Secrets She Kept (35 page)

“And the baby lived.” But she ignored me.

“Finally, the two women
 
—the older first, and later the younger, your Mutter
 
—were sent away. I don’t know where. Many women were shipped or marched elsewhere near the end of the war.”

She sat back, taking me in. “Until Herr Schmidt telephoned me, I thought perhaps they had perished. Now, I see they live on in you.” She smiled. “The promise of a baby brought life and hope to our barracks, no matter that we all risked our lives to see you live. She could have aborted you
 
—there were ways. But she didn’t. She chose to give you life.”

“But my father
 
—”

“
Nein
, I say again, she didn’t know the father
 
—how could she tell? Her husband? One of those wicked guards? But seeing you now, I believe . . . yes, I believe you must have been her husband’s child. How else could you have the eyes of her Naomi?”

We drove back to Berlin, stopping only for dinner in a lovely old hotel. But the restaurant’s mesmerizing music
 
—Frank Sinatra in English
 
—the warmth of the snapping wood fire, the sweet white dessert wine and yellow table roses served only to mellow me to the point of sleepiness, and numbness.

“It’s been an exhausting day for you.” Carl kneaded my palm with his fingers.

“I just keep thinking about my mother. Wondering how she endured any of it. Everything Frau Brunner told me about her
 
—I never knew. And I can’t help but wonder if her memories are reliable.”

“She mentioned two sisters. Have you heard of them?”

“No.”

“I remember a few women with the same name from the lists I saw. One was Cornelia ten Boom and her sister
 
—very much in the news these days. She’s written a book
 
—her story of her time in Ravensbruk.
The Hiding Place
, they call it.”

“So they really were there at the same time, or else Frau Brunner has read the book and incorporated their story into her memories.”

“I do not doubt her mental capacity. The thing that I could not comprehend was how Herr Sommer saw his daughter in that vile place and did nothing to help her, to save her.”

“She wouldn’t bend to his will.” It was the thing I knew most about Grandfather, the thing I could also understand about my mother.

“
Nein
, but how could he abandon and condemn his own child? This I cannot understand.”

I pressed his hand in return. “That’s because you’re a good man. Not all men are good.”

Carl shook his head. “He spent an entire life scheming and stealing and condemning others to fates worse than death . . . and for what? What did he gain? A closet full of treasures he could not enjoy, did not dare to show to the world? And no one to share them with. A pitiable, wasted life.”

“I can’t pity him. And I can’t forgive him. I’ll never forgive him, and yet I’m so very sad.”

“No, Hannah. Such bitterness will eat you away. Do not let him rob your life as well.”

“I’ll take that risk. He’s dead and ashes, but I still want to shake him.”

“Shake him? Is that an American cure?” He smiled.

“Maybe a Southern one
 
—a good old North Carolina mountain man cure.”

“And you are now a mountain woman? I thought you were the ‘miracle of Ravensbruk.’” He smiled broader, but not in a teasing way.

“It’s a miracle that I lived
 
—that my mother kept me. But I don’t know why. I can’t help but think Frau Brunner was romanticizing about Frau Kirchmann being my grandmother. How can she remember her eyes after all these years?

“And, although I hate to say it, I don’t think my mother especially loved me. She kept me at arm’s length. If anything, I think that would be proof that she didn’t believe I was Lukas’s daughter, that I was . . . the child of . . .” I couldn’t say it.

“And, for you, this is hard?”

“Well, of course it’s hard! To think I might have been the product of my mother’s multiple raping? I’m sick. I’m absolutely sick.”

“Then we must learn the identity of your father
 
—if we can.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible. Frau Brunner said Mama and her mother-in-law were sent away. Even she didn’t know where. We don’t know what happened to them. I don’t even know how Mama met my fa
 
—Joe Sterling.”

“You’re forgetting Lukas and Marta.”

“Finding them might explain what happened to them, and what happened to Lukas, but they won’t be able to tell me who my father is
 
—not if Mama didn’t know.”

“Frau Brunner only said your Mutter didn’t know in Ravensbruk. Perhaps she knew later.”

“I can’t change the past. But, oh, I wish Lukas could be my father. I would so prefer that to
 
—to
 
—”

“We must find him
 
—and Marta.”

“That will certainly require a miracle.”

“Another miracle.” Carl squeezed my hand. “I believe they follow you, Hannah Sterling.”

When we returned to Berlin, we found the police surrounding Grandfather’s house, tramping the snow in and out of the front and back doors. The neighbor across the street, the same one Geoffrey had observed spying on Dr. Peterson’s tirade, had reported the burglary.

Carl spoke at length with the policeman in German, as well as Frau Huber, the neighbor. I waited as patiently as I could.

When they’d finished, Carl turned to me, eyebrows raised. “Thanks to the inquisitive Frau Huber, the illustrious Dr. Peterson is now in custody.”

“You’re kidding. He tried to break in?”

“Ach, he broke in, for certain. Frau Huber saw us leave this morning, knew the house was empty.”

“I’ll bet she did.” I smiled, and Carl winked.

“So, when she saw the curtains suddenly drawn closed and no car in the drive, she suspected someone was in the house and telephoned the Polizei. By the time they arrived, Dr. Peterson was on his way out the door with fifty thousand marcs.”

“Fifty thou
 
—”

“Shh.” Carl pulled me aside. “Evidently there was a safe built into the floor in the library. That is what was robbed.”

“I didn’t know one existed.”

“Peterson evidently knew.”

“That’s why he wanted the house and the ledger. Do you think that means he doesn’t know about
 
—”

“I suspect Herr Sommer never showed it to him, though perhaps he knows about it in theory and intended to find it. This safe must contain all Herr Sommer had converted to cash.”

“Then Dr. Peterson has no idea how much
 
—”

“Probably not.”

“Excuse me, Carl; I must thank Frau Huber personally
 
—and profusely.”

LIESELOTTE KIRCHMANN

APRIL 1945

I lost track of the days spent on the floor of the stationary cattle car. Day passed into night and night into day, and the cycle repeated. Surely we’d been forgotten. Then, without warning, the door would slide open and a basket of turnips might be thrown in, or a pail of water set just inside before the door slammed shut again. Those nearest the door got the water. The rest of us had fallen too weak to fight for it. One by one, each day, another closed her eyes forever.

When the train finally moved, it rattled our bones so hard we could not bear to lean against the sides of the car, could not bear to lean against one another. We’d grown so thin, our bones protruding, that we sat on our hands to protect our buttocks and tailbone from the bumping of the train. I did my best to protect the little bump at my waist, but could
not imagine how my little one survived, certain
 
—dreading
 
—that one day I would no longer feel movement.

Bombing continued day and night. We gave up cowering at the explosions, waiting for the hit.
Let it be a merciful death,
became my prayer.

Guards called for the dead each morning. What they did with the corpses
 
—if they were buried by the side of the tracks or thrown to wild animals or simply left to rot in the sun
 
—I did not know. I knew only it was a relief to have the door slide open, to breathe, for a moment, fresh air and to see daylight.

It gave me an opportunity to peek into a world from beyond time. I couldn’t separate my sleeping from waking, though I no longer dreamed. None of us dreamed anymore. Days and nights became one. If I could have slipped into oblivion, I would thankfully have done so.

Finally, the doors were pushed wide.
“Schnell! Raus!”

But we were so very weak
 
—those of us left
 
—that we could barely stumble from the car to the ground. The sun blinded. I blinked against the sudden pain and stumbled forward, following the woman in front of me, allowing those behind to push me along.

More orders, more shouting as we marched through new gates. We were assigned to low bunkers
 
—holes in the ground
 
—and the bombing continued.

Between bombing raids we walked outside, talked with other prisoners
 
—something we’d not been allowed to do at Ravensbruk. Prisoners asked newcomers for names, towns, news of relatives and of the war. They called out names of loved ones
 
—real names, not numbers.

And so, I began begging, “Kirchmann, Kirchmann,” wherever I went. The name tasted good in my mouth. No energy to talk, to ask more, but they understood, and shook their heads.

Guards called for work details, but those too emaciated were not sent. Day after day, I wandered from bunker to bunker under the watchful eye of guards toting machine guns as they stood sentinel in high towers. I wandered as far as allowed, searching for Mutter Kirchmann.
And then, one day, there were no guards in the towers
 
—they’d simply vanished.

I couldn’t think what new horror that might mean, but wandered farther than I ever had before, pleading, “Kirchmann, Kirchmann,” expecting no answer.

A woman stopped me. “You’re from Ravensbruk
 
—I remember you there.” That she recognized me when I couldn’t have recognized myself was a miracle. But the faded number on her coat looked vaguely familiar.

“Ja.”

“I was in Barracks 28 with you
 
—and the Sisters. Do you remember?”

“
Ja
, the Sisters, and my mother-in-law, Frau Kirchmann.”

“Frau Kirchmann? She’s here
 
—with me. She led our hymn singing until
 
—she’s very weak. I don’t think she’ll ma
 
—”

“Where? Where is she?” Life surged through my veins for the first time since Mutter Kirchmann had been taken away.

“Come.”

I followed her into a bunker several buildings beyond, praying the discovery would be real and worth the terrible effort to walk so far. The smell ranked awful
 
—even worse than in my own barracks. Sickly sweet and rotting
 
—like meat gone to maggots.

“There, by the wall. It’s good you’ve come. I don’t think she’ll live the night.”

Lies! I won’t listen to lies.
“Mutter Kirchman . . . Mutter Kirchmann!” I kneeled beside the sleeping form
 
—gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes, matted hair so thin and white. No rise or fall came to her chest. I feared I’d come too late.
No!
I laid my head on her bunk beside her arm and would have cried if I could have mustered tears.

I closed my eyes. Moments passed, minutes, perhaps hours.

“Lieselotte.” The whisper came like angel’s breath.

A precious dream. I would not open my eyes lest it fade.

“My Lieselotte.”

I lifted my head to see the supreme effort speech cost her. “Mutti Kirchmann.”

She closed her eyes again and smiled. “Thank You, Father. Thank You.” Her breathing grew labored, and then so peaceful I thought she’d passed, but she hadn’t. “Baby?”

“The baby lives.” My throat caught.
Barely.
I pulled her hand to my stomach. As if on cue, the little one kicked.

“And so must you,” she whispered.

“We’ll all live. The guards are gone
 
—only a few officers remain. The bombing’s almost stopped. The Allies must be very near; it won’t be long now.”

But even as I talked, rattling on, I felt her fading.
No! Hold on! Please, hold on!

When she stopped breathing, I couldn’t be sure. I crawled in the bunk beside her, gently lifting her head to my shoulder, cradling it against my chest. More mother than my own mother, I could not let her go.

Night fell and the woman from Ravensbruk urged me to return to my barracks, to get my ration. I couldn’t
 
—wouldn’t
 
—move.

“They’ll take her away in the morning. We’re to stack the bodies of the dead outside the building. She can’t stay here
 
—not now.”

But I rolled over, stretching my arm across Mutter Kirchmann, determined to protect her, to keep them from taking her away.

“Until morning, then, but then you’ll both have to go. If they come back, catch you here . . .”

I didn’t listen. I closed my eyes and thought of Lukas, of all the Kirchmanns, blessed and loved, on my wedding day. Now there would be one less . . . and perhaps one more.

Morning came, but no rations. Two of the women pulled me from the bunk and carried Mutter Kirchmann to the yard, laying her stiffened body on top of a heap of rotting corpses outside the bunker awaiting pickup.

I stood beside her for the longest time, the early morning chill seeping through my coat. I couldn’t leave her. If the Allies were truly coming,
they could help me get her home to Berlin, where Vater Kirchmann could bury her, where Lukas and I could lay flowers on her grave and light candles in the night, where we could tell our precious child about her
 
—or his
 
—beloved grandmother all the years of our lives. If I could be the mother to my baby that Mutter Kirchmann was to me, life might come full circle.

I waited until the women from the bunker moved away and crawled on top of the heap of corpses, wound my fingers through Mutter Kirchmann’s stiff ones, and closed my eyes.