by Anna Schmidt
“I learned it from someone,” she countered.
Peter laughed, and the sound of it on the cold winter air was like music. “Let’s stop at that café. Perhaps they have hot chocolate,” he said as they watched Gisele’s car drive away. “Let’s pretend life is normal again just for today.”
Anja glanced around. Could they risk it? Should they? How many times had she heard of situations where evaders just wanting a bit of normalcy set themselves up for capture? The café was mostly empty. She was tempted. It would be so nice.
“No. It’s not safe. But we could walk in the gardens.”
He offered her his arm. “A stroll in the gardens then.”
They walked along for several yards before either of them spoke. The snow was clinging to the bare branches of the trees, and the entire park looked like a fairy wonderland. Anja thought about how Rachel would have squealed with delight at the sight, and that brought thoughts of Daniel. She wondered if it had also snowed in Brussels and whether the nuns would give the children a break from their schoolwork to play in the snow.
“Tell me why you were crying during the service. Was the man in the casket someone you knew?”
“No—yes. I did not know him personally, but we are all of us part of a cause, and because of that I know him. And there was—there is always something more personal at such times,” she admitted.
“Tell me.”
“I had no chance to say good-bye to my husband and daughter, and today I was thinking of my grandparents as well and wondering where they are—how they are. I do not want them to suffer because of me.”
He wrapped his arms around her and rocked her from side to side. “They chose to be part of this—to do what they could. Your grandfather could have refused to come to that field that night. I certainly would not have blamed him if he had chosen to protect his family over rescuing me.”
She pulled away just enough to look up at him. “You would have done the same,” she said as she stroked his hair.
He chuckled. “You give me too much credit. Now, I thought we were going to enjoy our time here in Paris. So if we can’t be warm inside a café, then let’s make the best of the cold and build a snowman.” He turned away from her and began rolling a small pile of snow into a large ball. “Well, come on. I could use a little help here.” He tossed a handful of snow in her direction. Some of it caught on her nose, and she laughed.
He helped her stack a medium-sized snowball on top of his larger one. “Now for the head.”
“We’ll need arms.” She began looking around for a pair of sticks that might be perfect.
“I’ve got just the thing for a nose.” He held up a tightly closed, slender pinecone and stuck it in the middle of the snowman’s face. “Eyes? A mouth?”
Anja handed him the sticks to place on either side of the snowman and then gathered a handful of red berries she had seen a few feet back on their walk. “The mouth,” she announced as she jabbed them one by one in a semicircular smile. “Just the eyes now … and a scarf.”
“Times are hard. We are not giving up our scarves.” Peter found two chestnuts and placed them on the head for eyes. “I like him,” he declared, cocking his head to one side to study their creation. “He has the look of a happy man.”
She moved closer to adjust one of the berries that threatened to fall out, and Peter wrapped his arms around her, holding her close—her back to his chest. “And I, too, am for the moment a happy man, thanks to you, Anja.” He turned her so that they were face-to-face, and he kissed her. A real kiss—not one necessary because someone was coming. “Ah, Anja,” he whispered and deepened the kiss.
“We can’t,” she said sadly even as she stood on tiptoe and kissed him back.
He cupped her face with both hands. “We can. It may not be forever, but if there’s one lesson we’ve both learned from this war, it’s that you take your moments as they come. You cannot count on second chances. We have this moment, Anja. This single moment.”
She understood what he was telling her. They had no future together even if things went well for them both. He would return to America and she to Brussels. If they both managed to stay alive, they might see each other at some war reunion decades from now. He would no doubt marry. She would devote her life to Daniel. This unique moment might indeed be all they would have. But did it do any good at all for them to pretend?
To distract him, she snatched his beret from his head and giggled as she spun away from him and placed the hat on the snowman. Then she took hold of one of the stick arms and one of Peter’s hands, gesturing with her head that he should complete the circle by taking hold of the snowman’s other stick arm. When he did, she began dancing in place as she sang a French nursery song—”Frère Jacques.” To her delight, he joined in, and they danced in place with the snowman while all around them the snow continued to blanket the gardens.
After Peter had retrieved his beret, they walked along the Seine back to the street where Gisele lived. Along the way, they bought a bag of roasted chestnuts from the lone street vendor open in the snowstorm. Anja recognized the vendor as a man who had come once to Brussels to guide some airmen to Paris. Knowing he was there just a block away from Gisele’s gave her a sense of security. Rather than being alone, they were surrounded by unnamed friends who would do everything in their power to see them to safety.
That evening they shared a supper of cold meat, potatoes, and surprisingly good bread with Gisele. The actress seemed subdued and kept glancing at Peter. “We will dye your hair, I think,” she announced as the three of them sipped strong coffee and enjoyed chocolate truffles—both of which Gisele announced had been the gifts of an admirer.
“When do we leave for Bordeaux?” Peter asked.
Gisele shrugged. Anja thought that she had never seen a gesture so filled with indifference and at the same time elegance. “The trains are still not running—at least for people like us.”
“There must be another way. Is this not the perfect time for us to keep moving?”
“Us?”
“Anja and me.”
Gisele’s eyebrows shot up. “In this matter, Anja is absolutely correct. You cannot seriously think that the two of you will continue to travel together.”
“I don’t see why not,” Peter said.
Gisele stood and stubbed out her cigarette. “There is much that you don’t seem to understand. I am tired. We can discuss the matter tomorrow. Now we should all go to bed.” She strode from the room and started up the winding stairway. “Be sure the fire is out,” she said.
Peter had been sitting on the sofa while Gisele lounged on a chaise and Anja sat in the remaining straight-backed chair. He patted the place beside him. “Come and watch the fire with me.”
“I cannot,” Anja replied. “Fires make me … sad.”
“Tell me why.”
She repeated the story that she knew Josef had once told him about the glow of the fires from the crematorium in Sobibor that they had had no choice but to watch every night they were imprisoned there. She wondered where the others who had escaped were tonight. How many had been captured and taken back? How many had been killed in the panic of the escape? How many had never even tried? After telling him about the death camp, she was so lost in her memories that she was barely aware that Peter had gotten up and banked the fire and turned out the single lamp. “Come,” he said, taking her hand. “No more bad memories tonight.”
Upstairs the door that separated Gisele’s bedroom from the luxurious sitting room and the closet was closed and no light came from beneath the frame. Feeling a bit shy after the afternoon they had shared, Anja stepped inside the large closet. “I’ll only be a minute,” she said and closed the door. She changed out of the elegant suit that Gisele had loaned her and into rougher clothing more suited for escape should they need to make a run for it. Peter would do the same. They would both sleep in their peasant clothing, ready to move at a second’s notice.
She glanced at the wa
ll behind which was hidden the tiny cramped space where she and Peter had slept for the last two nights. Then they had been so exhausted and stressed after their perilous journey that she hadn’t given a thought to how their bodies had only inches of space between them. Now things between them had changed. What would Peter want? What would he expect?
A light tap at the closet door told her that he had changed and was seeking her permission to enter. She pulled the door open and then busied herself opening the hidden partition and straightening their sleeping pallets while he hung up the clothes he had worn to the funeral. He was dressed in the clothing of a laborer. Anja climbed onto the pallet closest to the wall and waited. Peter knelt next to the opening and leaned across to place a kiss on her forehead. “Sleep well,” he whispered.
Then he pulled his sleeping covers out into the closet and arranged them on the floor next to the partition. Anja sat up. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll sleep here tonight, and we’ll leave the partition open.”
“But if someone comes …”
“If someone comes, I will close the wall up and then wait to surrender while you will stay put until the coast is clear for you to escape.”
“But …”
“Go to sleep Anja, and tomorrow you and I need to talk about our next move. I am not letting Gisele make decisions without us.”
Mikel stood outside Gisele’s house and stared up at the dark windows. He did not like the fact that Anja was so linked to Peter. The Gestapo was determined to capture him, and that placed Anja in greater danger than usual. The agent Schwarz knew who she was—knew everything about her and Josef and Lisbeth. Right now they were of use to Schwarz in leading him to Peter and closing the case on the missing American. Beyond that the Gestapo wanted to turn them so that they were working for the Germans. It wouldn’t be that difficult, because Anja would give her life to protect Daniel, and Josef and Lisbeth had a child on the way. These were the kinds of impossible choices the Nazis were so good at putting before their victims.
Mikel also had no illusions about their fate once the agent had gotten what he wanted. It was not unusual for the Nazis to focus so intently on a single mission. Right now capturing the American was that singular mission, and as long as Anja was with him, the more her life hung in the balance. At first light he intended to go and get her out of that house. He’d seen one of Schwarz’s henchmen watching the house through the night. It would not be long before the Gestapo agent arrived in Paris himself and made his move. Knowing that Anja would refuse to leave the evader—at least this particular evader—Mikel had made sure that she would have no choice but to leave the American and come with him. He had the best reason of all. He had Daniel.
CHAPTER 9
Peter woke to find Gisele standing over him, a breakfast tray in her hands. She was scowling. “What is this?” she demanded.
At the sound of the actress’s voice, Anja sat up. Instinctively, Peter stepped in front of the open wall partition. “We saw no reason not to give ourselves a little more room.”
Gisele rolled her eyes. “I can perhaps accept that you may not fully appreciate the danger you are in—the danger you place all of us in. But you!” She set the tray down and pointed her finger directly at Anja. “You know better. What if that man from the café had come? What if—”
“But he didn’t,” Peter said as he poured a cup of tea, “and we cannot worry about what has passed.”
Anja gathered Peter’s bedding and placed it in the hiding place, then closed the partition. “We were dressed for escape,” she pointed out, accepting the cup of tea that Peter offered.
“Mikel wishes to see you as soon as possible. It’s urgent,” Gisele said. “He has news for you.”
“I’ll go,” Peter offered.
“Not you—he asked for Anja. He was quite specific.” She handed Anja a slip of paper, and Peter saw a number written in a crude scrawl. “He’ll be at that address on rue Chastain for another half hour. Go now.”
“It’s probably news of our next—”
“Go,” Peter urged. “I’ll wait here.”
Anja shrugged into the peasant’s jacket she’d used as her pillow during the night and pulled a cap low over her forehead, covering her hair. “I won’t be long,” she promised and was gone, her light footsteps echoing on the narrow back staircase that led down to the kitchen.
Gisele moved the breakfast tray out into the sitting room where Peter realized the sun was out and there was not a cloud in the sky. The snow clouds had given way to blue skies, the room was filled with light, and after the shadows of the closet, it took some getting used to.
“Sit and eat,” Gisele instructed, indicating a fancy armchair upholstered in purple satin. She took her usual place on a matching chaise lounge across from him. “You are in love with her, no?”
“I care for her a great deal.”
“Then you must make certain that when you go, she does not go with you. She cannot know anything, or they will torture her to get the information. Of course they will make life a living hell for her anyway, but at least—”
Peter shuddered at the very thought of Anja being tortured. “All the more reason for her to go with me. If we are caught, then they have the man they want.”
Gisele’s laugh was more of a bark. “And you think that will end it? That the agent Schwarz will simply let her walk away? You are a greater fool than I thought if you believe that.”
“I will protect her.” He pushed the tray away, his appetite gone.
“My guess is that Mikel has come to let her know about her grandfather.”
“What about him?” Peter was on instant alert.
“He’s been released—unharmed.”
“Her grandmother?”
“Apparently she, too, is fine.”
He was glad for this good news that Anja was about to receive. Her grandparents had raised her and were more like her parents. “What about Lisbeth? Josef?”
“They were taken separately for questioning, held for hours, and then released. Do you begin to understand the risks being taken for you?”
“I have always appreciated what everyone has risked. What I have never understood is why.”
“Because this is how we fight back. You and your fellow airmen and foot soldiers are our only hope. If you fail, we are all doomed to a future too horrid to contemplate.”
Peter paced the far side of the room out of range of anyone’s view who might be watching the windows. “Can you protect her?”
“Are you ready to go on without her? To perhaps never see her again?”
The thought of never seeing Anja again tore at his heart. But he knew that Gisele was telling him the truth. “Yes, if that’s what it takes.”
Gisele was immediately on her feet. “Then you must come with me now,” she said and handed him the beret—the one that Anja had placed on top of their snowman. The wool was still a little damp. He covered his head with it as Gisele got his jacket and stuffed some papers in the inside pocket. “Your identity papers and travel documents,” she said, handing him the jacket.
He followed Gisele down the back stairs to the kitchen and then on down another flight to a basement that was dank and cold and crammed with old furniture, wine crates, garden tools, and trunks. Suddenly a boy stood up among the clutter, startling Peter so much that he raised his hand defensively.
“This boy will be your guide. You will follow him at a distance of about six meters until you reach the railway station. There a man in a tweed suit and gray hat with a blue band will buy a newspaper from the boy. At that point you will follow the man with the newspaper. You will see him on the train but make no direct contact, do you understand?”
“I thought the trains weren’t available for civilians.”
The kid muttered something in French that needed no translation.
“Things change. Go now,” Gisele urged as she pushed him toward the boy.
So much for not allowing Gisele t
o determine his future.
The kid darted behind a pile of crates, and Peter followed, then turned back to give Gisele a message for Anja. But Gisele was already gone, and the boy was waiting impatiently near a narrow door that led into another part of the cellar. This pattern continued through three more doors and up a rickety wooden stairway where finally the kid stopped. Using sign language he indicated that they had reached the street and reminded Peter of the distance to be kept between them. He held up one hand and the thumb on his other hand—six.
Peter nodded.
His guide eased open the door, looked around, and then started down the alley, his news bag now carried across his chest. Peter waited for a count of ten and then followed. The kid was moving fast, and it was harder than Peter had imagined to keep up with him and at the same time be mindful of the distance. When they finally reached the station, Peter paused, pretending to study the schedule while the kid positioned himself to wait for his contact.
The place was crawling with Germans—soldiers, Gestapo, local French police loyal to the new regime. Peter kept his eye on the newsboy as a couple of men bought newspapers from him, but either their suit was not tweed or the hat was wrong. Somewhere a church bell chimed the noon hour. Peter wondered what Gisele would tell Anja. He wondered if perhaps Mikel would get her to safety and then realized that Mikel had deliberately sent for her to come to him so that Gisele could get Peter out of the house and on down the line as they liked to say.
Another man approached the newsboy. This one was wearing brown tweed with a gray hat that had a blue band. He bought a paper, placed it under his right arm, and headed for the train. When Peter looked back toward the station, the kid was gone. He saw his new guide board the train, waited a beat, and then boarded the same car. The train was packed with people, and Peter had trouble finding any place he could sit, but finally an old man and his wife made room on their seat for him. He almost thanked them, then remembered that he was not to speak and nodded instead.
He wrapped his wool scarf around his neck and coughed to hopefully deliver the message that he was suffering from laryngitis. The woman nodded sympathetically and seemed to be telling him about some home remedy that he should try. He pretended interest and smiled.