A Moment Forever

by Cat Gardiner

  “You’re right. It’s just my overactive imagination. Now … tell me more about the clubmobile, sissy. I’m so proud of you.”

  ~~*~~

  Apart from shopping for a birthday gift for Will, Lizzy’s excursion into the city was oddly unfulfilling. On this sunny weekday, following her worrisome visit with Lillian two nights before, she found herself on the first floor aimlessly meandering through the accessory department after scanning the ladies’ department in much the same fashion. For a change, Saks Fifth Avenue offered nothing of interest except for a pair of black suede gloves to match the fashion platform shoes she wore. The luxury store was crowded, even with the apparent shortage of Paris’s finest designs. However, upstairs in the Salon Moderne, Sophie Gimbel’s couture designs were a suitable substitute. The American designer’s close-fitting, tailored ensembles for the new Fall season were called “liquid” and even met the War Production Board’s yardage criteria. Still, Lizzy felt uninspired and dispassionate.

  She strolled through the aisles of gloves, scarves, and belts, raised an item only to immediately put it down. The glass display counter filled with perfectly laid out handkerchiefs of imported lace had no appeal. She mindlessly picked through the display of crocodile handbags and brushed past the new arrivals in the millinery department; of all her fashion addictions, hats were her number one weakness. Even now the brown, felt picture hat staring back at her had no allure. Frivolous shopping felt flat and superficial. Apart from shopping for Will, it all felt so meaningless.

  On the opposite side of the first floor, she noted the patriotic War Bond and Stamp booth. At least that had meaning as she passed through the fragrance department toward it. Yes. Purchasing War Bonds would help train Will or supply him with necessary equipment. This she believed in.

  The purchase of three Series E Bonds in one hundred dollar increments was only half of her monthly allowance from her trust fund, but was a small amount of money in her estimation when faced with the call for all Americans to contribute to the Treasury so that we can build, fight, and win.

  After an hour, still without purchasing a suitable gift for him, she exited the store but felt proud in taking, yet another step in becoming the woman Will believed her to be.

  A double-decker bus passed by and Old Glory flapped above her. A newsstand displayed all the latest editions. Dreamy John Wayne smiled from Look magazine, gorgeous Lana Turner beckoned to passing men from the cover of Modern Screen, and Captain America fought the Human Torch on a comic book. She reminded herself to ask John to purchase a girlie magazine for the Merchant Marines in training at Oheka Castle. Will had written her that the magazines were kept on a low shelf inside the stand and had to be asked for by name. Eyeful, or was it Legful? She couldn’t tell. His handwriting was especially difficult to decipher in his last letter. Lizzy chuckled at her train of thought, but wondered if he had purchased said magazine. She hoped he didn’t feel the need to look at a pin up since meeting her.

  She stood with her back to the department store’s famed windows and breathed in the crisp autumn air. The weather had turned too cool, too quickly in the season, and she was thankful she thought to wear her fur-trimmed coat, especially since she chose to take the railroad into the city. An unexpected decision on her part, but she was learning—Will needed the fuel and rubber that Jenkins would have to burn driving Father’s Packard limousine into Manhattan.

  Amid the passing pedestrians of shoppers, businessmen, working women, and the myriad of tourists on leave from the armed forces, she heard her name break through the hustle and bustle.

  A female French accent rose, snapping her from thoughts of war, pin ups, Will, and the annoying, innate temptation to go back into Saks to purchase that darling wine-colored fedora on the mannequin.

  “Lizzy? Lizzy Renner is that you, mon ami?”

  The woman in her late twenties approached, and Lizzy recognized her immediately from two years earlier during her Grand Tour. Never one to flaunt her wealth or live ostentatiously, Bethsabee de Rothschild was dressed in a conservatively collegiate autumn box coat, beret, and plain oxford shoes.

  They gently embraced and air kissed on both cheeks.

  “Bethsabee! It is wonderful to see you.”

  “Lizzy, you look so lovely, so sophisticated.”

  “Thank you, and you … look at you—très Américain! What are you doing in New York?”

  “I am attending Columbia University to study biochemistry.”

  “Oh? I thought you completed your studies at the Sorbonne. Well, you simply must come for tea at Meercrest!” Lizzy regretted the words as they flew from her lips. Her conversations with Ingrid and Greta on Memorial Day came back in a flash, and she wouldn’t want her friend to feel insulted by their predictable slight. She was ashamed that her eyes momentarily settled upon the brown waves flowing from the bottom of the beret. Darn if she didn’t hate Ingrid at that moment for suggesting Bethsabee wore a wig.

  “You are kind, but I leave shortly for London to meet with my brother. You remember, Guy, no?”

  “How could I forget? Handsome, intelligent and, unfortunately, married. I do believe Esther had her designs on him. Are your parents here in New York with you?”

  “Oui, we fled not long after your visit to Paris and just before the German invasion. Guy has since left the French Army and met us here. He now sees to family business abroad.” Bethsabee leaned closer to Lizzy. “The Vichy government has stripped our family of our nationality, removed us from the register of the Légion d’honneur, and the Nazis have taken everything. Their Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg has confiscated all the artwork from Château de Ferrières and hundreds of Father’s thoroughbred race horses at Haras de Meautry. They have seized our bank.”

  “Oh my! How terrible. Does that mean you can never go back to your home?”

  “Not now, not while it is unsafe for Jews. I will go back to fight with the Free French under De Gaulle with my brother. We are otherwise, like many at Columbia, refugees. When I can, I try to help bring others escaping the Nazi persecution into America.”

  Lizzy subconsciously gripped her purse tightly. “They stole your family’s artwork and everything your family held for a century?”

  “Not everything, dear Lizzy. We are alive. But gone are my favorite works of art, among them Vermeer’s Astronomer, Pater’s La Cueillette des Roses and Le Musician. They even looted sculpture, furniture—all gone, forever.”

  Images of Ingrid’s Monet and Mother’s Degas instantly flashed in Lizzy’s mind’s eye. She suddenly felt colder, her voice quaking slightly. “I … had no idea, Bethsabee. I’m so sorry that everything you loved has been stolen from you and your family.”

  Bethsabee removed a pamphlet distributed by Columbia’s Maison Français from her purse and pressed it into Lizzy’s hand. “Will you consider becoming a benefactor and making a donation? The France Quand-Même office is just across the street at 30 Rockefeller Center. You can help us.”

  Lizzy took the pamphlet and read the title, her brain still grappling with what had happened to this sweet woman’s family. Forever France.

  “I will read it and consider donating.” She distractedly thumbed through the literature, thinking it couldn’t hurt to inquire about Will’s family in Paris. “Bethsabee … my sweetheart, who is a pilot in the Army, has family in Paris. He’s been worried because their correspondence has ceased. Are things so bad that mail is delayed from France?”

  “What is their family name?”

  “DeVries. They operate a diamond business.”

  She shook her head, knowingly. “They are Jewish.”

  “No, Will is Christian. Protestant, I think.”

  “I know the DeVries family. They have supplied diamonds to the de Rothschilds for twenty years or more. Dutch Jews, Estella DeVries. They are most likely in hiding.”

  Bethsabee breathed deeply, looking out onto Fifth Avenue before turning back to her sheltered, young friend. Her hands wrenched together, f
ingers twisting tightly. “Or … they have been deported to … to … I do not know, but some say to death camps. My cousin has written that Pétain had rounded up the Jews from Paris in July.”

  An unseen vice around Lizzy’s throat choked her words as she shook her head. “N … no … that’s {swallow} not them. No, they are Christian. The newspapers said nothing about Paris.”

  “It is true. I am sorry, my friend. July 16 at dawn, they were taken. Days later the French Gendarmes deported men, women, and children in cattle cars.”

  Lizzy’s fingers flew to her mouth, her eyes immediately welling with tears at the horrors: death camp, cattle cars, children, DeVries. Her heart felt crushing pain, and her world suddenly spun where she stood on that busy sidewalk. This was Will’s secret. This was why he knew so much about the Nazis. This was the cause of his anxiety. He is Jewish.

  “Good G-d, no! That was when Will’s family stopped writing.” Lizzy reached out, her gloved hand gripping tightly around her friend’s bicep. Panicked words flew from her mouth in a barrage, oblivious to the turning heads of passersby. “Are you sure? Are you sure, Bethsabee?! This can’t be true!”

  “I am sure.”

  “Why would they take them? Maybe Will’s family is a different DeVries family.”

  Bethsabee gripped her friend’s hand in hers. “Peut-être. When I arrive to London, I will make inquiries for you. Will you now consider becoming a benefactor? There are Jewish refugees in every nation, not just France.” She squeezed her hand and covered it with her other one. “Sweet Lizzy, they were taken … for the simple fact that they are Jewish.”

  Lizzy’s lips formed a thin, tight line to keep them from trembling. Oh the horror! She nodded to her friend. “I will donate. I’ll go now!”

  “And I will write you at Meercrest if I find any information about the DeVries family, although, you may not welcome my news.”

  “Whatever it is, I must know.”

  Bethsabee squeezed Lizzy’s hand once again. “You have grown so from that new debutante of 1940. It is good to see your concern, your maturity. This man, your sweetheart, you say he is not Jewish but a Christian?”

  “I have believed him to be Christian but we never spoke of it.”

  “It is possible his family hides their faith. Many do. Even in America, there are those all around us who wish to persecute.”

  “Yes … I am coming to learn that. Thank you, please take care of yourself, and please correspond if you can. If only just to tell me that you are safe.” They kissed good-bye on each cheek, this time their lips making contact to flesh. Bethsabee departed with a wistful glance back to Lizzy.

  ~~*~~

  Slowly, with enforced calm, Lizzy filled her lungs with the moist salted air as she walked the remaining three hundred feet approaching the Odin, docked in its slip on the Sound. Pulling the cashmere wool of her coat more tightly to her as the piercing morning sea breeze whipped across the knoll, blowing back her hair, she remained determined in her mission.

  Due to its size, the yacht sat motionless, seemingly unaffected by blustery weather or the choppy water. Impressive and stately with its shiny hull and gleaming nameplate, Lizzy pondered the origins of its name. No matter how large the vessel, a boatman always named it after someone or something he loved. She reflected on how, as a little girl, her governess had read the Norse myths from the book Children of Odin—the dwarfs, the rainbow bridge, the great Thor and his All-Father Odin drinking from the Well of Wisdom. Now, as an adult, she saw the name as something quite different. With startling clarity, she realized that the reference to Odin, the chief god of Germanic tribes served as a testimony to her father’s ego and hubris, proclaiming his own affluence and ancestry, a confirmation of his bombastic gobbledygook. That Odin was considered the god of war also conveyed her father’s belief that he would win any conquest at all costs.

  She approached the yacht as though a Valkyrie, determined to not be the one ending in a death of words and will. Lizzy blamed him for her sister running off to Europe as part of this clubmobile experiment, but she was determined to not allow her anger to rule this meeting.

  Prepared to enter battle, she pulled her shoulders back, head held high. Unfortunately, as the myths explain, Valkyries take their battle dead to Valhalla, the hall of the slain ruled over by Odin, but she was a pistol and would win this forthcoming battle.

  Running into Bethsabee the day before had made her stronger and more determined than she ever expected. Her only concern was seeing Will.

  The teak gangplank shifted ever so slightly when she stepped aboard, and her eyes scanned the deck, then peered into the enclosed salon interior before her. Her father was seated at the table, enjoying a cigar and drinking his morning coffee; the Staats newspaper was spread out on the table before him, and the morning newscast was broadcast from the radio nearby. It was obvious to her how much he loved spending time on his yacht. It seemed, no matter the hour he was either here or at Greystone, rarely home spending time with her mother or, even less so, Gloria, who was running amok of late. Void of discipline, she was acting the juvie, saying wacky things—and the reports from Miss Chapin’s school grew more severe with each passing month.

  Renner glanced up and smiled when Lizzy stepped into the cabin through the watertight door left ajar. “Elizabeth! What a wonderful surprise. I was just thinking of you.”

  She laughed. “Oh, that sounds ominous.”

  “Not at all. I was just reflecting on how you have matured this year. You have blossomed into a lovely young woman. That unbridled spirit has tempered some. I’m proud of you.”

  “Oh? I rather think I am still the same Lizzy you have always loved.” She twisted her lips. “I’m still as mischievous as always.”

  “Sit. Join me. I was just listening to the CBS News of the World and its propaganda. Such lies to rally the people behind this warmongering President.”

  “Propaganda?”

  “Yes, misleading hyperbole.” He rested the cigar in the ashtray on the table and leaned forward, giving her his full attention with a smile. “Anyway, tell me what brings you onto the Odin this morning. Your visit is quite unprecedented.”

  “I was wondering if you would like for me to go to Rosebriar Manor and close up the house for the year? Mother has mentioned that we won’t be traveling south to winter retreat, and I know how busy you are. With Mr. Beck having been conscripted, no one is there to oversee the details.”

  She noted how her father examined her every movement and expression over the rim of his china cup and in response she promptly flattened her hands upon her knees to keep from fidgeting.

  “Frankly, the weather has cooled too quickly for me and I’d like to warm a bit in the Florida sun. May I go, Father?”

  “And how will you travel?”

  “I was hoping that you could secure a private sleeping compartment, or at the very least a berth for me, aboard the Orange Blossom Special. I know it’s last minute, but I’d like to leave as soon as possible, within the week.”

  “I don’t believe the Special will begin running their all-Pullman accommodations for the winter season now that they have been pressed into troop transport. However, if that is your wish … well, then, I am only too happy to please you. I shall telephone their president this afternoon to see if he can accommodate both legs of your trip to Sarasota.”

  Lizzy beamed, resisting the urge to clap her hands with childlike glee. “Really? Thank you, Father! Thank you.”

  He tilted his head, examining her as though she were a curious creature. “I’m impressed by your desire to embrace household affairs. It does my heart good to see your understanding of a woman’s role.”

  “I’m keen to do it,” she lied, choosing not to be baited into that discussion.

  Puffing his chest slightly as though Odin himself he said, “On one condition.”

  The smile slowly receded from her face. “Yes?”

  Renner stood and moved to turn the radio off. “I have had a
request for your hand in marriage, and I would like for you to consider it during your holiday.”

  “Marriage? To whom?”

  “George Gebhardt. I believe he would make an excellent husband to you, and he has the means to keep you in the lap of luxury you are accustomed to. His future is bright, and he hopes for a large family.” With eyes narrowed, he seemed to stare her down. “Will you think on it?”

  Her need to see Will outweighed the lie as it left her lips. “Yes.”

  She would no more consider having George Gebhardt’s children (let alone marrying such a smarmy wolf) than she would a Nazi, and, in her opinion, they had merged to become one in the same.

  Renner reached into his vest pocket, pulling his gold watch into his fleshy palm. Flipping open the engraved lid, he checked the time, its accuracy assured. A railroad man lived by his watch, though most couldn’t boast of solid gold heirlooms. Another quick click signaled to Lizzy it was time for her to leave. Acknowledging her dismissal, she stood then dutifully presented her cheek for his kiss.

  “Thank you, Daughter.”

  Understanding acutely his game of “you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours,” she nodded then pivoted back before leaving. “May I also ask—with your and Aunt Helga’s approval—if Kitty could holiday with her while I am gone? She could use a change of scenery, too. I promise not to burden anyone with the details. I will work it all out myself. Lillian has already agreed to an ambulance transport and a full time nurse from the ARC.”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, that all sounds fine. Finally, my disappointing daughter is making good use of her foolishness.” He tsked. “Lillian should have thought more carefully on her decision to join the war effort …”

  Lizzy cut his train of thought off with a hasty, “Thank you again, Father.” She opened the cabin door and exited into the cold, accidentally barreling into George Gebhardt on the opposite side of the threshold. He grabbed her upper arm to keep her from falling.