Lieutenant Lehmann clicked his heels together, gave the old-fashioned Prussian salute, bowed, and left the room.
Röhm released me, and I climbed to my feet, rubbing my wrist. “I apologize for hurting you, Fraulein Vogel,” Röhm said. “I only wished to prevent you from starting an altercation you could not win.”
“Where is he going?” Wilhelm asked Röhm.
He should not have had to ask. If my father had been under similar circumstances, there would have been only one honorable way out.
“To do what he must do. What every soldier facing dishonor must do,” Röhm said.
Wilhelm bolted toward the front door. My head told me to go after him, to help him save his father. But my heart wanted his father dead. Those were my feelings, and I was not proud of them. I sat at the table and buried my face in my hands, waiting.
Röhm paced, as if thinking about the next problem.
A gunshot cracked near the front door downstairs. Rudolf started. Had Lieutenant Lehmann ended his life like a good soldier? Or had Wilhelm stopped him? I took a step toward the door.
Röhm did not seem to care about the gunshot. He must have given Lieutenant Lehmann up for dead the minute he told him to go.
Röhm put a hand on my arm. “Do you have what I came for?”
“What did you come for?” I asked, numbly. If he would order his trusted lieutenant to take his own life, he would have no scruples about killing me.
“She knows nothing,” Rudolf said in a hollow voice. “He wouldn’t have known to tell her.” He bowed his head and stared at the table.
If I had not been so frightened for myself, I might have pitied him.
Röhm glared into my eyes as if to read the answers from my mind without bothering with words. I kept my chin up and did not blink. After a few terrifying seconds, he turned away. I sat down again.
“So he is lost,” Röhm said to Rudolf. “You have lost him.”
That made no sense to me. Did he mean Ernst? Or Lieutenant Lehmann?
Rudolf raised his head. He was pale, but his eyes were focused again. “I did not know of Ernst’s death.”
Röhm paced the room, but Rudolf and I sat as if pinned to our chairs. I did not want to call attention to myself by moving. I had no idea what Röhm and Rudolf were talking about. I was afraid to say anything lest my ignorance doom me to death.
“It has been a week, Rudolf,” said Röhm in his round, southern German accent. “Seven days and my son is missing and alone. A boy of five.”
A boy of five. The words echoed in my ears, but my mind could not make sense of them. Would not make sense of them.
Röhm and Rudolf walked into the bedroom. I stared at the dagger on my mother’s table. A boy of five.
As if in a dream, I stood and followed them.
“I told you,” Röhm yelled at Rudolf, poking him in the chest with each word, “to take care of him until I returned from Bolivia. I sent you money for his care in case I needed him. And you lost him.”
Rudolf stared at him without speaking.
“I want my son,” Röhm roared. “Now.”
“I am here, Father,” Anton said. He stepped out of the wardrobe, clutching Winnetou.
“Anton!” Röhm and I screamed simultaneously.
Anton walked to Röhm’s side. “He is my father. You are my mother.”
He must have crept in when I went to buy the tea. “Your father?”
The room spun around me. It was the wrong Ernst. Ernst Vogel was not his father. Ernst Röhm was. Röhm wanted neither the ring nor the letters. He wanted the only thing that mattered.
“She is not your mother.” Röhm embraced Anton, lifting him like a toy. He turned to Rudolf. “What nonsense have you put in the boy’s head?”
The sound of Wilhelm sobbing drifted through the front window. I could not bring myself to care.
“It is her nonsense,” Rudolf said weakly, waving his thin hand at me.
I hesitated. I could produce the forged birth certificate and implicate Rudolf, but I stayed my hand. Why had Rudolf had it made? Perhaps Röhm had ordered him to make it, in case he needed to deny that Anton was his son.
“How long have you been caring for him?” Röhm asked me, and the moment passed.
“He appeared a few days after my brother’s death. I have not cared for him long.” I would not lie to Röhm if I could avoid it.
Rudolf crossed to the window.
“Nor well,” Rudolf sneered, turning to face us. “The people you associate with.”
He wanted to blame Anton’s childhood on me. He would not want Röhm to know that his child was raised by a drug addict and a prostitute.
“I have had him only a week,” I said. “No more. I am not responsible for him being raised by a boot girl from Wittenbergplatz.”
Röhm rounded on Rudolf, his face furious. “A boot girl? My Elise became a boot girl?”
“It was the drug.” Rudolf paced the floor. “There was nothing I could do.”
“You could have told me,” Röhm bit off each word. “I would have bought drugs for her myself before letting her live that kind of life. Before letting my son live it.”
“I can explain”—Rudolf lifted one hand—“first—”
“You have much to answer for,” Röhm said in the same quiet voice he’d used to speak to Lieutenant Lehmann. “But not in front of my son. Not here.”
“Are you certain he’s your son?” I glanced between them. I saw no resemblance between Röhm’s strong square face and Anton’s tiny pointed one. If the mother was a prostitute, any soldier might have been the father.
Röhm nodded. “I saw him often before I went to Bolivia and left him in Rudolf’s care, to be hidden and cared for.”
“This child?” I could barely breathe. “This one?”
“He is mine.” Röhm smiled proudly. “He is a born warrior. And his existence will answer charges about matters that are becoming sticky for the party. Producing a male heir will show enough virility to stave off the current investigation.”
“Investigation?” I said.
“Paragraph 175,” Röhm said. “Political nonsense.”
“We could find a proper mother,” Rudolf said, “for the boy.”
“What is wrong with my Elise? We can help her get better. There—”
“Not in front of the boy,” I interjected, regaining my wits. “Ask Rudolf alone, later.”
“I know nothing of his mother’s whereabouts,” Rudolf said.
Röhm ignored him. “Say good-bye to your aunt Hannah.”
Anton cried against his father’s shoulder.
“Come now.” Röhm lifted Anton’s chin and wiped his eyes with his stubby fingers. “It’s not as bad as all that. You’ll see her on holidays, perhaps.”
“Where are you taking him?” My mind was slow, and I had trouble speaking.
“As soon as I can, I’ll enroll him in Wahlstatt Cadet School. After that, the Royal Prussian Military Preparatory College at Potsdam. They’re the finest schools in Germany.”
I nodded. They were. Father had spoken of the graduates with awe in his voice. Paul von Hindenburg. Baron von Richthofen. Anton’s future was now assured. He would become a warrior like his father. If the Nazis kept control of the government, he would have access to worlds that I could never give him.
I pulled the red silk handkerchief out of my satchel. “For you,” I said. Tears ran down my cheeks. “To remember me by.”
Anton nodded and took it. Röhm bent his head to talk to him.
Rudolf walked behind me and clamped his hand over my arm, right on the spot where he’d bruised me earlier at the paper. “Say good-bye,” he whispered in my ear, and a round steel object pressed against the back of my ribs. “Let the boy go without a fuss.”
I turned my head to look at him. His eyes were wild and bright. My knees collapsed, but Rudolf held me upright.
“The bullet would pass through your body and hit him,” Rudolf whispered. “Or perh
aps the second one would.”
I did not think he would dare to take on Röhm, but I could not take a chance, not with Anton’s life. I waved. “Good-bye, little Indian.” My voice did not sound like my own.
Röhm did not seem to notice Rudolf pressed so closely against my back. “Good-bye, Fraulein Vogel. Thank you for caring for him.”
Anton waved Winnetou’s paw at me. He looked as shocked as I felt.
“Tomorrow, Rudolf,” Röhm said. “Nine o’clock. At your office. I will find you if you are late, and you do not want that.”
I tightened my jaw, angered that my death should be at Rudolf’s hands. He did not deserve to end my life. He was not worthy of it.
Röhm walked out the door. The sound of his footsteps receded down the hall and with them my chances of surviving this encounter. I hoped that Röhm would keep Anton from seeing Lieutenant Lehmann’s body if he was dead on the front steps.
Rudolf let go of my arm, and I turned. He trained the gun on my heart.
“I’ll not let you destroy me,” he said. “I’ll come up with an explanation for the boot girl.”
“We can talk about this.” I stepped backward. Perhaps I could climb through the window.
“She was a prostitute when he met her. He knows that,” Rudolf said, as if trying to convince himself. His nose started to bleed.
“Perhaps he won’t care that she worked Wittenbergplatz.” I smiled placatingly. “If he already knew she was a prostitute, why would he care what patch she worked?” If Rudolf remembered the fury in Röhm’s voice when he discovered that she had become a boot girl, skilled in perversions, he would know that Röhm cared a great deal that she had worked at Wittenbergplatz.
Rudolf wiped his bleeding nose with the back of his left hand. The gun trembled in his right. “He’ll care. She was a semi-pro when he knew her, working the barracks. Straight sex.”
“A girl has to make a living.” I was half a meter from the window. He was a coward. He’d dodged his war service. He probably did not know how to aim a gun, let alone shoot one. I knew I was trying to convince myself to lunge for the window, but I stood uncertainly. I did not believe that I would make it to the ground alive, as much as I wanted to.
“He sent her money for years.” Rudolf laughed. “It wasn’t much. I kept a small handling fee.”
“For your hard work,” I said. “Röhm will understand that.”
“I did everything else as he asked,” Rudolf explained. “I forged a birth certificate so that he could deny the boy’s paternity if he needed to. He and Elise never had much of a relationship to begin with. Who knows if they even had sex once. Anyone could be the father.”
“Why did you use my name?”
“Delivering the money was one of Ernst’s jobs, and he grew fond of the boy. Ernst suggested I use his name for the father. Once I used his name, you seemed like the best candidate,” he said. “Besides, I never liked you.”
The bed was right behind my back. Perhaps I could circle behind it and slip through the door. But Rudolf must have seen something in my eyes.
“I’ve never killed anyone before.” Rudolf pulled the trigger.
A wave of heat surged through my body. I fell onto Ernst’s bed, covering the hole that hid the letters. Hot blood seeped out of my left side.
The gun knocked against the bed as Rudolf bent over me, smiling. “I was never responsible for your brother. You were.”
Pain flashed up my body. I pressed against the bullet hole with my hand. Rudolf had won, after all.
He glanced out the window, probably looking for Röhm.
Footsteps pounded in the distance. Röhm flung open the door, Anton at his side. Röhm glanced from me to Rudolf.
Rudolf came to himself with a start and pointed the gun at Röhm.
Röhm tucked Anton under his uniform jacket as if he were a kitten and bounded to Rudolf.
The figures went out of focus, and I pushed my hands harder against my side. Pain cleared my vision. Blood leaked between my fingers.
Röhm snatched the gun from Rudolf’s hand as if he were a teacher confiscating a slingshot from a naughty pupil. Rudolf paled and took a step toward the open window.
As Röhm raised the gun, Anton slipped from his grasp and ran toward me. When Röhm turned to nab him, Rudolf leaped out the window. A faraway groan told me that Rudolf had not landed well. Good.
Röhm glanced out the window with the gun drawn. He shook his head and came back to where Anton stood holding my bloody hand and Winnetou.
Sirens. Ta-to. Ta-ta. Someone must have called the police when Lieutenant Lehmann shot himself.
Röhm bent down and ripped through Ernst’s sheet, fashioning a makeshift bandage around me.
“Field dressing,” he said. “It will have to do.”
The sirens grew louder.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
Röhm peeled Anton’s hand off mine. Anton slid the bear next to my face before Röhm hoisted him in his arms. I turned my head into the soft plush fur and listened to Röhm’s footsteps fading into the distance. Winnetou’s battered face was the last thing I saw.
26
Strong light shone on my eyelids. Would I see Ernst? Our parents? Walter? I was afraid to open my eyes. I took a deep breath and waited.
“Hannah,” said a familiar voice. “You slept at my house often enough when we were girls for me to know when you’re pretending to be asleep.”
Bettina. I opened my eyes. She sat next to my bed, her knitting in her lap, and a relieved expression on her face. A soft breeze whispered through an open window nearby.
“Thank goodness,” she said. “Now I can go home.”
“How long?” I croaked. My throat was dry, and I cleared it. I looked around the room. I lay in a narrow bed in a small room with gleaming floors and sickly yellow walls. The smell of disinfectant mingled with the comforting vanilla scent of Bettina’s perfume.
Bettina poured a glass of water from a carafe on a small table near the bed.
“Drink this.” Lifting my head, she held it to my lips, as for a sick child. Swallowing hurt my ribs, but I drank the entire glass obediently. She pulled my pillow up expertly and helped me into a semisitting position. Pain shot up through my side, and my head throbbed. I tried to cover my eyes with my hand to shut out the sunlight.
“What day is it?”
“Monday,” Bettina said, standing and drawing the curtains. “You were shot on Sunday afternoon. The bullet grazed your ribs and you cracked your head on something, but you’re not badly hurt, so don’t expect me to play nursemaid forever.” I heard relief in her voice.
“Where am I?”
“Hospital,” she said. She held up Winnetou, wrapped in my peacock-green scarf from Ernst. “Where’s Anton?”
“His father took him.” I noticed a speck of blood on the bear’s ear. My blood.
“Ernst? Why didn’t he stay to help you?” Bettina handed me the bear, and I pressed him against my face. He still smelled like kerosene, from the bath I’d given him to kill the lice. It was oddly comforting.
“Wrong Ernst,” I said. “Anton’s father is Ernst Röhm.”
Bettina sat back down in the chair, her mouth open in shock. Voices passed by the corridor outside my room, arguing. “Tell me.”
“My brother’s boyfriend Rudolf is Ernst Röhm’s lawyer. Röhm has been supporting Anton through him since he left for Bolivia.”
“Are you certain?”
“I know nothing for certain. Röhm wants to raise Anton. He wants to send him to Wahlstatt Cadet School.”
“That’s fortunate for Anton.” Bettina tucked a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear. “A powerful father means a good future.”
“A powerful Nazi father? One who views him only as a political pawn?” I asked. “I want Anton back.”
“Oh, Hannah.” Bettina leaned forward and patted my hands. “Of course you do, but he’s not yours. He never was.”
“I have
a birth certificate with my name on it as his mother.” I clasped the bear.
“A forgery. Röhm probably has an authentic birth certificate with his name on it.” Bettina shook her head. “You know better than this.”
“I love Anton,” I said, and I realized that it was true. He was strong and clever and funny, and he was part of my family, all of my family, whether Röhm was his father or not. Without him I was alone. How could I let him go? “I love him,” I repeated.
“I do too,” she said. “He’s a dear heart. But he’s not your son. He’s not related to you.”
There was a knock on the door, and Fritz entered, looking exhausted. Two detectives stood behind him, one fat and one thin. They stayed outside. Fritz closed the door on them before coming over to my bed.
“Bettina,” I said. “Were you here all night?”
“With all of the children at home, I enjoyed the quiet,” she said. “Let me find you some breakfast.” She bustled out the door.
“Good morning,” Fritz said. “Glad to see you awake. You’re a very lucky girl.”
I laughed, but it hurt my ribs and my head, and I had to stop, breathing heavily through the pain.
“Another few centimeters to the left and you wouldn’t be here,” said Fritz.
“Another few centimeters to the right and I’d be fine.”
“I think the shooter would have taken another shot if he’d missed you entirely,” Fritz said dryly.
“We were mostly worried about the blood you lost.” Bettina entered the room with a tray containing a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of tea. “You have to eat and drink to get your strength back.”
I took a few bites of oatmeal because I did not have the strength to argue with Bettina about it. It was cold and slimy. The tea I drank gratefully.
“Now, darling wife,” Fritz said. “I’m going to ask you to be very quiet while Hannah tells her story.”
“Like a mouse.”
He gave her an affectionate look. “Those mice that squeak and rustle in the walls and keep me up nights?”
She put a finger to her lips and shook her head.
“Ernst is dead.” I pushed aside the tray of food. “He was one of those floaters from last week.”
A Trace of Smoke (Hannah Vogel) Page 21