Karolina's Twins (37 page)

“February came, and while it was quiet in Chrzanów, the war wasn't over by any means. We'd see and hear planes flying over Chrzanów every day. The Nazis were gone from our area, but they were hunkering down in Germany, hoping for the development of Hitler's super-weapon. Blasts from Russian bombs continued west of us. Russian troops would come through Chrzanów on their way into Germany. Sometimes they were cordial, but we encountered plenty of boisterous, rude and even brutal Russian soldiers.

“The Russians didn't give a damn if we were Jewish or Christian, they would just occupy the town for a few days, bully their way around and continue on their military advance into Germany. On the one hand, you could get angry at the belligerent way they made their presence known, but on the other hand, they were our liberators. Still, reports of sexual abuse circulated among the women and we knew not to go out alone, only in groups.

“I tried to look for a job, but there wasn't anything available in Chrzanów. I was frugal with my food and my money, so for the time being, I was okay. Through March and into April, stragglers would return from the camps, the lucky ones, with stories that no one wanted to tell and no one wanted to hear. Bit by bit, the Jewish population increased, but only minimally.

“Sometime in late April, I was invited to a wedding. Sarah Sternberg was getting married to a man she met in the Płaszów camp outside of Kraków. His ears had been boxed, and for all intents and purposes, he was deaf. The ceremony and reception were held at one of the Chrzanów synagogues. During the occupation, the Nazis had used the synagogue as an arms depot. Although battered and defaced, the synagogue was being restored and the hundred or so Jews that had returned to Chrzanów were trying to reconstruct a Jewish community.

“A rabbi came in from Kraków and the families had built a chuppah, which they had decorated with early spring flowers. Our little community gathered for what was to be the first Jewish ceremony since the Nazi occupation. It felt good to openly celebrate such a positive, affirming event. I went with a group of girls and was standing with a glass of wine when someone tapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘Hey, spunky one.'

“I spun around and there he was. David Woodward. I couldn't believe it and I threw my arms around him and cried like a baby.”

“Did you say Woodward?”

“Of course. Didn't you know? I married David.”

Catherine was shocked and dropped her pen. “No, you never said your husband's name was David. Believe me, I'd have picked up on that. The business—it was called D. Morris Woodward Investments.”

“Right. David Morris Woodward. David called the business D. Morris Woodward because he liked the way it sounded, and Morris was also his father's name.”

Catherine shook her head. “I never would have thought. You are so full of surprises.”

Lena smiled mischievously. “Oh, you have no idea. David and I reconnected at Sarah Sternberg's wedding. He had lost a lot of weight, like the rest of us, and there were wrinkles on his face that hadn't been there before. His left arm was a little misshapen from a beating he received. As with many of us, he had scars that were visible and scars that were not.

“The years had taken away some of his boyish exuberance, but not his spirit. Or his smile. His eyes were as blue and as kind as ever. He stood there in a dark blue sport coat with an open collar shirt and gray slacks, neatly pressed. And I was just as entranced as I had ever been. Maybe more so.

“‘You made it,' he said. ‘I always knew you would.'

“‘Oh, my God, I've asked everyone about you. Everywhere I went. Colonel Müller said you were transferred to Gross-Rosen, and when I was sent there, I thought I'd join up with you, but I was immediately shipped out to Parschnitz. I worked in the textile factory and I figured you might be there too, but I never saw you and no one had heard of you. Were you in Czechoslovakia?'

“David shook his head. ‘I was in the Neusalz sub-camp in western Poland, running a textile mill. I had hoped they would send you there, but Neusalz was a terrible place.'

“‘Let's not talk about the camps. Only the future.'

“He looked at me and I could see water in his eyes and he said, ‘All these months, all these years, I dreamed we'd meet again and we would talk about our future.' With that, David put his arm around me, raised his glass and his voice and said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I invite you to another wedding. In one month, in this synagogue, God willing, Lena Scheinman and I will be married.'

“I was floored. People were clapping and cheering. I looked at David and said, ‘You didn't ask me to marry you and I didn't say yes.'

“‘Will you marry me, Lena Scheinman?'

“‘Oh, yes!'

“The wedding was planned for Sunday, May 13, 1945. In the interim, on May seventh, Germany surrendered and the war was officially over.”

“That's such a coincidence,” Catherine said. “That's my due date. May thirteenth.”

“It's getting close now, isn't it?”

Catherine smiled and nodded. “He's an active little guy. So, you married David on May thirteenth?”

“There were celebrations in Chrzanów all through the month of May, including the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. David Woodward. All the survivors, those who had made it back to Chrzanów, attended. Alicja came from Kobiór. It was a lovely May night and our wedding was outside under the stars. For us on that night, the Holocaust had never existed.

“We settled into the little house that I had occupied and tried, with the others, to rejuvenate our Jewish community. But it was not to be. The sad fact was that the Chrzanów Jews had been slaughtered. Eliminated. Those few that had survived and returned found the town unrecognizable. What was left of a once-vibrant Chrzanów was now a handful of townsfolk, battered and bruised by the war. Chrzanów's economy had been decimated. The Russians were now in command and taking over the town. Administrators had been appointed. Poland would be Communist.”

Catherine closed her notebook. “Enough for today, Lena. Can we pick up next week?”

“Catherine, I'd like you to come to my apartment next Tuesday. There's something I'd like you to see.”

 

F
ORTY-THREE

C
ATHERINE SAT IN HER
bedroom with her feet raised, rubbing vitamin E lotion on her abdomen with her right hand, holding her phone in her left. Liam was in Israel.

“Cat, I met with Ruth Abrams today. She's a curator in the archives here at Yad Vashem. Lena is well documented here. As you know, she gave a video history. It's about an hour long and she gives quite a detailed narrative about prewar Chrzanów and her time in the camps. But she doesn't mention Karolina or the babies. Totally omitted. Doesn't that trouble you?”

“A little, but I can understand it. Why would she want to relive the story of the twins, and permanently record how she threw them out of the window? She's never told this story before. She told me that after the war she closed and locked that door. Did she talk about Milosz and her time in the attic?”

“Oh, yes. And her time at the Tarnowski farm. Obviously the hours she spent with you provide much greater detail than the one-hour videotape she made. But the chronology is the same. She summarizes her time in the Shop, her time in the Parschnitz concentration camp and her captivity in Auschwitz. She talks about her escape from the death march and her return to Chrzanów. She even mentioned that while she worked in the Shop, she lived in a furnace room in the ghetto. But she totally omits Karolina and the twins.”

“I don't find that inconsistent. It's just too painful.”

“I also researched Karolina Neuman. She's listed here as a Shoah victim, killed at the Parschnitz sub-camp. Born in 1922, died in 1943. No survivors.”

“No mention of her twins?”

“Nope.”

“Well, think about it, Liam. Who would know about the twins?”

“Are you kidding? Lena would know. She may have been the very person who gave the information about Karolina to the museum. But she didn't say anything about the twins.”

“And you find that disturbing?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Any luck finding Muriel or Chaya?”

“Chaya is deceased. She died in 1945. Probably on the death march. But I had better luck with Muriel. She's still alive. I was given an address in New York and I believe she still lives there. I've tried to contact her, but so far I've had no luck.”

“So now what?”

“I'm going first to Scharmassing, Germany. I'm going to try to track down the Schultz family. That would seem to be the logical starting point to finding the twins. If they survived being cast into a field from a moving train. If somebody found them and rescued them, then they would have seen the address. I'm going there first.”

“I agree. That makes sense.”

“How's my little tyke doing? Growing fast?”

“Kicking the stuffings out of me and keeping me up at night.”

“Then it's probably a boy, and with legs like that, the Chicago Bears will want to take a look at him.”

“It could be a girl, you know.”

“Well, then, she'll be kicking ass in some courtroom like her mother.”

“Do you want to know?”

“Nope.”

“So when do you leave for Germany?”

“Tomorrow. Tonight I'm having dinner with Kayla Cummings.”

“Kayla? Seriously? Do I have to worry about you two again?”

“Again? What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means I worried about the two of you before. Tell me you're not having dinner in Hebron. You know she's a reckless intelligence agent. She's pulled you into the battlefields before.”

“Do I sense a return of Cat jealousy?”

“No. Maybe I was last year when you were spending so much time with a gorgeous spy on the beaches of Hawaii and chasing after Sophie Sommers.”

“On the beaches of Hawaii? I think it was me and a suspicious jealous woman named Catherine on the beaches of Hawaii, whose unreasonable suspicions were proven to be false. And besides, we were chasing after Arif al-Zahani, a terrorist in Israel.”

“Right. Through Hebron, the most dangerous city in the world. You tell her that you can't be entering any danger zones, you're about to be a father.”

“I'll be sure to do that.”

“Okay. Tell Kayla I said hello and I'm happy that's she's doing well.”

“I will.”

“And just mention that Liam Taggart is now a
married
man with a family.”

“Ha, ha. I'll do that. I love you, good-bye.”

 

F
ORTY-FOUR

L
IAM LANDED AT THE
Munich airport, rented a car and drove north toward Regensburg through the rolling farmlands of Bavaria, a patchwork of greens and golds. Arriving in Regensburg late in the afternoon, he booked a room at the Muencher Hof, on the main square near the Danube. A dinner of schnitzel, a couple steins of Erdinger weissbier, a walk around the old city and Liam retired for the night.

After breakfast, Liam drove south to the little rural village of Scharmassing and 155 Dorfstrasse, the last known address for Siegfried Schultz. The white stone two-story house with a red tiled roof had been well cared for. Liam, carrying a German-English dictionary in his hand, rang the doorbell and an older man in gray slacks and blue cotton shirt, buttoned at the neck, came to the door.

“
Ja, was wollen Sie?
”

“Do you speak English?
Sprechen Sie Englisch?
”

“
Ja.
A little.” He pinched his thumb and index finger to show how little he spoke.

“Thank you. My name is Liam Taggart and I'm looking for the family of Siegfried Schultz.”

“Siegfried Schultz?” He shook his head. “
Ich weiß
nicht,
I don't know Siegfried Schultz.”

“He used to live here. In 1941.”

“1941? Ach. Seventy years.” He shrugged. “I'm here for only forty. The man before me, his name was Burger. Not Schultz.”

“Siegfried Schultz was a soldier. His mother lived here. I think she may have taken in two little babies in 1943.”

“Two babies?”

Liam nodded.

“Why do you need to know?”

“The two babies were lost during the war. I'm working for the mother who lost them.”

He shrugged. “I come from Pfaffenberg in 1963. I would not know anything about babies.”

Liam turned to leave and the man called, “Excuse me, please, Herr Taggart. Fräu Strauss, she is eighty-six, but she knows of everybody in Scharmassing. Go to her. Twenty-two Rosenstrasse in Oberhinkofen. It's just down the road. Tell her Werner sent you.” He smiled and nodded. “She speaks Englisch,
ja.
”

“Thank you very much.
Danke,
” Liam said.

The Strauss townhome was just a few miles away. She answered the door in a formless blue-and-pink-patterned housedress and pink fur-lined moccasins. Her hair was silver-gray and rolled into a bun. She squinted at Liam.

“Fräu Strauss, Werner sent me to you.”

“Werner Hoffman?”

“I think so. On Dorfstrasse.”

She pursed her lips, thought a minute, nodded, stepped back from the door and said, “Come in.”

She walked into her living room and gestured for him to follow with a quick brushing flip of her hand. “Sit.”

Her living room was furnished with large overstuffed pieces covered in floral fabrics. And white doilies. Doilies sat on the tables, on the arms of the chairs and on the backs of the couch cushions. Liam sat gently on the edge of the couch.

“I'm looking for the family of Siegfried Schultz. He used to live at 155 Dorfstrasse.”

“Yes. Of course. Helga Schultz.”

Liam smiled broadly. “Wonderful. Did Helga have any children besides Siegfried? Did she have two little girls?”