by Michelle Cox
“There she is!” came a shout from the top of the stairs. Utter, true panic seized her, then, and, allowing herself one horrible look over her shoulder at her captors, Henrietta heaved herself up again. Her heart was pounding, and with some newfound strength born of complete desperation, she managed to not only lift herself up this time, but to pitch her upper body into the opening. She balanced there precariously, wedged in with her hands unfortunately trapped at her side. She wiggled her body as best she could, resembling a sort of mermaid, as she struggled to get free. She realized as she squirmed, that with her hands trapped and unable to break her fall, she was destined to land on her head should she really manage to push herself out. She could hear her captors approaching now—they must only be mere feet behind her!—and with one last supreme effort, she burst through the opening, landing on the wet ground on her face.
Luckily, she only fell a few feet, and felt, at least initially, to be relatively unharmed. She stood up, shaking, and backed away from the window, nearly screaming when she saw Joe’s face in the window, grinning at her.
“She got out!” he called back toward someone inside the room.
“Open that door!” Henrietta heard someone shout, sure it was the voice of Nurse Collins. “She can’t get far.”
Henrietta stood, anchored to the spot, her mind a blank. She knew she should run, but she couldn’t make her legs move. Run! she commanded herself, but it was as if her legs were paralyzed! Her pulse was racing and her body wet from sweat, but the cold night air was quickly drying it and turning her flesh to goose bumps. The sound of someone jangling a set of keys and scraping it against a lock, however, somehow broke the spell she was under. She took several deep breaths, as if she had been under water, and then turned and ran. She had no idea where to run but headed for what she hoped was the front of the building. Maybe she could get through the gate? Or maybe she should run for the surrounding woods? She glanced over her shoulder to check the progress of her pursuers and nearly slipped on the wet grass in the process. She somehow righted herself, though, and as she swung her head back around, she felt herself plow into something—someone! She screamed and tried to fight as she felt strong arms encircle her, clutching her tightly.
“Help!” she screamed again, trying wildly to pull from her captor’s grip.
“Henrietta! Henrietta!” shouted an oddly familiar voice. “It’s me! I’ve got you now. It’s me! You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Henrietta looked up briefly into Clive’s face, her eyes frantic, and then collapsed into his arms.
Chapter 24
“Elsie, there is much we need to discuss,” Gunther said agitatedly.
“Yes, there is,” Elsie agreed, sitting across from him in the front room of the Palmer Square house.
“Elsie, we both know this is not real solution,” he said gently.
It had been over a week since they had shown up on Ma’s doorstep, Gunther carrying a sleeping Anna in his arms, having come directly from Dunning with her. Ma had been surprisingly agreeable to Elsie’s sketchy plan, which was to house Anna in the nursery with Doris and Donny until something further could be arranged. Ma had even held the sleeping girl for a time while Elsie had gone upstairs and explained the situation to Nanny Kuntz, who was not enthralled with the idea of taking on another charge, especially one that was given to fits, she had said, making the sign of the cross repeatedly. Elsie reminded her, respectfully, of course, that she was originally hired to care for five children, and, seeing as three of them were off at boarding school now, it didn’t seem all that unfair to be adding one to her already lightened load. Still, Elsie hurriedly added, she promised to see about hiring some sort of additional nurse to tend to Anna’s peculiar needs.
“Well, that’s just what we need, another person in this house,” Nanny grumbled, referring to the proposed additional staff person. “She ain’t sharin’ my room, that’s for sure. An’ she wouldn’t be over me, just cause she’s a nurse. I’m in charge of the nursery,” she said, folding her arms across her midline.
“Well, perhaps we can cross that bridge when we come to it,” Elsie said patiently.
“Yer grandfather ain’t gonna like it, either,” she said, her face already trying on an “I-told-you-so” expression.
“Let me worry about that,” Elsie dismissed, though she was in fact worried about Oldrich Exley’s reaction when he heard the news, which was sure to happen before too long, probably from one of the servants themselves. “Listen, Nanny, she’s a little German girl. You speak some German, don’t you? It would be wonderful for her. Surely you will help, won’t you?” Elsie pleaded softly. “And it won’t be forever, just . . . just for a short time.”
Gretchen Kuntz managed to keep her face stern and emotionless for a few moments before it finally crumpled, and she threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, all right,” she said, “as long as it ain’t permanent. And you get someone to deal with those fits. Best get a priest, I’m thinking. Was she baptized?” Nanny asked apprehensively.
“I’m sure she was, Nanny,” Elsie said, though she of course had no idea. Had she been baptized? Elsie worried.
“And what if Doris and Donny catch it?” Nanny asked.
“It’s not something you can catch, Nanny,” Elsie sighed.
Ma, on the other hand, was surprisingly easier to win over. The sad truth was that Ma had not bothered much with Doris and Donny since they moved to Palmer Square. Actually, even back in the apartment on Armitage, she had never seemed to really bond with them, born in the wake of Les’s suicide. Any warmth that Ma possessed before Les’s death, which was little enough, had left her after his death, as she began to spiral into her own deep place of despair and depression. It was Henrietta and Elsie who had tended to the twins the most, Elsie more than Henrietta, who was usually instead out working.
Then when they had been forced by Oldrich Exley to move to this grand house in Palmer Square, little Doris and Donny had been swept up into the nursery and were now cared for by the servants. Privately, Elsie was of the opinion that the change had been good for them. She could see that over time, Nanny Kuntz really came to care for them, and they her. In fact, Elsie observed, the twins were not only growing bigger and stronger, but they were coming out of their shell, finally. Indeed, they almost seemed more comfortable now in Nanny’s presence than in Ma’s, and they frequently gave Nanny hugs and kisses up in the nursery, something which Ma could never abide.
And Ma, Elsie had likewise noticed, did not seem to mind that her children were essentially gone from her, despite her fussing and fuming to the contrary at the beginning of it all. It was very peculiar, and Elsie had, more than once, wondered how Ma whiled away her days with apparently nothing to do and no one to care for.
So it seemed more than a little curious when Ma took to Anna so quickly. It was as if she were a stray dog or a cat that needed attention, which was odd, considering that all of the Von Harmon children could have been seen as strays themselves at one point in time and certainly in want of attention. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Ma was not obligated to care for Anna, as she was her own children; she could choose Anna. Or maybe it was because Anna was not connected to Les . . . or maybe it was just some sort of fluke born of boredom or fickleness. At any rate, Ma had taken to visiting the nursery on occasion these last couple of weeks, which she had almost never done before and which was reportedly making Nanny nervous and upset as a result.
“Yes, I know it’s not permanent,” Elsie said to Gunther now, the two of them having arrived at the Palmer Square house for a visit. “But isn’t it good enough for the time being? Ma doesn’t mind, and I . . . I’ve made inquiries about a nurse. And Anna seems happy enough, doesn’t she? Except for the nightmares,” she added quietly. “But she hasn’t had any fits,” she went on hopefully. “Surely that’s a good thing?”
“Yes, it is good,” Gunther agreed sadly. “But it will happen. I have been fooled before into thinking they wer
e somehow gone, but they will return. It is like circle . . . cycle . . . in some way.”
“All the better that she is here, then, safe,” Elsie pointed out. “And Henrietta said she would have a doctor—a good doctor—examine her. Maybe there’s something different we can do, some new treatment that we don’t know about—”
“Elsie, she is not your child,” Gunther interrupted quietly.
Elsie looked at him blankly for a moment. “She’s not yours either.”
Gunther looked away and let out a deep breath. “I have made decision. We are going back.”
“Gunther, you know you can’t go back to Germany with her! Remember what you told me? What will most likely happen to her there?” Elsie exclaimed. “It’s foolish. And cruel.”
“We will not go to Germany, but instead to Austria. I have cousin there outside of Graz in the south, a small town in countryside. We can live there, maybe, unnoticed. I will find a woman to come and take care for her. I could be teaching again.”
“But . . . but what if Austria becomes like Germany?” Elsie argued nervously. “You . . . you could live quietly here, as you’re doing now.”
“Elsie, I cannot just leave her here for your mother and your grandfather’s servants to care for. And I am thinking that he will not be allowing this anyway when he discovers what is happening in his house. I cannot blame him. I have already very much taken advantage where I should not,” he said sternly. “If we stay here, I will always be having worry that Anna will be put in institution, as she already has been. I cannot stand to think of her in that awful place where poor Liesel died. I would rather die myself than little Anna be there again,” he said bitterly. “And I cannot keep her with me at Mundelein, so . . . ” He shrugged.
“But—”
“Even if Sister Bernard somehow would be allowing it, which she will not, I know, she is right,” Gunther insisted. “It is dangerous and not appropriate, and not good life for a child. She would not be able to be going to school . . . No, we are going back. Though it causes very much pain to say it.” His blue eyes held her gaze for several long moments before he finally pulled them away. “And I cannot burden you any more with this,” he said mournfully, bracing his head on his hands.
Elsie felt herself beginning to panic. “Gunther,” she said quietly and dared to reach for one of his hands, causing him to lift his head in surprise and look at her again. The corners of his eyes tightened, and he took a deep breath.
“There is another way,” she said quietly. “We . . . we could get married. I’d like to marry you,” she said softly, barely above a whisper, “if you’ll have me.” Never in a thousand years could Elsie ever have imagined herself uttering words such as these—so bold and well . . . unladylike! But she had thought it over a corresponding thousand times, and she knew that given her circumstances and Gunther knowing them as well, that he would never dare to ask her. He was too honorable and if it was true what she suspected—that he loved her, too—then he would have all the more reason to walk away from her. Her guess was that he did not believe himself a suitable suitor, which was absurd to the point of amusement. It was she that was the unsuitable one! Or so she had felt until he began to convince her otherwise. No, he was more than suitable to her; he was indeed a kindred spirit. She couldn’t imagine living without him, and if she had to follow him to Germany, she determined, she would.
Gunther’s face twisted up as if in pain, and he remained silent for several moments. “No, Elsie,” he said finally, giving her hand a small squeeze. “We . . . we cannot get married, you and I. But I know how much it took for you to say those words, and I want you to know I feel it deeply. I will remember this moment all the days of my life.”
Elsie’s face blushed red. “Gunther, I . . . I love you,” she said haltingly. “I think I’ve always loved you. And I . . . I thought—I imagined, anyway . . . that you loved me, too,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I saw what you wrote in your diary; I saw all of those poems. So many about love . . . ”
Gunther’s eyes closed and he pulled his hand away from hers and stood up, causing Elsie’s stomach to clench painfully. No, don’t go away! she wanted to scream.
“Elsie,” he said, turning from her, “there are many things you do not understand. It is impossible that I marry you.” He began to pace. “The whole thing is impossible. Out of the question.”
Impossible? Elsie wondered. Nothing was impossible about this, unless . . . she paused, a new thought suddenly coming into her mind, one she had just barely considered . . . one that was always floating on the periphery . . .
“Gunther,” she began slowly, “is there something you’re not telling me? Some reason you cannot marry me?” He continued to pace. “Does . . . did someone else have a claim on your heart?” she asked softly. “Liesel, perhaps? Was this the reason for your desperate quest to find her?” She looked up at him fearfully, but his back was still to her. “Gunther, please. Be honest. I will not judge you. Did you love Liesel? Are you Anna’s father?”
He turned slowly around and looked at her steadily, his eyes awash with an emotion she couldn’t read. At first, she feared it was anger, but then she thought perhaps it was fear. Regret? Silently he walked toward her and gently took hold of her upper arms. “Elsie,” he said hoarsely, “I have never lied to you, and I will not ever. I know you have been . . . treated very much badly . . . in the past, and so I will not be offended by your questions. But I have told you truth. There is only one person who holds my heart,” he said, looking at her with such longing she felt she would burst. She wanted nothing more than to melt into him, to hold him, to belong to him, and she felt ashamed that she had doubted him, even for a moment.
“Then why?” she asked, looking up into his face. “Why can’t you marry me?”
“It is not that I cannot,” he said gently, releasing his grip and sliding his hands down her arms to take her hands in his. “It is that I will not do such thing.”
“Is it because of my grandfather?”
“That is part of it, yes.” He gave her a sad smile.
“But that doesn’t matter! Not if we . . . not if we love each other, Gunther!”
“It is because I love you that I cannot marry you,” he said softly.
Elsie felt a wave of warmth steal over her at his words, his declaration, finally, of love.
“Elsie, you must be able to see all of the difficulties, all the obstacles,” he said, cupping her cheek in his hand and causing her to tremble. “Yes, it is true that I love you. With my whole heart.” His eyes searched hers, and Elsie felt an ache well up inside her that was so big it threatened to cut off her air. “There was a time, a time before we discovered Liesel’s death and Anna’s true state of being an orphan,” he went on, “before I knew everything about your . . . your life, that I did allow myself to have hope. But I . . . things have changed now. I cannot . . . cannot do this to you, cannot allow you to give yourself to me. You have everything in front of you, and pledging your life to me would be very much a grave mistake. You know this in your heart,” he said gently. “Listen to it.”
“I am listening to it!”
“No, you are not.”
“So, you, too, would not have me choose for myself?”
“Elsie, this would be Selbstmord . . . suicide . . . for you.”
“Suicide to be with the one I love? How can you say that?”
Gunther sighed. “You will find another love, Elsie. A cleaner, brighter, better love. A love that does not have so much complication. Let me go.”
“No!” she said, surprising herself with her own forcefulness. “I don’t want to let you go! I . . . I want to care for you,” she said then more softly, taking hold of his hand at her cheek. “You are not so unkind that you would make me beg, are you?”
He closed his eyes and lowered their hands. “Ach, Elsie. I have nothing to give you. I have no money, no way to provide for you—”
Elsie opened her mouth to counter this, bu
t he stopped her. “And I cannot take your money—your grandfather’s money.”
“He will more than likely cut me off, just like he did with my mother. So I will come to you with nothing as well,” she said with a small smile. “If you don’t mind, that is.”
“I cannot let you throw that away, Elsie.”
“Do you not know me better than that by now, Gunther? What I wouldn’t give to be done with being paraded about by Aunt Agatha and Grandfather, using me as bait for the highest bidder.”
“Think how you could be helping the poor with that money, if nothing else.”
“So now you would have me sacrifice myself for the poor, but not for you?” Elsie said hotly, the hurt of it cutting her to the quick and causing small tears to form in the corners of her eyes. “Again, I’m not to have a choice, apparently! There are more ways than one to serve the poor, Gunther; this you should know.”
“I beg your pardon, Elsie,” Gunther said sincerely. “I was wrong to say that.” He paused for a moment before going on. “But what of your dreams of helping the poor? Of studying . . . becoming a teacher?” he asked gently. “You would give that up so easily? And I would never forgive myself for stopping you.”
“You can teach me,” she suggested.
“No,” he said shaking his head. “No, it cannot be like that.”
“Didn’t you once ask me if I thought I could be a wife and a teacher?” she said, triumphantly remembering his words. “Are you going back on that?”