For Such a Time (21 page)

 24 

When Esther’s maids and eunuchs came and told her about Mordecai, she was in great distress.

Esther 4:4

M
ONDAY
, M
ARCH
6, 1944

A
nger and frustration churned in her. After an interminably long weekend, Aric had returned from the hospital last night with Grossman and still hadn’t told her of his decision regarding Morty.

Stella glanced at her watch. Time for breakfast. She’d confront him—

A knock sounded at her door. “Come,” she said coolly.

Joseph entered, and a little of her resentment subsided.

“Are you ready to come downstairs?”

“Is there any word about Morty?”

“Not yet.” The boy jammed his hands into his pockets, and she could hear his marbles rattling in agitated synchronization. Her own nerves felt stretched; the inability to do something, anything, for her uncle made her want to shriek.

“What about Grossman? Do you know if he’s spoken with Herr Kommandant?”

Joseph chewed at his lower lip and shrugged. “Last night when the sergeant returned, he acted very sleepy. He’s in my bed again. Helen sat with him through the night.”

Stella crossed her arms and eyed him sharply. “Where did you sleep?”

“Herr Kommandant told me I should stay downstairs with Grossman.” His face flushed, and he nodded toward the door. “But I slept outside your room.”

Oh, how she loved this boy! “Come here, little man.”

He rushed to her, and she hugged him, kissing the top of his head. “You didn’t have to do that, kaddishel.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you. Herr Kommandant didn’t send the captain away. He could still hurt you.”

“It’s all right.” Stella gave him a hard squeeze, refusing to admit her own alarm. What would Hermann try next? And what ridiculous excuse would she contrive this time in order to warn Aric?

Still, it was Morty’s fate that preyed uppermost on her mind; he was in danger of being tortured, perhaps killed—while Grossman slept. “If only that man would wake up long enough to acquit my uncle,” she muttered.

The boy looked up at her. “We must hurry. General Feldman arrived very early this morning. He’s downstairs with Herr Kommandant. I was sent to get you.”

“Herr General . . . but he wasn’t supposed to be here until this afternoon.” Stella hid her agitation. Now she must wait to confront Aric about Morty. The farce was about to begin. “Let’s go meet him, then.”

“I already have.”

The slight tremor in his voice brought Stella’s head up sharply. She glanced at his scar. “What happened? What did he do to you?”

“Nothing.” The child stared at his feet. “Captain Hermann escorted the general to the house and then ordered me to bring
his bags upstairs to the guest room.” His soft brown eyes glanced up at her. “It was just . . . the way he looked at me.”

“How did he look at you?”

“Like I was a cockroach.”

Stella smiled and released a pent-up breath. “I think you’re adorable.”

His cheeks blossomed with color.

“Besides, he’s a Nazi and probably hates all Jews. Why should he like you?”

The boy shrugged again. “I think Herr Kommandant likes me.”

“Of course he does. That’s different.”

“Why?”

Why
indeed?
At a loss for a ready answer, Stella improvised. “Because he’s taken the time to get acquainted with you, and now realizes what a fine young man you are.”

Joseph beamed. Stella didn’t share his pleasure, however, as they headed downstairs to the main floor. She wasn’t looking forward to meeting the general. “What will you do today?”

“After I finish my housework, I have to go inside the ghetto. The captain needs help getting the children ready for Herr General’s inspection.”

Anxiety prickled along her spine. “What inspection? Does Herr Kommandant know about this?”

“Don’t worry.” He squeezed her hand with his smaller one. “Today the children get to dress up in the nice clothes they will wear for the Red Cross. Herr Kommandant called it a ‘dress rehearsal.’” He turned to grin at her. “I get to wear a new suit.”

Dress rehearsal—that sounded safe enough. “I’m certain you’ll look splendid, Joseph.”

At the dining room he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Stella with Aric and a highly decorated officer in military gray uniform.

Aric was the first to rise, seated in the place normally oc
cupied by Stella. The general had taken over Aric’s chair at the head of the table. “Guten Morgen, Fräulein Muller. I’d like for you to meet Herr Oberstgruppenführer Feldman from the Reich Chancellery in Berlin.”

Disquieted by Aric’s sudden formality, Stella forced a smile and tipped her head in acknowledgment. “Herr General.”

General Feldman rose to greet her. With a shock of white hair receding at his temples, he looked about fifty years of age. He stood centimeters shorter than Aric, but his girth was much wider; years of rich food had produced a paunch that strained at the gold buttons of his tunic. Colorful ribbons decorated his chest, along with several crosses and medallions that gave evidence to his high rank.

She heard the snap of jackboots beneath the table as he bowed to her. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Fräulein.” To Aric he said, “Now I know why you spend so much time in your office, Colonel.” He chuckled. “Your working conditions seem quite . . . satisfactory.”

Heat crawled up Stella’s throat.

Irritation flashed in Aric’s features, though he smiled when he said, “As you say, Herr General. I cannot complain.”

“Indeed.” Another chortle escaped the rotund man. “You must join us, Fräulein Muller.”

Aric motioned Stella into the chair beside his own. “I hope your room upstairs is satisfactory, Herr General?” he asked while seating her.

“You have fine quarters for a mere
Standartenführer
, Schmidt,” the general retorted with another guffaw.

“Herr General will stay with us until Wednesday morning,” Aric informed Stella. “Then he’ll return to Prague and bring Herr Reichsführer Himmler, Obersturmbannführer Eichmann, and the Swiss back on Thursday.”

He turned to the general. “Will there be photographers?”

“The Red Cross will bring their picture-takers.” The general
tucked a white cloth napkin into his collar. “Of course we have our media people, as well.”

Aric resumed his seat beside Stella. “After breakfast I will take Herr General to the ghetto so he can begin his inspection.”

“Perhaps your lovely secretary would care to join us?” The general was carefully arranging his knives and forks against the linen tablecloth.

“That won’t be possible.” He glanced at Stella. “I’ve left several drafts on your desk, Fräulein, which need immediate typing.”

“Jawohl, Herr Kommandant,” she answered crisply. She was still angry over his cavalier treatment of Morty’s situation; now she wasn’t even allowed to see the dress rehearsal? Joseph would look so handsome in his new clothes . . .

Stella had no more time to brood. Helen appeared toting a silver tray laden with fried eggs;
Tiroler Gröstl
, a dish of meat and fried potatoes Stella knew to be Aric’s favorite breakfast—pork links, freshly baked bread—and blessed oatmeal.

As the housekeeper rounded the side of the table, Stella flashed her an appreciative smile. Helen, looking spry in a blue-and-white-striped neck scarf, gave her a wink before gliding back out of the room.

“The yolks are broken on these eggs.” The general frowned at the platter of food. “I gave your cook specific orders to prepare my eggs soft. These are unacceptable. Get rid of them and give me new ones.”

“My apologies, Herr General. Helen!”

Helen rushed in from the kitchen.

“Please prepare new eggs for Herr General.”

The housekeeper reddened and removed the platter, then bowed a silent apology to the general before retreating into the kitchen.

Stella felt outrage for the other woman. There was nothing wrong with the eggs, just a slight puncture in one of the yolks.
Now they would likely be thrown away because the general insisted on perfect ones.

“There is another matter I wish to discuss with you, Fräulein.” Aric’s sober tone drew her attention. “The package sent to the Fortress”—he shot her a meaningful glance—“has been returned.”

Morty!
Stella’s hand flew to the Grand Cross hidden beneath her blouse. “Was the package . . . damaged?” she whispered.

Tight lines edged his mouth. “I’m afraid so. However, the contents are intact.”

She clenched her fist against the table. “How could this happen?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

Touché
. “Could I inspect the damage?”

“Nein, I will see to it.” His look suggested she not argue.

“Give me the names of these imbeciles who destroy German property and I will deal with them.”

Stella and Aric both turned to the general. The Oberstgruppenführer held a pork link to his greasy lips.

“We cannot afford laxity on the part of these Czech locals,” he said before stuffing the entire sausage into his mouth. Chewing noisily, he added, “Especially when the Swiss will arrive in four days.”

“I assure you, Herr General, the matter has been taken care of.” Aric shot Stella a look of warning. “We’ll have no more trouble.”

“Better be certain of that, Schmidt,” the general said once he swallowed the meat. “Because this ‘Embellishment’ we are orchestrating is of paramount importance to the Führer. He will not tolerate any mistakes or excuses.”

“You’ll find everything in perfect order, Herr General.”

The general grunted. Helen returned with new eggs, and he continued to fill his face until the meal was finished.

Stella remained at the table after Aric departed with Herr Sausage. She toyed with the spoon in her half-eaten bowl of
oatmeal. Pleasure over Morty’s release from the Little Fortress dimmed against her fury at his brutal treatment. How badly was he injured?

“Well?”

She turned to find Aric standing in the archway wearing his greatcoat, gloves, and peaked officer’s cap. He resembled a modern-day Charlemagne, like the statue she’d once seen at the fountain in Aachen.

She rose from her chair. “Of course, Herr Kommandant. I’ll start typing those letters.”

Stella tried moving past him, but he stayed her by grasping her upper arms. “Herr Kommandant, is it? I thought you’d be happy at my news.”

Ignoring the comfort his touch evoked, she clung to her precious anger. “Is he hurt badly?”

“He’ll live.”

“What does that mean?”

He released her and stepped back. “The soles of his feet were beaten. Koch was in charge of the arrest. He ignored my order to safeguard the prisoner.”

Stella ground her teeth to keep from shouting at him. Why hadn’t he believed her about Koch and Brucker? “Can he walk?” she finally managed after a moment.

“Yes. I believe he’ll recover.”

“Did he return to the ghetto this morning?”

“Saturday.”

Two
days ago?
“But you left that morning,” she said, confused. “You went to see Sergeant Grossman at hospital. How did you—?”

“I had him released beforehand.”

Warmth filled her as she searched his face. “You . . . let him go? Because of me?”

“Partly,” he admitted, removing his cap. “After Friday night’s fiasco, it became obvious more was going on than a random
attack by one of the prisoners. I believe Sergeant Koch intended to remove any obstacle in his path to get to me—to us. With Grossman gone, he and Brucker had easy access to the house.” He paused. “I decided then the Jew should return to the ghetto.”

The joy that eluded Stella for so long now flowed through her with heady sweetness. Like champagne, the feeling bubbled up into her nose and throat, threatening laughter and making speech impossible. She could only beam at him.

“I take it you’re pleased.”

His smile was filled with such tenderness that Stella’s eyes burned. He’d saved the only family she had left . . .

“Love your enemies . . .”
It hadn’t been so difficult with this man after all, she realized. Despite his accurate logic, he could have left Morty to his tormentors in the Kleine Festung a few more days. No doubt untold others had died in that place without the commandant of the camp giving the slightest notice. Yet her uncle had been spared because Aric was a fair man, and though he denied it, a compassionate one, as well. And he
had
done it for her.