While We're Far Apart (48 page)

He nodded. “Your grandmother arranged for your music lessons at the conservatory. And for Peter to play with the baseball team last summer.”

“Why did you keep it a secret? Don’t you like us? And why did you get mad at Mama?”

Mrs. Fischer uncovered her eyes and sat up straight, composing herself. “Would it upset you to learn that I’m Jewish, like your friend Mr. Mendel? And that your mother was Jewish?”

“No, she wasn’t! She used to go to church with us on Sunday.”

“But her father and I are Jewish, Esther. Your mother was raised in a Jewish home, like this one. When she became a Christian, it divided us.”

Again, Esther couldn’t speak. She reached for her brother’s hand as she tried to take it all in.

“I no longer want anything to divide us,” Mrs. Fischer said. “I would like to get to know both of you . . . if-if you will let me. I would like to be a family.”

Tears filled Esther’s eyes. She had found Mama’s family – her family. She had longed for this, hadn’t she? It had been her greatest wish, besides having Daddy come home safely. But fear and mistrust pinned her in place like two giant hands. She couldn’t move.

Mrs. Fischer picked up a photograph album from Mr. Mendel’s coffee table. “I brought some pictures of your mother to show you. Would you like to see them? She has two brothers, David and Samuel. They’re your uncles.”

Peter rose from the sofa first and went to Mrs. Fischer’s side. He studied her face for a long moment as if searching for traces of their mother, then he looked down at the photos. He leaned against her, and Grandmother Fischer put her arm around his shoulders.

After a moment, Esther rose, too. She went to stand on the other side of her grandmother to look at the album, seeing pictures of her mother’s family for the very first time.

C
HAPTER 44

November 1944

Dear Mother and Father Mendel,

This may be the last letter I will be able to write to you, but I need to let you know what is happening here. Just when the war seemed close to an end, we once again despair for our lives.

In October, the Hungarian government tried to sign a truce with the Allies again. The Nazis found out about it and sent their SS troops here to arrest Hungary’s leader. They have taken him to Berlin as their prisoner and have replaced him with the leader of the Hungarian Nazi Party, the Arrow Cross. These vicious men control our country now, with help from the SS.

The Nazis’ angel of death, Adolph Eichmann, has returned to finish deporting the remainder of Budapest’s Jews. The Arrow Cross does not respect the Swedish safe houses or our documents. Our angel, Raoul Wallenberg, fights for us day and night and tries to protect us, but Arrow Cross members come boldly into the safe houses to brutalize people, killing them or hauling them away to be killed. Mr. Wallenberg has tried to organize the Jewish men who are left into an armed force so they can protect us and bring in needed food and medicine. Many of our friends have already been arrested or have disappeared. We fear they are dead.

We know that the Russians are moving closer and closer, but this only makes the Nazis more determined to be rid of us before time runs out for them. Adolph Eichmann has been unable to get the railroad cars he needs to deport us, so we have learned that he plans to march us to deportation camps on foot. We don’t know if our Swedish savior can rescue us from these death marches or not.

I have decided to leave this letter and the others I have written here in the Swedish house, hoping that – if the very worst happens – they will be found someday and sent to you in America. Please know that even though my faith is very weak and I don’t understand why we are made to suffer this way, I still believe in Hashem’s goodness and in a better life in the world to come.

With love,
Your daughter-in-law,
Sarah Rivkah Mendel

C
HAPTER 45

D
ECEMBER 1944

O
N A COLD AFTERNOON
in early December, Jacob returned to his apartment after his daily walk and turned on the radio to listen to the news. He wished he hadn’t. The Nazis had launched a massive surprise counterattack against the Allies near the border between Germany and Belgium. They had penetrated the Allied front with troops and Panzer divisions and artillery pieces, supported by V-1 and V-2 rockets. The Americans had sustained heavy casualties in the nearly round-the-clock fighting. Fresh, inexperienced troops were under heavy enemy gunfire, many for the first time. Bitterly cold temperatures, dwindling ammunition supplies, and knee-deep snow added to their misery. Ed Shaffer was likely in the middle of it all. The children would be terrified for his safety – and with good reason.

Jacob hauled himself to his feet when the doorbell rang. When he saw who it was, his heart stood still. The two police detectives with the Irish names had returned. Beyond them, a police car waited at the curb with the motor running.

“Yes?” Jacob asked.

“We need you to come to the police station with us, Mr. Mendel.”

“For what reason?”

“You are under arrest for arson.”

Jacob could only stare in disbelief. He felt a weight on his chest as if the two men were sitting on it. While he had seen them canvassing the streets from time to time, talking to his neighbors, Jacob thought that the rebbe had convinced them of his innocence.

“Why are you harassing me this way?” he asked.

“We’ve known all along you were guilty,” one of them said, “and now we have the evidence to prove it.”

“It was only a matter of time before you were caught,” the other detective added.

“But I had nothing to do with the fire.”

“Well, we have two witnesses who say that you did. They’ll testify that they saw you enter the synagogue through the back door carrying a paper bag, shortly before the fire started.”

“They are mistaken. Or else they are lying.”

“That’s up to a court to decide. The district attorney is filing charges against you. It will save everyone a lot of trouble, Mr. Mendel, if you simply confess.”

Jacob shook his head. “Confess to something that I did not do? I am telling you I did not start the fire.”

“In that case, you better hire a lawyer.”

Jacob had no money for a lawyer. He had given away nearly every cent he had to the War Refugee Board. His monthly pension check and this apartment building were all he had left. Would he have to mortgage it to clear his name?

“Let’s go,” one detective said, motioning to the car.

Jacob’s chest ached. “May I go inside first and get my overcoat? And there are some pills that I should bring with me.”

“Make it quick.”

The two men followed him inside, waiting impatiently while he called Rebbe Grunfeld. Jacob knew that he could not go through this ordeal alone. Now more than ever he needed a friend to stand alongside him. He quickly told the rebbe about the detectives.

“They say that I will need a lawyer, but I do not know of one.”

“I’ll call Abraham Stein from our congregation right away. We’ll meet you at the police station. Don’t worry, Yaacov. It isn’t good for you to worry.”

But how could he help worrying? Jacob fetched his pills and his overcoat. He locked the doors to his apartment and rode with the detectives to the station. Jacob had never been inside a police station in his life, and he found the noisy, confusing place intimidating. The two detectives made him sit down in a tiny gray room without any windows and began to interrogate him. One of the men stank of perspiration.

The next hour reminded Jacob of a scene from Hungary in the old days. One after the other the men badgered him with accusations and questions, telling him what he supposedly had done and demanding that he confess. It was the way that Jews had been treated for centuries. He might as well have remained in Hungary.

“I cannot confess because I am innocent,” Jacob repeated. “I did not start the fire.”

“Our two witnesses say you did. We’ve been talking to your neighbors all along, you know, keeping the crime fresh in people’s minds. And it finally paid off.”

“Whoever they are, they are not telling the truth.”

The room seemed to be running out of air as the men continued to attack him, trying to wear him down. The pain in Jacob’s chest grew worse. Finally he became so weary that he simply stopped talking. They weren’t listening to him anyway.

“Okay, if you refuse to cooperate, Mr. Mendel, then here’s what’s going to happen. We’re taking you downstairs to be fingerprinted, and then you’ll go into a holding cell until your arraignment. You’re entitled to have your lawyer with you for that.”

“Will I be spending the night in jail?”

“The judge will decide that when you are arraigned – but I wouldn’t count on going home, if I were you. Arson is a felony.”

By the time a policeman finished taking Jacob’s fingerprints, Rebbe Grunfeld had arrived with Abraham Stein. The lawyer listened to Jacob’s story and agreed that they would plead “innocent” at the arraignment. When it was their turn to stand before the judge, Mr. Stein asked that Jacob be released from custody due to his age and health considerations – and to the undue hardship that eating non-kosher food would create.

“The rabbi of the synagogue in question is willing to vouch for Mr. Mendel’s character, Your Honor. The defendant has no prior criminal history and strong ties to the community.”

The judge set bail at a moderate amount. Within a matter of minutes, Jacob’s arraignment was over. Once he posted bond, he would be free to go home. Somehow Rebbe Grunfeld managed to scrape up enough money for the bond. By the time Jacob stepped outside into a freezing December night, it had become dark.

“What happens now?” Jacob asked Mr. Stein.

“I’ll ask the district attorney for time to research your case and see how credible these two witnesses are. I’ll also need to find out what other evidence they have against you. Once I have all that information, you and I will meet to prepare your defense.”

“How much time until the case goes to trial?”

“The courts are short-staffed due to the war. And they usually recess for the holidays, too. We’re probably looking at sometime early next spring for a court date. Unless you want me to petition to have your case tried sooner? You have a right to a speedy trial with felony charges.”

“No, there is no hurry. I will need time to raise money, somehow. I need to pay you back, Rebbe, for posting bond.”

“Don’t worry about that for now, Yaacov.”

“And I must also pay you, Mr. Stein.”

“I won’t push for a speedy trial, then. In the meantime, Mr. Mendel, take care of yourself.”

Jacob took a taxi home. He didn’t sleep at all that night. Would the final years of his life be spent in jail? He had lost his wife and his son; now he might lose his home and his freedom. He thought about the story of Joseph, and how he also had been sent to prison for a crime he did not commit. Eventually, Hashem had turned Joseph’s trials into something good. But how could Hashem possibly bring anything good from this?

C
HAPTER 46

FEBRUARY 1945

P
ENNY HUNCHED HER SHOULDERS
against the bitter cold as she picked her way down the snowy sidewalk to the apartment. The streets were dark when she left for work in the morning and nearly dark when she returned home, but not only from the setting sun or the overcast skies. The government had ordered a national dim-out all across the country to conserve fuel from January 15 until May 8.

And now it was snowing again. The steadily falling flakes dusted the shoulders of her overcoat as she walked and made the sidewalks treacherous. Tomorrow she would have to drive the bus through the fresh snowfall. This was her second winter as a bus driver, but she still dreaded driving on slippery, snow-covered streets.

This winter had seemed especially long to her, and it was only February. Christmas had come and gone ages ago. Last year Roy had made the holiday fun and memorable for Penny and the children, and it had been lonely without him this year. Still, Penny had bought a small Christmas tree and the children helped decorate it. They opened presents on Christmas Day and ate dinner at the duplex. She and the kids had made care packages to send to Eddie and Roy.

January had brought more cold, snowy weather. On New Year’s Eve, Penny remembered going to the USO dance a year ago with Sheila. How could an entire year have passed, and still the war dragged on? This year, she and the children spent New Year’s Eve in the apartment, listening to the radio and playing Parcheesi.

Penny climbed the slippery front steps and stopped on the porch to check the mailbox, hoping and praying that there would be a letter from Roy today. Her shoulders sagged when she saw that there wasn’t. How long had it been? More than two and a half months! Roy’s last letter had arrived right after Thanksgiving, and he had been reminiscing about celebrating Christmas with her and the children last year.