The Roses Underneath (45 page)

“You saw Emil? When?” Oskar’s face smoothed and his eyes widened.

“He lives at the house with Fraulein Schilling,” Amalia said. “Where I go during the day. You can come with me and see him.”

Oskar looked confused, his brow furrowed over eyes that darted between Anna and the painting.

Anna steadied herself. “I have to tell you something.” She took one child’s hand in each of hers. “Now listen, both of you. It is important that you know that Emil was a good man. He suffered a lot though, and he had a lot of pain inside him.”

Amalia looked liked she wanted to say something, but stopped herself. Anna looked at Oskar. His expression was dense, his eyes locked into hers. She took a deep breath.

“I am very sad to tell you that Emil is dead.”

Amalia crawled to Madeleine who folded her arms around her. Oskar looked at Anna, the earnestness back on his face like a mask.

“Yes, I know. He died. At Stalingrad. That’s what my uncle told me.”

Anna kneeled forward and stroked his cheek.

“No, he didn’t die there. He came home. He was here. He even helped take care of Amalia, and he worked for the Americans, like me. But then he got very sick, from the war.”

“He was here all this time? In Wiesbaden?”

Anna nodded. She picked up the painting. “Before he died he said he wanted me to have this painting, but I know it’s only because he thought you were dead. If he had known you were alive, he would have given it to you,” she said. “Emil was your mother’s friend, wasn’t he?”

Oskar nodded. “Emil Schilling was
my
friend. He sometimes came to the orphanage to see his sister while I was there, to play with us. That’s what he told me, but I don’t remember because I was too small. But when I went with my Mama and Papa, he still came to visit. And my Mama always made him food and took care of him, because he didn’t really have anyone. He was like my big brother. But then he had to go to Russia to fight. And my uncle told me he died there.”

Anna stroked his cheek. “And Emil thought you had died with your mother in the bombs. If he had known you were here, he would have given the painting to you himself.”
If he had known, he would be alive now
, she thought.

“But why didn’t you tell him about me?” Oskar asked.

“He didn’t know that I knew you. And I didn’t know any of this until just now. And now it’s too late.” She sat back onto the floor and rubbed her face. “I am so sorry, Oskar. I really am.”

Oskar chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. “Did the
Amis
kill him?” he finally asked.

“No. The war just made him too sick. He couldn’t go on living and so he died.”

Amalia curled into a little ball in Madeleine’s lap. Oskar sat frozen, staring into a void between his knees and the floor. The anger he had worn for so long was replaced by a sadness that seemed to compress him into the floor. Anna regarded their pitiable little tableau, each of them trying to find a way to live with the new knowledge. For a long time no one moved. Anna felt the full weight of the last years finally strike her down. The cost had been tallied and no one had come out unscathed.

“Now I have no one at all who wants me,” Oskar said to the floor. “Not in the whole world.”

“That’s not true, Oskar. You have me. You have us.” Anna pulled him close and felt his presence, solid and real. She was still here. She had survived. Maybe things would be all right, in their way. “Do you want to stay with us, here at this house?” she whispered in his ear. “If I can arrange it?”

Oskar nodded.

“And do you promise to be good and not to run away?”

He nodded again. “But what if my uncle comes after me? He will hurt you.”

“No, he won’t. I won’t let him. We will tell the Americans all about him, you and me. And then he won’t be able to hurt you any more. Will you help me?”

“What do I have to do?”

“Just tell me everything you know. I will write it down. And then we will tell the
Amis
. And they will do the rest.”

“And what about the paintings?”

“You get to keep those. They are yours after all.”

He nodded again. “I will help you.” He raised his face to hers. “And Frau Klein? I am sorry I lied.”

Anna tousled his hair. “Just don’t do it any more. Now, come and help me.”

The two of them stayed up well after Madeleine and Amalia had fallen asleep, Oskar telling Anna what he knew about Gerhart Heinrich, which, in the end was not all that much, but it was enough to prove the Schenk was not who he said he was. Anna’s suspicions had been right. Heinrich had owned the Gallerie Neustadt in Mainz until the war took him away, stealing art from collectors under the guise of the Reichskulturkammer. As the boy’s only living relative, he had been given custody of Oskar after his parents died in the bombing of Darmstadt in September of 1944, and had sent him to live in the villa, alone and in charge of guarding his stolen art. He would send food some weeks, but mostly Oskar fended for himself, stealing food from nearby farms or simply going hungry. His rewards were either beatings or negligence, both of which he accepted as his fate. But he was mostly a scared, lonely little boy who missed his mother and couldn’t understand what had happened to the promise of his gilded childhood. His hatred for the Americans was understandable, and he knew nothing else of the true horrors committed by the Nazis. There would be time for that conversation another day. It wasn’t until well after midnight that he began to fade. Anna made him a bed on the sofa and he lay down, half asleep already.

She tucked the blanket under his chin. “Good night, sweet boy,” she whispered. “I hope you sleep well. Tomorrow we will go tell the
Amis
your story. And then we will go to the camp and I will tell them you are staying with me.”

“And then what happens?”

“And then we will see. But now you sleep.”

Back in the kitchen, now her new office, the little lamp she had set up on the table cast a sickly yellow glow onto the floor and oozed up the walls to create shadowy angles. Emil’s painting leaned against the table leg. Anna and Oskar had looked at it together as the boy told her about his friend: Emil, who came to the orphanage to visit his sister and play with the children, especially Oskar. Emil, who had been a big brother to Oskar, and after he had been adopted had been taken in by Magda as well
. Emil, who came to dinner and went on picnics with them, who brought Oskar little presents and liked eating ice cream and reading Winnetou stories. Emil, who put on a uniform and went off to glorious war and then never came back.

She picked up the painting and turned it over. The label from the Gallerie Neustadt was still intact on this one, but there were no other markings on the back. There had been only one buyer, and the painting had hung in his apartment in the Gustav-Freytag-Strasse ever since. There was no
war-time adventure for this painting. The canvas was only slightly torn at the back in one corner, and the stretchers were in good shape. She held it up to the light and ran her hand across the back of the canvas. A large piece of tape was wrapped around the big center stretcher and Anna ran her hand underneath to feel for any damage. She felt something on the underside of the wood, something like a folded piece of paper. She picked at the ends of the tape, and after several tries, managed to peel off one end. The tape made a scraping sound as she unraveled it from the back of the wood. With it came the small piece of paper. It was folded inward on itself lengthwise and Anna could see it was a photo. Peeling the tape off, she unfolded the picture and pulled the lamp toward her. It was a dark photo, but its subject was very clear. Among a row of paintings, leaning against a table on a dirty basement floor, was the painting of the little girl in a yellow dress. It was the photo Cooper had taken, the only one that proved the Runge had been with the others in the basement that day. Anna turned the photo over. On the back, in what she knew to be Emil’s handwriting, he had written
Viel Glück
,
Anna
. Good luck.

Anna laid the photo down in front of Captain Farmer. He stood on one side of the big metal desk in the director’s office at the Collecting Point; she and Cooper stood on the other. “And there’s this, too,” she said, taking a stack of loose papers from her bag. She sorted through them as she spoke. “I made a report, but it’s not typed, I’m sorry. This is the list of known gallery owners with Gerhart Heinrich’s name and, this here is the boy’s parents’ death certificate. See, here, this is his mother’s maiden name.” She pointed to Magda’s Grünewald’s particulars on the form. “The boy is right outside if you wish to speak to him directly.” She straightened and waited as Captain Farmer flipped through the pages.

“This photo was taken by you, Cooper?”

Cooper cleared his throat. “Yes, the day after we found the stash, before this painting was stolen.”

“And you say you found this, where?” Farmer asked Anna.

“That’s a long story,” Cooper answered.

“I guess Emil knew the photo was the key to the story. He must have had the film developed and then tried to figure out how to give it to me.”

“I could have thought of a few easier ways,” Cooper said.

Farmer smiled. “Good work, Frau Klein. I’m sorry about the run-in you had with the tribunal. I’ll prepare a report for the regional command in Darmstadt. They are looking into it and this whole mess. They’ve been on to Schneider for a while, too. Believe me, they were none too happy to hear about the treatment you received, and I apologize also. We are lucky to have you with us.”

Anna nodded her thanks and fidgeted with her purse strap. She was anxious to be done with the meeting.

“So she gets her job back?” Cooper asked.

“I’m working on that,” Farmer answered. “I just got you back in here Cooper, give me a chance, will you? I just hope you’ll both toe the line for a while. I don’t need all this scrutiny. We have too much work to do and the State Department is making all kinds of noise back home about where all this art we have should go now. Lots of folks stateside want to get their hands on this stuff, too. I have enough to deal with.”

“Yes sir,” Anna and Cooper said in unison.

“One more thing. Tell me again: How did this painting get in Phillips’ hands exactly?”

“It’s all in my report, Captain, but it was Emil Schilling who was onto Schneider’s scheme from the beginning. He took it from the villa because it still had the original gallery labels on it. Those labels proved the painting’s true provenance—that it had been part of the collection of a Jewish gallery owner in Darmstadt. Schneider was removing the labels of the paintings in order to be able to claim they were his. But before Emil could get the Runge painting to us, Schneider got his hands on it anyway—thanks to the Schilling woman—and used it to bribe Phillips in exchange for his position here.”

“And the other fellow, this Schenk? You are sure he’s not who he claims to be?”

“Yes, turns out he was one of the better art thieves the Nazis had,” Cooper said. “He’s going by the name of a deceased art dealer from Mainz. But the boy, his nephew, can prove his identity. And, sir, I think you might want to take a look at what Corporal Miller has been up to.”

Farmer sighed. “Yes, I know all about his side businesses. We’ll shut him down too. He’s got some real capitalist skills. Too bad they are wasted in the army.”

Cooper elbowed Anna in the ribs. She felt as if they were two school children turning homework in to the teacher, but she couldn’t help giving him a smile.

“It will take me a while to go through all of this,” Farmer muttered as he sat down. “The kids are waiting outside? Your daughter and the boy?”

Anna nodded. “I’m sorry. I thought maybe you’d want to talk to Oskar, and Amalia, well, she couldn’t be dissuaded from coming along. I can send them home.”

“Not at all,” Farmer said. “You know, we are working on setting up a place for the children of our workers. Frau Obersdorfer gave me an earful about women needing a safe place for their children to go during the day. It might take a few days yet, but not much longer. Now if you’ll excuse me. I don’t think I’ll be too long.” He nodded toward the door and turned his attention to the papers in front of him. Cooper ushered Anna out of the office.

In the foyer, Oskar and Amalia sat on a rickety bench along the wall, their legs swinging in tandem.

“Hey there, duchess,” Cooper said.

“Hey there, Captain,” Amalia giggled.

“If her English gets any better we can give her a job,” he laughed. His demeanor turned serious as he pulled Anna aside. “Listen, I’m so sorry about your friend, about Emil. I wish I could have done something.”

“I don’t think there’s anything you could have done, Captain. He was suffering. He couldn’t see a place for himself in the world anymore. He didn’t believe he deserved to go on.”

“There’s a lot of that going on,” Cooper said. “Suicides, murders. A lot of desperate people out there.”

“That’s been going on for quite some time,” Anna said. “But at least Oskar got his mother’s paintings back.”

“Your first restitution. That’s something to celebrate.”