Someone Named Eva (12 page)

My mind kept replaying the scene from dinner. I had made a mistake, and I had apologized by making the Nazi salute. It wasn't as if I had never made the salute before—I had made it every morning for two years at the center. What bothered me was how naturally it had come to me earlier that night—almost as if it was something I had grown up doing.

***

A few days later Peter came dashing into the sun-room, dropped a letter in my lap, and ran back out. My hands began to shake as I opened it and realized it was from Franziska.

6 May 1944

Dearest Eva,

This letter brings you many good wishes. I have been adopted by the loveliest of families in Berlin. I understand you are living very close to us in Fürstenberg—only an hour by car, even less by train. You must come visit soon! I am also to understand that your father is a high-ranking Nazi. How lucky for you! My father is a Nazi soldier who works at the processing center here in Berlin. I have two younger twin sisters who are quite adorable. They keep Mutter and me very busy. I have also made two new friends, Hilde and Berta. We attend the school that is near our house. I have even become friends with a boy, Kellen, who shares many of my interests. Please write soon, Eva, and tell me all about your family. I look forward to receiving your letter.

Yours truly,
Franziska Schönfelder

I sat and stared at the letter for a long time. Franziska Schönfelder. Ruzha had faded to a distant echo: a shadow, no longer even so much as a name. I stood and paced the room, my stomach churning. Snatches of a conversation I had had with Franziska at the center replayed in my head.

"My family is dead," Franziska had said. "They were killed in an Allied air raid."

I looked down at the piece of paper and noticed that my hands were still trembling. Angrily, I ripped the letter into little pieces and threw it into the empty fireplace. Ruzha was gone forever, replaced by a German girl named Franziska.

***

As I adjusted to life with the Werners, I settled into the family's routine. Peter boarded the bus to attend school in Fürstenberg each morning, while Elsbeth and I stayed home for our training. We started with early-morning calisthenics, to keep our bodies healthy, and then turned to home economics lessons. In the afternoon we studied math or science, but we never went beyond simple addition and subtraction or the biology of children and race. Mutter had her teaching degree and provided all our lessons. But I found myself missing the kind of school we'd had at the center, with teachers and students and breaks for lunch. Mutter and Elsbeth were helpful and patient, but everything was the same, day after day, and boredom quickly set in.

One afternoon Mutter decided we needed to practice polishing silver so we would know how to prepare for entertaining important guests. The three of us were in the formal dining room near the large china cabinet where the silver was stored. Mutter reached into a drawer and took out a small jar of black polish. Its round shape and metal top brought back a memory of a similar jar I had once held in my hand. A jar of homemade hair straightener for Terezie.

I had always loved Terezie's hair, even though she had not. She had inherited the dark-brown curls of her aunt and despised the way they refused to be tamed. I would try to braid her hair, but it wouldn't stay in the braids for longer than a few hours. Then little puffs of hair would rebel and start escaping.

So one day we had tried using a hair-straightening remedy of my grandmother's. It consisted of a variety of foul-smelling kitchen ingredients, including vinegar and raw eggs, which we mixed together and put into a small jar that looked like the silver-polish jar. Terezie and Grandmother and I had spent an entire Saturday afternoon wrapping Terezie's hair in corn husks that we had soaked in the awful-smelling solution.

But after being released from the husks, Terezie's hair was even wilder than usual, and she didn't speak to me for a whole week after that. I tried everything I could think of to get her to forgive me, even passing notes of apology to her during class—a risky venture under our teacher's watchful eye. Terezie had finally responded to one of my notes in her perfect swirly handwriting.
Dear Eva,
she had written.

I shook my head. No, she hadn't written that name. She had written a different name.

"Eva."

I jumped and looked around, remembering that I was in the Werner dining room.

"Eva!" It was Elsbeth. She was shaking me.

"Eva, are you well?" Mutter, still holding the small jar of polish, came over and put her hand on my forehead.

"Yes. I ... I was just thinking." I looked at the jar in Mutter's hands.

"Well, you need to begin polishing," she said briskly, handing the polish to Elsbeth. "Peter will be home soon."

Mutter left the room, and I picked up a silver candlestick.

"Eva, oh, Eva...," Elsbeth called out in a singsong voice.

I turned to see that she had dabbed a small amount of black polish under her nose and chin to make it look as if she had a mustache and goatee. "Heil Hitler!" she said in a deep voice, and we both started giggling. Her antics kept me laughing and made the polishing go quickly.

Elsbeth was funny and smart and easy to like. I began to look forward each night to the time after dinner, when we would go to her room to knit or look through movie magazines. Sometimes we would talk about movie stars—which ones we thought were the most beautiful or whose clothes we liked best. Other times we would just sit quietly, letting the room fill with the soft clicking of our knitting needles.

One evening, when Elsbeth and I were in her room knitting scarves, the sound of laughter from the yard below brought us both to her window. Herr Werner was home early from work. He and Peter were in the yard, playing tag on the grass. Herr Werner was laughing, a deep belly laugh that boomed across the yard. We watched them play for a while, then went back to sitting on the bed. Elsbeth sighed.

"He likes Peter best, you know." Her tone was flat.

"What?" I asked, surprised by the certainty in her voice.

"He likes Peter best. He told me once. He thinks Peter will grow to be a fine German Nazi, ready to build the new Germany for Hitler. But me..."

I touched her shoulder. "I'm sure it's not that way. He's just busy or—"

"No," she said, looking past me toward the window. "It
is
that way. It will always be that way." She shook her head and forced a smile. "Let me show you the next stitch," she said, picking up her needles. Her hair fell in short waves above her shoulders, and her fingers worked with the yarn swiftly, her needles clacking lightly together and apart, together and apart.

Peter was a complicated part of Elsbeth's life. He knew he was the favored child, and he used his father's adoration to get his way at everyone else's expense. Sometimes Elsbeth appeared to only tolerate Peter. Other times she seemed to genuinely care about him and have true affection for him.

One afternoon Peter arrived home from school in a particularly grumpy mood. Unable to find anything to do, he began following Elsbeth and me, copying everything we said and did.

"Come on, Eva, let's go outside and sit on the grass," Elsbeth said.

"Come on, Eva," Peter copied, using a false, high-pitched voice, "let's go outside and sit on the grass."

"Just ignore him, Eva. He's an ill-mannered child," said Elsbeth.

"Just ignore him, Eva," Peter continued. "He's an ill-mannered child."

We walked out to the lawn in the back of the house. The smell was strong that day, but we ignored it, as we always did, and made our way to the edge of the grass where the woods began. Peter followed, walking as if he was wearing high heels. Kaiser trailed Peter, sniffing the ground and wagging his tail madly.

Elsbeth and I walked a few more yards. Then she turned suddenly and charged at her brother. Peter screamed in fright and took off running for the house with Kaiser close at his heels. But Elsbeth was too quick. She easily grabbed Peter and wrestled him to the ground, tickling him until he was giggling helplessly.

"Stop, Elsbeth! Stop! Please!" he begged.

"Are you going to stop following Eva and me?" Elsbeth had him pinned to the ground with her knees.

"Yes! Yes!" Peter choked out between giggles. "And do you admit that I am your queen and you are my slave?" Elsbeth demanded.

"No! You're nothing but a stupid girl!" Peter spit out, still giggling.

"Say it!" Elsbeth pulled off one of his shoes and socks and started tickling his toes. I stood off to the side by myself but smiled, thinking of the times Jaro and I had fought like that.

"All right, all right. You are my queen and I am your slave," Peter muttered.

"Louder!"

"You are my queen and I am your slave!" Peter screamed, the sound reverberating through the trees at the edge of the woods. Elsbeth let go of his arms, and he lay on the grass, panting, while Kaiser licked his face. Suddenly, Peter sat up and reached for Elsbeth, trying to tickle her. But she was too big for him, and he couldn't get her down.

"Oh, Peter. Your nose," Elsbeth said. A small trickle of blood had begun to run from Peter's nose. "I'm sorry." She took a handkerchief from her skirt and began dabbing it above his lip.

"No, like this," I said, hurrying over to them. I squeezed the handkerchief on the bridge of Peter's nose, as I had learned in my first-aid lessons at the center.

"It's not bad," Peter said, looking from Elsbeth to me. "I won't tell Vater."

Elsbeth helped Peter up and slowly walked with him back to the house. I hung back, watching, and realized that I had come to genuinely care for them both.

***

Just as I enjoyed spending the evenings with Elsbeth, I also began to look forward to bedtime each night, when Mutter would come to my room to tuck me in. I loved the feel of her hands playing with my hair and the smell of flowers that always floated around her.

One night, several weeks after my arrival, she stayed longer than usual, running her fingers through my hair and humming softly. I was almost asleep when she spoke.

"Eva?"

"Yes?" I opened my eyes.

"What kind of cake is your favorite?"

"Cake?" I asked, confused.

"Well, we were going to surprise you, but..." Her voice was quick and sounded nervous. "There is going to be a party. In your honor. And I want Cook to make your favorite cake. It's an adoption party. For you. In your honor." Her words spilled out, stumbling over one another and repeating.

I could no longer feel her hands. It was as if my whole body had gone numb.

"Your vater wanted it to be a surprise, but I felt you should know so you can help plan the party. He gave me permission to tell you and—"

"I am being adopted," I said, cutting her off in mid sentence.

"Yes, Eva." She stopped talking and looked at me.

I got out of bed and walked to the window, feeling the wooden floor beneath my bare feet. I stared into the darkness for several seconds, steadying myself against the rush of hopelessness washing over me.

I swallowed hard. Mutter continued talking.

"It's going to be so lovely. Cook was planning on a chocolate cake because Elsbeth thought that might be your favorite." She came over and touched my shoulder. "There will be decorations and pretty clothes and a special ceremony."

"But...," I began, trying to hold back the tears.

"I knew you would be happy," Mutter continued, oblivious to me. "You must come now and get back into bed." She led me to my bed and pulled the sheet over me. "You need lots of rest, my Eva. The party is only three weeks away, and there's so much to do." She leaned over and kissed me, then turned out the light and left.

I lay in bed, unable to move. It was final. Hope was gone. Mama and Papa were not coming for me. I was never going home.

When I finally fell asleep hours later, I dreamed of my grandmother. She sat in a small room that seemed strange and yet familiar. My bedroom in Lidice. I reached for my grandmother and tried to call her, but my voice made no sound.

When I opened my eyes, I was in a room painted pink, with matching lace curtains and a large picture of Hitler on the wall. Early light was just beginning to creep through the windows. From someplace far off, a mourning dove called to signal the dawn. The whole world should awake, the dove seemed to cry. Something new is beginning.

A few days later Mutter called me into her sewing room. I walked in to find Elsbeth already standing there.

"Eva," Mutter said, holding up a stunning long blue dress. "This is for you."

"It's beautiful," I whispered, reaching out to touch the soft fabric.

"Mutter made it for you," Elsbeth said, smiling.

"It's for your adoption party," Mutter added. I looked into her eyes. Even though she was smiling, I could tell she was nervous. This person wanted me and loved me and somehow even needed me. I felt a lump in my throat. "Do you like it?" she asked.

"It's beautiful," I repeated, awed that someone would make something so lovely for me.

"Why don't you try it on, liebling?" Mutter said softly, handing the dress to me.

I took it to my room and held it in front of me as I looked at myself in the mirror. It was made of soft blue satin that matched the color of my eyes almost perfectly.

I pulled my skirt off and laid it on my bed, reaching inside by habit to remove Grandmother's pin. I ran my fingers over the pin, then touched the soft material of the dress. I was afraid the pin might tear the delicate fabric, so I pulled a soft lace handkerchief from the top drawer of my dresser. Carefully, I wrapped the little pin inside, then placed it gently back in the drawer, where it would be safe.

Then I slipped on the dress and twirled a few times in front of the mirror. It fit perfectly.

Mutter appeared in the doorway. "It fits," she said, with tears in her eyes. "I'm so glad."