Vienna Prelude (16 page)

“Well!” he said, sounding as though he had caught a thief.

“Good evening,” she replied, then looked back toward the calf. “He is a pretty little thing. Wilhelm told me I should come look.”

The lantern light caught the shine of her hair and the glow of her skin until she seemed almost golden.
Like the angels over the manger
, thought Franz, and he determined that he would remember her expression when he worked on the carved angels for this mother’s crèche.

And then her expression changed, and she looked more closely at him. “Are you hurt?” she asked in alarm.

He had forgotten his own bloody, disheveled appearance. “This?” He stared at his sticky hand, suddenly embarrassed. “No. A bloody nose is all. Nothing.” He went to the water barrel and drew a bucket of ice-cold water to wash. He hoped she would not notice that it was not his own nose that was bloody. He splashed water on his face, startled when dark red liquid clouded the water. He had hit Otto harder than he intended, but not harder than Otto deserved.

Franz wondered what Otto would say if he knew he was in the barn with one of the women who had been a part of the argument. Franz was ashamed that Elisa’s name had been mentioned in such a way. Katrine was past hurting, but here was someone very much alive and with a vulnerability that had stirred his protectiveness from the moment he had seen her. He looked up as he dried his hands on clean straw. She was staring at him with undisguised concern. Her deep blue eyes glistened in the light, completing the image of some beautiful, spiritual being that had come to bless the tiny calf sleeping in the hay beside its mother. The memory of her music made him breathless.

“Did you fall?” she asked, breaking the spell.

“Yes,” he answered curtly as the memory of Otto’s accusation assaulted him again. “It’s dark out here. You need to be careful on your way back to the house.” He hoped his warning would send her on her way. He wanted to brood all by himself. And he could not risk the inward longing he knew her nearness might stir in him.

“I brought the lantern. Helmut lit it for me. I . . . am I keeping you from your work? I just came out to be alone a bit. The boys are all so full of nonsense and noise, and I . . . ”

Franz picked up the pitchfork and scooped hay into the troughs even though he knew the cattle had been fed hours ago. They did not seem to notice the extra portions but stood quietly chewing their cuds. “No bother, Fraülein.”

“My mother says you have been most kind and . . .
sensitive
.” There was so much expression in that last word that Franz plunged the pitchfork into the hay and stood still to wonder about it.

“Austria is full of refugees on holiday, Fraülein.”

“Then you know.”

“I have guessed enough.” He decided not to pretend ignorance any longer. “Enough to know that you should be careful.” His voice took an edge of bitterness. “Even households are divided these days. One might find Nazi sympathizers sitting at the supper table and never know.”

He could almost see the thought racing through Elisa’s mind:
Otto, the other brother
. . .

“And at your own table, in the Herrgottseck of your home? The place you call the corner of the Lord?” she asked Franz quietly. “Are we safe there?”

“My mother would tell you yes.” He paused, wondering if even these words were a betrayal of his family. Yet not even his mother knew of Otto’s dark thoughts these days. “She would say, ‘In the corner of the Lord all are welcome and safe in our home.’ But above the Herrgottseck, Elisa, there is a crucifix. We eat our meals in its shadow, and I remember that Christ was betrayed by the kiss of a friend.” He hoped she would not ask more. Then he added, “If you are no friend of the Nazis, then even here you must be careful.”

“I see,” she said, as though trying to comprehend all that he had just told her.

Families divided . . .

Slipping off the rails of the stall, she spoke softly. “Thank you for your honesty.”

He nodded curtly, indicating he would not say more.

She continued to stare at him. “Should my mother and brothers leave your farm?”

“No. It is no different anywhere. At least here you
know
. . . ”
Know what?
he thought.
What does she know? That my brother is a Judas who believes whatever madness he wants?
“We are isolated here. Austria is not the Reich, no matter how much Herr Hitler wishes it. There are many more of us for the Church and the government of Chancellor Schuschnigg than those who favor Anschluss with Germany.” Then he added, with a glance toward the cabin lights shining through the barn window, “Perhaps those who favor such madness will leave us and go back to Germany.”

She reached over the rail to stroke the side of the cow. “The blood you washed away. . . . Was it your blood?”

“My blood and my brother’s is the same,” he answered. “It simply flows through different hearts.” He stepped up beside her, suddenly relieved that he could talk to someone. He had not dared to share Otto’s Nazi leanings with his family. For months he had remained silent about it, just as he had remained silent about many other things. “There are places in the Alps I can show you, where two snowflakes fall from the same cloud and land a fraction of an inch from one another. Through the winter they sleep side by side in the peace of this place. When summer comes, the sun shines on them and they begin to melt. And though they came from the same womb and have shared the same bed, when the heat comes, one snowflake melts and flows down toward the Rhone River and the warmth of vineyards and farmland to the south. And the other? It flows downward into the cold waters of the great Rhine River of Germany.” He looked at her, surprised to see tears brimming in her eyes. “Two . . .
snowflakes
, you see . . . and in the end they finish their journey in two opposite oceans. That is the way it is in these mountains. There are places I can show you . . . ”

For a long time, Elisa did not answer him. She rested her cheek on one hand and continued to stroke the brown flank of the cow with the other. The silence was not uncomfortable for either of them. Somehow Franz felt as though he had known her for a long time. Everything Otto had said about her was untrue. There was nothing in her manner that made him feel small. “Thank you,” she said at last. Her voice was hoarse.

“For what?”

“For months I have been wondering. . . . ” She frowned and looked over the back of the cow as though she were seeing someone else. “I . . . I . . . ” She groped for words. “There was someone I loved—” Elisa turned her eyes on Franz and in one look displayed her soul. She did not need to tell him that she was hurt and confused. She did not need to say that she too had been betrayed by one she loved. It was all there—a book, open for him to read.

Franz lifted a hand to touch her cheek. His hand was rough and calloused, but he held her face gently. She blinked up at him, surprised by his touch, and yet, somehow,
grateful.
For an instant they remained motionless; then he leaned down slowly and kissed her lips tenderly, as though trying to kiss away the hurt. He held her close and wondered about the stream that had carried her lover away into the heart of the Reich.
What a fool the man must be. What a fool!

“Tell me,” she whispered, “why did you leave when I played the violin?”

For a long time he did not answer. “It was your soul, Elisa. I could see your soul, beautiful and clear, and I could not bear the beauty of it.”

11

The Innsbruck Connection

It was well past midnight when Elisa slipped into the bed beside her mother. The house was dark and silent.

“Mother. ” She nudged Anna awake. “Wake up, please. We need to talk.”

“Where were you?” Anna asked in a sleepy voice.

“Shhhh.” Elisa put a finger to her lips. “I’ve been in the cow barn. With Franz.”

Anna sat up and fumbled to light the lamp beside the bed. As the flame sputtered, she turned to Elisa in alarm. “What time is it?”

“Nearly one.”

“What have you been—”

Elisa was amused by her mother’s concern. After all, she had been on her own for several years. “Talking.”

“Talking? All this time?” Anna brushed straw from Elisa’s sweater.

Elisa smiled and nodded at her mother.

“Hmmm.” Anna pulled her robe around her shoulders.

“But listen, Mama, you were right. Right about Otto. Franz says we must be careful.
Very
careful around Otto.”

Now Anna looked terribly concerned. Elisa knew she would rather worry about a few kisses than the politics of their hosts. “Only him?”

Elisa nodded, then continued with a rush, “Yes. Everyone else is very . . .
Austrian
. Not even Frau Marta or Herr Karl suspect that Otto is pro—”

“Why did Franz tell you all this? If it is such a secret. ”

“Oh, Mama, he is so wonderful. So . . . kind.”

“But, Elisa, you have only just met him!”

“We talked a long time. I told him about Thomas, and he told me about . . . someone.” She waved her hand in front of her face as though turning the page of a book. “But mostly he told me that there are lots of ways that people from Germany can get an extension of their travel papers. Maybe you and the boys won’t have to go back if Papa doesn’t come.”

Anna seemed almost indignant. “He is coming! I
know
he will come. They can’t keep him.”

“But it may take longer than the two weeks allowed on your permit. Franz told me about a family from Munich who—”

“Elisa, if your father does not come soon I must go back. The boys can stay here—stay with you. But, Elisa, I must . . . ”

For the first time Elisa saw tears welling up in her mother’s eyes. She reached out and embraced her, then took her by the shoulders and looked her square in the eye. “You must not rush into anything, Mother! Don’t you see that’s what the Nazis are after? More hostages. More Jews for ransom.”

Anna drew her breath in sharply. “You
didn’t
tell Franz that your father is Jewish? That in the eyes of Germany we are all Jews?” She was shocked and fearful.

“No. It wouldn’t matter to him, I’m sure; but listen, he has a plan! If Papa doesn’t come in a few days, there are ways for us to stay without arousing the suspicion of the German authorities.”

Anna cleared her throat and tossed her head as if to indicate that she was entirely awake and ready to consider anything that might forestall their forced return to Germany. “Franz is . . . impertinent,” she said almost haughtily. “But trustworthy, I think. We have nowhere else to turn. Today I almost went to the village priest, but—”

“There are better ways. More organized.” Eagerly Elisa pulled a carefully penned list from her pocket and laid it on the quilt in front of her mother. “We’ll have to go to Innsbruck—”

“Innsbruck? An hour and a half by train.”

“Mama, that’s the point. Our German papers are made out to
Lindheim.
We cannot hope to have them changed here where we are known as
Linder
.”

“You told Franz our identity?”

“No. And he didn’t ask. He doesn’t want to know. But he knows enough to figure out that our real name cannot be Linder. The point is, Kitzbühel is a small place. People talk and ask questions, and they want to know everything about everyone nowadays.”

The memory of the telegraph operator flashed through Anna’s eyes. “Yes. Your father will not write to us here. You are right. If we go to Innsbruck . . . yes. It is a big city. Strangers pass through all the time. For one day we can be Lindheim. Fix our passes, mail a letter to Theo—” The last thought caused her to cloud up with emotion.

“Right. Anything that comes into Germany—a wire or a letter—will be read by the Gestapo. We must give them information, stories of our family’s vacation. Tell how we miss Papa and hope he comes soon. You see?”

“Will it do any good at all, Elisa?” Anna was close to despair. She seemed almost afraid to hope.

“Mother”—Elisa put her hand on Anna’s arm—“Letters to Papa from Innsbruck will be read by the men who keep him. Innsbruck is only across the pass from Germany.” She frowned. “If Papa should get away somehow, by some miracle, the Gestapo will not look for him to come to Kitzbühel, but to Innsbruck, you see?”

Anna nodded, certain that she would not sleep again all night. “We should make some tea,” she said absently as she studied the list.

“We can leave for Innsbruck tomorrow, if you like. If we tell Frau Marta that we want to go Christmas shopping. I am certain the boys can stay here without us.” For a moment Elisa felt excitement, hope. Then she shuddered at the thought of all that was against them.

“I am afraid, Elisa. Afraid that there are no miracles left for anyone in Germany anymore.” There was sadness in her eyes as she looked at the volume of
Faust
lying on the bedside table. “What miracles can there be when Germany has sold her soul?”

For the first time in all the days of worry, Anna cried. She buried her face in her hands and let small sobs shake her shoulders.

Elisa patted her helplessly on the back.

“Where is all the world that this can happen and everyone looks the other way?” Anna sobbed. “Where is England? Where was France when Hitler took the Rhineland and broke the Treaty of Versailles? They could have stopped him then, Elisa. He has shown himself to be some sort of demonic genius to the German people. He takes what he wants and claims it is for the good of the people. He has taken everything your father worked for. A lifetime of work. And now he would take Theo’s life as well. How can this happen?
How
?”

Elisa did not answer. She could not. Often she had heard men speak of Adolf Hitler as the bully on the block. Day after day he proved just how much power a bully could obtain if others simply stepped back and allowed it. First he had proved the power of intimidation in Germany. The laws of humanity and the Weimar Republic had been twisted for his own use. Now he was conducting international policy in the same way. The fate of Theo Lindheim would not stir more than a passing comment in some London club. And yet Elisa could not help feeling that the terrible things happening to her father and thousands of other innocent people in Germany were somehow setting the stage for the future. Perhaps her mother was right. Maybe in all the world there were no miracles left.