by Cathy Gohlke
“That’s because—” Maximillion began, but Schlick cut him off.
“As I said, enlightening,” Schlick finished.
Lea did not trust herself to respond, but nodded and measured her steps toward home. Knees trembling, she stumbled into Oma’s kitchen, letting her prop bag fall by the door.
“What is it?” Oma asked, drying her hands on her apron. “What has happened?”
“Sturmbannführer Schlick—he dogs my every step. He haunts Friederich’s shop and now my drama practices—classes that even the children know are horrible! I’m not Rachel—I can’t act or teach as she does. Maximillion knows I am a fraud. They both sat today and watched me. Sturmbannführer Schlick looked one moment as if he wanted to eat me and the next as if he’ll grind me into the dirt with his boot.”
Oma propped her cane beside the table and gingerly sat down across from her. “It was bad enough the two of them sat behind us in church on Sunday. Will he never stop?”
“Not until he finds me.” Rachel appeared in the doorway. “We can’t possibly keep this up. The only way to make him stop is to turn myself in.”
“And have him know we’ve hidden you all this time?” Lea shook her head. “We’d all be arrested.”
Oma knotted her fingers. “Can you imagine what that fiend of a man would do to his daughter if he found her alive?”
Lea buried her head in her hands.
“What, then?” Rachel pleaded. “I can’t put you through this any longer.”
Rivka stood in the doorway behind Rachel. “Amelie’s sleeping—she’ll never know I’m not there. There’s something I want to say. I’ve been thinking. What Friederich said about Jason—‘smoke and mirrors’ . . .”
“And?” Lea looked up, desperate. “Friederich said it was too dangerous.”
“Yes, I know. But I can’t stop thinking about it. Just think of this: What if you and Rachel created a special musical or a play—a play you invited the officers to, and as many guards as possible? What if, the night of the performance, Rachel actually directed the children, and Sturmbannführer Schlick saw her there—knew, somehow, that it was her and not you? Then sometime during the play, the two of you switched places, and the woman he’d seen—Rachel—sneaked away, and the woman on stage became Lea?”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Oma demanded.
“Smoke and mirrors,” Rachel said, the light dawning in her eyes. She pulled out a chair and sat before Lea. “We could do it during scene changes—switch clothes. If the lights were dim, he couldn’t tell the difference between us.”
“But you and Rivka and Amelie would have time to escape the village.” Lea was beginning to see it.
“Escape? With all those guards at the checkpoints?” Oma looked as if they’d both gone crazy.
“They’d have to be kept busy,” Rivka said. “They’d have to believe Rachel was really there, in front of them, with no worries of losing her. And it would have to be safe afterward—for Lea. As though Lea were the only one there all along.”
“Could it be done?” Lea asked.
“Impossible! The whole town would have to believe—and be there! That horrid man has put a price on your head!” Oma stood firm. “There’s nothing—”
“King Ludwig’s Fire—the birthday celebration!” Lea sat up.
“Nein, nein, the Nazis will never allow it—not with the blackouts and curfew,” Oma protested. “Not with them in power and wanting to distance themselves from the very notion of the old monarchy.”
“The King Ludwig’s what?” Rachel asked.
“It’s a tradition—to honor his memory. Weeks before his birthday our fire-makers carry wood up secret paths to the top of Mount Kofel. They construct a gigantic crown—eight meters high with a cross beneath it! And six more fires on surrounding mountains—some in the shape of a cross, sometimes the letter L for his name, sometimes a great bonfire. Then, the night before his birthday, the fire-makers and the brass band steal up Mount Kofel. Just as darkness falls, a chorale begins the celebration. Then the band plays as all the fires are lit.”
Oma nodded. “The hills are ablaze.”
“They burn for hours, and finally, when they burn very low, the fire-makers and musicians descend the mountain by torchlight—a parade of light and music, down the mountain and through the village streets.”
“We sing and celebrate at the inns all night and into the new day—the king’s birthday.”
“Fires on the mountain to honor a long-dead king?” Rachel’s brows peaked. “I don’t think they’ll—”
“But if they did allow it, it would provide the perfect opportunity to get away—to walk out of town during the parade, and to some other place to be picked up. And even if they won’t allow it, we could create some alternative form of entertainment—one that honors the blackout and provides cultural entertainment for the troops. They’re always wanting that,” Lea insisted.
“Maybe the fire lighting in story form, performed by the children?” Rivka wondered. “Invite them all—the church, the town, the guards, Schlick—everyone!”
“You’d have to make it in honor of the Reich or Hitler or Gerhardt to get him to come. He wouldn’t come for some folkish festival or to honor a dead monarch,” Rachel objected.
“Then we’ll do it. If the villagers know the play honors King Ludwig, they will come. If the Nazis believe it honors them on the day we would normally honor King Ludwig, they will come,” Lea insisted.
“It might work, but it’s a huge risk,” Rachel challenged her sister. “You would do this for me? Risk your life for me?”
“For you and Amelie and Rivka . . .” Lea swallowed hard. “Yes. Yes, I would.”
“We could make the switch while they’re all in the hall, but how will we escape? How will we leave the village?” Rivka asked.
Lea turned to Rachel. “Does your friend Pastor Bonhoeffer have a car—a way?”
“No, but perhaps he knows someone who does—someone he can trust.”
“Even if we can find a car, those Nazis would never leave the checkpoints unguarded.” Oma placed her cup in the sink. “Even if you invited them all to the production—even if they believed Rachel was there. And Friederich is certainly not going to like this.”
Lea held up her hand for silence when they heard the scrape of boots outside the kitchen door, but too late. Friederich had pushed open the wooden door even as Oma spoke.
“And what is it your Friederich isn’t going to like, Oma?” Friederich leaned his cane against the doorframe and pecked the old woman’s cheek. He pulled off his hat and vest, his smile fading when he saw the women watching him, holding their breath. “What is it?”
“We’ve thought of a way to draw the Nazis from their posts—or at least some of them—to get Rachel and Amelie and Rivka out. We just don’t have the means of transportation.”
“Or the papers,” Friederich said.
“Or the papers—yet,” Lea agreed.
“But Jason’s working on those.” Rachel’s voice sounded more hopeful than certain.
Friederich drew a deep breath. He looked sadly at Rivka.
“Friederich?” Lea reached for her husband’s hand.
“Jason sent new documents, but he could only get two sets. I’m sorry, Rivka. Perhaps later.”
Rivka’s eyes fell, but she straightened, attempting a smile.
“What good will papers do if there is no way out of the village?” Oma worried.
“Herr Schrade said there is a way—one way left to us.” Friederich hung his vest by the door. “Through the forests and over the Alps on foot, through Switzerland and unoccupied France, then eventually to Lisbon. It’s still possible to get out through Lisbon.”
“The Alps—on foot?” Lea cried. “Even if they left tomorrow, by the time they’d reached halfway, snow might set in. And if they are delayed along the way . . .”
Friederich shrugged and looked at Rachel. “Can you ski? If Herr Schrade guides you throu
gh the mountain passes and connects you with others?”
“Yes, yes, I’m strong on skis. But I’m certain Amelie’s never skied; she’s too little. I’m not sure I could carry her.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Would Herr Schrade—?”
Friederich shook his head. “Nein, it’s too dangerous for a child—the uncertain weather high up, the cold. Besides, he can only take you so far; then others will assist, and there’s no way to know if they could carry her. She might have to be left along the way.”
“I would never leave her,” Rachel vowed, but amended, “not now.”
“I told him that, too.”
Silence stretched across the moments.
“Then we’re no better off,” Oma said.
“Can I see the passports?” Rivka asked.
Friederich pulled them from a small pouch. “They’re perfect. I don’t know how they do them.”
Rivka took the papers to the light and held them close. “Yes, they’re very well done. But they can be altered. My brother told me that it’s possible.”
“What do you mean?” Rachel peered over her shoulder.
Rivka turned to face her. “I mean that I ski. I ski very well.”
63
THAT NIGHT Rachel slept with Amelie in her arms. She’d come to love Amelie as her own, or as near to her own as she could imagine. Supposing Amelie’s passport could be doctored and forged again for Rivka, could she leave Amelie with Lea and Friederich and Oma? Could she leave her to save Rivka? Could she leave her at all?
She’d taken Kristine’s daughter to raise—unwillingly, at first. But in the last few months she’d come to imagine their future, forming a makeshift family with Jason—Uncle Jason—the three of them. It was a fantasy, Rachel knew, but with or without Jason she would raise Kristine’s child as her own. From duty? From honor? Partly.
But Amelie’s deafness was no longer an issue in Rachel’s estimation of her worth. Being able to sign, to communicate together at least some, broke down barriers. Rachel had realized that the barriers were of her own making, not Amelie’s. When they got back to the US, Rachel would make certain they both received all the training they needed. Amelie will have everything I can provide. That’s what I want—at last. I love her. But is that best for Amelie?
She can’t possibly make this trip on foot—not so close to cold weather in the mountains. But if I don’t leave now, when can I? When will the two of us ever be able to leave together with Gerhardt posting the “Bavarian Madonna and Child” photo across the Alps and offering a reward for me? Amelie’s at greater risk with me than without me. If I don’t leave soon, no one will be safe.
And what about Rivka? What hope is there for an orphaned Jewish girl in Germany? Perhaps even less than for the golden-haired deaf child of an SS officer.
Rachel closed her eyes against defiant tears. Why was the world so stupid, so cruel? Both Rivka and Amelie were innocent—treasures, rubies, diamonds beyond worth—and yet the likes of Gerhardt Schlick and Adolf Hitler bent perverted energies to destroy them. She bit her lip. Until recently, she’d been just as blind through belief in her own superiority, and through apathy.
Amelie squirmed in her arms. Rachel released the little girl, realizing she’d been holding her too tightly. She smoothed Amelie’s curls, kissed the crown of her head, and rolled over, swiping away her tears. There was no sound from Rivka, no even breathing to indicate a peaceful sleep. Rachel knew her friend lay wide awake, pondering her fate.
Lea listened, two nights later, as Friederich confided to her across their pillows, “It wasn’t pleasure but Brigadeführer Schellenberg that recalled Schlick to Berlin. Herr Schrade heard it at the post today—the Brigadeführer got word of Schlick’s oppressive ways among our locals. I expect he wants to have a little talk with the man.”
“Should we thank Herr Young for that ‘word’?”
“I suspect so. Jason’s a good man to have in a pinch.” Friederich reached for his wife in the dark.
But Lea held him at bay. “Did you think more of the plan we ladies contrived?”
“I did.” She heard the frustration in his voice. He pulled away and lay on his back, his arm behind his head. “You know the risks if you impersonate her. Schlick is no fool. He—”
“You know the risks if we don’t get Rachel out.”
“And what about Amelie?” he challenged softly. “If we find a way, are you ready to let her go?”
Her voice broke in return. “I would give my life to save her, and I would do anything to keep her with us. If only the two could be one.” Lea’s breathing grew ragged. “I don’t understand myself. I’ve come to love Rachel—she’s my sister, and I know that none of this craziness is her fault. But it seems . . . it’s always seemed that everything is for her—the good life, the approval, the affirmations, the education, the success . . . and now Amelie. She doesn’t even have to give birth—another thing taken from me forever—and yet she gets the child of our dreams!” She felt Friederich reach for her again, this time overcoming her protests and pulling her close.
“I don’t always understand the ways of God, meine liebe Frau.” He nestled a kiss in the curve of her neck. “Sometimes I understand better the ways of evil men. But I know this: you were both an experiment—specimens to them. Identical in every biological way, but one twin was given every advantage they could devise, and one twin deprived of those advantages. In their distorted minds they wanted to see what your environments—her nurturing according to their standards or your lack of nurturing according to their standards—would do to each of you. And now they want their specimens back, to tear apart and peer at beneath their microscopes. Thankfully you are useless to them without her to compare, or without Rachel to bear out their plans for a new generation.”
“It’s so unfair.”
“They presumed you would fail, that the life they dictated and their undermining, their intimidation, would destroy you. They never counted on love in their experiments—not Oma’s love, or my love, or Amelie’s love, not even the love of village children. They know nothing of God’s love or the women He made you both.” He wiped tears from his wife’s face, replacing them with kisses.
Still she shuddered and sobbed aloud, unable to hold in the pain.
“Lea, Lea . . . do you not know that you are my heart, my soul?”
She trembled against him. Friederich pulled her closer still and continued to kiss her eyes, her brows, her cheeks, her nose, her lips. He rubbed her back and cradled her in his arms, whispering her name, repeating the steadfastness of his love.
Slowly, slowly but surely, envy for all that Rachel possessed, and for all that her sister was, unwound its tentacles from Lea’s heart. More slowly, fear of losing Amelie unwound from her body, then from her mind. Gradually, and at last willingly, she yielded to her husband’s love. Minutes passed, and all the voices stilled.
Two nights later, the clock in the dark kitchen cuckooed ten. Oma, Amelie, and Rivka had gone to bed when Rachel knocked softly on Lea and Friederich’s door.
“Come,” Friederich said.
Rachel tightened her robe about her and tiptoed in, pulling the door behind her. The message she gave her sister and brother-in-law, the parting gift she gave them that night, cost Rachel more than she’d expected. But when she saw her sister’s tears of joy and Friederich’s great relief, she knew she’d done the right thing—for them and for Amelie.
Friederich promised to see Chief Schrade first thing in the morning. He’d already confirmed Rivka’s suspicion that changes could be made to the passport. He knew a local man, a discreet man able to do the work.
When Rachel closed their bedroom door, she knew there would be no sleep for them that night. Happiness would not contain itself. She waited in the silent kitchen until she could compose her heart and emotions. She didn’t walk up the stairs, but crawled humbly through the cupboard and climbed to the attic, where Amelie slept and Rivka read from a tiny p
ool of light made by her candle.
“I spoke with Lea and Friederich tonight,” Rachel whispered across the room.
“They’ve found a way to get you and Amelie out.” Rivka nodded, her eyes unnaturally bright. “I’m glad—for you both. I’ll miss you, but I will pray for your safety, each step of the way.”
“Pray for us, Rivka—for you and me.”
“What?”
“Will you go with me? Will you be my sister?”
Rivka sat up. “But Amelie—”
“Amelie’s too little for a trip on foot across the Alps. She’s safer here, hidden with Lea and Friederich. As long as Gerhardt can be convinced that I’m not here, he’ll stop pestering Oma and Lea. I’ll make sure he knows I’m in America when we get there.”
“Do you mean this?” Hope, fear, wonder rose in Rivka’s eyes.
Rachel laughed, though she could barely see her friend through her own tears. “Yes—” and she finger-spelled R-i-v-k-a—“we’re bound together in hope.”
“Binding—that’s what my name means!”
“Yes, little sister, we’re bound together.”
Rivka sat up on her knees, her hands pressed together. She whispered hoarsely, recounting Ruth’s vow. “‘Where you go, I will go. Where you lodge, I will lodge. Your people will be my people!’”
“I have no people but here,” Rachel whispered, unable to stop the tears, “and we must leave them—for all our sakes. You and I—we’ll go to America. We’ll find a way.”
“Then I will be your people,” Rivka paraphrased. “And you will be mine.”
“And my God, your God,” Rachel returned, remembering Oma’s Bible, holding her breath, wondering if she believed that, if it could be true.
“Yes,” Rivka whispered, “oh yes!”
64
OMA WANTED PHOTOGRAPHS, and Rachel agreed, as long as the film was hidden beneath floorboards and not developed until it was safe to bring them into the light of day—whenever that might be. Photos of the twin sisters alone and of both with Oma, of Oma with Lea and her husband and new daughter, of Rachel and Rivka—of every possible combination.