The bell clanged and the streetcar started forward, then slowed, then lurched on again from stop to stop. Men and women got on and off. The men stared at Lucy curiously, as they always did. Some smiled, but she looked away, aloof. Now there were more reasons than the displeasure of Wolf to remain distant.
She stepped off the streetcar one block from the Dorotheum. Then she walked away from it, turning the corner and doubling back to approach it from the opposite direction.
Those extra steps did nothing to make the uniformed guards at the doors of the Dorotheum vanish. The swastika flag still flapped noisily above the entrances. The walk had served no purpose except perhaps to give Lucy a few extra minutes to compose herself before she entered the building.
She faced the stairs she had ascended to pawn the carpets. She knew which floor to go to for rugs and watches and even religious artifacts. But this ticket—what had Otto hocked? What department should she go to in this entire vast complex of rooms?
Lucy held the ticket in her fingers and frowned up toward the stairs. Would it not look suspicious if she asked the concierge where she should take the ticket? He would ask her what item she wanted to redeem, and she could not even tell him what it was.
Her heart thumped wildly. People rushed past her, in the doors and out again. A man in a crisp blue uniform walked toward her. He was not smiling. She turned to go, but he called to her.
“Fräulein?”
Lucy stopped. She felt herself grow pale. He was staring at the ticket in her fingers.
“I . . . I am . . . ”
He took the ticket from her. “This is such a confusing place.” He studied the numbers. “I get lost myself sometimes. Coats. Men’s coats.” He pointed down the hall. “Down there. You will see this number on the door, Fräulein.”
“Danke.” She managed her most charming smile, the “helpless-female” one that always made men feel good about themselves and grateful to her that she allowed them to help.
Her composure regained, her confidence restored, Lucy took the ticket to MEN’S FINE COATS AND CLOTHING.
ITEM: 1 OVERCOAT
STYLE: DOUBLE-BREASTED CAMEL’S HAIR
SIZE: 42 REGULAR
QUALITY: EXCELLENT
MAKER AND YEAR MADE: ROBERE, PARIS, FRANCE, 1938
A dollar value had been put on this coat, of course. Lucy paid its redemption with the funds Otto had left with Peter. She gathered the package into her arms. The scent of mothballs was strong. An overcoat. Perhaps nothing more than an inheritance from Otto to Peter Wallich, whose own coat was ragged.
Or perhaps there was something else. The coat felt hot through the wrapping. Lucy wondered if everyone could see that the paper concealed something dangerous. She tried to hold it casually, as one would carry such an item home from the dry cleaners. It is nothing. Just a coat. But she hugged it to her when she sat down on the streetcar. Value? Maybe priceless.
***
The remaining hours waiting in a tomb made Lori feel as if the walls and the Nazis were closing in on her. At last she wondered if her nerves would hold.
“It is Christmas Day,” she moaned, “and look at us!” She closed her eyes and laid her head back on the damp stones. She missed her parents; she longed to sit in the sun again and laugh again, to walk in a street without being afraid.
From his place beside his city of tin cans, Alfie watched Lori. Mark and Jamie played with Alfie’s soldiers and complimented him on the construction of towers and spires and tin-can castles. But Alfie was not listening.
It was Christmas! Alfie had forgotten all about that. He felt sorry for Lori and ashamed that he had forgotten about the presents he got for her and her mama. Lori looked worried and unhappy, as if she might cry. Her eyes were too pretty for crying, and so he told her to close them. He had a surprise for her.
Then he put the jewels in her hands. “Merry Christmas, Lori. Open your eyes.” She gasped and looked at Alfie and then at the treasure. “I got them for you and . . . for your mama.” He frowned. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know, Alfie.” Her voice was soft and nice, as it always was when she talked to him. “But where did you get such . . . things as these?”
“In the street.” She liked them, he could tell. “I got them for you and your mama. And now maybe you can buy a ticket to . . . Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe.” She patted his hand.
“The Promised Land? America?”
“Maybe. And when we get there we will buy a house for all of us to live in together. We will buy it with your jewels, Alfie, and no one will bother us again.”
Alfie looked around at the dripping stone room that had been his home for so long. “I will like to live where there are windows. Clear windows to see through, and no bars—like it used to be. And my cat Joseph, and her kittens will have a room all of their own.” He looked at Joseph, who was feeding her babies. “I can take her, can’t I, Lori?”
“No!” Jacob said from the steps. “We are taking you, but the cats are staying here! We’re leaving tonight, like I said. The five of us, and no cats!”
***
Almost safe! Still no Gestapo vehicles in front of Otto’s apartment.
Lucy hesitated a step to scan the street on either side. Clutching the package tightly, she lowered her eyes and walked toward Frau Singer’s shop. These last few yards seemed more frightening than all the rest. It was here, after all, that Wolf would come. This small stretch of shops and apartments had been the focus of his attention for weeks. Possibly months.
No sooner had that thought crossed her mind than his automobile rounded the corner ahead of her, heading toward her. Unmistakable through the windscreen of the convertible she saw Wolf’s grim face.
Run! Lucy’s mind screamed to her. But it was too late to do anything but keep walking. He had already spotted her. The car sped up, sliding past Otto’s building and screeching to a halt beside her.
Lucy managed a smile. She raised her hand and tried to look glad to see him. Maybe he had not seen the note in her handwriting on the mirror. Maybe he did not suspect that she had spoiled his hunt and flushed out the game before he had opportunity to fire.
“Where have you been?” he demanded.
“Where have you been?” she spat back.
“Working.”
“All night?” she demanded, taking the offensive. “And what is her name, eh? Who were you working on? Is she pretty?”
Jealousy, even pretended, took him off guard. “Get in!” He slung open the passenger door and tapped his fingers impatiently on the wheel as she slid in beside him. “Working on my prisoner!” he said heatedly. Apparently he had not had much success, judging from the anger on his face. And did he know about her note?
“You should have called,” she accused.
“The Jews got away. All the Wallich brood have gotten away. And now Otto denies that there were any Jews! He maintains that the woman was his sister, says they went back to the Tyrol! He is impudent in his defiance of us!” He banged a hand on the wheel, then made a U-turn and parked in front of the building. “Agent Block and his assistant went over the place with a fine tooth comb . . . found nothing. I will search myself.” The steely gaze turned on her. “So . . . You did not tell me what you are doing here.”
She laughed. “You told me to have a corset made,” she said coyly. “And I thought if I came, I might find you here . . . or there.” She pointed at Otto’s window. “I am sorry you have lost your Jews, Wolf. I do hope you find them again so we can go out for dinner.”
Exasperated with her flippancy, he sighed and shook his head. “That would be nice.”
“I need to visit the ladies room,” she said absently. “Do you mind if I come up with you? Too much coffee. Too much baby.”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
***
Peter watched Lucy enter the apartment building beside Wolf. The SS officer seemed preoccupied, angry; but his anger was not directed at Lucy.
She placed the bundle under her arm and smiled.
“What is happening?” Marlene asked contritely. “Is she coming?”
“She is with him. The officer.” Peter rubbed a hand over his eyes in fear for her and astonishment at her self-control. “I don’t think he found the note yet. He could not have found it. She would be arrested if he knew about it.”
Behind him he could hear Marlene mumbling on the bed. He glanced at her. Tears streamed from her closed eyes. Marlene was praying.
***
She did not want to seem too eager to leave Wolf. Lucy wandered around the empty apartment while he dumped out drawers and pawed through Otto’s belongings. Mattresses were slit open, carpets pulled up. Nothing! Wolf thumped the closet walls and broke the hanging rod in half in case something was hidden within its hollow center. Nothing!
Lucy stood patiently beside the radio as Wolf ransacked the second bedroom. She had found what she came for; it had slipped down between the wall and the sink. A miracle! Wolf tore through the bathroom; opening the toilet tank, then using the heavy lid to break the sink from the wall.
Lucy browsed through the program for this week’s D’ Fat Lady concert. She thought of Otto at the stage. She pocketed the program, then, noticing that the radio dial was set to receive the BBC, she cranked the knob once.
Wolf gave a cry of frustrated rage. “NOTHING!”
Lucy remained calm, complacent. “Wolf, darling, I’m going on to my errand now. You smash a while, and I’ll meet you back home.”
He appeared in the doorway, his shirt dark with sweat, his hair falling over his forehead, and his eyes wild. “I can smell it! They were Jews!” he shouted. “That Wallich woman! I know who they are!”
“Wolfie,” she said patronizingly, “I hope you are right. Otto will not like what you have done to his flat . . . and after he found ours for us, too. This is not a way to return a favor!”
He threw a dish at her head. It crashed against the wall behind her.
She glared back at him. “All right! I have had enough! You are a child, and I am leaving! I will meet you at home when you are finished with this pogrom against your rival!”
Wolf lifted his chin. Eyes narrowed. “I will wait for you.” The anger dissolved to confusion. “I . . . I need you tonight. It has not been . . . this has been a most difficult . . . ”
Lucy’s heart sank. He would wait in the car. Oh, God! She had to go back with him! Another hour, another night of this!
“How long will you be?” she asked quietly.
“Half an hour.” He sounded contrite. The prospect of promotion was slipping away. The child she carried was now his best asset, the surest means of advancement.
“Then I’ll meet you at the car.” She hefted her package.
“Wait a minute. What have you got there?”
The answer hung in her throat for a moment. “Clothes to be altered.” She walked past him and out the door.
***
“Where are they?” Lucy cried as she slipped into the shop of the reluctant corset maker.
“Mein Gott! We thought you were arrested!”
“Get them!” Lucy charged up the stairs. The parlor was empty. “Where are—?”
“In the bedroom. She is alone,” Frau Singer called to Karin. “The package is here!”
Lucy tore the paper off the coat as the Wallichs pressed in around her. “What is it? What?” She searched the pockets and turned it inside out. “What did he want you to get?”
Karin reached in and lifted the hem of the coat. She looked at the stitches that bound the silk lining to the camel’s-hair fabric. Then with a soft sigh, she plucked scissors from Frau Singer’s sewing basket and tore out the thread. Four brand new, perfect official passports fell out onto the floor. Marlene’s pouting image stared up from her documents. Ugly, yes. But beautiful. She laughed and picked it up. MARLENE ANNE RUGER. AYRAN.
All right, so there it was. The priceless documents. Surely Wolf would suspect that such documents had been made. Perhaps he would have men on duty at every station to check photos and passports against the Gestapo pictures of the Wallichs.
“Listen to me.” Lucy took Karin’s arm. “I have to go with him now. But listen!”
Karin nodded; her smile of relief vanished. She could see plainly that it was not over. They were still across the street. “What should we do?”
Lucy frowned and ran her hand through her hair. She did not want Wolf to come looking for her. So little time. If he finished early . . . She groped in her handbag, pulling out the railway timetables. “Danzig . . . Danzig!” There it was. Two trains leaving Vienna. One tonight at 9:30. The other at 3:08 tomorrow morning. “You cannot leave together. They will be looking for four of you. Understand? Not even on the same train.”
Karin blanched at the thought of separation, but agreed. “Willie and I?”
“No.” Lucy said it before Peter could. “You and Marlene.”
“But my baby—”
“The boys must stay together. If you are caught with a circumcised baby, they will arrest you, and . . . you know what that will mean to the child. No. You and Marlene. They will search you. No doubt of that. But they will see women, not Jews.”
“What about Peter and Willie?” Marlene looked fearfully at her brothers. She was no longer thinking only about herself.
“They will go with me, as my nephews. I can handle these Gestapo types.” Lucy spoke with a confidence that made everyone believe her. “You and Marlene leave tonight. Take your tickets to the ticket clerk in the third window of the central train terminal—the one opposite Stadtpark. You must see no other clerk but this one fellow. Can you remember?”
Peter was at the window. “Wolf is coming out.”
“The third window!” Lucy repeated. “His name is Kurek. He has a drooping mustache. He will stamp in the date and time on your ticket. Say it!”
“Kurek. Third window. Central,” Karin repeated.
“Wolf is standing by the car,” Peter reported. “Leaning on the fender. Angry. Arms crossed.”
“Yes.” Lucy was breathless. “Peter. I will meet you at a quarter till three tomorrow morning, you and Willie, beside the drinking fountain to the right of the ticket window. Be there early. Kurek is off duty at 2:00 a.m. You must get the tickets stamped before then! Say it!”
“Kurek. Third window. Central. Before two,” Peter repeated. “Wolf threw down his cigarette. He is coming.”
Lucy turned and embraced Karin Wallich, then slipped something into Marlene’s hand. It was the note from the mirror. “Go now and rip it into a thousand pieces. Down the toilet with it, and no mistakes!”
Marlene smiled and ran to obey as Lucy hurried down the steps to meet Wolf at the curb.
35
The Last Pure Heart
Jacob was right. Alfie knew he was right, but still it did not make it any easier.
Big tears rolled down his cheeks and onto Joseph’s face as she sat purring on his lap.
“I can’t take you, Joseph,” he said sadly. “You can’t go with us. We are trying to get away from the Hitler-men. These fellows do not like Jews like Jacob and Mark. And they don’t like Jamie and Lori because they are real Christians.” Joseph put her paws on Alfie’s chest and rubbed her face in his salty tears as if she understood. “And they don’t like Dummkopfs like me.”
She purred loudly as though to say she liked Alfie a lot. This made Alfie blubber more.
“But the Hitler-men don’t have anything against cats. At least I don’t think they do. I think they like cats, because cats are just cats and don’t argue with them, you know?”
She purred louder.
Alfie looked up at Jacob, who was looking somewhere else and pretending not to notice Alfie and his cat, Joseph. But Alfie could tell Jacob heard them talking.
“You have to stay here with your kittens. They need you a lot. Except Werner.” He frowned toward the little black-and-white kitten who tottered about on unsteady legs.
“Werner is like me, Joseph,” Alfie explained to the mother cat. “He is not as strong as your other babies, and so—” This was difficult to explain to a mother. “So Jacob says I can take Werner with me and take care of him. Otherwise he will die if I leave him.”
Joseph did not seem to mind. She curled up on Alfie’s lap and blinked sleepily at her kittens. Maybe she understood and maybe she didn’t, Alfie thought, but either way this was a very sad day.
Jacob let him pack some cans of milk and even sardines for Werner. Alfie had very little else to take for himself. He packed a few tin soldiers, especially Jesus and His horse. And then Lori held out the jewels Alfie had given her and told him he could use some of them to buy whatever he needed when they were out of Germany. This made him feel better. He promised Joseph that he would buy Werner a nice pillow to sleep on and lots of good food to eat.
***
Dressed in his black Hitler Youth uniform, Jamie ascended the steps of the crypt to reconnoiter. Jacob hoped their pursuers had given up after a day-long search and had gone home to hot cider and a warm fire by now.
The churchyard was pitch black, although it was not late. He could not even see the silhouette of the church building as he peered out from the latch, listened, and then slid it back fully.
“Be careful,” Jacob warned. Jamie inched past him and emerged in the upper chamber of the crypt. He crawled forward, clutching the key, and waited. No sound—only a slight breeze rustling dead leaves among the headstones. So this was it!
“Come on.” Jamie reached up and fumbled with the lock. Clumsy in the dark, he could not open the gate.
“Tor auf!” Jacob demanded. Alfie took the key from Jacob and in one deft movement opened the gate.
It groaned back on its hinges. The fugitives huddled just inside the arch like partridges waiting to be flushed out. There was still no sound, no movement in the blackness. They slipped out and waited, moved forward a few paces and halted. Alfie locked the gate behind them. He reached through the bars and scratched Joseph’s chin, and then joined the crouching procession as it wound through the tombstones toward the break in the wall behind the gardener’s shed.