"No. She passed away years ago."
Elizabeth had no memory of three of her four grandparents. Erich's father and both of Ella's parents had died in Austria before the end of World War II. She had memories only of Gertrude Wagner – and most of those were not positive.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Elizabeth said.
"I believe you would have liked her," Ella said. "You have much in common."
Elizabeth nodded but did not reply. She instead lowered Lizzie to the floor and instructed her to walk to her mother. She smiled when the girl did just that.
"You see? She just needed encouragement," Elizabeth said.
Elizabeth thought of the word "encouragement" as Ella put Lizzie on her lap and started to feed the child. She remembered the many times she had wanted encouragement growing up but had not received it – at least for certain things.
Erich and Ella had not pushed Elizabeth to reach her full potential. They had encouraged piano lessons, choir, and class plays but not tuba lessons, golf, and tennis. They had wanted their daughter to have an education much like their own.
"I have a question for both of you," Elizabeth said.
Erich sat up.
"Please ask."
"What do you want Lizzie to do when she gets older?"
"What do you mean?" Erich asked.
"What activities do you want her to participate in? Music? Drama? Sports? Debate?"
"I suppose music and drama," Erich replied. "That is what Ella and I did in Austria. They were pleasant diversions from our studies."
"I see," Elizabeth said.
"Why do you ask?"
"I'm just curious. I know that Lizzie may have opportunities here that you did not have and want to know if you have given much thought to those opportunities."
"I have not," Erich said. "Do you have any suggestions?"
"I don't now, but I might later."
"Then inform me when you think of them."
"I will," Elizabeth said. She got up from her chair. "Please excuse me."
Elizabeth started toward the bathroom but didn't get far before she experienced a tightening in her chest and a shortness of breath. She paused, put a hand on her chest, and turned to face her hosts. Both looked at her like worried parents.
"Are you all right?" Ella asked.
Elizabeth felt her strength return.
"I'm all right. I just had a senior moment."
"A what?"
"I had a reminder from God that I'm seventy-nine years old," Elizabeth said. She took a deep breath. "I'll be fine."
CHAPTER 57: SUSAN
Asbury Park, New Jersey – Saturday, May 20, 1939
Prior to stepping into Geoffrey Bell's time tunnel, the closest Susan had come to Asbury Park was the weathered cover of a Bruce Springsteen album she had purchased at a garage sale. For a quarter she had picked up a piece of pop art that became the main attraction in her dorm-room art gallery at Northwestern.
She thought about the postcard-like album cover as she strolled arm-in-arm with Jack Hicks on a four-year-old boardwalk. As much as she loved seeing Asbury Park in art, she loved seeing it in person even better.
"Thank you for bringing me here," Susan said.
"Thank you for coming," Jack replied. "I wasn't sure you would."
"Why do you say that?"
"I say it because you've seemed distracted lately. I figured you might have more important matters to attend to."
Susan winced. She had been distracted. She had focused more on Elizabeth's dizzy spells, Amanda's social life, and even the World's Fair than on the one person in Princeton who had given her his undivided attention.
"I guess I have been distracted," Susan said. "I'm sorry."
"You're here now," Jack replied. "That's all that matters."
Susan scanned her surroundings and soaked up the sights. To her right, she saw restaurants, amusements, and shops that catered to every taste. To her left, she saw vendors, sunbathers, and a white sandy beach that matched any in the state.
She also saw the ocean. Susan didn't care whether the ocean was the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Mediterranean, or the Caribbean. Water was water. She loved it all.
"Kurt Schmidt told me there's an ice cream shop here we have to try," Susan said.
"He's right. It's in Ocean Grove, about a mile down the road, but it's worth a visit. If you want, we can go there later."
"I'd like that."
"How is Kurt?" Jack asked. "You haven't mentioned him lately."
"That's because I haven't seen him lately," Susan said. "Amanda usually goes to his place. He has an apartment on Moore Street."
"Their friendship sounds serious."
"It is."
"Is that a concern?" Jack asked.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Susan sighed. She knew there were few ways she could answer the question without inviting unwanted scrutiny. She tightened her hold on Jack's arm and paused a moment before speaking.
"I'm still troubled by Kurt's family ties," Susan said. "He's a pleasant young man who has shown me nothing but courtesy and respect, but he comes from a very different background."
"Is that all?"
"No," Susan said. She looked at Jack. "I'm also thinking about our pending departure. I'm concerned that my daughter is starting something she can't finish."
"I see," Jack said. "Are you also concerned that you are starting something you can't finish?"
Susan smiled sadly.
"I suppose I am."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Yes. I do," Susan said. "Let's find a place to sit though. My feet are killing me."
"How about there?" Jack asked.
He pointed to a bench at the edge of the boardwalk. It faced a steel pipe fence, the beach, and a relatively tranquil stretch of the Atlantic.
"That would be perfect," Susan said.
Jack escorted Susan to the bench and sat down beside her. He extended his arm around his companion's shoulders and gazed at the ocean but did not say anything until a brown-and-white bird flew twice around the bench and finally settled on a log about twenty yards away.
"Do you see that bird over there?" Jack asked. "The one on the log?"
"I do."
"It's a sooty shearwater. It's one of several species of seabirds that migrates from the Southern Hemisphere to the Northern Hemisphere and back each year."
"That's interesting," Susan said.
"The reason I mention the bird is because it's mobile and adaptable. It doesn't hang a shingle in a single location," Jack said. "It finds contentment in many places. Home for the shearwater is wherever it happens to be."
Susan smiled. She could see where Jack was going even before the bird flew off the log and headed north for points unknown.
"People aren't birds, Jack. They don't migrate several thousand miles a year."
"I suppose they don't. They do move around, though, and some find happiness in the unlikeliest of places."
"I'm sure they do," Susan said.
"I believe you could be one of those people if you just give it a try."
"I'm sure I could. I'm sure I could find happiness in a lot of places."
"Then why won't you?" Jack asked. "Why won't you consider staying in Princeton?"
Susan sighed. For the first time since stepping into the 1930s, she was tempted to tell a resident of the time the truth about who she was and where she had come from.
"I won't because I can't," Susan said. "I know that's not a great answer, but it's the best I can give you now."
Jack smiled.
"Mrs. Peterson, you are indeed a woman of mystery."
"Is that a good thing?"
"It's not a bad thing," Jack said. "It's more of a frustrating thing."
"Does that mean you're going to keep me?"
Jack nodded and pulled Susan close. He kissed the top of her head.
"It does. It would take more than a mystery to drive me away."
> CHAPTER 58: AMANDA
Princeton, New Jersey – Wednesday, May 24, 1939
Amanda turned the doorknob and smiled when she heard a click. She did not believe Kurt when he had told her that he kept his apartment unlocked, but she did now. She liked that he had told the truth. She liked that he trusted her.
Kurt had sent Amanda to Moore Street after she had paid an unexpected visit to the Nassau Institute. He had promised to join her after completing a press release that could not wait.
Amanda walked into the one-bedroom apartment, which she had visited at least a dozen times, and moved quickly toward the kitchen. She pulled a glass from the cupboard, filled it with tap water, and then sat in one of four padded chairs at Kurt's dining table.
She glanced at the tabletop and saw two things of interest: a short stack of newspapers and a shorter stack of mail. She started with the newspapers. What better way to kill time, she thought, than to read last week's news today?
Amanda found the headlines intriguing, inspiring, and depressing. Spain had left the League of Nations. A five-year-old girl in Peru had given birth to a boy. Pan-American Airways had begun transatlantic mail service. Germany and Italy had signed the Pact of Steel.
She moved on to the mail and noticed two bills, a letter from the German embassy, and a letter from a familiar address in Georgetown. She wanted to know the contents of the letters but not enough to break their seals. She held the second letter, from Kurt's mother, up to the ceiling light and examined it until she heard a male clear his throat.
"Find anything interesting?"
Amanda dropped the letter and looked to her left. She saw Karl Schmidt standing in the doorway that separated the kitchen and the living room.
"What are you doing here?" Amanda asked.
"Perhaps I should ask you that question," Karl said.
"Kurt sent me here. Did he send you?"
Karl shook his head.
"No. I'm paying him a surprise visit."
"Do you often pay him surprise visits?" Amanda asked.
Karl stared at Amanda.
"Do you often ask a lot of questions?"
"Yes. I do," Amanda said. "It's my nature to ask questions."
Karl smirked and walked across the kitchen to the table. He pulled up a chair, opposite Amanda, and made himself comfortable.
"Then perhaps you should ask," Karl said. "I'm sure you have many questions for me."
"I think I should leave," Amanda said.
She got out of her chair, pushed it away from the table, and grabbed her purse. She started to depart but stopped when Karl spoke again in a softer voice.
"Please stay. I insist."
Amanda paused to consider her options. She could stay and spar with the Nazi. Or she could leave and save herself a lot of grief. She decided to stay.
"All right. I'll stay," Amanda said. "If you want to answer questions, I'll ask them."
Karl extended a hand and invited her to reoccupy her chair.
"Please sit."
Amanda sat in her chair, scooted up to the table, and glared at Karl. She tapped her fingers on the tabletop for a moment as she considered where to begin. She finally decided to start with a question that had been on her mind for weeks.
"I know one thing I'd like to ask you," Amanda said.
"What's that?" Karl asked.
"How did you become you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean how did you turn out to be different? You and Kurt are twins. You had the same parents, friends, and interests growing up. You grew up in the same towns and attended the same schools. How did you become a Nazi and Kurt a thoughtful, caring, freedom-loving man? How did that happen? Tell me."
Karl chuckled.
"You really despise me, don't you?"
Amanda nodded matter-of-factly.
"Yes, Karl. I do. I despise you and everything you stand for."
Karl sighed.
"Fair enough. If you want an answer, I'll give you one. You are right about one thing. My brother and I did have a lot in common growing up. We still do. The difference is that when it came time to leave home and see the world, Kurt stayed home, and I saw the world."
"You moved to a fascist state," Amanda said. "That's hardly seeing the world."
Karl leaned forward.
"When my family left Berlin seventeen years ago, Germany was a nation in ruins. The inflation rate was three million percent. Women sold their children in alleys. Men pushed wheelbarrows full of worthless currency to stores to buy a single loaf of bread. Germans were dispirited, humiliated, and hopeless. They had no hope because American, British, and French politicians chose to punish their country rather than rebuild it. When I returned to Berlin five years ago, things were different. Germany was different. People had jobs and purposes. They had pride. They had hope. Remember that the next time you call Germany a 'fascist' state."
Amanda took a breath and dug in.
"None of that excuses the excesses. Hitler has done more than create jobs. He has violated the rights of an entire nation. He has persecuted minorities, crushed dissent, and brought out the absolute worst in his people. His rhetoric alone is sickening. He's evil."
"Evil, huh?" Karl asked. "Is Hitler any worse than a president who restricts commerce, goes after his opponents, and tries to make himself king by packing the Supreme Court?"
"Yes. He is," Amanda said. "He's a lot worse. When Roosevelt restricts commerce, he does so with our consent. When he tries to pack the court, he follows the law. When he 'goes after' his 'opponents,' he criticizes them in the papers. He does not round them up, put them in camps, and kill them with gas."
"Camps? Gas? What are you talking about?"
Amanda kicked herself. She had done it again. She had revealed a fact known only to a few. Most of the world would not learn of the Holocaust until the liberation of Europe in 1945.
"Never mind," Amanda said.
"No," Karl replied. "I want to know. Where did you hear of these 'camps'?"
"I just heard about them. OK?"
"I see. Is your source the same one that told you Franco would capture Madrid a day before he did? If so, I'd like to meet him."
Amanda stood up.
"I'm leaving."
"Sit down!" Karl said. "We're not done."
"Yes, we are."
"Please sit. You may want to hear what I have to say."
Amanda slowly returned to her chair.
"Say your piece and leave," Amanda said.
"I'd be happy to."
Karl stared at Amanda for a moment but did not speak. He apparently wanted to size her up before going in for the kill.
"Well?" Amanda asked.
Karl flashed a smug smile.
"Do you know what I did last week?"
"No."
"I checked you out, that's what," Karl said. "I contacted the University of Illinois and learned that no one named Amanda Peterson attends the school. No one named Amanda Peterson has ever attended the school. Shall I tell my brother that you lied? Shall I tell him that the woman he loves is a fraud?"
Amanda sank in her chair as she digested the disturbing information. She pondered her options, concluded she had just one, and stood up.
"Tell him what you want. I don't care."
"You do care though. You do," Karl said. "You love my brother as much as he loves you. I can see it in your eyes."
"You can't see a thing," Amanda said. "You don't know anything about me."
"Tell me how you learned about Franco and these camps, and I'll leave you alone," Karl said. "I'll leave your life forever."
Amanda pushed her chair back, collected her purse, and stepped away from the table. She stopped in the middle of the kitchen, turned around, and stared at her tormentor.
"I would rather sacrifice a relationship than tell you a thing," Amanda said.
Karl got up.
"Don't go."
"Sit, Karl. Sit and stew in your hatred," Amanda said. "You thi
nk you have the answers, but you don't. You never will either."
"Amanda?"
"You've cast your lot with the wrong people. This won't end well for you."
Amanda gazed at Karl for a few more seconds and turned around. She left the apartment on Moore Street and hoped she would never see him again.
CHAPTER 59: AMANDA
Tuesday, May 30, 1939
Amanda watched with awe as the single scull emerged from under the Harrison Street Bridge and headed into a smooth, uncluttered expanse of Lake Carnegie. The rower moved as quietly, rhythmically, and gracefully as a synchronized swimmer and with as much determination as a water bug stretching its legs on a pleasant spring morning.
"Do you think he's a member of the crew team?" Amanda asked.
Kurt nodded.
"He wouldn't be out this early if he wasn't," Kurt said. "The casual rowers are still sleeping."
"I guess that makes sense. It is a holiday."
Amanda looked at Kurt, who stood next to her on the bridge, and then gazed again at the still gray water. She couldn't see the rower. He had disappeared into a thick patch of fog that covered much of the lake like a soft white blanket.
"Are you ever going to tell me what happened at the apartment?" Kurt asked.
"Hasn't Karl filled you in?"
"No. He told me only that you're not who you say you are."
"He's right about that," Amanda said.
Kurt turned to face Amanda. When she turned to face him, he put his hands on her shoulders, looked her in the eyes, and lowered his head.
"I don't know what that means," Kurt said. "Have you lied to me?"
"I have," Amanda said. "I've lied about a lot of things."
"I don't understand."
"I haven't told you the truth about who I am, where I come from, and why I need to leave Princeton – and you – in a few months."
"You're not from Chicago?" Kurt asked.
"Oh, I am. I'm just not from the Chicago you know."
"That makes no sense to me."
"I know it doesn't," Amanda said. "I wish I could tell you more, but I can't. I can't because of promises I made to my family and to a man who sent us here."
"Does Karl know these secrets you won't tell me?" Kurt asked.
Mercer Street (American Journey Book 2) Page 27