The Butterfly and the Violin (28 page)

“William, we’ve been through these folders a hundred times. There are no photos that we can tie back to your grandfather.”

“But what about when Auschwitz was liberated? Maybe he was there. Maybe he could have learned what happened to Adele, or Vladimir, for that matter.”

She shook her head. “I wish it was that easy. But Auschwitz was liberated by the Red Army. A British photojournalist wouldn’t have been traveling with the Russians, even though they were allies in the war. It’s just not probable that he was there.”

“Then what about someone else?”

“You mean another person in Auschwitz?”

“Why not? If my grandfather wasn’t in Auschwitz to see Adele, then maybe someone else was. Maybe they told him what happened to the orchestra. It’s a possibility, isn’t it? The orchestra was so visible to the prisoners of the camp. Someone would have seen what happened to them.”

The thought struck Sera then—what if there was a photograph of Adele in the camp when it was liberated? Someone painted the image of Adele, and if it wasn’t from memory, maybe it was from a photograph.

“Where was your grandfather in the spring of 1945? Do you know?”

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s a possibility that someone saw what happened to Adele. How she died or what happened to the members of the orchestra. What if that someone told your grandfather about her? If we can find out who your grandfather knew in the war, we might be able to find a link back to her.” When he didn’t say anything, she continued. “So, what do you think? It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

“Your face just lit up, Sera.”

She raised her hands to her cheeks, hoping to cover the blush she felt burning there. “Did it?”

He nodded. “It was like you just stepped off the plane in your city of lights. You’re taken with this mystery.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Of course I am.”

“Then you’ll look into it?” Sera asked, hoping they’d landed on something that could jump-start the trails that had fizzled out. It wasn’t a concrete lead, but it was better than nothing. “Could you ask your father about it?”

He paused for a moment, then looked away from her and began stacking some of the files that littered the tabletop. She wasn’t sure what to make of the shift in his mood. He was still standing next to her, but now she felt distance invading the space between them.

“Will?”

“I haven’t spoken to my father in months,” he admitted, his tone distant.

“I’m not asking you to go to your father except to see if we can learn something new. Would you do it for the sake of your family?”

“I’ll think about it, Sera.”

She nodded, but wasn’t sure whether he saw her. She started
stacking files along with him just so her hands had a momentary occupation.

“Okay . . .”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm about my grandfather’s connection to all of this, but you’re asking me to do something I’m not sure I can do.” He swept up the folders in his arms and walked over to the chair with his coat. The files were stowed away and in an instant he swung the messenger bag across his body.

“You want some company to the airport tomorrow?”

He shook his head. Hands buried in his pockets, standing stone still with a soft look on his face, he said, “I’ll take a taxi on my own. It’ll be early.”

“Early?”

He nodded.

It was clear what he was doing with the quiet demeanor. William wanted her to come to him of her own accord. He stood waiting. Whether he wanted to know if it was just the painting, she couldn’t be sure. But the message was clear enough that Sera slid from her stool and walked up to stand but a breath in front of him.

“You’ll need this,” she whispered, and tucked the Bible away under the flap of his bag.

“I will, won’t I?” His face broke into a soft smile, his voice quiet but rough with feeling. “If I ever want to see Paris again.” He leaned in and placed the softest kiss on her lips. She closed her eyes to the warmth in it.

Pulling back slightly, she looked in his eyes. “Will you think about it? Calling your father?”

He brushed a hand over her cheek. “Yeah. I’ll think about it. We said we were partners, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Then I guess I’ve got to hold up my end of the bargain.”

Sera stood there at the stoop, lost in the memory that lingered even as she turned the key in the lock of the gallery’s front door. She felt the familiar tingle on her lips although he’d left a half hour ago. William’s kiss was all she could think about.

He was flying cross-country the next morning. And she didn’t want to let him go, did she? She’d finally crossed the room to him and, heaven help her, she felt like a schoolgirl all over again with each step. Even now, she could sense the unconscious smile on her lips and feel her heart flutter with the possibility of love awakening.

She hadn’t felt it in a long, long time.

“Sera?”

She whirled around, turning so quickly that the tip of her sleek ponytail almost smacked her in the face. The voice was too familiar to ignore.

Now she blinked. Several times.

He had a different cut to his sandy hair and looked like he’d caught a little more sun to the face, but otherwise, he was the same man she remembered. It was Michael Turner who stood before her, sleek Wall Street suit and all.

“Michael?”

He nodded, the glow of the streetlamp illuminating his features. “Hi, Sera.”

“What are you doing here?”

He walked up to the stoop and offered a faint smile.

“Can I come in?” he breathed out. “I need to talk to you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

February 8, 1941

W
hat are you looking for, Adele?”

Vladimir checked over his shoulder again, looking down into the long alleyway to the deserted street. The noise at the docks wasn’t too far off, reminding Adele that people were never too far away to happen by and see them, even in the dark of night. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

She moved a crate out of the way to reveal a weathered panel of wood at the bottom of the bricks. “The entryway to the building has a false back,” she whispered, then knelt down on her knees. “See? Abram told me how to get in. We crawl through here and it takes you into the butler’s pantry off a back kitchen. It’s been sealed off from the outside. Bricks. No one would even know it’s there.”

She picked up the basket she’d hidden under her coat and started to crawl in, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

Vladimir shook his head. “Uh-uh. No way you’re going in there first. If anything’s going to happen, it’s not going to be to you.”

“You’re being ridiculous, Vladimir. The sardine factory has been boarded up for nearly two years. There’s no one inside.”

“Except for the Jewish family hiding in the basement,” he huffed, and leaned back on his heels. He took a lighter from his
coat pocket and offered it to her. She took it with a twinkle in her eye, glad to have won at least one battle with him.

“Don’t light it until I have the panel closed.” He checked up the alley again, then, seeing that the coast was clear, motioned for her to go first. “Go ahead.”

Adele felt her heart warm as she took the food basket from him. He was being rather noble, wanting nothing to happen to her. “Remember what we said? We’re in this together.”

“Nope. That’s what you said. I only agreed to this long enough for you to show me how to get in so I can take over this operation. Then you’re going home.”

She wanted to roll her eyes at him but thought better of it. He was being protective, and she couldn’t fault him for that.

Adele knelt down and ducked her head under the top of the wood panel, inching through the dusty crawl space with the basket in front of her. It was dark and full of spiderwebs, but she could see the light of the butler’s pantry enclosure up ahead. The moonlight shone through in a silver haze.

She heard Vladimir close the panel behind her.

“It’s just up ahead,” she whispered. “This way.”

“What’s the light? I thought you said the pantry was bricked off.”

“It’s a small ventilation window on the second level.” Adele shook her head and flicked on the lighter. “Don’t worry. I’ve done this a dozen times before. It’s safe.”

Vladimir groaned from somewhere behind her, showing his displeasure that she’d managed to sneak in to see the Haurbechs on so many occasions.

Probably should have kept that to myself.

“Right there,” Adele said, and leaned to one side so he could see a small opening up ahead. “That’s where we go in. There’s a stairway down to the basement behind one of the cupboards against the back wall.”

Adele crawled through the mouth of the opening that was hidden under a section of worktables affixed to the wall.

She looked around.

Spiderwebs and dust. The cupboards had been raided some time ago, but the sardine cans and rat traps on the floor hadn’t moved since the last time she’d come. She looked up. The window was still barred. All was as it should be.

She dusted off her navy coat and plucked the basket up off the floor just as Vladimir crawled out from under the table. She didn’t even have time to finish flouncing the dust out of her hair before he darted up to her side.

He grasped her elbow in an iron grip.

“Let go of me—”

“This is too dangerous,” he said, shaking his head at her. “You’ve showed me where they are. Now let me take over.”

“I can’t do that, Vladimir!” Her voice rang out in a biting whisper. “They won’t be expecting you. They’ll be terrified, thinking they’ve been caught. Remember the children? We can’t scare them like that.”

“Adele, the Gestapo doesn’t shimmy through crawl spaces to find hiding Jews. They knock down brick walls and open fire with machine guns. If the Haurbechs had been caught, believe me, they’d know it.”

“Then let me go so I can give them this food and we can leave,” she said, feeling his fingertips lighten with the last words. “I have to give them something, even if it’s only hope.”

He nodded toward one of the wooden cupboards against the back wall.

She tilted her head on instinct. “How did you know it was that one? There’s a wall of them.”

“Dust on the floor.” He nodded to the trail leading to the back wall. “Footprints, Adele. You never covered them up.”

She looked down at the floor to find the evidence of her
former visits plain as day in front of them. The footprints led from the crawl space at the opening over to the back cupboard.

“There’s no way in and no way out of this room, Adele, except for the spaces your prints lead to. Anyone looking for hiding places would have caught you and them because of it. You didn’t cover your tracks very well.”

She felt the weight of foolishness wash over her and closed her eyes in shame. All this time she’d been visiting the Haurbechs, bringing them food . . . she’d thought she was doing something good. But it was luck. Pure luck that they hadn’t been caught with her petite footprints littering the pantry floor.

“See why I worry about you?” Vladimir leaned in and wiped a fingertip along the bridge of her nose. “Dust.”

Adele brushed off her nose on principle.

He was acting like she didn’t know how serious it was, sneaking in to help her friends. But she’d been the one to help them for months without anyone else knowing. He could give her a little credit.

“The stairs are here,” she said, leaning in to pull the cupboard back from the wall. “Behind this.”

Vladimir edged in around her, using his strength to pull the cupboard back in her stead. It didn’t appear to be needed. The wood separated from the wall on a hinge that pulled away rather easily. The void behind the wall was also brick, with stairs that led down into the basement.

“After you.” He didn’t appear to want to scold her any longer. Instead, he tilted his chin toward the brick opening.

Adele flicked the lighter again, giving them enough light so that Vladimir could pull the cupboard closed behind them before they descended the stairs.

“There’s a door at the bottom,” she whispered, and pointed to the faint lines of the portal up ahead. “See?”

She took the stairs one at a time, trying to make the least
amount of noise with her feet against the creaking boards. He took the basket and followed her with cautious steps.