Page 48 of A Song in the Dark

chapter Eighteen

No need to hide Germany’s intentions any longer. The world knew not to tangle with them—and if they didn’t?

They’d learn soon enough.

If only the fools he brought in could decipher the braille communications they’d intercepted traveling around Germany and Europe.

Several originated in Amsterdam. Several, Berlin. The rest—coincidentally—followed the travels of Miss Frappier.

He tapped a missive in his hand. It was no coincidence.

If the communications had simply been in braille, he would have no interest in them. Those were easily translated.

But these were not.

What was the woman hiding? Why the need to communicate in some sort of code?

The answer was obvious. She was betraying the Führer.

Now was the time to expose that pianist for the disgusting vermin that she was. She loved Jews. She loved cripples. She loved the diseased and the scum of the earth. He’d had people watching her. Every concert, she spoke to those people afterward.

Well, she could just be exterminated with the rest of them. All he had to do was bring the proof to the Führer and show him what that traitor was doing right under his nose.

The shuffling of feet brought his attention back up.

“Here’s the ones you requested.” A lower-ranking officer led a shackled group of scrawny and filthy men into the room. “Heil Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler.” He shooed the man away and stepped up to the prisoners. “Do you all read braille?”

Nods were slow to come, but they affirmed that they did.

“Good. If you want to live to see tomorrow, you’ll decipher this for me.” He set the paper on the table. “You have one hour.”

Germany—Wednesday, November 30, 1938

The devastation across Germany, Austria, and the Sudetenland was the worst that Rick had seen since the Great War.

The Nazis claimed each attack and every bit of devastation was the public outrage over the assassination of vom Rath. And yet nothing of this caliber could have been simple public outrage. Not on this scale. Not across the continent.

No. Kristallnacht was planned. Probably weeks or months in advance. And the Nazis themselves carried it out.

The Jews who hadn’t been able to leave yet were now in a fight for their lives.

Rick had snuck around to several of the so-called work camps. The conditions were hideous, and the purpose for them was all too clear.

Vernichtung . Extermination. He’d heard it from Nazi officers’ lips too many times. Even so, it was hard to believe it was true.

He’d lost the contents of his stomach multiple times as he’d spied on what was happening. It was all too real.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter and took slow, deep breaths to keep his stomach from roiling again.

How could he help the world see the Nazis’ true actions and intent? No way would the Nazis allow anyone close enough to take pictures and document their atrocities. The press were under Nazi control in Germany. Any reporters from other countries weren’t allowed around.

No one was.

At least the night of broken glass had gotten the world’s attention. There was far too much destruction to keep from the press. He pressed his lips tight. The Nazis seemed to enjoy the notoriety. Of course, they wanted their own spin on the story, but they were proud of what they’d done.

If the world powers didn’t believe they were in an all-out war yet, they were sadly mistaken.

As he drove back to Amsterdam, his gaze went to the box on the floor.

It was full of missives he’d found buried underneath rubble of several synagogues, and a few trinkets from businesses.

If the guards wanted to rummage through it at the border, he’d have to put on his best acting and convince them he was a German just bringing back a few trophies for his family.

The urgency to rescue the children still left in Germany who needed them had raced to a fever pace , so he had to risk bringing the letters of those seeking help back himself.

There were hundreds of children hidden across Germany with little to no food or supplies.

And how long they could hold out shrank by the minute.

He’d destroyed a dozen communication lines in the past few days and had sent detailed sketches back to London of railway hubs and larger communication lines he hadn’t been able to touch.

He hid the sketches in pairs of his socks that he shipped home and kept copies with him in case they got confiscated somewhere along the way.

He’d gathered what information he could on Germany’s power industry, but the Nazis were smart. They’d kept everything hidden and under close watch.

But as much as he wanted in his flesh to take Hitler down with his own hands, Rick now felt a deeper purpose.

A stronger conviction. He’d done what he could as an operative for SIS.

Now, he wanted to help Chaisley, Melanie, Celestia, and Dr. Grafton as they rescued as many as they could out of the clutches of evil.

He’d prayed about it all last night and felt peace about his decision.

His superiors would have to understand the importance of what they were doing.

At the moment, though, his focus had to be getting their little group safely back to London. And that might be harder than any of them imagined.

Amsterdam, Netherlands—Thursday, December 8, 1938

Snowflakes floated from the sky, some sticking to her bedroom window, most landing on the ground without a sound.

They were giant, fluffy flakes that reminded her of the stiff tutus some of the ballet dancers wore in The Nutcracker .

Melanie pressed her hand to the cold glass, her fingers following the path of the flakes.

Goodness, was it only four years ago when she went to the ballet? When life had been happy and normal?

She wrapped her arms around her middle and continued to stare. The world had upended itself in so many ways in such a short amount of time. Joy and peace seemed in short supply for everyone.

Her breath created a cloud on the glass, and she turned away. If she continued to stand there, chances were high she’d catch a chill.

Padding across the room, Melanie glanced at the clock. 11:13 a.m. Good. She still had time before meeting Chaisley and Rick in the front foyer of Celestia’s home. She sat in an overstuffed chair and curled her feet beneath her.

Melanie chewed the corner of her lip, staring at her hands. Kristallnacht had changed everything. It was no longer safe to travel through Germany. The country’s borders were locking up tighter than she’d ever seen.

Little wonder Chaisley had paused the tour indefinitely.

Führer Hitler was no doubt furious that his prized pianist hadn’t shown up for his celebration. Every day for the first two weeks after Kristallnacht, Melanie had expected Nazis to pound on the doors and attempt to drag them all away. Time alone had calmed that anxiety inside her.

Standing up and blowing a stray hair off her forehead, she walked over to her closet.

She tugged warm winter boots with thick rubber soles on over her heaviest wool socks.

Plucking her coat off the back of another chair, she slipped her arms into it and buttoned it tight.

She wrapped a navy-blue scarf around her head and neck, ready to face the winter weather.

Descending the stairs, she spotted Rick and Chaisley together. They were also bundled up for the cold, but standing as close as they could, hushed whispers passing between them.

Melanie smiled and approached them. “All right, you lovebirds, let’s brave this crazy weather and go get some lunch.”

The pair turned toward her, both of their grins wide.

“I just pulled the car up.” Rick held his elbows out for both women. “Shall we?”

The drive into Amsterdam’s downtown was quiet. There weren’t many people out and about, which allowed them to enter Melanie’s favorite café and get a table with relative ease. Once their orders of soups, sandwiches, and hot chocolate were placed, the trio relaxed into the booth.

“Thank you for driving in this snow so we could have lunch.” Melanie nodded at Rick. “If I had to spend one more day in that beautiful mansion, I might have gone cuckoo.”

Rick laughed and slipped his arm around Chaisley’s shoulders. “I understand. The house is wonderful. And enormous. But I guess one can get cabin fever anywhere.”

Chaisley smoothed her hands across the tabletop. “I was not thrilled to be out in the cold. But I confess a bowl of mosterdsoep sounds like just the thing. Not even Grandmother’s chef can make it like the cook here.”

It was true. The traditional Dutch soup was filled with flavors. Butter, stock, cream, leeks, mustard, and if the cook had it available, bacon. Judging from the smells wafting into the small dining area, bacon was definitely in it today.

Melanie cleared her throat and leaned forward to her friend, her voice low. “Have you come to a final decision about the tour?”

Chaisley turned her head toward Rick, who pressed a kiss to her temple.

“We have. And I know you won’t be surprised.

Both Rick and I think it’s wise to end the tour with a hopeful promise to return .

.. when things settle. Most of Europe is reeling from all that has transpired, and no one balked when we paused a year’s worth of concerts. Except the Germans.

“But Hitler’s boldness against the Jewish population, his cruelty, and the way his armies are now controlling almost every inch of Germany in a vise grip have made me uneasy.

More than that—I fear for my life. After that officer burst into the dressing room, what does the Führer know about us?

I just don’t know what he would do to me if I stepped foot back in Berlin.

” She shuddered. “I think now he would be bold. My fame and talent wouldn’t matter one whit.

He’s shown he will be accountable to no one. ”