Safe Haven (9 page)

S
uzanne was having serious second thoughts about whether or not she had any chance of telling a story about the refugees that could hold up against the work of the other reporters on the scene. She needed to come up with some unique angle, but if she couldn’t even get inside the fort …

Andy had been unable to secure a press pass for her to be on the grounds for the ceremony. He had pulled every string he could to no avail. So on Sunday, like dozens of townspeople, she stood outside the fence watching as a drum and bugle corps presented the flag, someone sang “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and a local priest gave a prayer of invocation.

The mayor stepped to the podium to give a word of welcome to the refugees standing or sitting on the grass of the parade ground. The director of the shelter—Joseph Smart—along with representatives of various government agencies such as the State Department and the Department of Interior also offered their remarks. Suzanne noted that Director Smart in explaining the decision to translate the day’s events into German commented, “We are not at war with the German language, only with the Nazi oppressors.” That statement earned him a rousing cheer from the refugees.

Appropriately—given that nearly 90 percent of FDR’s “guests” were Jewish—the program ended with a prayer by the rabbi from the synagogue in Oswego. Following the official ceremony, everyone made their way to a row of tables set up with refreshments under the shade of some trees.

“How about something cold to drink?”

Suzanne turned to find Theo standing next to her, offering her a paper cup filled with ice and a slice of fresh lemon and lemonade.

“Selma sent it over,” he explained.

“Selma? I notice you’re on a first-name basis these days.”

He shrugged. “She tries to act tough, but she’s quite the softie inside. She said I should make sure you don’t stand in the sun too long.”

“I learned some time ago to carry my shade with me,” Suzanne told him, pointing to her wide-brimmed straw hat before taking a swallow of the sweet liquid. “You look nice.”

It was evident that he had recently showered and shaved. His skin was ruddy, and his hair still damp. He wore a plaid, cotton short-sleeved shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap. She was pretty sure that he blushed at the compliment.

“How did your cousin like her doll?”

“I think she really liked it,” he said. “She’s quite the little talker once she warms up to you. She told me all about the doll she used to have back in Munich and how she and my sister, Beth, used to play tea party and house and how her father had told her that Beth now had her own real baby and …” He stopped suddenly and looked down. “Now look who can’t shut up,” he muttered.

“I brought something for Liesl, as well, if you think it would be all right for me to give her a present.”

“Like what?”

She took a tissue-wrapped package from her bag and opened the layers of thin white paper to reveal a rainbow of colorful ribbons. “For her hair,” Suzanne explained. “I mean, I guess I just assumed that she would have long hair—pigtails maybe?” She suddenly had doubts. As usual she had simply rushed into buying something she thought a girl would like without finding out anything about this specific child.

“They’re perfect,” Theo assured her. “She’s going to love them. And yes, she has a braid—it’s not pigtails, just a single braid.”

Suzanne breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.” She glanced around, noticing that the reception was beginning to break up as some of the refugees wandered back toward the barracks and some of the dignitaries began to get into their cars. “Is this where we’re supposed to meet your family?” she asked.

“Over this way,” Theo said, indicating a shaded area. “Here they come now.”

Suzanne reached into her pocketbook for her notebook and pen, but Theo put his hand on hers to stop her. “Maybe for this first meeting we could just talk—get to know them?”

“Sure.”

She watched the family coming toward the fence. Theo’s uncle was probably younger than she had first thought. The mother—Ilse—had fixed her eyes on Suzanne, and it seemed to Suzanne that the woman was sizing her up as to whether she might be friend or foe. The little girl—Liesl—wore a sleeveless blue gingham dress with daisies embroidered on it, a single braid of blond hair that reached her waist, and no shoes. She was also clutching the doll Theo had given her.

“Hello,” Liesl said as she ran ahead of her parents to reach the fence first. “I am Liesl, and are you the reporter who is going to tell President Roosevelt about us so he will let us go home to the farm with Theo?”

This was one of those trick questions like a lawyer asking a witness if he still beat his wife. Suzanne smiled and stooped down so that she was more at an eye level with the child. “I am very pleased to meet you, Liesl. My name is Suzanne, and yes, I am a reporter.”

She stood again as Theo introduced his aunt and uncle. Handshakes were impossible with the fence so Suzanne just nodded and said how pleased she was to meet them. A dozen questions came to mind, but they were all a reporter’s inquiries. Suzanne was really no good at small talk, and she knew that if she started firing away with the things she wanted to know for her article, she could scare them off.

“Miss Randolph brought you a present, Liesl,” Theo said when the silence threatened to become uncomfortable.

“Another present?” Liesl looked up at her mother. “It’s not even close to my birthday,” she added.

Suzanne handed Theo the packet of ribbons, and he passed it over the fence to his uncle, who handed it to Liesl. “What do you say, Liesl?”

“
Danke
—I mean, thank you,” the child murmured absentmindedly as she concentrated on opening the paper without damaging it. “Oh look, Mama! Ribbons and so many of them,” she added in awe as she fingered each one. “Thank you so much.”

“There’s a blue one that would go perfectly with your new dress,” Ilse said. “Turn around, and I’ll tie it onto your braid.” She made a bow with the ribbon and lifted Liesl’s braid over the child’s shoulder to show her the result. “See? It is just right.”

The smile Ilse gave Suzanne said that she had made up her mind—Suzanne was a friend. “I wanted to bring something for you and Mr. Schneider,” Suzanne said, “but I couldn’t think what.”

“This is more than enough. There is no need for gifts,” Ilse assured her.

Suzanne turned her attention to Theo’s uncle, who had remained quiet. “I understand that you are a professor, Mr. Schneider … or is it Dr. Schneider?”

“I was a professor, and yes, I have my doctorate, but these days I work in the shelter’s hospital. I keep the records there.” The smile he gave her was one of embarrassment at his reduced status, and she wondered how many of the people inside the fence felt that same sense of loss. Grief came in many forms.

“And what subjects did you teach back … when you were teaching?”

“I taught in the sciences at the University of Munich. Our home was there. It is where I suppose we will be sent once the war ends.” His eyes wandered away from her face as if he were already somewhere else.

Suzanne felt that she had some understanding of the man’s sadness. When a person lost the job they were meant to do, it could be demoralizing. And for a man in his prime as Franz Schneider had been, the blow must have been shattering. “I am so very sorry,” Suzanne said softly.

“But you are here now,” Theo reminded him. He knelt down close to where Liesl had plopped on the grass and was talking quietly to her doll. “Did you name her yet?”

“Lizbeth. That’s what Mama told me Beth now calls herself. It starts with the same letter that my name starts with. Lizbeth is in England, and she married Josef, and they have a baby, and—”

Ilse touched the top of her daughter’s head. “Enough, Liesl.”

“Was all that news in Beth’s letter?” Theo asked.

“Yes, all of that and more,” Franz replied. He looked directly at Theo and added, “Now we understand. For all these months we had thought that Josef …”

She heard the older man’s voice break and wondered what the story behind this puzzling dialogue might be.

“Miss Randolph,” Ilse said, covering for her husband, “perhaps one day you will meet our niece. Then you will have a story to tell. I assure you.” She laughed. “Beth—for she will always be Beth to me whatever she may call herself—lived with us in Munich. She practically raised Liesl for the first eight years of her life. When we were forced to leave, we were separated and until Theo brought us a letter that she had sent to his parents to hold for us, we had no idea what had happened to her. It is such a relief—a gift really—to know that she is safe and happy.”

Suzanne’s brain was reeling with angles for that story—Beth’s story. But Edwin had sent her here to get the story of the refugees. And besides, Beth and her husband were still overseas, and there was this little matter of a war raging over there.

“Miss Randolph is working on a story for the newspapers about the shelter,” Theo said as if confirming her thoughts. “Aunt Ilse, would you be willing to introduce her to some of the other women?”

For the first time since they’d been introduced, Suzanne saw Ilse hesitate. “I really don’t know that many people yet. When you have so many people from different countries—different religions and customs, different languages even—it takes time, Suzanne. We’ve only just arrived here.”

All Suzanne heard was that Ilse had not said an outright no. She smiled. “I’ve got time,” she told the older woman. “And meanwhile, you and I can become better acquainted while you tell me your story. You and your husband and daughter will become a voice telling the whole country of the plight of the refugees.”

Ilse glanced at her husband. “Franz?”

“We do not wish to do anything that might jeopardize whatever possibility we have to stay in America. Perhaps we should let others be the voice of this circumstance, Miss Randolph. My family has been through enough.”

And there was her no.

Back at the boardinghouse, Theo noticed at supper that Suzanne was unusually quiet. Hilda Cutter babbled on about the refugees and the gossip she had heard that morning in church and the trouble there was sure to be once the quarantine was lifted and “those people” were free to go wherever they pleased.

Suddenly Suzanne’s head shot up, and she pinned Hilda with her gaze. “
Those people
are not hooligans, Hilda. Theo’s uncle, for example, was a respected university professor in Munich. There are doctors and men who were successful in business and women who also had careers. I was told by a fellow reporter that there is even a well-known French actress among the group.”

“Well, from what I have heard, most of them are Communists. That is our next great worry, you know. The Communists are little better than the Nazis and—”

“My uncle and aunt are not Communists,” Theo said quietly. “They are Quakers like me and my parents and siblings.”

He saw Suzanne give him a slight smile before she turned her attention back to her food—food she was moving around the plate with her fork but not really eating.

“A Quaker, eh?” Usually Hugh Kilmer concentrated on his food and paid little attention to the conversation. The other regular boarder, he was a traveling salesman who kept a room at Mrs. Velo’s for when he was calling on customers in northern New York State. “You folks the ones who won’t fight—won’t join up?”

It was a challenge that Theo had grown used to. “We are pacifists, yes, but we serve in other ways.”

“Safe ways,” Hugh muttered as he stuffed a huge forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and continued to stare at Theo. “You have relatives in the camp, then?”

“My uncle and aunt and their daughter—my cousin.”

“Germans, are they?”

The words rolled across the room like syrup spilled on the lace tablecloth, sticking to everything as it oozed its way down the table. Theo was aware of all eyes on him—including Suzanne’s.

“We are of German heritage, my family, yes,” Theo replied and went back to eating, although he had lost his appetite.

“Seems off to me that old FDR would include Germans in those he picked to bring over here,” Hugh muttered. A beat of quiet was punctuated only by the clink of flatware on plates and ice shifting in glasses, but with the silence came Theo’s certainty that Hugh would finally drop the conversation. He was wrong.

“I mean the French—sure. They’re on our side. Even the Polacks and Slavs I can see. After all, Hitler ran straight over them and took over their countries, didn’t he?”

“He also took over Germany,” Suzanne said, her voice firm and dangerously soft. It was a warning for Hugh Kilmer to shut up, but it came through as clearly as if she had said those words instead.

Hugh turned his attention to her. “You’re the reporter, right? From Syracuse?”

“Washington,” Suzanne replied, concentrating on cutting her chicken cutlet into bite-sized pieces.

Hugh released a low whistle. “Our nation’s capital. Impressive. What paper?”

Suzanne’s cheeks reddened as if she was suddenly far too warm and needed air. “I … that is … there is … I am freelancing,” she finally managed just as Selma appeared from the kitchen carrying the pitcher of tea that she had gone to refill. “I am not feeling so well,” Suzanne murmured as she placed her napkin next to her plate and pushed back her chair. “Please excuse me.”