The Roses Underneath (7 page)

Anna wanted to ask how Frieda had acquired such a prize. Instead she said, “Will your brother be joining us?”

“Emil? Yes he should be here soon. He’s gone out on one of his missions. I never know where he goes, but he usually comes back with something. Maybe he’ll surprise us. Now, please excuse me while I fetch the tray.”

Amalia tugged at Anna’s sleeve and crooked a finger at her to get her full attention. “How many pieces of strudel can I eat, Mama?” she whispered. Anna could almost hear her mouth watering.

“Only one, Maus, we are guests,” she whispered back. “Only one.” She kissed her on the forehead.

Frieda returned with a wooden tray loaded with cups and saucers and plates, all of the same faded pink rose pattern. She distributed plates and cups around the oval marble-topped coffee table. “Miss Amalia, will you please help me bring the strudel from the kitchen?” she asked. Amalia nodded, hopped off the sofa and followed Frieda. When they returned, Amalia carried the pan of strudel wrapped in a towel. The aroma almost made Anna cry. That was followed closely by another that was almost too much to believe. It hung in the air the way a perfume introduces the arrival of a guest. Now Anna’s eyes were wide. “Is that…coffee?” she asked.

Frieda snorted. Oh no, we haven’t had proper coffee in months and months. This is only Nescafé. That’s the best we can do, I’m afraid. Emil has made it his life’s work to get his hands on real coffee and keep it. But you know how things are these days, coffee is worth more to barter with than to drink.”

“Nescafé is wonderful,” Anna said. “It’s a thousand times better than that barley swill. Although I have gotten used to the taste, I guess.”

“Never touch the stuff,” said Frieda. “I’d rather drink puddle water.” She poured a cup for Anna, and one for herself. Amalia squirmed in her spot waiting to get her hands on a piece of the warm pastry. She could barely contain herself when Frieda began to cut into it. “Now Amalia, as the guest of honor you will have the first—and the biggest—piece.”

“I am the guest of honor?” asked Amalia holding her plate out.

“Yes, you are here to decide you’d like to stay here while your mama goes to work,” said Frieda. “That’s why I made you the strudel.” She winked. “You must start eating before it gets cold.
And you too, Frau Klein. Let’s not stand on ceremony.” She pointed at Amalia with a heaping fork. “After we’ve eaten I will show you the children’s play room and the garden, and then you can decide if you would like to visit me here every day.”

The strudel was just as Anna remembered. Warm, flaky pastry, rich with butter, apples spiced with cinnamon—actual cinnamon. She put the plate down to stretch the time between bites. “This is wonderful, Fraulein Schilling, really. What a treat. You are so kind. Amalia, what do you say?”

“I say this is delicious,” Amalia said, her mouth full.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the stairwell. “Ah, that will be Emil,” said Frieda. “You put out the pastry and he shows up, like a stray dog knows when the butcher throws out the scraps.” She turned in her chair as Emil barreled through the door. “Emil, there you are, subtle as a herd of elephants.”

Amalia snorted at the joke.

Emil kissed his sister on the cheek and reached over to shake Anna’s hand. “Frau Klein, welcome, and Amalia, too. I am so pleased you are here. Are you getting to know Frieda? I hope she hasn’t scared you away. I see she’s made strudel.”

Anna thought something about the two of them was carefully controlled even as they teased each other, as if there was a subtext she could not read. She took another bite of strudel.

“Finished!” Amalia said, setting her plate down and wiping her mouth with the napkin.

“Right,” said Frieda as she stood up and held her hand out. “Let’s go. Frau Klein you stay here and finish your strudel. Emil will help you find us.” The two went off down the short hallway and Anna heard a door open and Frieda say, “This is where all the children play.”

Anna hated having Amalia out of her sight. The fear of having to leave her in the care of a stranger felt as real and solid as if it were sitting next to her on the sofa. The fact that she had to admit that the strudel and the coffee, not to mention the lovely home, could maybe make her ignore it unsettled her. The whole scenario made her feel cheap, like she was being bought.

“How many children did you say your sister keeps?” she asked Emil, who had helped himself to a generous slice and was refilling his sister’s cup for himself. He poured milk into the coffee with a shaking hand. Anna noticed the tips of three of his fingers on his left hand were gone just above the first knuckle.

Emil noticed her attention and wrapped his other hand around the affected fingers. “Frostbite,” he said. “My souvenir from Leningrad.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” Anna said, feeling the war enter the room again. Its odor was always present, even when there were only
Amis
around. But these young soldiers—the
Soldaten
that they were all supposed to ignore now—always brought the reality back.

“Bah, it’s nothing. I got off easy.” He kept his fingers hidden. “I think it’s four now. Children, that Frieda watches,” he said. “Two girls and two boys. It varies, people are so transient now, but it’s mostly mothers who work at the Collecting Point like you. Well, like us both, I guess.” He stopped speaking as if catching himself before saying something he shouldn’t.

Anna nodded, feeling awkward. She tried to find something to fill the silence. “How are the Americans treating you?” was all she could think of.

“Oh the
Amis
are fine, most of them. I don’t bother them, they don’t bother me. I figure if they can clean up this mess then that’s all right with me.”

“I guess so,” Anna replied. Her eyes landed on the paintings on the wall behind Emil’s chair. “You have a lot of nice paintings.” She wondered how they had survived all this time, not having been sold or traded for food, or their frames broken for kindling.

Emil exhaled. “Ah yes, my mother’s paintings. She was a bit of a collector. I even bought a few things myself, before the war. They aren’t really very valuable, mostly they are from local artists—Rhine painters, you know? But I like them. They are nice scenes of happy days.”

“Maybe there will be happy days again,” Anna said, but she didn’t believe it.
The didn’t deserve it anyhow.

“For you, yes I think so,” Emil said. “But not for me. Not for us soldiers. All we can do is hope that the children don’t have to pay for what we did, right?”

“Is that why you are helping us? Me and Amalia?”

Emil shrugged. “I guess.” He shifted his weight in the chair. “So, what do you say? If Amalia likes it, I am sure Frieda can arrange a workable payment for you.”

“You have been most kind.” Anna thought if she had worn a hat she’d be clutching it in her hands now, playing the part of the down-and-out mother, having just been bribed with strudel and coffee, ready to sign over her greatest treasure into the care of another. “Shall we go see the room?”
It’s going to take more than strudel and coffee to buy me
, she thought.

But as soon as she peeked into the playroom, the deal was sealed. It was filled with toys and books that sat in an orderly fashion on low shelves lining the walls. A small chalkboard stood on an easel, flanked by a row of low tables that had been pushed together to make one long surface. Happily mismatched chairs were neatly tucked underneath. Amalia sat on one of these, working intently on a drawing, using three colored pencils. Frieda sat next to her on a low bench, her long legs pushing her knees up to her chin. A small metal train track ran along one side of the room, under a row of windows that flooded the room with sunshine. In one corner sat three dolls in various states of undress and in the other sat a pile of pillows and blankets formed a cozy
nap-time corner.

“What do you do with them all day, Fraulein Schilling?” Anna asked.

“Oh, whatever the day requires. We go outside a bit in the cool morning—the children are helping me prepare the garden for fall vegetables. Emil just got hold of some carrot and turnip seeds. We have lunch, usually some bread and a soup. On Sundays I make a big pot of something that we eat all week. Then we have a rest, right here on the floor with our blankets and pillows. I usually fall asleep myself. They wear me out. And then in the afternoon we play with whatever we like, sometimes we dress up, sometimes we sing songs. Then when it’s time to go, we tidy up and walk down to the museum—I mean to the Collecting Point. It’s all easy and straightforward. They are just so young and they’ve been through so much, haven’t they?”

“What did you do during the war, Fraulein Schilling?” It was the rudest of questions to be asked, but Anna had to do it.

Frieda didn’t blink. “I was a nurse, Frau Klein. Here in Wiesbaden.” She lifted her chin and held Anna’s gaze. “For children,” she added.

“And you have children of your own?” Anna asked.

Frieda shook her head. “No. Not of my own. It has been my calling to take care of others. That has been my life”

Anna nodded and turned to Amalia’s picture. It was three figures, holding hands and smiling. A yellow sun shone overhead and an oversized butterfly floated in the sky. It was a happy picture.

Anna nodded and stepped back into the hall. “Shall we discuss the payment?”

Anna stood in front of the wardrobe squinting into the darkness.

“Mama? What are you doing?” Amalia sat up in bed, her hair wild from sleep and eyes still clouded. She yawned.

“Looking for something.”

Anna reached over and turned on the light, which made Amalia dive under the blanket. Now Anna could see what she was looking for. Her old, gray gabardine pants with the wide cuffs.
Suitable for days in the country, either family picnics or surveys of bombing damage on historic landmarks
, she thought. She pulled the green cotton blouse out of the drawer and finished getting dressed.

“You look funny, Mama.” Amalia laughed.

“You don’t like my pants?” Anna twirled and struck a pose.

Amalia giggled and shook her head as if she had finally seen everything. Then she remembered what day it was. “Mama! Today is the day, right? Today I get to go to Fraulein Schilling?” She jumped out of bed and pulled Lulu out from under her pillow.

Anna put her nerves aside. “And you know what else? We have strudel for breakfast.”

Amalia squealed and raced Anna to the kitchen. Frieda had sent them home with a slice of strudel and a packet of Nescafé. Anna put the kettle on and cut up the pastry for Amalia.

Amalia climbed up on the small table under the window and swung her legs as she chewed.

“So my little Maus, did you sleep well?”

“I had a bad dream. About Papa.” She looked up at Anna, waiting for her reaction. She was a good little bomb-thrower herself.

Anna feigned neutrality. “You did? Tell me about it.”

“I dreamed that Papa was trying to come to us, but he was lost. I could see him walking the streets looking for us, and I called to him but he couldn’t hear me.” She swung her legs harder, and the table swayed under her weight.

Anna wiped her hands on the back of her pants. “That’s a very bad dream. But you know it’s not real. It’s all over now.”

“But what if Papa can’t find us? What if he never finds us?” Amalia’s chin began to quiver.

“He will find us. Don’t worry. Your Papa is a very smart man. And I will try again to get word to him about where we are. It will be all right, I promise.”

“You always say that. And it’s not all right. Not at all. I miss my Papa.” She began to cry, still chewing on the strudel.

Anna put her arms around the girl. “Oh, Maus. It’s all right to cry. Papa loves us and he will find us. Until then we just have to be brave and take care of each other. And today you’ll get to meet some new friends and have a lovely time with Fraulein Schilling. The day will go by in no time and then we’ll be one day closer to the day when Papa is with us again.”

Amalia continued to cry, and eventually the whistle of the kettle joined in. Anna stood holding her daughter. She again imagined Thomas walking up the Adolfsallee, she and Amalia leaning out the window waving at him before running down the stairs as fast as they could, laughing and crying at the same time. She knew it would not happen like this, but it was a nice story. Maybe it would happen. There must be a good reason why he had not answered any of the messages she sent.

The early morning sun already felt oppressive. Anna found a small spot of shade in the central court of the Collecting Point waiting for Captain Cooper. She wondered if she still had a job, after disappearing Friday afternoon. Begging for forgiveness when the topic of her absence came up was the only strategy she had thought of so far. She stood on the bottom step of the entry, her back against the wall, and tried to stay out of the way of the mad activity. Everyone had something to do or somewhere to go and she felt conspicuous. She tugged nervously at her pants, and then tried to tame her hair. In the rush to leave the house she had forgotten to pin it up and now it hung loose around her shoulders, dry as straw and just as straight.

“Hi there.” The voice surprised her and she swung around to see the short Long, the MP from the guardhouse. He sauntered over, one hand digging in his breast pocket. “You waiting for someone?” He fished out his cigarettes and offered her one. Anna held up her palm and shook her head although she would have loved to have it to settle her stomach.