Saving Amelie (52 page)

“Frau Hartman—” he circled her once—“we meet again.” His eyes roved, calculating, over her face, her hair, her body, then turned suddenly cold. “You will not mind if I observe your class today.”

She swallowed, knowing her fear was palpable and noting he’d not asked a question. Jason had warned her that to act afraid served only as enticement to cruelty. She fumbled with the prop in her hand, closing her eyes, willing herself to breathe.
What would Rachel say? How would she respond? What has Maximillion told him?
“You are welcome to observe, Sturmbannführer. We are working on facial
muscle skills and voice projection today. Heinrich, set chairs for the Sturmbannführer and his guest.”

But Heinrich stood his ground, glaring at Maximillion until Schlick, distracted by the boy’s sullenness, focused on him. Maximillion did not have the decency to be embarrassed by the youngster’s challenge.

“Heinrich, please. Do as I’ve asked,” Lea gently admonished. The last thing she wanted was for Heinrich to come under Schlick’s scrutiny.

Lea did her best to muster the confidence she felt when conducting singing lessons, but the facial and body movements Rachel had taught her were not natural to her. So she fell back on what she taught her young choir about breathing from their diaphragms, about projecting their voices to the mountains, about lifting their chests and chins and singing from the depths of their being, not from their throats. This must be true for acting, surely. But Heinrich looked worried, the other children looked uncertain, and Maximillion whispered incessantly in Sturmbannführer Schlick’s ear. Schlick narrowed his eyes, drilling an imagined interrogation into Lea’s mind. He reminded her of Dr. Mengele at the Institute. She could barely hold her head up from the cringing in her soul.

Never had the clock on the classroom wall ticked so slowly. Never had she stumbled so incompetently through a class.

Once the children had gone, Gerhardt Schlick accompanied her to the town square, where she tried valiantly not to crumble. “An enlightening afternoon, Frau Hartman. Not what I expected based on your choir classes or the laudations of parents and children alike.”

“That’s because—” Maximillion began, but Schlick cut him off.

“As I said, enlightening,” Schlick finished.

Lea did not trust herself to respond, but nodded and measured her steps toward home. Knees trembling, she stumbled into Oma’s kitchen, letting her prop bag fall by the door.

“What is it?” Oma asked, drying her hands on her apron. “What has happened?”

“Sturmbannführer Schlick—he dogs my every step. He haunts Friederich’s shop and now my drama practices—classes that even the children know are horrible! I’m not Rachel—I can’t act or teach as she does. Maximillion knows I am a fraud. They both sat today and watched me. Sturmbannführer Schlick looked one moment as if he wanted to eat me and the next as if he’ll grind me into the dirt with his boot.”

Oma propped her cane beside the table and gingerly sat down across from her. “It was bad enough the two of them sat behind us in church on Sunday. Will he never stop?”

“Not until he finds me.” Rachel appeared in the doorway. “We can’t possibly keep this up. The only way to make him stop is to turn myself in.”

“And have him know we’ve hidden you all this time?” Lea shook her head. “We’d all be arrested.”

Oma knotted her fingers. “Can you imagine what that fiend of a man would do to his daughter if he found her alive?”

Lea buried her head in her hands.

“What, then?” Rachel pleaded. “I can’t put you through this any longer.”

Rivka stood in the doorway behind Rachel. “Amelie’s sleeping—she’ll never know I’m not there. There’s something I want to say. I’ve been thinking. What Friederich said about Jason—‘smoke and mirrors’ . . .”

“And?” Lea looked up, desperate. “Friederich said it was too dangerous.”

“Yes, I know. But I can’t stop thinking about it. Just think of this: What if you and Rachel created a special musical or a play—a play you invited the officers to, and as many guards as possible? What if, the night of the performance, Rachel actually directed the children,
and Sturmbannführer Schlick saw her there—knew, somehow, that it was her and not you? Then sometime during the play, the two of you switched places, and the woman he’d seen—Rachel—sneaked away, and the woman on stage became Lea?”

“Whatever are you talking about?” Oma demanded.

“Smoke and mirrors,” Rachel said, the light dawning in her eyes. She pulled out a chair and sat before Lea. “We could do it during scene changes—switch clothes. If the lights were dim, he couldn’t tell the difference between us.”

“But you and Rivka and Amelie would have time to escape the village.” Lea was beginning to see it.

“Escape? With all those guards at the checkpoints?” Oma looked as if they’d both gone crazy.

“They’d have to be kept busy,” Rivka said. “They’d have to believe Rachel was really there, in front of them, with no worries of losing her. And it would have to be safe afterward—for Lea. As though Lea were the only one there all along.”

“Could it be done?” Lea asked.

“Impossible! The whole town would have to believe—and be there! That horrid man has put a price on your head!” Oma stood firm. “There’s nothing—”

“King Ludwig’s Fire—the birthday celebration!” Lea sat up.

“
Nein, nein
, the Nazis will never allow it—not with the blackouts and curfew,” Oma protested. “Not with them in power and wanting to distance themselves from the very notion of the old monarchy.”

“The King Ludwig’s what?” Rachel asked.

“It’s a tradition—to honor his memory. Weeks before his birthday our fire-makers carry wood up secret paths to the top of Mount Kofel. They construct a gigantic crown—eight meters high with a cross beneath it! And six more fires on surrounding mountains—some in the shape of a cross, sometimes the letter
L
for his name, sometimes a great bonfire. Then, the night before his birthday, the
fire-makers and the brass band steal up Mount Kofel. Just as darkness falls, a chorale begins the celebration. Then the band plays as all the fires are lit.”

Oma nodded. “The hills are ablaze.”

“They burn for hours, and finally, when they burn very low, the fire-makers and musicians descend the mountain by torchlight—a parade of light and music, down the mountain and through the village streets.”

“We sing and celebrate at the inns all night and into the new day—the king’s birthday.”

“Fires on the mountain to honor a long-dead king?” Rachel’s brows peaked. “I don’t think they’ll—”

“But if they did allow it, it would provide the perfect opportunity to get away—to walk out of town during the parade, and to some other place to be picked up. And even if they won’t allow it, we could create some alternative form of entertainment—one that honors the blackout and provides cultural entertainment for the troops. They’re always wanting that,” Lea insisted.

“Maybe the fire lighting in story form, performed by the children?” Rivka wondered. “Invite them all—the church, the town, the guards, Schlick—everyone!”

“You’d have to make it in honor of the Reich or Hitler or Gerhardt to get him to come. He wouldn’t come for some folkish festival or to honor a dead monarch,” Rachel objected.

“Then we’ll do it. If the villagers know the play honors King Ludwig, they will come. If the Nazis believe it honors them on the day we would normally honor King Ludwig,
they
will come,” Lea insisted.

“It might work, but it’s a huge risk,” Rachel challenged her sister. “You would do this for me? Risk your life for me?”

“For you and Amelie and Rivka . . .” Lea swallowed hard. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

“We could make the switch while they’re all in the hall, but how will we escape? How will we leave the village?” Rivka asked.

Lea turned to Rachel. “Does your friend Pastor Bonhoeffer have a car—a way?”

“No, but perhaps he knows someone who does—someone he can trust.”

“Even if we can find a car, those Nazis would never leave the checkpoints unguarded.” Oma placed her cup in the sink. “Even if you invited them all to the production—even if they believed Rachel was there. And Friederich is certainly not going to like this.”

Lea held up her hand for silence when they heard the scrape of boots outside the kitchen door, but too late. Friederich had pushed open the wooden door even as Oma spoke.

“And what is it your Friederich isn’t going to like, Oma?” Friederich leaned his cane against the doorframe and pecked the old woman’s cheek. He pulled off his hat and vest, his smile fading when he saw the women watching him, holding their breath. “What is it?”

“We’ve thought of a way to draw the Nazis from their posts—or at least some of them—to get Rachel and Amelie and Rivka out. We just don’t have the means of transportation.”

“Or the papers,” Friederich said.

“Or the papers—yet,” Lea agreed.

“But Jason’s working on those.” Rachel’s voice sounded more hopeful than certain.

Friederich drew a deep breath. He looked sadly at Rivka.

“Friederich?” Lea reached for her husband’s hand.

“Jason sent new documents, but he could only get two sets. I’m sorry, Rivka. Perhaps later.”

Rivka’s eyes fell, but she straightened, attempting a smile.

“What good will papers do if there is no way out of the village?” Oma worried.

“Herr Schrade said there is a way—one way left to us.” Friederich
hung his vest by the door. “Through the forests and over the Alps on foot, through Switzerland and unoccupied France, then eventually to Lisbon. It’s still possible to get out through Lisbon.”

“The Alps—on foot?” Lea cried. “Even if they left tomorrow, by the time they’d reached halfway, snow might set in. And if they are delayed along the way . . .”

Friederich shrugged and looked at Rachel. “Can you ski? If Herr Schrade guides you through the mountain passes and connects you with others?”

“Yes, yes, I’m strong on skis. But I’m certain Amelie’s never skied; she’s too little. I’m not sure I could carry her.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Would Herr Schrade—?”

Friederich shook his head. “
Nein
, it’s too dangerous for a child—the uncertain weather high up, the cold. Besides, he can only take you so far; then others will assist, and there’s no way to know if they could carry her. She might have to be left along the way.”

“I would never leave her,” Rachel vowed, but amended, “not now.”

“I told him that, too.”

Silence stretched across the moments.

“Then we’re no better off,” Oma said.

“Can I see the passports?” Rivka asked.

Friederich pulled them from a small pouch. “They’re perfect. I don’t know how they do them.”

Rivka took the papers to the light and held them close. “Yes, they’re very well done. But they can be altered. My brother told me that it’s possible.”

“What do you mean?” Rachel peered over her shoulder.

Rivka turned to face her. “I mean that I ski. I ski very well.”

63

T
HAT
NIGHT
Rachel slept with Amelie in her arms. She’d come to love Amelie as her own, or as near to her own as she could imagine. Supposing Amelie’s passport could be doctored and forged again for Rivka, could she leave Amelie with Lea and Friederich and Oma? Could she leave her to save Rivka? Could she leave her at all?

She’d taken Kristine’s daughter to raise—unwillingly, at first. But in the last few months she’d come to imagine their future, forming a makeshift family with Jason—Uncle Jason—the three of them. It was a fantasy, Rachel knew, but with or without Jason she would raise Kristine’s child as her own. From duty? From honor? Partly.

But Amelie’s deafness was no longer an issue in Rachel’s estimation of her worth. Being able to sign, to communicate together at least some, broke down barriers. Rachel had realized that the barriers were of her own making, not Amelie’s. When they got back to the US, Rachel would make certain they both received all the training they needed.
Amelie will have everything I can provide. That’s what I want—at last. I love her. But is that best for Amelie?

She can’t possibly make this trip on foot—not so close to cold weather in the mountains. But if I don’t leave now, when can I? When will the two of us ever be able to leave together with Gerhardt posting the “Bavarian Madonna and Child” photo across the Alps and offering a reward for me? Amelie’s at greater risk with me than without me. If I don’t leave soon, no one will be safe.

And what about Rivka? What hope is there for an orphaned Jewish girl in Germany? Perhaps even less than for the golden-haired deaf child of an SS officer.

Rachel closed her eyes against defiant tears. Why was the world so stupid, so cruel? Both Rivka and Amelie were innocent—treasures, rubies, diamonds beyond worth—and yet the likes of Gerhardt Schlick and Adolf Hitler bent perverted energies to destroy them. She bit her lip. Until recently, she’d been just as blind through belief in her own superiority, and through apathy.

Amelie squirmed in her arms. Rachel released the little girl, realizing she’d been holding her too tightly. She smoothed Amelie’s curls, kissed the crown of her head, and rolled over, swiping away her tears. There was no sound from Rivka, no even breathing to indicate a peaceful sleep. Rachel knew her friend lay wide awake, pondering her fate.