Code name edelweiss, p.11
Code Name Edelweiss, page 11
CHAPTER 18
LIESL
I was late to work the next morning but Thekla’s displeasure was not my greatest concern.
I had opened Adolf Hitler’s book last night, expecting—what?—I did not know. The first chapters had been wandering, tedious reading but unease rose within me as I turned the pages. Adolf Hitler blamed the Jewish people for all that had gone wrong in Germany. In itself, not unusual in Germany or even America. But the intensity of Adolf Hitler’s hatred was unlike any I’d heard of in our own newspapers and radio programs.
Inhuman, he called the Jews. Subhuman. A race that was polluting and destroying the Aryan people. I saw Miriam’s face, her broad smile and kindness. Stella, with her sharp wit, and Leon Lewis’s understanding gaze. According to Adolf Hitler, these people were the source of all evil and in need of eradication. Extermination. I checked to make sure I had read it right. I had.
No. This cannot be. Vati had taught me that being German was something to be proud of—a culture that valued work and orderliness, love for family and duty to country. But Adolf Hitler’s treatise spoke of Aryan dominance. He wished to gain control of the schools, the newspapers, and businesses. To drive the Jews out of his country.
What I read on these pages was a twisted mockery of all Vati held dear, of the Germany I had been taught to respect. Pride in our culture was not the same as dominating—eradicating—another race. Surely the Friends of New Germany did not espouse these same ideas?
The tick of my bedside clock was the only sound other than the turning of the pages as I read the solution for “the Jewish menace.” They must be defeated, Adolf Hitler said, “by wiping the parasitic race from the face of the earth.”
I closed the book with a slam that made Tess flinch in her sleep.
I considered once more the Friends of New Germany and what I had seen in the past three days. Paul Themlitz, jovial bookstore owner. The charitable works for veterans with nowhere to turn. Hermann and Thekla, a stylish couple promoting the heritage and customs of the German people. Only Wilhelm Otto seemed to be truly frightening. And what of Fritz and the men in uniform? He had been the one to remove the young man from the auditorium. His talk of Jews over the past few months was suddenly far more insidious. Could my own brother believe what I had just read? I shoved the book under the bed and still felt its menacing presence as if it were a living thing. As dawn lightened the sky, I fell into a fitful slumber and woke late. But before I could rush to work, I needed to talk to Fritz.
I cornered him in the kitchen when he returned from his night shift. “Does Mutti know what you’re involved in?”
“Don’t tell her,” he said, taking off his hat and sitting down at the table. “She’ll just worry and you know how she is.”
I stared him down with my big sister look.
“Please, Liesl,” he said, “don’t tell Mutti.” It sounded so much like my little brother, when he’d gotten into trouble on the MGM lot and I’d promised not to tell. He was right; Mutti would worry. And when she worried, we were all miserable. I wanted to ask him about last night, about what I’d read and what he believed, but I could not. Perhaps I was afraid to hear his answer. “For now,” I said. “But you tell her before I have to.”
I walked Tess to school and ran for the later trolley. As I stood in the swaying crowd, I wondered if I was overreacting. Yet Leon Lewis’s intelligent manner came back to me. I had agreed to help him, even as I had not believed him. And now did I believe him?
I did not know.
Inside the Alt Heidelberg, I found high spirits. Max Socha had won the election and this pleased Thekla and Hermann immensely. I thought briefly about the locked ballot box. Who had counted the votes? And when? But it was hardly my place to question the validity of the alliance vote.
“What a wonderful turnout we had last night,” Thekla said. “So very gratifying to see so many who think as we do.”
“It was all we could have hoped,” Hermann agreed. “And to unify our people under one banner will help our cause.”
Were they good-hearted ambassadors or was there an undercurrent of menace in their words? I did not know. But I would find out.
When I had completed my morning work, I went downstairs to the Aryan Bookstore. Paul Themlitz welcomed me eagerly. No Wilhelm Otto lurking in the shadows was a relief. “It was enlightening,” I told him when he asked if I had read Adolf Hitler’s book.
“Wonderful!” he enthused. “Take this next.” He pushed a thick pamphlet into my hands. “Henry Ford paid to print over twenty thousand copies.”
I read The Protocols of the Elders of Zion at my desk during my lunch hour and wished I had not. It took very little time to get the main premise, that the Jews were conspiring to turn non-Jews into slaves and control the economies of the world. It went on to show how Jews were responsible for all past disasters, from the French Revolution to our current financial crisis. That they needed to be stopped.
“Liesl?” Thekla, who had been sitting on the divan reading Ladies’ Home Journal, said suddenly. “Are you ill?”
I started at her concerned voice. The hard-boiled egg I had eaten sat like a rock in my stomach. Hermann came out of his office with Wilhelm Otto on his heels. He stopped midsentence at Thekla’s question and approached my desk with a concerned look.
“Oh, my dear.” Thekla came to me, put her hand over mine, and acknowledged the volume in my hand. “It is quite upsetting, is it not?”
I glanced down. “It is indeed.” There was no untruth there. “It is . . . unbelievable.”
Thekla squeezed my hand. “We must do our best to make a better world for your children, Liesl. I know you believe that.”
Hermann murmured agreement. Wilhelm Otto was silent.
I wished to snatch my hand from Thekla’s cold grasp. Did they truly believe the claims stated in this treatise? I realized with a sickening awareness of my own cowardice that, as with Fritz, I did not want to know the answer.
“I—It’s just . . .” I strove for an honest response. “I don’t know what to think.”
Thekla’s sympathy was sincere. “I understand completely, my dear.”
I glanced up to find Wilhelm Otto’s watchful gaze on me.
Hermann’s voice was filled with compassion. “Liesl, you needn’t worry your pretty head. The Friends are here now and we’ll do what must be done.” He glanced at his wife. “You see, my dear,” he said, “I told you she was one of us.”
Hermann Schwinn’s words, intended to comfort, gave me a shudder of dread.
CHAPTER 19
LIESL
Friday afternoon, Hermann Schwinn cornered me in the supply room.
I had spent twenty-four hours trying not to think of Leon Lewis or Adolf Hitler. I typed letters, addressed envelopes, and took dictation. I responded appropriately to Thekla’s pleasant comments and smiled at Hermann and Paul Themlitz. Wilhelm Otto came and went. I avoided his gaze with determination. I kept my mind on the tasks at hand.
My final duty of the week was to make an account of the office supplies according to Thekla’s orders. She kept meticulous records of every item—each sheet of paper and staple—that we used. I was also counting the seconds until I could flee the Alt Heidelberg and push my questions about Mein Kampf, the Elders of Zion, and the Friends of New Germany into a file in my mind marked “Do not consider.”
I turned to find Hermann Schwinn very close behind me. I jumped in surprise. At the familiar look in his eyes, a realization came to me. Hermann Schwinn’s touch in his auto had been not as innocent as he claimed.
The supply room was small, hardly more than a closet, lined with shelves and a small table on which the percolator and a hot plate stood. Hermann Schwinn stood between me and the door, with only a few inches on either side of his body. I calmed my racing heart. I’d dealt with this behavior on a daily basis at MGM. Be firm but polite. “Excuse me, Mr. Schwinn.” I looked pointedly at the door behind him.
Hermann stepped closer still. “Call me Hermann, Liesl.” His gaze was not on my face but considerably lower.
My irritation rose and I considered my options. Thekla was not in the office. I wielded only a clipboard and a pencil for defense. “Mr. Schwinn, I have work to do.”
“Of course, Liesl, don’t let me deter you.” He turned sideways, allowing me just enough room to squeeze past him. I let out a breath and inched past him. He leaned forward, trapping me against the shelving, his body in full contact with mine. He winked as if we were playing a game. Perhaps he was, but I was not. A shudder of revulsion went over me and I considered giving him a good shove, but I needed to stay in his good graces and making a fuss would not do.
That was when I saw Wilhelm Otto watching from the doorway.
The scene looked, of course, as if Hermann and I were having a dalliance in the storage room while Thekla was out. I scraped past Hermann, the clipboard tight against my chest, my cheeks flaring hot. Wilhelm stepped aside so I did not brush against him in the slightest as I passed.
Hermann chuckled as if nothing untoward had taken place. “Wilhelm, let’s go over that list of veterans, shall we?”
My pulse settled as the door to Hermann’s office clicked shut. Had Wilhelm Otto thought I was welcoming Hermann’s attentions? Thekla was a jealous woman. She not only wanted all of her husband’s attention; she wished for every man to see her as the only woman in the room.
But Wilhelm Otto rarely even spoke. Surely he would not tell tales to Thekla.
At three o’clock Hermann came out of his office as if nothing had happened. “Liesl, I’ll drive you home,” he said with the authority of a man who was used to being obeyed.
“No.” My reaction was immediate, the remembrance of his hand on my knee, the incident just half an hour earlier in the storage room. I took a breath. “I mean, thank you, Hermann. But there’s no need.”
Hermann was undeterred and reached for his hat. “Of course I must—”
“I’ll drive her.”
I’d forgotten Wilhelm Otto’s commanding tone. It seemed to stop Hermann for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “It’s no trouble—”
“Mrs. Weiss?” Wilhelm Otto opened the door as if Hermann had not uttered a word.
I did not wish to be alone in an auto with Hermann Schwinn, but was Wilhelm Otto any better?
He raised his brows at me with a look of slight impatience. I did not have a choice. I smiled and preceded Wilhelm Otto through the office door and down the stairs in complete silence. He opened the passenger door for me to slide into the thickly cushioned leather seat of his waiting sedan. I settled into the seat as he walked to the driver’s side. Was I—as Mutti would say—jumping from the frying pan into the fire?
Wilhelm Otto pushed an electric ignition and the engine started with a subdued roar. He rolled down his window, lit a cigarette, and pulled out onto the street. Unsurprisingly, silence prevailed.
I thought of what I knew of the man beside me. Little, except for Thekla’s mention of his rank. He exuded a military-type control in his every movement. Other men—even Hermann—listened when he spoke, which made him even more menacing.
We came to a stop at the streetlight on Olympic and I could stand the silence no more. “Were you really in the war?”
“Yes,” he said simply, then threw his half-smoked cigarette out the window.
“You don’t seem old enough.”
“I wasn’t,” he answered with little feeling. “I was big for my age.”
He was still big, and I wondered exactly what his age was.
“I’m thirty-one,” he said without taking his eyes from the road, “if that’s what you’re wondering.”
I did the mathematics. “You were fifteen?” He’d practically been a child.
“Sixteen by the time I saw action.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Forged my father’s signature. Not that he would have cared, just easier that way.” He glanced sideways at me and I had the distinct impression that he hadn’t meant to disclose that personal detail.
The silence stretched. I glanced at his profile, noting the aquiline nose and sharp jaw. He looked perfectly at ease with not speaking, and so I determined I would be also.
My relief was acute when we pulled to the curb outside my home. I gathered my handbag and readied myself to leave the auto, then looked up to see Wilhelm eyeing the thin gold band on my left hand.
“What happened to your husband?” His question was a jolt of lightning out of a blue sky.
I was momentarily speechless. Then the lie came to my lips. “He died.”
His expression remained blank. “That’s not what I heard, Mrs. Weiss.”
My mouth went dry and my pulse pounded in my ears. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged eloquently.
Anger welled within me. At whoever was whispering my secrets. At Tomas, for leaving me. And at this man, for questioning me about my personal life. I looked out the window at the geranium on my stoop, dripping red petals. “One day he went to work and never came home.” The stark words somehow didn’t seem fair to Tomas, as true as they were. He had been a good husband and a good father. Not the kind who would leave his family, but I was not about to explain this to Wilhelm Otto of all people.
Wilhelm was still watching me. “Have you ever looked for him?”
I caught my breath at the sudden pain the question caused. “Of course the police did.” Until Mickey told me about what Tomas had said. Then they stopped looking. But I never stopped. I looked for him every day. Everywhere.
Wilhelm raised one brow as if to say what he thought of the police. “A private detective is what I mean.”
Of course I’d thought of it. But even if we could afford such a thing, I couldn’t do it. What if I found out that he had left me for another woman? Or was living in Texas or just across town? Then I would no longer have hope when the telephone rang or the doorbell chimed. I would no longer be able to dream of him walking through the door, telling me he loved me and he had a good reason—he’d lost his memory, he’d been kidnapped. I’d considered it all. Better to cling to the ridiculous hope that he might someday come back than to give up and face a life without him.
He met my eyes. “Knowing is better than not knowing, Mrs. Weiss.”
He was wrong. Not knowing was infinitely better than knowing that your husband had been miserable when you thought he was happy. That the life you thought was good was unbearable to him. That the man you loved beyond all reason never really loved you.
I realized just then that I had not told Wilhelm Otto where I lived. He knew my address and he knew about Tomas. A shiver of fear raised goose bumps on my skin. Was there more he knew? About Mr. Lewis and why I was at the Friends?
I wanted nothing more than to leave the presence of this horrible man.
I pushed open the door and fumbled out of the auto and then took a breath. I would not run like a frightened child. Before I shut the door, I bent and looked at Wilhelm Otto’s inscrutable face. “I’ll thank you to mind your own business.”
He let me have the last word and silently pulled away.
I did not walk up the sidewalk to my door. Instead, I watched the sleek auto disappear down the street and around the corner. My hope that Wilhelm Otto would mind his own business was a vain one, indeed.
——————
How easily I had doubted Leon Lewis. And I had been wrong to do so.
After Wilhelm Otto’s automobile disappeared, I took Steffen and Tess for a walk to the Germantown post office and found the thirty dollars in an envelope addressed to Edelweiss. I paid down the bill at Grundbacher’s, had Johan wrap up a beef roast, and let the children pick out penny candy. I should have felt relieved but instead I felt . . . guilty.
Guilt and a shame that grew sharper with every step toward home.
Did I feel remorse for spying on the Friends of New Germany? No. I was realizing they were not as they seemed. Was it because I was lying to Mutti and Fritz? I should feel some shame there, but I did not. As we passed the Stahrs’ house, I knew.
My guilt and remorse were because I had betrayed Miriam. I was no better than Gertrud Grundbacher. I should have defended Miriam. I should have stood up against the judgment she faced every day.
I should not have remained silent.
After Tomas disappeared, my world had shrunk to a small orbit of necessary concerns: the children, Mutti, Fritz. Putting in my hours at MGM, getting my paycheck every Friday. Steffen’s winter ear infections and the cost of Mutti’s arthritis injections. The rent and our account at Grundbacher’s.
I told myself that was the reason for my silence.
One day last spring, I stopped at Grundbacher’s for a cheap piece of pork and a can of beans. Gertrud leaned on the counter in a serviceable dress covered in a pristine white apron. Tess had been accepted among the other German girls in her class and Mrs. Eberheart had ceased her complaints of misbehavior, but my uneasiness with Gertrud Grundbacher remained. Behind Gertrud, the refrigerator case brimmed with pink sausages, yellow cheeses, and vats of pickled vegetables. Johan Grundbacher stood on a ladder, stocking the shelves with canned peaches.
Gertrud’s coral lips stretched into the likeness of a smile. “Liesl, how good to see you.” Was there a word for people who acted as friends but in truth were not? There should be. As she paged through the account book to the Ws, Gertrud recited her usual litany of Hildy’s perfect scores on her spelling and geography tests. She did not mention my overdue account, but it was there between us. The bell over the door chimed and Gertrud glanced up.
Her mouth pursed like she’d bitten into a bad pickle.
I turned to see Miriam and Frieda. I was momentarily out of sorts. Miriam had never to my knowledge shopped at Grundbacher’s, I’d always assumed because of their dietary restrictions.
