by Cat Gardiner
She kissed his back. “Where do you go after Drane?”
“Hmm, well I’m not sure, but the air echelon will fly to a stateside airbase for our aerial embarkation to either Africa or Europe. My guess is that we’ll be back at MacDill. We could be there anywhere from a few weeks to a couple of months. What does that have to do with my birthday gift?”
“I invited your parents to stay at Rosebriar until your departure. They arrive tomorrow afternoon on the Silver Meteor. I purchased their sleeper berth tickets for them and …”
Will turned his head with a sudden snap of disbelief. “My parents? Here?” He beamed.
“Yes, that’s swell right?”
He scooped her into his embrace, laughing almost giddy, feeling as though this day couldn’t get any better. “That is more than swell! Thank you!” Elated, his kiss was strong and purposeful against that luscious, pliable mouth he loved so much. He loved every single thing that came from it.
“G-d, you’re incredible, Lizzy. You did that for me? I’m the happiest man alive.”
“Of course. I know how close you are with them and what it would mean to you to have them see you off and well, in truth, I did it for me, too. I wanted to know your family and I knew with you leaving soon, there wouldn’t be another opportunity until your return.”
“I wish you could stay longer. Spend more time with us as a family than just having tomorrow.”
“Me, too, but I made a promise to my father. Kitty will be returning home in a few days, and I need to be there for her. I just hope you can spend some special memorable time with your mother and father.”
“I’ll see if I can get myself a few passes so I can.” He removed the apron and handed her a fine china dish filled with toast, fried eggs, and cheese. They sat across from one another at the marble top table.
“Thank you for bringing them to Florida and inviting them to stay at Rosebriar.”
She grinned followed by a pleased “You’re welcome,” before popping a piece of toast in her mouth, chewing in a rather self-satisfied fashion with her chin held high.
“Are you going to tell me how you came to know about my Judaism? Was it Lillian?”
“Lillian? G-d no. She keeps secrets like an iron vault. She’d never tell another’s business. I just know, that’s all.” Shrugging a shoulder, clearly unwilling to discuss it with him, she dug into her eggs with sidestepping gusto. “This is good. I should give Mrs. Davis the recipe. It would be great with a piece of ham.”
“The traditional Dutch dish calls for ham, but Jews don’t eat dairy and meat together, let alone pork of any kind, but that aside, Lizzy, you’re avoiding my question. You don’t want to discuss how you came to know my faith, because…”
“Because, I’m happy and so are you and it’s not a discussion for this perfect moment. I’m not keen on ruining this time we have together with thoughts of war and what’s going on in Europe. I’m tired of hearing from everyone’s lips, ‘There is a war on’. Not this weekend, not after what we shared and how we feel right now.”
“We can’t escape it. What’s going on in Europe and the Pacific can and will come here. Even President Roosevelt warned us of the Fifth Column. The saboteurs in California, New York, and Florida are prime examples. If we turn a blind eye to the atrocities going on elsewhere, then we’re doomed to the same fate. Pearl Harbor was an ideal example of that. Look at what the Japanese have done to the Chinese.”
“Will, I don’t know anything about that. Nor do I want to. I’m tired of it all.” She reached across the cold marble and took his hand in hers. “Can’t we, please, just pretend, just for the weekend? Pretend that you don’t fly a bomber they call the Widowmaker, and that I won’t be going home to a sister who, I think, just may be a Nazi sympathizer or a fascist who believes in the horrid ideology of eugenics.”
“Ah, so that’s what you meant in your letters, and why you’ve been so unwilling to discuss it these three weeks.” He sighed. “As much as I wish we could—we can’t pretend. My family and others like us pretend to be something we are not. Mother has done so since 1914, living as a Christian, hiding her true faith in fear of being victimized by vicious government pogroms and antisemitism. What’s the point?—they’ll find us anyway and here we have denied ourselves living our religion proudly and openly. Further, it is no way to honor those who have—and are currently—dying for that same faith all over the world.”
Lizzy stared blankly down at her eggs.
“Lizzy?”
“Very well, if you insist. I know because I met Bethsabee de Rothschild in the city two days before I traveled on the Orange Blossom. She told me what happened in Paris, and I inquired about your family and why you hadn’t heard from them since July.”
He sat back in his chair, his expression turning dour. “And what did she say? What has happened in Paris?”
She turned her head and folded her arms across her chest, looking out the window at the colorful rose garden. “It’s such a wonderful evening. Please, Will, don’t make me talk of such things and ruin the swell memories we have made.”
“It’s okay to tell me. I have my suspicions, anyway.”
Her lip trembled when she reached over to take his hand again. “I can’t.”
The pleading yet stern expression he offered said everything.
“She said that … that … your family has sold diamonds to the de Rothschilds for years. That’s when she told me that the DeVrieses are Jewish.”
“Yes, that’s true but you’re avoiding my other question. You know what I mean.”
With sudden sobering maturity, she spoke as quietly as possible. “This is so hard. She explained that in July the French police rounded up Jews for deportation and that your family may either be in hiding or sent … to … to a camp. People were put on cattle cars. That can’t be true!”
His heart clenched. Not as intrepid as he thought, he hung his head, expelling a deep breath and squeezing Lizzy’s hand in his. He fought the tears welling in his eyes then slowly withdrew his hand to wipe his face, covering it for long seconds of silent agony.
“G-d no. Good G-d no.” Finally, he looked away from her and stared blankly out the window, covering his mouth with spread fingers, a cold perspiration forming upon his brow. “My G-d; it is true.”
Lizzy rose from her seat and knelt beside him, reaching round to hold him as best she could. “I’m so sorry, Will. I’m so sorry to tell you this. She promised to write me of news and try to find out about your aunt and grandfather. Perhaps they are safe in hiding. Perhaps they left Paris beforehand. Maybe there is a letter with good news awaiting my arrival home.”
His heart broke, and his ears hurt upon hearing the word “deportation”. He shut pained eyes for a few seconds, then looked at Lizzy with a hard swallow, as he pushed down the misery, summoning the hardboiled Army flier he had become to fly the B-26. “How will I tell my mother? What will I tell my family?”
She reacted, rising upward with an immediate, strengthened embrace, his cheek pressed against hers. “You won’t tell them anything. You can’t. You would strip them of hope that they are alive and feed the fear that those Nazis could come here.”
“My mother already fears that.” He sat back and with somber declaration cupped his sensitive girl’s cheek, locking his eyes with her, hoping she would fully construe his intimations. “They are here and closer than you might even think. There is only a fractional difference between believing as a sympathizer and participating as a collaborator. It takes only the smallest of deeds to facilitate evil. You need to be mindful and look for those actions and words from both your sister and father that may point to the latter.”
Will could tell that a chill ran up Lizzy’s spine by the way she seemed to recoil from his words, but he had written to her that they needed to talk about the things she discovered in the Meercrest library and Ingrid’s bedroom. They just hadn’t had the opportunity until now, but it was clear she had already considered these same n
otions—at least concerning her bigoted sister.
Reaching for her hand, he pulled her upon his lap. They hugged one another, and he rested his head against her shoulder as she kissed his head.
“Hold me, baby. Just hold me,” he said in just a whisper.
~~*~~
Twenty-Five
The Sheik of Araby
November 2, 1942
Unlike the speedy Orange Blossom, the Advanced Silver Meteor streamliner train arrived at Pennsylvania Station behind schedule from Florida. This delay was almost expected since the Office of Defense Transportation began moving over one million men a month. The institution of the East Coast’s ration on gas and rubber put usage of public transportation at an all-time high, causing every “chair-car” coach seat to be coveted and filled. Between Lizzy’s disdain of train travel, coupled with leaving her heart at Drane Field, the delays only made the thirty hour trek north all the more unbearable.
She hated to leave so early but that was the deal she made with both her father and Aunt Helga. Lizzy Renner might seem flighty or flippant to some, but her word was her word. She would never break her promise to anyone especially when it involved Kitty’s care. Moreover, with the arrival of Will’s parents at Rosebriar the day prior to her departure, she acknowledged that the time he spent with his family was more important for his morale than anything else. He needed their supportive, loving send off, and as much as she wished she could visit with them as part of the Martel family, she had made promises to her own family to stay away no longer than three weeks.
There were tears though at her farewell. She couldn’t help sobbing like a baby knowing this was the last time she would see Will before his departure. They spoke tender promises, both vowing with certainty that after the war, they would be together. Their romantic rendezvous, whenever he could steal away with a pass, had left her confident that unbounded love, uniting them on so many levels, would follow him into battle. She held no regrets whatsoever for going all the way and giving herself to him completely. The time together and that act had sealed their commitment to one another. Like the swans on Lake Mirror, they had mated for life and what a mating it was—all three times. Yowza.
Walking below the great arched glass roof of the station’s grand concourse, she glanced upward noting the diminished daylight beyond. Hovering storm clouds in the late afternoon sky were promising winter rain on the Big Apple. Lizzy’s thoughts traveled to the social season calendar and the many Gold Coasters who would not be traveling to Florida. With a wry smile, she mused how infuriated her father would be to know that the Martels were vacationing in Rosebriar’s guesthouse until Will’s imminent embarkation for who knew where. People of the day-to-day working class were not and never would be welcome in any capacity other than as servants at any Renner home. Keeping her word was one thing, but no one ever said she wasn’t proficient at subterfuge and willful disobedience. Ingrid, in particular, would have quite a lot to say given her obvious antisemitism. Now that Will had confided his religion, Lizzy was sure that, if divulged, quite a bit would be said about that. All of it was of no consequence, however. She would remain steadfast and true to Will. No one would know and certainly not from her lips. Repeating her usual mantra in the back of her head, I’ll take that secret to the grave, she nodded distinctly, confirming to herself the resolute commitment.
Gripping her small suitcase, she navigated through the crowds of servicemen, many of whom had arrived most likely for rest and recreation or for their embarkation following their stay at Last Stop U.S.A. A few of them could very well be with the 322nd Bomb Group’s ground echelon now that they had left Florida. She tried not to pay attention to the wolfish whistles and stares, remaining focused on the stairwell ahead leading up to 33rd Street, intent on hailing a checkered cab to take her across town. She was just another weary traveler in the city that never slept in spite of the new dim out restrictions. A wrinkled mess and ready to dim out herself, her unscheduled destination was Greystone Mansion in Murray Hill, a hot bubble bath, and a snifter of her father’s cognac. It was too late to travel back to the Island and, frankly, another train ride would be the death of her. Hopefully, the aged head housekeeper, Mrs. Albrecht, would still be at the townhouse to see to her needs.
Through the center archway, Lizzy exited out onto the darkened street where the tops of skyscrapers disappeared into the cloud cover. A long row of parked taxicabs sat at the curb waiting for fares, and Lizzy felt drawn to the colorful green cab catching her eye in contrast to the bland looking others. Her lips curled into a pleasant smile at the surprise of a woman exiting from the driver’s side to take her suitcase.
“Where ya’ headed?” The cabbie asked, smacking her chewing gum in hardboiled fashion, as though attempting to conceal her gender. She wore uniform trousers and a pea coat. Her hair was buried under a black cap, but Lizzy could still tell she was a woman, and thought it pretty swell that she had braved to enter into this man’s world.
“Can you take me to Murray Hill? 233 Madison Avenue.”
“That’s Greystone Mansion, right?”
“How did you know?”
“Toots, I know this city like the back of my hand. Why, this summer I had a guaranteed fare to that ritzy place twice a week.”
Lizzy climbed into the taxi and removed her gloves, warming her hands against one another in a fast rub. She furrowed her brow, wondering who on earth would visit Greystone from Pennsylvania Station. Immediately, she recalled Will’s encouragement to “dig deeper” into his suspicions about her father’s supposed actions.
“Twice a week you say?”
The taxi eased into the busy thoroughfare, and the cabbie spoke while navigating the crush. “Like pennies from heaven … up until three weeks ago. I had it down to a science, sitting here waiting every Wednesday and Friday at nine-fifteen in the morning for my fare to exit from the station.”
“Really? Always the same person? Is it a short, chubby man with grey hair and a mustache?”
“No, Miss. Some highfalutin’ dame: blonde, tall, and dressed to the nines. Like you, dripping with greenbacks. I figure, she was meeting up with her sugar daddy.”
Lizzy started to cough and promptly removed a handkerchief from her purse to cover her mouth. That last remark was unexpected. She didn’t think she dressed so hoity-toity, and at once touched the fur collar surrounding her neck. Perhaps it was Mother who hired this cab? That speculation was promptly dismissed acknowledging that she would never take the railroad into Manhattan. Never with a capital N and certainly not twice a week. Where would she keep her Gordon’s gin?
“I’m sorry, Miss, I didn’t mean to imply …”
Horns blared from the congested traffic on Seventh Avenue and Herald Square. Lizzy watched Macy’s department store become shrouded in darkness as one after the next, each display window light dimmed.
“That’s all right. Can you tell me anything more about this woman?”
“She never smiles. In my book, that just ain’t right, but I suppose everyone has someone shippin’ out these days and that’s enough to make any woman melancholy.”
“Hmm, yes. I suppose so.” Lizzy continued to stare deep in thought out the cab window. Sudden raindrops splattered the glass in long streaks, blurring her vision. Her musing drifted to her Agatha Christie novels and how they always inspired her to play detective—even if the discoveries of late had produced horrific incriminating evidence where her sister was concerned. Perhaps it’s Ingrid traveling to Greystone? No, she wouldn’t be caught dead in a taxicab. Greta? No, why would she need to see her father? Well, she is a golddigger. Maybe it was Mrs. Robertsen en route to one of those “slenderizing salons” she spoke of at the Memorial Day lawn party. No, No. I’m too tired to think of this, not tonight.
Long minutes of speculation had passed when the cab pulled up to the curb directly in front of Greystone. It looked dark and menacing as it always did to Lizzy’s happy spirit. Its five-story, stone edifice reminded her of an o
ld world castle, a place she never liked to stay, even with its magnificent artwork and décor. Nothing like Meercrest with its palatial grounds of gardens, fountains, and the view of the Sound, she hardly came here.
“That’ll be one dollar, Miss.”
With thanks, Lizzy paid the woman, making sure to give her a generous tip. She grasped the handle of the suitcase and exited the taxi.
She stood in the drizzling rain, unperturbed by the precipitation, protected by the brim of her Stetson. In fact, she was more disturbed by the conversation about the frequent visitor—a possible mistress, she considered. From her position on the curb, no interior light was visible from the dark grey exterior of the mansion, and she wondered if her father was on the Island, which would be fine by her—a relaxing bath in a house without the ever-present Mr. Gebhardt was surely more appealing than the alternative. Father’s absence would also put off the inevitable conversation about said creep that she was sure would be forthcoming.
The front door opened without a sound into the darkened grand foyer and judging from the narrow beam of light casting into the hallway from behind the stairwell, she assumed that Mrs. Albrecht was still preparing the house for the evening. A glowing sliver of orange light breached the narrow aperture of her father’s study door, ajar only a mere inch or two. A woman’s low laughter assaulted her through the crack—and it wasn’t followed by the usual hiccup at its end. Lizzy resisted calling out. Instead, she silently removed her coat, draping it over the end of the stair’s handrail. Prompted by the fiction-inspired detective in her, she followed the light with tiptoeing footsteps. From behind the door, she heard muffled voices of non-discernible conversation. Some she thought to be German. The woman cooed in a familiar tone, sounds of passion and ecstasy, sounds she had recently made herself when in Will’s arms.