The Children's War (111 page)

After Alex gave up talking at him, Peter spent a good amount of time alone. He preferred it that way. He watched from his comfortable distance as the in-laws and friends fussed over Kasia, now that her pregnancy was obvious. He remembered her bitter words about being an outsider, and as he looked at her glowing smile, the way she leaned into the kisses and blushed at the comments, he wondered if the only time she felt included was when she
served as a brood mare, providing yet another little soldier to add to the Underground aristocracy.

He turned his eyes away from her, away from all of them. He felt awash with homesickness, with a longing for people and places that he had not seen for an eternity. He missed belonging, he missed being trusted. When he had allowed himself to imagine his escape years ago, he had always imagined that he would be greeted with open arms, welcomed as a hero, congratulated for his bravery and endurance; instead he felt as if he had contracted some sort of incurable disease.

Picking up the bottle of vodka he had been using, he looked at its contents. It was surprisingly low—had he given Alex and Katerina that much? He poured the rest of the bottle into his glass and settled back to watch the roomful of people. The alcohol slipped down easily—the lights, the music, the sounds of conversation, all blurred into one meaningless babble. He tried to amuse himself by imagining he was home among friends and family. That he had met Zosia in England and . . . well, some complicated scenario that left him free to marry and left his friends alive. He tried to imagine his parents attending his wedding, standing together, congratulating him. How old would they be now? Always the same age, they had never grown older. He had such fleeting memories of what they looked like. His mother had dark brown hair, long and straight. His father? Light brown hair? Tall?

“Can I join you?”

He looked up to see Zosia’s mother. He nodded and offered her the chair next to him. She was carrying a drink so he did not offer her one. They sat in silence for a few moments, then she said, “You looked deep in thought. What were you thinking about?”

“About my parents,” he answered as he stared off into the distance.

“Do you miss them?”

“Yes. I mean, I miss having had the chance to get to know them.” Encouraged by her sympathetic tone, he added, “I’ve lost so many people in my life, I miss them all.”

“Like that Allison of yours?” Anna asked.

“Yes, I miss her,” he admitted forlornly. “I loved her.”

“More than Zosia?”

Aware that he had spoken foolishly, he turned a contemptuous eye toward Anna. “That’s a stupid question.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s my daughter’s future we’re talking about. All I asked is, do you love Zosia more than you loved that married woman?”

He did not miss the opprobrium in her tone. “For Christ’s sake, let it rest. Allison’s dead!”

“But what if she weren’t? Which would you choose?”

“They are two different woman, in two different times, and I love them, or loved . . . This is stupid. It’s like asking Zosia whether she loved Adam more than me.”

“But that’s easy—she’d choose Adam. Everyone knows that.”

He stopped dead, hurt more by her confidence in her prediction than by its brutality. He found himself staring at her, trying to think of some sort of reply, but he couldn’t think for the noise of her words echoing through his head.

Anna’s expression softened as she realized what her words meant. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No, of course not,” he sneered. “You just didn’t care. My past isn’t quite up to your standards, so my feelings are irrelevant. That’s always the case, isn’t it? Pious people are given carte blanche to hurt anybody, aren’t they?”

“I’m not pious. I’m just interested in Zosia’s welfare. After all, we won’t be here to look after her.”

“You weren’t anyway. Besides, she’s a full-grown woman.”

“But she’s still my daughter. Maybe someday you’ll understand—”

“Maybe.” He thought of Joanna. Yes, he would probably be protective of her for the rest of her life.

“—when you have a child of your own.”

Pointedly he said, “I do now.”

“Joanna?” Anna asked with poorly concealed alarm.“You’re not adopting her, are you?”

Peter looked at her directly to try to read her intent, but her face was a mask. She would learn the truth from Zosia in any case, so he answered, “No, Zosia won’t let me.”

“Oh, too bad,” Anna said before making her excuses and departing.

He was still gnawing on the all too obvious tone of Anna’s words when Zosia’s godparents came over and sat down with him. They congratulated him and told him that Zosia was a wonderful girl and not to worry if he felt nervous—they must have read his expression—because it was normal for grooms to feel nervous at their wedding. “Don’t be overwhelmed,” Zosia’s godmother advised. “A new family always takes getting used to. It’s the way of almost all marriages.” He smiled at their kindness and thanked them for their advice. A waltz began as he finished speaking, and he noticed the room had grown relatively quiet and that Zosia was approaching him. With a growing panic, he looked at Zosia’s godmother questioningly.

“She’s suppressed a lot of our traditions because she knew it would make you uncomfortable,” she explained as Zosia came nearer, “but you owe her at least this.”

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked hurriedly.

“At least one dance, son. She needs at least that.”

At least one dance! How in the world could he, with no practice, with no preparation, in front of so many people? But he knew the steps, he had learned them long ago to please Zosia, and though he had given up on the practicality of
ever enjoying the movement when it caused him so much discomfort, he did still remember what to do.

He stood and smiled at his wife, stepped forward to greet her. She took his hand and led him to a seat in the middle of a ring of onlookers. He sat down as indicated and she sat on his lap. The audience held hands and began singing a folk song as Stefi came forward and began removing the veil that Zosia wore. Because it was a lace curtain and not a real veil, Stefi was only able to remove it from Zosia’s head and wrap it around her shoulders; then she took a scarf and used that to tie up Zosia’s hair in the traditional fashion of a married woman of long ago.

Everybody applauded and Peter smiled at the transition from blushing bride to old married woman; Zosia grinned impishly in return. Then she stood, pulled him to his feet, and they began to dance. Their movements were gentle, the twists and turns kept to a minimum, and the vodka he had drunk kept the pain in his legs at bay. They did in fact appear graceful and natural together, and as they looked into each other’s eyes, the rest of the room faded from view. As they danced, the curls began creeping out from under Zosia’s scarf, and with a shake of her head she let her hair emerge and the scarf dropped onto her shoulders. The dim light glinted off her golden tresses and reflected in her eyes. He felt the voluptuous curve of her waist, the sensuous muscles of her back. She was so incredibly beautiful!

All around them held hands and sang their folk song about love and marriage and a life together, then as the song finished, the other couples quickly joined in dancing so that soon the two of them were lost in a sea of dancers. In the middle of the floor, in a privacy almost as complete as being alone, they beheld each other and slowly drifted around each other. And the two of them became as one.

39

“T
RAUGUTT!
I
NEVER
thought you’d be invited to this sort of soiree!” Herr Schindler said with too perfect a smile.

“Ah, Herr Schindler, always a pleasure,” Richard answered suavely, nodding his head slightly. “And Frau Schindler, you are a perfect picture of pure Aryan beauty. Such loveliness I had no hope of seeing!”

“Richard! Why so formal? Please, call me Greta!” Frau Schindler replied, offering her cheek to be kissed. Once Richard had greeted her appropriately, she turned to his companion and exclaimed, “So, we finally get to meet the mysterious Frau Traugutt!”

“Ach, I’m afraid not,” Richard confessed.“My poor wife was taken ill early this evening, and my daughter Stefi volunteered to step in for her.”

“Your daughter!” Frau Schindler trilled, her eyes running along Stefi’s body as if valuing a racehorse. “Young lady, I hope your father warned you about the sort of men you will meet at one of the Führer’s parties. They can be absolute snakes! And with one so young and beautiful as you!” She clucked her tongue in warning. “We’ll have to make sure you stay out of trouble tonight. If I had known you were going to be here, I would have insisted that Günter bring his son along. He’d be better suited to your age!” She cast a glance up at her husband, who had not yet stopped leering at Stefi, and asked, “Isn’t that right, dear? Or do you think your son is too old for such a young child?”

“I’m twenty-two,” Stefi volunteered, moving ever so slightly out of Frau Schindler’s grasp. She saw how her father’s eyes narrowed in warning, and she changed her position and warmed to Frau Schindler’s embrace. “So I do feel quite vulnerable here. Maybe you’d be kind enough to introduce me around?”

“My pleasure, darling,” Frau Schindler soothed as she guided Stefi away from the men. “Come with me, I know everybody! Who would you like to meet?”

“The Führer,” Stefi answered without hesitation. Before Frau Schindler could object, Stefi added, “I’ve only met him once before, but since you are so highly regarded, I’m sure he’s a great friend of yours!”

“You’ve met him?” Frau Schindler wondered aloud. “That must explain why you’ve been invited here. It really is unusual, someone so new to Berlin as your father . . .”

Stefi did not volunteer the answer to the puzzle. She did, however, smile to herself as she thought of how her father had somehow convinced one of the secretaries to simply add his name to an invitation list.

“. . . but perhaps you’ve already met,” Frau Schindler was saying as she stopped near a lone and rather unimportant-looking man. “This is Herr Karl Vogel. He’s also a resident of Schönwalde and works in the same office as my husband and your father.”

Stefi looked with intense interest at the man as Frau Schindler concluded the introduction. He noticed her avid look and smiled pompously in reply.

“I’ve heard about you,” Stefi volunteered. “My heavens, but I never thought I’d meet you!”

“About me? What?” Herr Vogel asked somewhat worriedly.

“Oh, that you are especially talented at keeping the lower orders in their place.” Stefi could barely control her expression as she saw Herr Vogel blush with pride. He drew himself up, ready to launch into a self-congratulatory discussion of his talents, so Stefi quickly added, “Frau Schindler here has promised to introduce me to the Führer! I’ve only met him once, I wonder if he’ll remember me?”

“The Führer?” Herr Vogel asked, half-turning to glance in his direction. “He looks fairly busy now. You might not get a chance—”

“Oh, but Frau Schindler is his dear friend!” Stefi insisted. “But maybe I’m being foolish, maybe you know him as well?”

“Not as well as me, my dear,” Frau Schindler huffed, and pulled Stefi in the direction of the Führer, leaving Herr Vogel behind, full of steam with nowhere to blow it.

The two ladies reached that critical distance where the hangers-on buzzed intensely around the great man, and Frau Schindler slowed her pace to a circuitous stroll as she looked for an opening in the crowd. She seemed to be losing her determination, and Stefi quickly ran through a few strategies in her mind, trying to decide which was the most likely to make Frau Schindler a stout ally. “Be quick and direct,” her father had advised, “you won’t have much time, and she’s already advertised her willingness to make a deal. There’s no need to waste time on subtlety.” And so, she decided not to.

“My father has spoken of you often,” Stefi confided. “He’s right, you know, you are stunningly beautiful.”

Frau Schindler raised her eyebrows in surprise.“He’s said this to you?”

“Oh, no, I’ve heard him talk to other men.” Stefi paused just long enough to seem pensive, then added, “I think he’s lonely. Mother is very busy with the children, you see. And she’s due to have another in June.”

“How many does she have?”

“This will be the sixth. It’s quite a strain on her. And I don’t think Father wanted that many—one or two, at most. But she insisted, she’s very devoted to children.” Stefi looked meaningfully into Frau Schindler’s eyes. “I think she’s holding him back, you know. I think he needs a stronger woman, one with more political sense. One who isn’t tied to so many children.”

Frau Schindler glanced at her husband as he chatted to an attractive young woman and then over to Traugutt as he spoke with a group of officers. Her eyes darted back and forth between her paunchy, aging spouse with his drunken stance and lecherous stares to the tall, handsome, and much younger Traugutt with his earnest demeanor and charming manner. Stefi counted the seconds silently as she saw Frau Schindler not only weighing up each one’s prospects of advancement, but the likelihood that she would be present to share in the rewards of her efforts.

Frau Schindler turned back toward Stefi and smiled. “You’re right, you know. Having the Führer as a personal friend is very useful to one’s career, and, I’m told, he is not particularly fond of matronly women. Nor,” she added somewhat sadly, “even women of my age. But a girl like you, yes, that will keep his interest!”

Stefi smiled shyly.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll see that we get through that scrum, and once I’ve introduced you, I’m sure the Führer will be interested in talking to us. But, maybe you’ve heard, the Führer has some odd tastes. Perhaps, before you talk to him, I could offer you a few insights, so that your conversation will be fruitful. Would you care to stroll outside for a bit? It’s not too cold for spring.”

Stefi nodded.

“Good,” Frau Schindler purred as she wrapped a protective arm around Stefi’s shoulder. “Now, dear, what do you know about discipline?”

“Discipline? You mean like in school?” Stefi asked with confused innocence.

Frau Schindler smiled. “Yes, like in school. Just imagine there’s a naughty schoolboy and you’re the headmistress . . .”