When the Heart Sings

by Liz Tolsma

  Meanwhile, a stray curl found its way into Natia’s eyes as she labored over the stove on the sauerbraten and wiener schnitzel. She still wore her black Polish peasant work dress.

  The vinegary odor of the food burned her nose. She wouldn’t have been able to eat any of it, even if she’d been allowed.

  “Smells good.” Elfriede spun in a circle like a gleeful child on Christmas morning. She pranced to the stove and lifted the pot lid. She dipped her spoon in the sauce, raised a thin eyebrow, and squashed her eyes shut. “Nie. Salt. You see.” She held out the spoon for Natia.

  Her reaction matched Elfriede’s. The dish needed more salt. She remedied that situation while Elfriede tasted the other dishes. “Good, good. Ready?”

  Natia glanced into the dining room. Elfriede’s best Dresden china sparkled on the table, sprays of pink, purple, blue, and yellow flowers painted along the rim. Candlelight from the tapers in the candelabra bathed the room and shone off the polished silver. Then she gazed at her sauce-stained apron and pushed the hair out of her face.

  “Come with me.” Elfriede disappeared into her bedroom.

  Natia kissed Dominik’s soft cheek as he slumbered in a large box stuffed with blankets on the kitchen floor. “You be a good boy while I’m gone.” The baby smiled in his sleep.

  Zygmunt had done the same thing. Was he even alive? Dr. Bosco told her how the Germans took him back to the factory not long after she left. He’d had no time to help her brother.

  With all her might she pushed those thoughts away. Tonight she had to concentrate on surviving.

  With halting steps, Natia crossed the threshold to the Fromms’ room. “Do you need help?”

  “Nie. I help you.” Elfriede held up a simple black evening gown. “For you to sing.”

  “For me?”

  She nodded. “Beautiful, nie?”

  “Tak, it is.” At Elfriede’s insistence she slipped the creation over her head. Never in her life had she worn such a dress. The plain gown hung on her thin frame, but the softness of the velvet spoke of its quality. At the hip sat a large, red rose. Even on her wedding day, she had not worn anything so fine. “I can’t.”

  “You must. Erich say you must look good.”

  “My shoes.” She motioned to her ankle-high black boots.

  Elfriede pulled a pair of red pumps from the bottom of the wardrobe. “Here.”

  Natia widened her eyes. She had never worn anything like them ever. “I’ll change after dinner.”

  “After dinner, that’s good.” Elfriede laid the gown over her pink chenille bedspread.

  Natia turned to go.

  “Nein. Sit down.” Elfriede pointed to a bench in front of a vanity mirror. “I do your hair.”

  “But dinner—”

  “It will be fine.” Before Natia could object, Elfriede grabbed a silver-handled brush and drew it through Natia’s tresses. Over and over. She relaxed her shoulders. The ministrations carried her back to before the war. Teodor combed her hair like this after she lost each of the babies. And even further back in time, her mother brushed the knots out every night before bed. So gentle.

  At the memories, tears clogged her throat. She had even combed Helena’s hair this same way. What had become of her sister?

  Elfriede set the brush aside and worked on rolling Natia’s hair much like she did her own. After she secured each pin in place, she swiped a little pink lipstick across Natia’s lips. “There. You beautiful now.”

  Natia stared at herself in the mirror. The new hairstyle was nice, rather flattering and becoming. But there was no hiding the fright in her eyes. She hurried upstairs to her room to don a fresh apron before she flew down to put the finishing touches on the meal.

  Before she had given everything a final stir, Pan Fromm and his mates arrived.

  Dear Lord, please help me make it through this night.

  He entered the kitchen. “Is everything ready?”

  “Tak, it is. Elfriede has tasted everything and approved.” She said the words more to assure herself than him.

  “She wouldn’t know a good piece of veal from a bad one.”

  Natia’s stomach flopped. But at least the butcher gave her a decent piece of meat. Of that, she could be sure. “Everything will be delicious. Trust me.”

  “I don’t trust any Pole for anything. Why, this afternoon, one of the machines broke down. Dirt in the oil line. Strange, don’t you think?”

  Why was he telling her this? “I know nothing about machines. Even on the farm, we used animal power. We didn’t have a tractor for the plowing or harvesting.”

  “Even stranger was that I caught your husband near the machine, far from his usual work station, just about the time the incident occurred.”

  Her breath caught. “What are you saying?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. Just mentioning the coincidence.”

  She wiped the sweat from her hands and lifted the lid from one of the pots. “If you don’t want me to make a mess of dinner or to miss a note when I sing, then please, don’t make me nervous. Let me do my job.”

  He leaned over her shoulder and whispered, “And you had better do it right. Stellar. Perhaps you can atone for his sins.” His breath tickled her neck.

  She shivered, despite the heat in the room, then slid sideways, away from him, and retrieved a serving dish from the china cabinet. Dominik, now awake, giggled as he sat in his box, playing with a couple of spoons Natia had given him.

  “I’ve taken care of the problem of your husband.”

  Crash. The platter dropped from her hands and shattered on the floor.

  Pan Fromm slapped her across the face.

  Dominik wailed as Natia inched away from Pan Fromm, her cheek still stinging. The gravy bubbled over on the stove, an acrid burning odor filling the room.

  He hissed, “Shut up the kid and finish dinner.” He marched from the room.

  Natia picked up the baby. She couldn’t sing to quiet him. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. But she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t let that man see how he humiliated her.

  She pulled the gravy off the burner. Balancing a still-whimpering Dominik on her hip, she stirred the pot. There was enough salvageable that it wouldn’t ruin dinner.

  Elfriede floated in. The instant she spied Natia and the mess on the floor, she bit her lip. “What happened?”

  Why bother to tell her the truth? She believed her husband to be a good man. If she told her he hit his slave, it wouldn’t matter one way or the other. It wouldn’t change her mind about him. She jiggled Dominik, who stopped crying. “Nothing. We have to get dinner on the table.”

  Elfriede went for a broom.

  “Nie. You go there.” She pointed to the dining room. “Sit down. Talk to the men. I’ll bring the food in a moment.”

  “What about baby?”

  “He’ll be fine. The platter breaking startled him. He can play while I work.” But if he started to whimper . . .

  Elfriede shrugged and left for the dining room.

  “Now, you be a good boy and play with your spoons.” Natia smiled and Dominik flashed a grin as she set him on his blanket.

  She plated the food and, balancing two dishes, brought them to the spread. Three German officers sat at the table, silver eagles, iron crosses, and colorful ribbons bedecking their dark uniforms. They studied her as she moved about the room, dishing out schnitzel and sauerbraten. They chattered in German, their attention fixed on her.

  At least she couldn’t understand their words. All the better. She poked between two of them to refill their water glasses. A little bit, she understood. Pretty. Pole.

  Ouch. She squeaked, jumped backward, spilling some of the water. Heat rushed into her face. One pinched her where a man should never touch a woman who was not his wife.

  Pan Fromm scowled at her. She swallowed the stream of words that begged to flow from her mouth. Elfriede chatted with the very handsome man next to her, either oblivious to the incident or choosing to ig
nore it.

  The group ate and drank with gusto. She scurried in and out of the kitchen, each time avoiding the man who pinched her.

  “More beer.” Pan Fromm held up his cup. He had already had three glasses. How much more did he need? The man she avoided also held up his stein. For sure, he shouldn’t have more. She returned from the kitchen with several new bottles and refilled the tankards.

  Her feet ached. Her back cried in pain. A tendril of hair escaped its pins and caressed her cheek. How much more of this could she stand? Already, they were almost out of food.

  She returned to the dining room and huddled in the corner. At long last, Pan Fromm backed away from the table and set his napkin on his plate. She moved forward to clear the plates.

  Elfriede motioned her to her side. “You take this away.” She pointed at her place setting. “Then you sing. Wash later.”

  Natia nodded even though her stomach jumped like a spring calf. What if she forgot the words? Or sang them wrong? How could she force the lyrics through her lips? Elfriede told her they were patriotic German songs.

  If she dared, she would choose a Polish lament. But Pan Fromm would understand. So, she would act like a trained monkey and perform what would please them.

  She cleared the table in short order and stacked the dishes in the sink. What a mess. Dominik rubbed his eyes and yawned. He held his hands up for her. “Oh, sweet little one. How nice that you want me, but what an inconvenient time.” She picked up the sleepy child, who nestled into her shoulder.

  “Here, I take him.”

  Natia spun around. Elfriede stood in the doorway.

  “I hold him. You sing. He sit with me.”

  Who knew what Pan Fromm would think of the arrangement, but that was on Elfriede. So long as Dominik didn’t fuss. Natia kissed his curly, dark head. “Be good for Pani Fromm.”

  “Come. You put on your dress and sing.”

  Natia closed and locked the door to the Fromms’ bedroom and slipped the velvet creation over her head. Soft. Gentle. Almost like Teodor’s touch.

  She entered the living room, the stares of everyone on her. But they didn’t weigh her down. They didn’t suffocate her. Or drive the song away.

  She drew in a deep breath and imagined herself sitting on the rise behind their house, overlooking the green countryside, sunset streaking the sky with pink and purple. Teodor sat beside her. She nestled into his embrace, breathed in his clean scent, like that of fresh air and pure water. Together, they dreamed of the future God would give them. Of the children they would raise. Of the work they would do. Of the love they would enjoy.

  As she opened her mouth to sing, she captured each of those vignettes of her life. She hugged them close, clinging to them, drawing on them as the strange-tasting words rolled off her tongue.

  Tonight, she sang for Teodor, as he had been, strong and confident as he’d worked in the fields. She sang for each of the children they’d left resting in the ground beneath the big oak tree. She sang for Poland, her beloved homeland.

  Those may not have been the words the Germans in the room heard. But they were the words her heart sang.

  The last note of the final piece reverberated through the room. Teodor, their children, their farm faded into the mist. Instead, four Nazi officers rendered polite applause.

  Elfriede rose to her feet clapping even as she held Dominik. “Brava. Brava.”

  Dominik slapped his tiny hands together.

  All three of the SS men glanced at the child. The one who pinched her glared hard at him. He spoke and gestured for Elfriede to hand him the baby.

  Natia rushed to Elfriede’s side. “I will take him away so he doesn’t bother you.” She snatched Dominik.

  “Halten sie.” The man continued, but Natia only caught one word.

  Jude.

  Jew.

  Elfriede’s insides turned to pudding at the single word her husband’s guest uttered. Jew. She jumped from the davenport, clutching Dominik against her chest. This precious, precious child was no Jew. “What are you talking about? Ja, he is Polish, but he is not a Jew. Isn’t that right, Natia?”

  Their servant stood stock-still, her face white as a cloud against the borrowed black dress. Nein, nein, it couldn’t be so. Not this child she loved. Natia wouldn’t do that to her.

  Within a couple of heartbeats, Natia’s face flooded with color. Righteous indignation. “Nein, nein Jude. Papers.”

  Elfriede used her Polish to speak to Natia. “Take Dominik. Get papers. Now. Go.”

  Natia fled the room. Erich frowned in her direction, his face reddening as much as Natia’s as he lifted his angular chin. But Elfriede wouldn’t let him take away this child who had become as dear to her as her own life. Not like he had almost done before. “What is the meaning of this, Erich?”

  He laughed. Forced, if you asked her. “I am sure Obersturm-führer Obermann didn’t mean anything by it. Dominik does have dark looks.”

  “Not uncommon in this area of the world.”

  “Let’s talk about this in the kitchen, shall we? Gentlemen, enjoy another glass of schnapps.” He steered her to the back of the house.

  Rinsed dishes towered over the sink, teetering like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Coffee bubbled on the back of the stove, the warmth of it easing the tension in Elfriede’s shoulders. “I won’t have that man insulting me in my home.”

  “I would remind you that I am entertaining very important people. Keep your voice down, and don’t speak to me that way in front of them. This is not like you. I thought you understood what this night meant to me. To us. I’m trying to impress them so your Vater will promote me and send me back to the fatherland. I thought you wished to leave here.”

  “What I wish is not to be questioned about a child I’m allowing to live in my home.”

  He growled his next words. “Nein, my dear, you aren’t allowing the child to live here. I am. And if I discover he is indeed Jewish, mark my words, that Polish girl who brought him here will be very sorry. Above all, I had better not find out that you knew about this, or you will be just as sorry. You should be worried about producing an Aryan child for the fatherland.”

  “Dominik has a Polish birth certificate. If that isn’t proof, what is?”

  “All kinds of papers are forged these days.”

  “A doctor would never do such a thing.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt there are plenty who would. I know of one for sure.”

  The tenor of his voice sent shivers skittering across her midsection. Not Dr. Bosco. He’d been nothing but kind. He wouldn’t do such a thing.

  Natia clomped down the stairs and into the kitchen, waving a piece of paper. “Here.” She thrust it into Erich’s hand and spoke to him in Polish about Dominik not being Jewish.

  He studied it, and Elfriede stood on her tiptoes and peeked over his shoulder. A corner of the certificate was missing, and it was creased and water stained. “This is real, Erich. The woman who brought Dominik here had it in her coat pocket. She was wet, so the paper would have gotten crinkled.”

  He turned to her and crossed his arms. “Did you take the paper from her coat yourself?”

  “Nein. The doctor brought it over later. He said he found it as he was preparing the body for burial.”

  “Then this is no proof.” Erich moved to the coal stove and opened the door.

  “Don’t.” Elfriede intercepted him and snatched the birth certificate out of his hand at the very last second.

  He barreled at her. She sidestepped, but not fast enough. He pushed her toward the stove. Out of instinct, she braced herself with her free hand. A searing pain sizzled up her arm.

  “Untersturmführer Fromm, is all well?” The officer, the one who had made an advance at Natia, hovered in the doorway. “I am sorely disappointed in the way you run your factory and your home. And if this is a Jewish child, there will be dire consequences to you.”

  “Nein, the boy is Polish. He has a birth certificate.”

&nbs
p; “But he has the look.”

  “He is Frau Palinska’s nephew. And I had her vetted before I allowed her to stay here. No Jewish blood, I assure you.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?”

  Erich straightened his shoulders. “Not at all. If I even suspected the child of being Jewish, I would dispose of him and the woman immediately. Never would I allow them under my roof. Dark looks don’t necessarily mean Jewishness. Slav, ja, but not Jew, I assure you. Let’s have another drink and forget about this incident.” The two men left the room.

  Elfriede clutched her burned hand. Tears bounded down her cheeks, matching those racing down Dominik’s.

  Natia balanced the baby on her hip and examined the injury. “Stay here.” Elfriede didn’t catch the rest of what she said, but she left the room.

  Elfriede slouched into one of the kitchen chairs. She stared at the angry red line on her palm, now blistering. But the true ache was in her chest. What kind of man had she married? To do this to her and march out of the room like nothing was wrong. His job was more important than her.

  Deep down, she’d known the truth all along. Vater had been thrilled when she first brought Erich home. At last, she had done something that pleased Vater. So she spent more time with Erich. They danced together. She touched her cheek where he had first kissed her under the moonlight. They enjoyed picnics and picture shows. He took her everywhere and presented her as Oberführer Ausburg’s daughter.

  Not Elfriede. But Oberführer Ausburg’s daughter. The only daughter of a high-ranking Nazi officer who could give Erich the upward mobility and prestige he so desired.

  And then . . .

  “Here. Let me see it again.” Natia returned to the room, Dominik still on her hip, a bottle of tincture and a pile of gauze in her hands. She set the sleepy baby in the box and knelt beside Elfriede.

  When Natia applied the salve, Elfriede sucked in her breath at the stinging in her palm.

  “I’m sorry this happened.”