For Such a Time (25 page)

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Esther again pleaded with the king, falling at his feet and weeping.

Esther 8:3

A
loud knock at her door brought Stella straight up out of another nightmare. This one had been about Joseph. She hadn’t been able to save him.

Stella tried to catch her breath, blinking against the drab light of morning. She lay in bed, still in her clothes, the black wool suit she’d worn yesterday now rumpled beneath a blanket—one she didn’t recognize.

Someone had been in her room. Aric?

She grabbed up the music box from her nightstand. Sweet notes of the “Blue Danube Waltz” filled the air as she stared inside at the pearl necklace nestled undisturbed.

Stella eased out a breath. Morty’s Grand Cross, and his messages, were still safe.

Another rap on the door. “Fräulein?”

“Joseph!” Stella replaced the music box on the nightstand and bounded out of bed. “Come in!”

She flung the door wide with a burst of relieved laughter. “I was so worried . . .”

The red-haired boy was a stranger. His deep-set eyes stared at her, gray like the leaden sky outside. Not brown. Her pulse hammered too fast, making her dizzy. “Who are you?”

“Simon Kessel, Fräulein,” he said, looking up at her nervously. “I was told to come wake you.”

She barely heard him. Grabbing his arms, she tried not to shake him. “Where is Joseph?”

Simon shook his head, eyes wide with fear. Stella wanted to scream. Last night was real. She’d gone to the ghetto to find Joseph and failed. She’d tried to stay awake, to question Aric.

She let the boy go and searched out her shoes. Then, snatching her wig from its stand in the bathroom, Stella sailed out into the hall and downstairs. Simon ran to keep up with her.

On the main floor she passed the painting of Thaur as she did every morning. Today, however, the light was wrong. “What time is it?” She turned to Simon.

He shrugged. “Afternoon, Fräulein.”

“Why was I not wakened earlier? Herr Kommandant will be furious—”

“But, Fräulein, he told me not to get you up until now!” Simon started backing away from her.

“Where is he?”

The boy jabbed a finger toward the library. Stella hurried in that direction.

Inside her office, she halted at the sight of the familiar burlap sack on her desk.

“Ah, Fräulein Muller, you’re feeling better?”

Her head shot up. General Feldman came out of Aric’s office. “Why . . . yes, Herr General.” She smiled to hide her confusion. “Much better.”

“Gut, gut. Perhaps a little too much excitement last night?”

Stella went still. Did he know about her trip to the ghetto?

“I understand congratulations are in order, eh?” His chuckle sounded strained.

“Congratulations . . .” She felt more dazed and vulnerable by the moment.

“Your upcoming marriage, Fräulein.” His snow-white brows narrowed. “Is this not so?”

Angry at Aric’s heavy-handedness—he’d even told the general!—she considered denying it. But as Herr Sausage approached her, he reminded Stella of an overfed bear licking its chops. She would go along with Aric’s madness. “Of course, Herr General. Thank you.”

He stood so close that she could make out each embossed line of the gold eagle decorating his peaked cap. “Too bad you chose to be the wife of a mere Standartenführer.” His tone held mild irritation. “You should have held out for a general, like myself.” His gold eagle took flight then as he doffed the hat and leaned into her. “My consolation shall be a kiss from the bride, eh?”

He even smelled of sausage. Disgusted, Stella held her breath to keep from gagging. As he dipped his head to kiss her, she was quick to give him her cheek. His tongue felt reptilian against her skin. “You are too kind, Herr General,” she managed through clenched teeth.

He straightened, his dark eyes chilling. “And you are a tease, Fräulein,” he said without humor. “Perhaps I should reconsider my generosity of yesterday.”

“Please, don’t take offense, Herr General.” Stella panicked as she scrambled to think of an excuse to appease him. “It’s just . . . I am about to be married to one man and do not think it proper to be kissing another.”

“As it should be,” interjected a masculine voice behind them.

Aric leaned against the doorjamb. Stella wilted in relief.

The general turned slowly. Aric started toward him. “First you take away the help, and now I find you trying to steal my fiancée?” He flashed a smile that failed to reach his eyes. “If you’re not careful, Herr General, I’m going to think you don’t like me.”

The general let out a bark of laughter. “Ah, Schmidt, can you blame me?” He sidled away from Stella a respectable distance before adding, “You have stolen the prized plum from the tree.”

“Indeed.”

Stella basked in the warmth of Aric’s gaze as he came to stand beside her. Taking her hand, he squeezed her fingers tightly. “Are you feeling better, Süsse? You were quite ill after supper last night.”

“Yes, much better,” she answered, taking her cue. She was grateful now, for his concocted story had kept the philandering general from coming to her room last night. Aric had likely announced their engagement for the same reason—a union she hadn’t yet agreed to.

“Good.” He pressed her fingers a second time, more gently. “We’re leaving for the ghetto. Captain Hermann has arranged a preview rehearsal of Verdi’s
Requiem
.”

“Would you care to join us?” the general inquired. “The Führer himself told me it is a favorite of Herr Reichsführer Himmler.” He eyed her speculatively. “And perhaps tonight you will feel well enough to share a glass of
Bier
in Litomerice? We are in need of another pretty face at our table.”

“Unfortunately, Herr General, I must burden my secretary with another task.” Aric nodded toward the burlap bag on her desk. “I’m afraid she must work most of the night.”

Stella pulled away to eye him accusingly. “Lists for Wednesday’s train?”

His gaze clashed with hers. “Pardon, Herr General, but perhaps you would give me a moment with Fräulein?”

“A lovers’ quarrel?” The general’s tone was mocking. “I’ll be in the car. Don’t keep me waiting, Schmidt.”

Aric rounded on her after the general had gone. “You will not take that tone with me, Stella. I need the list of names typed tonight—the train leaves early tomorrow.”

“Why must I do it? Surely Herr Captain has requisitioned a new typewriter by now.”

“You still question my orders?” His tone pierced her like shards of ice. “Not a good beginning for husband and wife, I think.” Then he seemed to read her distress and said more gently, “Typing the lists was Sergeant Koch’s duty. And it would take Corporal Sonntag days to accomplish what you can do in hours. I regret allowing you to sleep so late, but now you must stay and work until the task is finished.”

“Aric, please don’t—”

“Nein!” He propelled himself away from her. “The only thing I wish to hear from you is that you’ve come to terms with my proposal. In fact, I should think you might be grateful at being rescued from such a fate as that one.” He jerked his head toward the double doors where the general had just departed.

Stella clamped her mouth shut.

“Not yet?” he said. “Then I suggest you get to work. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He turned to leave. Stella’s heart felt as if it might break. He seemed a stranger to her. “Where is Joseph?” she called out.

“In the ghetto,” he said without looking back.

“Why?” Her anger resonated in the single word. “What have you done to him?”

He swung around. “I said you will not take that tone with me!” More quietly he added, “He’s well enough, back with his own kind.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Enough, Stella.” Aric held up a hand. “Please. I am weary of this battle with you. Joseph is no longer your concern.”

Stella’s insides felt frozen down to her bones. The world she lived in, such as it was, had fallen apart. “Aric, what’s happening?” she whispered.

He hesitated, then said hoarsely, “The end, my dove.”

Before she could question him further, he disappeared behind the library doors.

———

Joseph was never
coming back
.

Stella sat unmoving in her chair, deafened by the silence of the empty library. Aric, the man for whom she cared deeply—no, the man she loved—had simply let the child go.

She stared blindly across the room at the mahogany bookshelves. Titles such as Hitler’s
Mein Kampf
and Streicher’s
Protocols of Zion
stood neatly beside stacks of the propaganda newspaper
Das Schwarze Korps
. She thought of Aric’s copy of Tennyson, a book outlawed by the Nazis, yet one he’d seen fit to make an exception.

Aric would risk breaking rules over a book. Why not a boy?

“A fool is the lamb
who runs with wolves.”
Another of Marta’s favorite sayings. Stella’s eyes burned. What an idiot she’d been to believe Aric was any different from his brethren. Or perhaps she’d just been a coward.

She turned to look at the heap of brown burlap on her desk—a mountain for the sheer effort it took to reach and open the sack. Stella retrieved the first bundle of cards. Her hands shook as she fed fresh paper and carbon into the typewriter carriage.

She’d obviously read too much into Aric’s tender smiles, his kisses. The affection he’d shown to Joseph and Helen, his friendship with Rand, were simply a ruse to confuse and ensnare her. How could she forget Nazis enjoyed playing such games?

Animosity hardened in her like icicles hanging from the eaves. She grabbed the top card from the stack, wishing now she’d firmly rejected Aric’s proposal last night; it would have saved her the trouble of refusing him tomorrow.

“No . . .” Shock hit her like a fist as she reread the name on the card. “Noooo!” Stella doubled over in her chair as though cut in two. “Please, God,” she groaned, her head shaking back and forth in denial, “not my kaddishel
.
Not my baby boy . . .”

She gasped for air, grieving noiselessly in the quiet room. Afternoon shadows had begun falling across the carpeted floor
before she finally roused herself, exhausted and spent, to stagger from the library toward the kitchen.

Helen stood angled in front of the stove, her pink floral neckerchief lending color to the otherwise drab uniform. The rich scent of hot chocolate filled the room as she turned from the pot she was stirring to glance at Stella.

“They’ve taken him!” She held up the white card to prove her words.

The spoon clattered to the floor. Helen rushed to her, wiping reddened hands against her stained apron. She snatched the card from Stella. Her squared features turned ashen.

“Joseph leaves on the train for Auschwitz tomorrow. What can we do?”

Helen’s eyes welled with tears. She withdrew from beneath her colorful scarf the black rosary beads Stella had spied the night before. She tried offering them to Stella.

“He needs more than that,” she said bitterly. Why had she ever supposed God would speak to her? Even in a whisper? “Joseph needs Aric, but Aric refuses to help.”

Helen’s expression crumpled. Clutching the rosary to her breast, she walked past Stella to the living room and sank onto a leather chair beside the hearth. Stella followed, eyeing the beads gliding rapidly through her work-roughened hands. She watched the housekeeper’s lips move in soundless prayer. “Do you really believe God will save him?”

Her near shout rose above the crackling of logs in the hearth and the clicking of black beads. “Will God rescue a single boy . . . when He saves no one else in that ghetto?”

The housekeeper paused in prayer, lifting her face to Stella.

Stella held up the white card. “This is all Joseph’s life is worth: a scrap of paper with his name on it . . . and a number like this one.” She jerked up a sleeve to expose her wrist.

Helen’s eyes widened.

“I know you’re loyal to Aric, but he has made his decision.
Now you must choose.” Stella ripped up the card. “I will not let those monsters kill my boy.”

Tossing the bits of paper into the flames, she watched them blacken and curl. When she glanced back at Helen, the housekeeper’s eyes glistened in the light from the hearth. “I will save him,” Stella said fiercely.