by Janet Leigh
He startled and dropped the gold pouch on the floor, spilling a collection of marbles that rolled haphazardly over the floor. “Shite!”
“No, I believe the word is Scheisse.”
“Smart ass.” We bent down to gather the marbles, and Caiyan picked up a bright-red marble.
“That one is pretty,” I said.
“This is no marble.” He held it out for me to see. It was a cushion-cut ruby ring the size of a cherry tomato.
“Oh, it’s beautiful.” I slid the ring on my finger, and it was a perfect fit.
“Whoever the owner was must have hidden the ring in with the marbles. It was in the box there.” He pointed to a gold box on the table next to me.
“Is there a number on the box?” I asked.
“No.” Caiyan picked up the box, peered at the bottom, and then grinned.
“You can’t take it,” I said, pulling the ring from my finger and returning it to the pouch.
“Why naugh?”
“Because it belongs to someone else, and you can’t take it back through time.”
“Let me worry aboot the details, lassie.”
If the box didn’t have a number, it would probably be lost in the fire and buried. My inner self was wagging a finger at me, so I promised I would research the ring when we returned. He tucked the pouch into his jacket pocket, and I helped gather the remaining marbles.
We continued our search for the paintings, and an hour later, I hit pay dirt. The large gold frame was cracked, as though a vandal had ripped it from its home, but the painting inside was magnificent. The serene look on the Madonna’s face as she held the small child made my biological clock strike twelve.
“I’ve got one,” I called.
Caiyan came posthaste and nodded reverently at the art.
“How are we going to get it out of here, and then what are we going to do with it?” I asked, sizing up the situation. “It’s quite large.”
A cocky grin spread over his face, and with full Scottish accent, he said, “I remember ye askin’ me that before, and ye didnae have much problem.”
I gave an exaggerated eye roll as I helped Caiyan remove the broken frame, keeping an eye out for the movers to return from dropping off the last load we’d given them. Caiyan extracted the painting, rolled it up inside a tapestry, and added it to the other items waiting to be taken to the truck. I assumed we would be collecting the tapestry before it was taken to the mine. I returned to my quest of finding the items the accountant wanted on the truck, and Caiyan returned to his search for the woman in gold. As we were going through the pieces, I noticed Caiyan checking inside the drawers of the dressers and other confiscated furniture.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” I asked, checking that the guards were out of earshot.
“No, jest making sure we don’t miss anything.”
“Caiyan, all these things are supposed to be lost. When they turn up, we are going to be in serious trouble.”
He shrugged. “We’re saving precious art.”
I’d had to endure months of Jake drilling into my head how important it was to keep the past as it is. And here I was, on an unauthorized travel after being grounded, screwing up the past. Our time was limited here. He didn’t have a plan, and I was not getting trapped between moon cycles during a war, even if we were about to declare victory.
Caiyan took the book from my hands and set it down on a table that probably had belonged to a nice Jewish family. He pulled me behind a stack of stolen goods, reached up behind my neck, and pulled me to his lips. All thoughts of spending more time with Marco flew south for the winter.
“What are you doing?” I asked after the caress of his lips had my thighs trembling.
“Ye had that look in yer eye like you were considering bolting and leaving me here.”
“I would never do that.”
“One day ye might have to, but right now, I wanted to make sure ye remembered how I feel about ye.”
As I was leaning in for a second round of glorious kisses, a flash of gold over Caiyan’s right shoulder caught my eye. On top of the chifforobe, leaning upright against a small statue of a naked woman, was the lady in gold. “Is that your painting?” I asked, pointing at the top of the chifforobe.
Caiyan’s head whipped around, and he almost knocked me over as he maneuvered over crates and other art to get the picture. It was smaller than I’d expected, which was why I hadn’t noticed it before; I had been looking for a picture the size of the Madonna. As Caiyan brought it down to eye level, I saw what made the painting so valuable: she was wearing a key.
“Really?” I asked, waving my arms in disgust. “All this was about you getting a key?”
“I’ve been researching this for some time,” he said, staring at the picture. It didn’t have the same artistry as the Madonna and looked almost as if it had been painted by a family friend instead of a seasoned artist. He stroked the key around the woman’s neck, and my guilt-o-meter pointed red.
“Do you know where it is?”
“Nigh, but now that I have found the painting, I have an address.”
I bit my bottom lip. If Caiyan took that key, who would be losing their key in the present day? Caiyan ran a hand down my cheek, and I released the lip I was holding prisoner.
“There has naugh been any activity on this key. I have done extensive research, and there has never been a WTF who wears it. If it belongs to anyone, that person’s a brigand.”
“You should have told me you were after a key.”
“Would ye have brought me here knowing what I was coming for?”
I wasn’t sure. I wanted Caiyan to have a key so we could be a team again, but traveling to Germany during wartime was not only dangerous but also plain stupid.
“That’s what I thought.” He acknowledged my silence as my answer.
“You lied to me,” I said raising my eyes to meet his steely green ones.
“Naugh, I didnae,” he said. “I intend to save the art, regardless if I get the key.”
“OK, I’ll help you. Then we are going home.”
“Aye, we will.”
We looked the painting up in the register. The accountant hadn’t designated it as one for the truck. Caiyan memorized the name and address, then removed the painting from its frame, and tucked it inside his jacket.
The sound of the guard’s boots clicked on the concrete floor of the tunnel. I grabbed the register and the nearest object and hoisted it back to the moving area.
The guard came up and wrinkled his nose at me. “Nein!”
He shouted a few more words at me, and I looked at the object I was carrying. I’d thought it was a bowl, but after his little fit, I figured out it was an antique chamber pot. An item a Jew had taken a poo in was apparently not high on his list of priceless possessions. I flipped open the book with some force and scanned the numbers for the object. It was listed. Next to the number was the name Rodin. Seems like the famous sculptor was a fan of creating beautiful pissers.
I pointed to the number and smirked at the guard. He spouted a few words I was pretty sure were curse words, snatched the pot from me, and turned on his heel and left the room.
Caiyan cut his eyes at me. “Try not to irritate the guards.”
My inner voice shot him the finger, and I continued to look for as many chamber pots as I could find.
Chapter 8
We found all the items the accountant had requested, and the truck was loaded, but the amount of precious cargo left behind was staggering. Caiyan had told me there would be a fire, and I wanted to try and shove as much in the truck as possible. I added a beautiful bronze statue, but the accountant was firm and had it removed when he checked our load. Caiyan explained I’d misread a number and apologized to the man, giving me a wary glare in the process.
Before we left the treasure room, I made Caiyan unroll the unconscious soldier from the Oriental rug. The man couldn’t be left to die—who knew how long it would take
for the Nazis to find him? I loosened the binding on his hands, and we scooted him against a wall. Caiyan insisted on leaving the sock in his mouth. I agreed. If he woke up before we were out of town, his capture might be difficult to explain to the accountant.
The soldiers escorted us outside to the waiting vehicle. The truck was army green with a long, covered bed and a Mercedes emblem on the hood. One of the Nazi soldiers drove, and Caiyan and I rode up front with him. Marco and two other soldiers rode in the back.
We made our way slowly, driving over rubble and the remains of what used to be a vibrant city. Most of the buildings were block-style with apartments on the upper floors and storefronts along the street level. Apartments were missing the upper floors, which lay crumbled in mountains of bricks and debris at the base of the buildings. Other buildings looked as though they’d had a large bite taken out of them, and the furniture that remained in the rooms was visible from the street.
We entered a section of Berlin that showed minor damage from the bombings. Many of the buildings had businesses still in operation, and people stared at the truck as we drove by. We had driven a few blocks when Caiyan said something to the driver in German and pointed to a small shop located on a side street. The driver raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Caiyan and turned down the narrow lane. He pulled the truck over next to a building that had a few chunks knocked out of its faҫade but was in much better shape than the rest of Berlin. A line of people hugged the side of the building. Their thin frames and dark, sunken eyes embodied the effects of a devastating war. They commented and gestured toward the truck as we exited to the street. I noticed the sign on the small shop read Bäckerei.
Caiyan got out, and I followed. Marco jumped down from the back of the truck. Caiyan stopped and stared at Marco for a second, and I thought he was about to order him back in the truck.
“Where she goes, I go,” Marco said, cocking his head in my direction.
I assumed Caiyan decided it was not worth the fight, because he ordered the rest of the men to guard the truck.
The door to the shop was open, and we squeezed past the line of patiently waiting patrons. I wondered why we were stopping here, but I didn’t want the people to hear me speak English, so I kept quiet. The displeased looks on the patrons’ faces when we cut in line was making me a little nervous, but Marco angled his gun in their direction, and they backed off like frightened schoolchildren in the presence of the headmistress. Caiyan stopped, and Marco closed the distance between us. I felt like I was being sandwiched as we stood in the center of the small bakery.
The lighting was dim, and a lone bulb hung overhead with the remnants of what used to be a light fixture. The shop was still receiving electricity, and the light from the large windows in the front of the store illuminated the shelves that lined the back wall. A small marble counter and an empty glass pastry case separated us from a woman working behind the counter. The shelves were bare except for a few basic ingredients stored in bags and canisters.
Two other employees were busy handing out half loaves of baked bread to the people and accepting ration coupons in return. I examined the pictures hanging on the wall, while Caiyan tried to get the woman’s attention. The pictures were black-and-white photographs showing the bakery in 1940. The bakery was bustling with patrons. The glass case was full of pastries; loaves of bread filled the racks of shelves; and a smattering of tables and chairs were outside, lining the sidewalk. To my surprise, another photo showed Hitler himself enjoying one of the mouthwatering pastries.
As the woman turned toward the light, I recognized her from the Flaktürme. It was Anna, the older woman who had helped me. She smiled and greeted us in German. Caiyan looked surprised to see Anna. He asked to speak with her; at least, I think that’s what he asked, because she had one of the other employees take over for her and came around the counter.
Caiyan introduced Marco and said a few more phrases in German I couldn’t decipher. She ushered us into a back storeroom where the war rations were kept. In the middle of the room was a long farm table with a beautiful cake being assembled on a lead-crystal, pedestal-style cake stand. It was a tower of bread-like pastry with chocolate frosting piped around the edges. Tiny flowers made of sugar were being added to the cake by a young girl standing on a wooden supply crate. The young girl had also been in the Flaktürme. I had a hazy recollection of her bringing me water.
“That’s a beautiful cake,” I said, motioning toward the cake. Caiyan smiled and interpreted, and I could tell he was complimenting her work as well. Her honey-blond hair hung in a long braid down her back, and a red blush colored her face at Caiyan’s words. Even young girls were prey to his charm. The girl responded.
“She’s putting the finishing touches on a gift,” he explained. The girl said something to Anna in German.
Anna beamed and explained in English it was for the chancellor’s birthday. Since the chancellor was fond of her pastries, cakes, and sweet breads, he had allowed her to have the ingredients she needed to make a cake for him.
The young girl smiled at us, and Anna explained the girl was her granddaughter, Isla. Anna offered us a cup of ersatz coffee, and although I felt a sense of urgency in Caiyan, he accepted the offer. We sat in wooden chairs around the table. Isla helped her grandmother serve the coffee, bringing each of us a cup and saucer made from fine bone china.
Marco took the cup from Isla, staring intently at the young girl. Isla went back to her cake decorating. Anna smiled at her and told us Isla was nine. Her daughter, Isla’s mother, worked at the Italian embassy in Paris. Isla had attended school in Paris and spoke perfect French.
Marco joked with her in French, and the girl beamed, looking over her shoulder and replying in rapid French. Marco and Caiyan laughed. I only caught bits and pieces of the conversation. I could translate and read French, thanks to Rosetta Stone, but my Texas accent made it hard to sound legit. Anna sensed my inability to follow along in either German or French and switched back to English for me.
“When war broke out and France became occupied by Germany, my daughter felt it safer for Isla to be in capital city under Nazis’ protection and sent her here to live with me.”
I cringed at the last words. Berlin was probably the worst place to be, and my inner voice said a silent prayer the girl and her grandmother would live.
“Where is her father?” Caiyan asked, and Marco set his cup down in the saucer so hard I thought he’d broken it. I raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged.
“Isla’s father is fighting for Wehrmacht in the Kriegsmarine,” Anna said. She looked torn, but then lifted her chin high. “He will be home as soon as the führer wins war. Isla’s parents will be home soon. I am sure of it.”
It felt strange sitting in the back of the bakery sipping tea when a war was happening around us. Anna touched my hand as if reading my mind. “Sometimes it’s nice to have a dose of normal during a time of tragedy.”
Isla set down her pastry tools and stepped down from the crate. She gave her grandmother a hug and whispered in her ear. Anna laughed and nodded. The girl’s face lit up with delight as she scampered from the room and returned a moment later with a small box. She opened the box and offered its contents to Caiyan. He pulled out a chocolate brownie. He grinned at her, and then she offered one to Marco and me. The blush crept back into her cheeks when Marco made a yum sound.
I knew the feeling. These two guys were masters at making a girl blush. The girl giggled and placed the box on the counter next to Hitler’s birthday present.
I took a bite of the brownie and was surprised it tasted of cinnamon and raisins but also had a funky aftertaste. Marco saw the distress on my face and said something to the girl in German.
She replied, “Tollatsch” and continued speaking in German, ticking off what I assumed to be ingredients on her fingers.
He nodded and finished his brownie. I finished mine to be polite, but that funky taste stayed in my mouth, and I wished I had a Dr. Pepper chaser.
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“What can I help you vith?” Anna asked. “I am afraid I don’t have much. The führer only allows enough supplies for me to make bread and pastries for his needs.”
Caiyan checked to make sure no one else might overhear. He pulled the painting from his pocket and showed it to Anna. She gasped and came closer to examine the picture.
“Where did you get that?” she asked, running a hand over the painting as if it were made of the finest china.
“Yes, where did you get that?” Marco chimed in as he moved closer to the painting.
“From the Flaktürme. Is it yours?” Caiyan asked Anna, holding the painting at the ends to keep it from rolling back in on itself.
“It is my mother.” A small tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. “She was a wonderful woman, always loved to bake. The picture was confiscated by the Nazis from my apartment above the shop.” She pointed to a door that was cracked open. The bottom few steps of a steep staircase could be seen through the opening.
“They took almost all our valuables. It was our contribution to war.” Anna spoke with the tone of a woman trying to be supportive of her country but not fully accepting the demands made on her. Anna took the picture from Caiyan and sat down at the table.
Isla peered over Anna’s arm and placed a comforting hand on her grandmother’s forearm.
“She is beautiful,” Caiyan said.
“My father painted picture. He was an artist at heart but worked as Berlin’s city building director. He designed Märchenbrunnen for my mother, because she loved the fairytale stories.”
The Märchenbrunnen was the park where Caiyan and I had landed with all the sculptures destroyed from the bombings. How sad something so beautiful was the innocent bystander of one man’s greed—not to mention the millions of casualties.
“The Nazis took anything that was of value, but since mein führer has a fondness for my sweets, I was allowed to keep my shop, and they provide me with raw materials I need to bake.” Anna laid her fingers across her lips and then turned away, almost as if she were committing a crime. “The führer has been very generous, and I am able to feed my granddaughter and keep her safe.”