“Your father will do as he’s always done,” Dr. Lennhoff said. “He will die as he has lived. In his own way.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I will have some time alone with him, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Dr. Lennhoff nodded and headed down the stairs, returning to the parlour.
Gerhard made a soft knock on the bedroom door and entered without bidding.
Michael appeared to be sleeping, but opened his eyes when the floorboard creaked under Gerhard’s foot. “Damn board. Should have fixed that years ago,” Michael said as Gerhard tried to settle himself on his mother’s dainty armchair, recently covered with a cream-coloured fabric and lavender irises.
Perched on the edge, he leaned forward and took his father’s hand. “Vater, what is this about your heart? You’ve never said anything to us.”
“I didn’t want to worry your mother.” Michael’s words were soft and breathy. “My will is in order. You’ll inherit everything, of course. And you’ll take care of my Anna. Promise me that.”
“Of course, Vater. But, must we speak of such things now?” He rubbed the old scar on his forehead. It had begun to throb as the doctor described his father’s condition.
Since his injury during the Great War, the familiar throb returned whenever he experienced stress. His counsellor had told him that the throb would disappear in time; that it was a psychological symptom, connected to his sense of responsibility for saving the men lost or injured during the War.
“Yes. It is time,” Michael gasped. “I have lived a good life … most of the time. And I’ve always tried to do what was right. I have loved one woman. And I think I’ve loved her well. You. Marie. The children. They are my wealth. My joy.”
Michael coughed. Shifted his weight. “Some water, please.”
Gerhard took the glass of water from the bedside table. Bubbles escaped from the clear sides and popped at the surface. He lifted Michael gently and put the glass to dried lips.
Michael took a sip, one sip, and lowered his head to the pillow, visibly exhausted from his effort. Gerhard choked back his emotions.
“You and me, we have seen the worst of life. But we have also seen the best. Family. Family is what is important. It is our duty to keep our family safe.”
He coughed again, and Gerhard reached for the water.
Michael’s hand flopped in dismissal. “Nein. We have seen the unrest brewing hereabouts. I am worried for their safety. Sometime soon, you must take them away from here. They will resist, but you must be steadfast. Too much turmoil. Too much conflict.” Michael tried to sit up. He became agitated as he spoke.
Gerhard placed his hand on his father’s shoulder. “Rest, Vater. I can come back. We can speak more of this later.”
“Nein. It must be … said. There won’t be … a later.” His words were choppy with effort. The room was quiet. Michael closed his eyes.
Thinking him asleep, Gerhard started to rise.
Michael’s hand reached out to stop him. “Sit … a little longer … please. I think safety … will be … in the city. Not Liegnitz. Not Berlin. Bavaria. Yes! Nürnberg, perhaps. Or München. Maybe something smaller. Need to get away … from Silesia.”
“Vater. Can we not talk about this tomorrow? You will be stronger tomorrow.”
“No, son. No tomorrow … for me.”
They talked awhile longer, until Michael had said what he needed to say.
With one last sharp movement, he tugged the blue cameo ring from his finger and enclosed it in Gerhard’s hand. “Yours now,” he whispered huskily.
Gerhard stared at his fist and felt the warmth of the ring he held. A lump of emotion knotted in his throat.
“Need to see Paul,” Michael said. “He is … the last … then … I can die … in peace.”
A hasty effort was made by the women to open some of the rooms, so the family could sleep close through the night. Cook made simple food for those who were hungry and helped put the children to bed. Each adult and Paul took a turn keeping watch with Michael.
Early in the morning, Gerhard watched as a nurse checked his pulse and respiration. Michael’s breathing was laboured. His body struggled for each wheezy breath. His lungs gurgled with fluid. She tugged the cover loose from the end of his bed and placed her hands on his feet, then his legs.
“It won’t be long now, sir. His extremities are cold. His heart is failing.”
Gerhard took his father’s hand. “Vater?”
“He can’t hear you now, sir. He’s travelling.” She stayed with him, sitting quietly in a corner of the room. The only sound was Michael’s death breaths.
Half an hour later, the gurgling stopped. The nurse straightened the covers on the bed and left the two men alone. Gerhard hunched over the hand that still clasped his father’s and wept.
Liegnitz, Silesia
29 October 1934
PRIVATE
Dear Uncle Leo,
It is with a heavy heart that I write to tell you that my beloved father died yesterday. On his death bed, he insisted that I write to you. You know Vater. Nothing, not even his own death bed, is going to stand in the way of what he thinks is important.
He wanted you to know what a profound influence you have been in his life and mine. Your influence in our respective military careers made us stronger, better soldiers. We are devoted to this country, as you are.
Vater sends his wishes of support and encouragement in the work you do on behalf of Germany. He bids you, stay the course.
You were in his last thoughts.
With admiration and appreciation,
Your loving nephew
Gerhard Lange
London
15 November 1934
Dear Nephew,
I am deeply saddened at your news. I shall miss your father’s presence. He was a steadfast friend. The world will be a lesser place without him.
Stay the course, my boy, and keep your wits about you.
Your loving uncle,
Leo
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TOWARD THE END of November, Gerhard received a telephone call from his friend Alexi Puchinski. Alexi owned and operated the Grand Hotel in Liegnitz. He asked Gerhard to stop by the hotel the next time he drove into town.
“I have plans to be in town tomorrow,” Gerhard replied. “I’ll stop by then: say, ten o’clock?”
The following day, the hotel receptionist rapped on the office door and opened it to admit Gerhard.
“Inge,” Alexi said to his secretary, “would you please arrange for coffee to be sent in? Then perhaps you can help at the front desk for a while. Yes?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Welcome, Gerhard, and thanks for coming.” Alexi invited Gerhard to sit on a blood-red leather armchair and sat in an identical chair opposite him. “I need to discuss a delicate matter with you,” he said.
Alexi leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he spoke. “Six years ago, my cousin’s daughter came to live with us.” Alexi rubbed his shaking hands together. “I use the term ‘cousin’ loosely. We share the same great-grandfather. Nicolai travels a lot, and we all felt that his daughter would receive a better education if she lived with Stefan and me until she finished school.
“As you know, Stefan graduated last term, and is now in the youth military serving his one-year of obligatory service. My cousin was in town for the fall fair last month, and his daughter is now travelling with him once again. However, before they left, Stefan and Punita were betrothed. They’ll be married next—”
“Punita? Do you mean that pretty young woman I’ve seen in town with Stefan?”
“Yes. She is very pretty, indeed. Even if I say so myself,” Alexi said proudly.
“Wait!” Gerhard said, knuckling his chin in contemplation. “Your cousin’s wife. Her name wouldn’t be Rose … Rosemary … Rosina … Rosa—”
“Rosalee. Yes. Have you met her?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. Paul and I
took a load of goods to Schinawa recently and met up with Konstantin Anker.” Gerhard puzzled further, the small hairs on the back of his neck prickling. “Konstantin introduced us to two very attractive women. I think he said the mother was Rosalee and the daughter was Punita.”
And they both have dark brown eyes. I wonder whether they might be the women linked to Paul’s future. Paul said Rosalee’s behaviour was abrupt after she noted the eyes. She must have seen something!
“Yes, yes. That would be them,” Alexi said. “I received a message just yesterday that they travelled with Konstantin to Amsterdam. They must have sailed shortly after you met them.” Alexi shook his head in wonder. “The world is so small, is it not?”
“Indeed,” Gerhard agreed. “Does your telephone call yesterday have something to do with Rosalee and Punita?”
“Yes and no,” Alexi said. “It’s more to do with Nicolai, Rosalee’s husband. He was to sail with Konstantin as well, but for some reason he was detained.”
A light rap sounded at the office door before it opened slowly and a cart was wheeled in, pushed by a young man from the kitchen. “Pardon me, sir. I understand you wished coffee?”
“Yes, Benjamin. Please bring it in. I’ll serve. Inge will let you know when we’re finished.”
Benjamin pushed the cart into the room and excused himself.
Alexi rose from his chair and poured a cup of coffee for Gerhard.
“Go on,” Gerhard urged. “I’m listening …”
Alexi poured himself a cup of the steaming coffee, stirred in a lump of sugar, and resumed his seat.
“Nicolai had some business with one of the farmers just outside of Schinawa. As I understand it, the morning the ship was to leave, he had gone out to the farm and was expected to return by mid-morning. He didn’t arrive. Konstantin sent some of the crew to make enquiries.
“Apparently, there was a rousting that morning. Some Jewish families were taken away in trucks. Nicolai was stopped outside the town gate and forced into one of those trucks. I’ve been unable to find out anything that will tell me why he was picked up or where he was taken.”
Alexi sipped his coffee, then hung his head. “Gerhard, I don’t want to impose, but I am concerned for my cousin,” he said. His dark eyes seemed to will Gerhard to understand. “Do you have any idea where he might have been taken?”
“No, my friend, I don’t.”
“Would it be possible for you to make enquiries?” Alexi begged.
“Of course,” Gerhard said, rising to set his empty cup and saucer on the cart. “Write down the full name of your cousin and any other details you can think of. Height, weight, colouring, etcetera. I’ll see what I can find.”
Alexi went to his desk and scribbled the information on a sheet of paper. “His name is Nicolai Kota. He resembles Konstantin remarkably. Except his hair is a little darker. Konstantin and I have a Roma heritage. Nicolai is the true wanderer, though.” He handed the paper to Gerhard.
“He looks like Konstantin, you say?” Gerhard pondered Alexi’s words. “I think I saw him the day we met Rosalee. I remember Paul commenting on the resemblance, noting that Nicolai’s hair was darker as well.”
As an afterthought, he said, “Is he the one who raced that purebred called Bang at the Fair?”
“Bang was his horse, yes,” Nicolai reflected, “but he will have sold his horses by now. He would have had to raise money to start a new life in Amsterdam. Such a shame. Nicolai loved that horse.”
Gerhard saluted Alexi with the piece of paper, promising to make enquiries. “I’ll get back to you as quick as I can, but it may take some time,” he warned, shaking Alexi’s hand and taking his leave.
With his hand on the doorknob, Gerhard turned abruptly. “Tell me,” he said. “Your cousin’s wife, Rosalee … she is a fortune-teller, I believe.”
“That’s correct.” Alexi smiled. “Did she read for you?”
“No, no.” Gerhard chuckled, staring at a spot on the carpet. “But she did read for Paul. I don’t really believe in that stuff, but, given what she said to Paul …”
“If Rosalee told Paul something of his future,” Alexi said, placing his hand on Gerhard’s shoulder and gazing at him with sincerity, “you can believe it! She has a gift, and I’ve never known her to be wrong.”
“Then, I will keep my eye on Paul,” Gerhard said. “Rosalee’s predictions were quite ominous. I will also do my best to find your cousin. I have no concern for Rosalee’s safety, if she is with Konstantin, but I can’t promise you the same for Nicolai. Good-bye, my friend.” Gerhard opened the door and walked along the hallway toward the hotel lobby.
A burning sensation bloomed in his chest. Alexi and Konstantin are true and loyal friends. I hope I can find their cousin. I don’t want to disappoint them.
Several days later, Gerhard kissed his wife good-bye and drove the Rohr west. “If I’m going to find a missing Roma, I can do it better from the offices in Dresden,” he said to Emma that morning while they ate their breakfast.
The weather was cold and crisp, and a skiff of snow blanketed the ground. The tires on the 1928 Rohr handled the icy roads well, and within four hours Gerhard was parking in front of military headquarters. He spent the day speaking with officers and making telephone calls. As the light of day faded, he phoned home.
“Emma, my dear, I’m off to Bavaria! I’m sorry you won’t be able to keep me company, but I must go directly there. I think time is critical. I promise I will take you there soon. We’ll have the honeymoon we’ve never had!”
The drive to Dachau in Upper Bavaria took him three chilly days. One day, it would be nice to have a car that could be warmed up on the inside. Heated seats. Ah, that would be wonderful!
He breathed heavily into his gloved hands, trying to warm them for a moment, then tightened the muffler around his neck.
As the Rohr approached the gates to the Dachau holding camp, a guard stepped out of a small office in the wall. Gerhard stopped his car next to the guard and rolled down the window.
“How may I help you, sir?”
Gerhard handed the guard his credentials. The guard scanned the papers and snapped to attention. “I’ll just open the gates for you, Major,” he said, before jogging toward the great gate, unlocking it and pushing one side open. As the Rohr rolled past the guard, he saluted and pointed Gerhard in the direction of the administrative offices.
Gerhard rolled the Rohr to a stop outside the entrance of a three-story, white-brick building. Unfolding his stiff legs, he stretched to his full height and surveyed the compound. Hundreds of skeletal men clothed in striped uniforms worked like automatons.
This is outrageous! Disgust and compassion rose in his gorge.
Inside the administrative building, he cleared his throat and knocked on a wooden countertop. He had not worn his uniform, and no one paid him any attention.
“Pardon me,” he said in a loud, clear voice. “I’m looking for the commander of this camp.”
Three office workers turned their eyes in his direction. Before anything further was said, a chair in an adjoining room grated on the wooden floor and heavy footsteps carried the commander into the front office.
“I am Inspector General of this camp. Theodor Eicke,” he said. “Who are you?”
“Retired Major Gerhard Lange, formerly of the Regiment of King Wilhelm the First,” Gerhard said, showing his papers.
“How may I help you, sir?”
“I am enquiring after an individual,” he said. “A cousin of a friend of mine.” Gerhard assessed Eicke, not liking what he saw. “The individual goes by the name of Nicolai Kota. I understand that he was detained outside of Schinawa, perhaps a month or so ago. I believe he was brought here, and I’m wondering whether you can confirm the information I’ve been given.”
“And who gave you this information, sir?” Eicke asked.
“As I mentioned”—Gerhard continued to scrutinize Eicke—“a friend of mine told me that his cousin was missing,
and asked whether I might help. I’ve asked about, and it became more of a word here and a word there. Nothing particularly concrete. I’ve driven from Liegnitz trying to track Herr Kota’s journey and thought that—since I’m in the area—I’d ask here. Have you any record that might indicate whether he’s passed through the gates of this camp?”
Gerhard watched the eyes of his opponent for clues of deception. Aha! My intuition has not betrayed me. Shadows of evil move in this man’s eyes.
“Kota, you say. Hmm. Let me check.” Eicke turned toward the staff. “Bring me the register,” he growled. Turning to Gerhard, he asked, “You said within the past month or so?”
Gerhard nodded.
“The register for the last quarter,” Eicke elaborated to his staff.
The appropriate register was deposited on the counter between the two men. Eicke opened it and scanned the names of entries since September.
Well into the list, he prodded a page and looked up. “Kota, you said. Nicolai Kota?”
“That’s correct.”
“This entry shows that Nicolai Kota, a Jew from Schinawa, was brought into the camp in early November. He had a broken right hand and a broken right rib,” Eicke said.
“Mein Gott!” Gerhard spat, glaring at Eicke. “Your record is mistaken. He’s not a Jew. Herr Kota is a renowned German horse trainer. His skills are invaluable. I demand his immediate release.”
“Can’t do that, sir.” Eicke glared back.
“And why not?” Gerhard stood to his full height, holding Eicke’s glare.
“Because he’s dead.”
“What! How?”
“We had an outbreak of epidemic typhus. Still do,” Eicke said. “It’s almost under control, but Kota was one of the first to die.”
Gerhard tried to contain his rage. “And his body? Where can I find it? I’d like to at least take it back with me for a decent burial.”
“Can’t do that either,” Eicke grunted.
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