Mercer Street (American Journey Book 2)

by John A. Heldt

  "No."

  Dot turned away as tears filled her own eyes.

  "Well, that just stinks."

  "I know," Amanda said.

  "Look at me," Dot said. "You've reduced me to a blubbering mess."

  Amanda laughed through tears.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

  "Give me a hug," Dot said.

  "All right."

  Amanda gave Dot a long, soft embrace. She felt her friend tremble.

  A few seconds later, Dot pulled back, studied Amanda's face, and shook her head. She smiled sadly, leaned forward, and handed out a hug of her own.

  "I love you, Amanda," Dot whispered.

  "Ditto."

  "I mean it. You're the best friend I've ever had."

  "Ditto again," Amanda said.

  The two women separated. They smiled and stared at each other with watery eyes until Roy faked a cough and interrupted.

  "Can I get in on this love fest?" Roy asked.

  The time traveler laughed.

  "Of course," Amanda said. She hugged Roy. "Take care of my buddy."

  "I will," Roy said.

  Amanda gazed again at Dot.

  "I should let you go."

  "I suppose," Dot said.

  Amanda took her best friend's hand.

  "Have an awesome life, Dot," Amanda said. She sighed. "Find yourself a parachute and take some leaps. I'll be waiting for you at the bottom."

  Amanda released Dot's hand and stepped back.

  "Goodbye."

  CHAPTER 84: AMANDA

  Sunday, September 10, 1939

  If there was one thing Amanda Peterson had learned about Princeton students, it was that they liked bargains. Never mind that many came from some of the wealthiest families in the United States. They liked bargains. So when she placed an ad in the paper announcing that a family on Mercer Street was selling ten-month-old beds, tables, sofas, chairs, and kitchenware at fire-sale prices, she knew she would get a positive response.

  Amanda waved as two bargain hunters, physics students named Todd and Nelson, carried her bed, the last piece of furniture in the house, out the front door. She opened a shoebox, grabbed a stack of assorted bills, and walked into a barren kitchen just as her mother set aside a broom.

  "That's it," Amanda said. "I sold the last bed."

  "Where's the money?" Susan asked.

  Amanda lifted her hand and displayed the proceeds from the moving sale.

  "It's right here. Take it."

  She handed the cash to her mother.

  "How much did we make?" Susan asked.

  "We made at least a hundred dollars," Amanda said.

  "That's good. We'll need every one."

  "Are we cutting it that close?"

  Susan nodded.

  "I have fifty dollars in my purse. That's all we had left in our savings account."

  "Then I guess it's a good thing we're leaving," Amanda said.

  "I guess it is."

  Amanda looked at her mother and saw a shell of a woman. Susan Peterson had said little and done even less since breaking up with Jack Hicks. She had wandered around the rental house all weekend like a lovesick zombie, a person who had forgotten simply how to function.

  "Are you all right?" Amanda asked.

  "I'm all right," Susan said. "I just needed a couple of days to get my bearings."

  "You just seem so sad."

  "I am sad, honey. I am sad."

  "Then why did you break up with Jack?" Amanda asked.

  "I did it because I thought it was the right thing to do," Susan replied.

  "Making yourself miserable is rarely the right thing to do."

  Susan smiled sadly.

  "I suppose not."

  "You can still accept his proposal, Mom. It's not too late."

  Susan reached forward and cradled Amanda's face. She gently pushed back her hair and gazed lovingly at a daughter who had grown much wiser in the past year.

  "It is for me," Susan said. "Someday I'll tell you why I did what I did. In the meantime, let's get ready to go. We still have a long trip ahead of us."

  "OK," Amanda said. "What do you want me to do?"

  "Take all the suitcases out to the front lawn. The cab driver will come to pick us up in about twenty minutes."

  "All right. I'll be out front."

  Amanda walked out of the kitchen and dining area and into the living room. She grabbed two bags, carried them out the front door, and placed them on the lawn next to the curb.

  She repeated the process two more times. When she was done, she pulled out three of the suitcases, stacked them on top of each other, and made a chair. She figured that if she was going to sit and wait for a cab, then she might as well make herself comfortable.

  Amanda gazed across the street at the house she considered a second home. She didn't see any activity through the windows, but she didn't expect to. She knew that Erich, Ella, and Lizzie had gone to Mass and wouldn't return until at least one or two. They usually spent most of their Sundays at church or at some church-related function.

  She already missed the family. She missed Lizzie most of all. The bubbly toddler was the best sales pitch for motherhood she had ever seen.

  Amanda looked to her right, toward the south, and gazed at a block that seemed unusually quiet and peaceful even for a Sunday morning. She wondered what Mercer Street would look like in a few years. She knew it was only a matter of time before a world war and a postwar boom transformed this tranquil neighborhood.

  Then Amanda looked to her left, toward the campus, and saw a ghost. Blond, handsome, and six feet tall, he walked with the gait of a man she had once loved, a man who had broken her heart and betrayed his adopted country. She stared at the ghost and froze as he approached a house she had thought he would never see again.

  "Stay away from me," Amanda said. "Don't come any closer."

  "What's the matter?" Kurt Schmidt asked. "Don't you want to see me?"

  Amanda flew off her suitcase chair.

  "No! I don't. I don't want to see you!"

  "Why?"

  "Why? Why? I'll tell you why," Amanda said. "I don't want to see you because you're a Nazi spy, Mr. Schmidt, and a liar. You're an enemy to my country and a vile human being."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "You don't, huh? Well, I'll show you."

  Amanda returned to the suitcases. As she opened the bag on top, she glanced at the house and saw her family standing in the doorway. Susan and Elizabeth had no doubt heard the shouting.

  Amanda tore through the suitcase and threw clothes and other belongings on the lawn until she found a large manila envelope. The envelope contained dozens of letters – handwritten reminders that even kind, courteous, soft-spoken men could not be trusted.

  Amanda opened the envelope and retrieved a few letters. She looked again at Susan and Elizabeth, noted their troubled expressions, and turned to face Hitler's spawn. She waved the letters in his face.

  "You see these, mister? I found them in your bedroom," Amanda said. "Yeah, that's right. I found more than boxes in the closet. I found proof that you've been a very busy boy."

  "I can explain," Kurt said.

  "You can explain? Really? Can you explain your lies?"

  "I didn't lie to you, Amanda."

  "Oh, yes, you did," Amanda said. "You said you hadn't corresponded with Karl in two years. Well, I have a dozen letters that say otherwise."

  "They mean nothing."

  "Is that why you locked them in your desk? People don't hide things that mean nothing, Kurt. They also don't lie about 'unshakable bonds' with their Nazi brothers or conversations they insist they didn't have. You said you didn't know the specifics of my encounter with Karl, but he wrote to you and filled you in on every detail. He wrote to you three days before you talked to me on the bridge. Are you saying you didn't know about the letter?"

  "Yes," Kurt said forcefully.

  "You're lying," Amanda said. "I also r
ead the letters from your father. You want to tell me what your dad meant when he said you should 'integrate yourself' in the community and 'learn as much as you can as fast as you can'? You sought the job at the Nassau Institute because you knew it would give you access to materials you couldn't find elsewhere. You knew you would have contact with people doing sensitive research, people who trusted you."

  "Don't do this, Amanda."

  "Don't do what? Expose you for what you are?" Amanda asked. She watched Kurt as he glanced at Susan and Elizabeth. "Don't mind them. They know. They know everything. They know how you used me and others to pursue a sick agenda."

  "I did none of that," Kurt said. "I did not betray you."

  Amanda sighed.

  "You did though. So did your dad. So did your mom. I think her betrayal hurt worst of all. I thought so much of her. I loved her. But that was before I read her advice to you. Did you keep a 'low profile,' Kurt? Were you 'cautious' around those who might do your family harm? Did you honor your mother and your Fuehrer by keeping up the fight, yielding to no one, and remembering 'the cause'? Yeah, I read that too. I read all of it. I only wish I could tell your mother to her face how much she disappointed me."

  "You can't," Kurt said. "She's dead."

  "What do you mean she's dead?"

  Kurt looked at Amanda with the solemn eyes of someone who had survived a hundred trials. His hollow cheeks told a story of deprivation Amanda had not noticed in her initial rage.

  "She died from her cancer last month," Kurt said.

  "Then tell your dad," Amanda said curtly. "Tell him how much he hurt me."

  "I can't. He's dead too."

  "Karl?"

  "They are all dead, Amanda. They died supporting things you hold dear."

  Amanda felt her hurt-fueled anger subside slightly.

  "I don't believe you."

  "Then let me explain," Kurt said. He sighed. "Let me explain everything."

  CHAPTER 85: AMANDA

  Madison County, Ohio – Monday, September 11, 1939

  Looking out a window in her train car, Amanda played "Name That Vegetable" as dark green fields went by in a blur. She didn't care if she guessed correctly. She won the game simply by thinking of something less serious than the serious matters before her.

  She looked at her mother, who sat beside her at a table for four, and then at her grandmother, who sat directly across from her. Both Susan and Elizabeth had agreed to bring open minds to a conversation Amanda had set up. Amanda had listened to the short version of Kurt's story on Sunday and invited him to present the long version on the trip to Los Angeles.

  "Here he comes," Amanda said. "Please hear what he has to say. There will be plenty of time to pass judgment before we get to California."

  Kurt Schmidt entered the car like a man fighting his share of personal demons. He frowned as he walked through the coach. He forced a smile when he reached the last table on the left.

  "Good morning," Kurt said.

  "Good morning," Susan replied. "Did you sleep well?"

  Kurt sighed.

  "I slept."

  Susan offered an empathetic smile.

  "I guess we all had a rough night. Please join us."

  Kurt nodded and sat next to Elizabeth. He straightened the jacket of his light gray suit before settling into his seat and folding his hands atop the table.

  "Are you feeling up to this?" Amanda asked.

  "I am," Kurt said. "I want to say my piece."

  "That's good. I know Mom and Grandma want to hear it. They know the broad outlines of what you told me yesterday, but now they want details. They want to hear them from you and look in your eyes and know you are telling us the truth."

  "I understand."

  "Let's start from the beginning then," Amanda said. "Tell us what happened the day you arrived in Germany. I believe that was August 7."

  "It was," Kurt said. "Like I told you yesterday, I stepped off the ship in Hamburg and took the express train to Berlin. My brother met me at the station there."

  "Where were your parents?" Susan asked.

  "They were …"

  Kurt turned away.

  "Are you all right?"

  Kurt looked at Susan and nodded. He gathered himself, took a breath, and continued.

  "When I arrived in Berlin, Karl gave me the news. He said my father had been detained and my mother had taken a turn for the worse," Kurt said. "I was not able to see either right away, so I spent three days with Karl at our flat, learning what I could about a grave situation."

  "Then what?"

  "I went to the hospital. I saw my mother for the first time in weeks and learned that her treatment had failed. She told me she had less than a month to live. She also told me what had happened to my father when he had returned to Berlin."

  "What was that?" Susan asked.

  Kurt sighed.

  "He had been arrested and charged with spying for the United States."

  Amanda gave Kurt a supportive smile. She had concluded from that single revelation that she had misinterpreted several letters and unfairly judged an entire family.

  "Was it true?" Elizabeth asked. "Had he spied?"

  Kurt glanced around the car, as if checking for eavesdroppers, and then turned to face his questioner. He paused a moment and frowned before answering.

  "He had. They both had. My parents spied for the U.S. from 1933 until December 31, 1938, when my father learned he was the target of an investigation by the Reich Ministry for Foreign Affairs. For years my parents had collected and leaked sensitive information to the Roosevelt Administration through a contact in the State Department."

  "Why did they do it?" Elizabeth asked. "They were Germans."

  "They were Germans, yes, but not Nazis. When the Nazis assumed power six years ago, they began replacing key personnel in German embassies around the world. They did not replace my father but told him he could retain his post only if he swore allegiance to the new regime."

  "So he swore allegiance to Adolf Hitler?"

  "He did, Mrs. Campbell. He did so that he could hold his position, keep his family in this country, and eventually undermine a leader he despised. He knew that by retaining his post at the embassy, he could do considerable damage to Hitler's government and perhaps help America better prepare for a conflict he believed was inevitable."

  "So what happened when he learned he was under investigation?" Susan asked.

  "He kept a low profile. He ignored his contact and focused solely on his duties at the embassy. He guessed that by doing so, he could persuade investigators to move on. He guessed wrong. Von Ribbentrop's men intensified their efforts to prove his guilt. You may recall seeing men who looked like bodyguards at my father's lecture. They weren't bodyguards at all. They were thugs who had been ordered to watch his every move."

  "How did they catch him?" Susan asked.

  "The investigators learned the full scope of his activities in May when they intercepted and interrogated an American courier in London. The courier possessed incriminating documents and the names of German officials in D.C. who had provided information to the U.S. government."

  "You say your mother was in on this?" Elizabeth asked.

  "She was," Kurt said. "She was from the very start. She was the one who kept me up to speed on my father's activities in Washington and the one who updated me on his status when he was arrested, detained, and sentenced to death."

  Amanda reached across the table and took Kurt's hand. She held it until he responded to her gesture with a weary smile. She wanted to show him meaningful support before he moved on to the worst parts of what had been a very difficult month.

  "What about you?" Susan asked. "Were you in on it?"

  "I wasn't until my sophomore year of college. My parents tried to keep their espionage secret. When I accidentally learned of their activities in 1936, they brought me into the fold."

  "What did you do?" Elizabeth asked.

  "I did nothing at first except kee
p my mouth shut. Later, after I moved to Princeton, I used my position to keep tabs on researchers, visitors, and others who might use the Institute and other research facilities to further the interests of Hitler's regime. My parents asked me only to keep a low profile because they did not want me to do anything that might draw unnecessary attention to my father and his activities in Washington."

  "Your brother was not a part of this?" Susan asked.

  "No," Kurt said. "My parents loved him but did not trust him. They suspected that his loyalty to Germany was stronger than his loyalty to his family."

  "You said you learned about your father when you visited your mother in the hospital," Susan said. "What happened after that?"

  Kurt gazed at Susan.

  "I saw my father for the last time. Karl and I received special permission to visit him in his holding cell on August 12. We were given an hour to say goodbye."

  "I don't understand," Susan said. "Wasn't he given a trial? Even a show trial?"

  "No. That was never in the cards," Kurt said. "You must remember that my father was a war hero, one revered even by party members. By publicly trying and executing a war hero, the Nazis would have invited dissent they did not need. So they gave my father a cyanide pill instead. They gave him a chance to preserve his honor and receive a state funeral. My father, naturally, did the honorable thing. He did not want to burden us with anything more."

  "Oh, no," Susan said.

  Kurt reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a newspaper clipping.

  "Here is an article describing his funeral on August 16."

  Susan took the press clipping, read it, and then handed it to Elizabeth.

  "I'm so sorry, Kurt," Susan said. "What happened after that?"

  "Karl and I visited my mother. We saw her after the funeral."

  "How was she at that point?"

  "She was near death. She was unable to eat or drink or even speak. She drifted in and out of consciousness for several hours," Kurt said. "She regained consciousness the next morning and, during that time, urged me to leave the country. She said it was only a matter of time before the Nazis learned of my complicity and arrested me as well. She told me this when Karl was away. She died before he returned."