not accusing you, Grandfather; I’m trying to understand what happened to my mother, why she did what she did—what it was that she did.”
“Grossvater. You must call me Grossvater!”
“Grossvater. Please, tell me about Mama—did you argue?”
“Nein! Lieselotte—foolish girl—ran after that boy. She was besotted from the time she was a child. If I had known that his whorish Mutter was der Juden I would not have allowed them in my house! She would not have nursed—never touched—my Elsa.”
“A Jewish boy? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who was the boy?”
“I forbade her to see him. I should have known when his father refused to join the Party. She shamed me! Criminals. His family—all of them!”
“Because they were Jews? Because they were part of the Confessing Church?”
“Because they were vermin! Because they hid criminals from the authorities. They turned against the Führer and dragged my daughter with them! They broke the law. They broke the law!” He pounded the table, veins throbbing in his temples.
I sat down. “Resistance? Mama was part of the resistance.” I could barely comprehend it. But it fit—perfectly—all the odd things I knew about her. The time she’d helped the tramp despite the sheriff, despite the offense she created and the ridicule she knew she’d endure at the hands of women in the community.
“The shame she brought cost me everything. I was ostracized by my peers, questioned by the authorities, dismissed from my position in the Party. Dismissed!”
Drums pounded in my stomach. Mama stood up for the weakest of the weak. She stood against her own father.
“And when the shame came, the woman I had intended to marry, to take as my wife, turned against me.”
“She turned against you because your daughter helped people?”
“You make it all sound so . . . so . . . You do not understand. You are young and foolish.” He groped for his cane, his hands shaking. “I no longer wish to celebrate this day.”
At the door, he turned. “Do not delve so deeply into the past, Hannah. It is over, forgotten. It cannot be changed. And your future depends on it.”
22
LIESELOTTE SOMMER
JULY–SEPTEMBER 1944
The very next day, Fräulein Hilde invited Frau Kirchmann and me to her home and private parlor for afternoon coffee, to plan my engagement party. Now that Vater had capitulated, despite Dr. Peterson’s protestations, Fräulein Hilde could not move fast enough. I didn’t care; never had I been so happy.
Neither Fräulein Hilde nor I counted on Frau Kirchmann’s hesitation.
“I simply do not understand the rush. Why not wait until the war is over? The Führer says we are so near. What a glorious celebration that would be!” Frau Kirchmann sat on the edge of the chintz sofa, did not touch her honey cake, wouldn’t look at me. All her
conversation was directed to Fräulein Hilde, as if she knew my life’s cards lay in her hands. “Lieselotte can certainly stay with us while you and Herr Sommer honeymoon. She’s welcome to live with us, in fact.”
“Wolfgang and I want to be certain Lieselotte’s future is secured before we marry.”
“But in these times so little is certain. Lukas’s work, you understand, is so very—”
“Let me be plain, Frau Kirchmann.” Fräulein Hilde placed her cup firmly in its saucer on the low table between us. “Wolfgang and I will not marry until Lieselotte has married . . . or until she is . . . settled. We marry in October. Our plans are made. If this marriage is not an option, then I’m afraid Wolfgang will take matters into his own hands. She will not live with your family unless she is married—that’s simply too temporary a solution.”
“I see.” Frau Kirchmann replaced her cup as well.
“Do you not wish me to marry Lukas?” I held my breath, realizing that for whatever reason she might not want me either. “Do you not wish me for your family?”
“Oh no.” Frau Kirchmann instantly clasped my hand. “No, my dear Lieselotte. Of course I want you! I think of you as my daughter already! I am delighted that you love my son and that he loves you. It’s just, I’m afraid for his work, and your future, that—”
“As you said, Frau Kirchmann, these are uncertain times. Is it not better for the young to marry and have one another to hold through challenging times? I daresay you and Herr Kirchmann have enjoyed that pleasure.” Fräulein Hilde sat back in her deep chair, the pose of one victorious.
Frau Kirchmann stared at her, taking Fräulein Hilde’s measure. It seemed to me she took too long to respond. Finally she nodded. “Yes, of course. I understand.” She took only a moment more before smiling at me. “Then it’s settled, isn’t it? We’ll plan an engagement party together. And a wedding. But I’m afraid if you’re intent on marrying in September, the party and the wedding will be nearly back to back. Lukas said he can only get two weeks away.”
“It needn’t be big at all,” I offered, nearly pleading. “I want only my family—our family.”