Page 34 of The Lies We Leave Behind

34

I woke the following morning confused at where I was at first, which happened a lot these days after all the traveling I’d done. It was surreal to look around and find I was in my childhood bedroom. It felt like a dream and a nightmare all rolled into one.

Grabbing the heavy robe from the foot of the bed that Paulina had brought me the night before, I stood and pulled it on, tying it tight as I shivered from the cold.

Quietly, I opened the bedroom door, waiting...listening. But other than the wind whistling through the boards that had been nailed to the ceiling, there was no sound.

I hurried on tiptoe down the hallway to the staircase, my socked feet a whisper on the stairs.

“Guten morgen,” Paulina said when I entered the kitchen. The smell of eggs cooking made my stomach turn.

“Good morning,” I said, glancing into the pan. “Have they gone bad?”

“The eggs?” she asked, frowning and leaning forward to give them a sniff. “I was told they were laid two days ago. Do they smell bad?”

“I think I may have a touch of the flu,” I said. “My stomach has been turning all morning. Is there bread?”

She pointed to the bread box on one of the counters. “Freshly baked yesterday.”

My mouth fell open. I hadn’t had bread that fresh since I’d last been in New York.

“How?” I asked.

She pointed in the direction of my mother’s room and I nodded. It paid to be one of the wealthiest families in Germany. The thought sickened me further. While others got small chunks of old bread to share with their families, we, because of my parents’ wealth and stature, got fresh-baked bread. There was even real coffee, not the diluted stuff so many others drank. The icebox had meat. There were fresh vegetables. And though there wasn’t a lot of it, it was plenty for three, especially since my mother barely had an appetite.

I picked small pieces of the bread, placing it gingerly in my mouth as I watched her cook, and feeling relieved when my stomach calmed some.

“Do you have a plan for today?” Paulina asked, scraping the eggs onto a plate.

“I thought I’d go back to the street where the safe house is,” I said. “I imagine my contact heard what happened and will be watching for me.”

“And then? If you find him? You will head to Berlin?”

“Yes. Maybe? I don’t know. If he won’t take me there, I will have to find my own way.”

The thought terrified me. At least with Max there were contacts, safe houses, and options. On my own... I didn’t trust that someone wouldn’t get hold of my belongings and find the documents that would reveal me as a traitor.

“You must be careful,” Paulina said. “If anyone is watching that house and saw you yesterday...and then again today...”

I nodded.

“Maybe we disguise you a little?” she asked. “A scarf over your hair...some padding around your middle? A different coat and bag?”

And so that is what we did. While my mother slept, Paulina removed several items from her closet and then met me back in my room.

I slipped the nightgown over my head and reached for the items she’d brought one by one. A thick pair of stockings, another pair to go over the first, a pale pink camisole, a long-sleeve top in my mother’s signature blue that she’d probably worn in the Alps during a ski vacation, and a cashmere dress in a beautiful beige color.

“Cashmere?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at Paulina, who merely shrugged.

“It’s the warmest thing she owns,” she said. “I’d give you one of my wool dresses, but you’d drown in it.”

“What if someone sees it? Realizes it’s expensive?”

“You’ll be wearing that over the top,” she said, pointing to a black coat. “It was your father’s.”

We swapped my bag for a cloth one that had seen better days, and then she handed me a small pillow that I shoved beneath the dress, using the waistbands of the stockings to keep it in place.

“I hate letting you go out there alone,” Paulina said, eyeing my padded stomach and reaching to adjust it.

“Then come with me,” I said.

For a moment, she looked wistful. But then she gave her head a little shake and handed me the coat.

“Paulina?”

“I am too old. Too slow. Too fearful to take such risks,” she said. “And your mother... Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid. You won’t try to be a hero if you see something bad happening to someone on the street. You go, take a look around, and if you don’t see your friend, you come right back, understand? I imagine they still have people watching the house you went to and if someone sees you and thinks you look suspicious because they don’t recognize you...”

“I understand.”

“Good.”

We walked swiftly past my mother’s room where her soft snores could be heard, and down the stairs.

Paulina led the way to the kitchen and reached a hand out for my bag. I gave it to her and then watched as she placed an apple and a sandwich wrapped in wax paper inside.

“In case you find yourself having to hide somewhere for a long period of time,” she said.

At the front door, she pulled me close.

“I know it is awful for me to wish that you’ll need to come back,” she said. “But despite the circumstances, it’s been so lovely to see you again, Gisela.”

“And you, Paulina,” I said, holding her tight. “If I don’t see you again, take care of yourself.”

“I will. And you remember what I said. Don’t linger. Don’t be a hero. And come back immediately if you don’t see your friend.”

I nodded, gave her a last squeeze, and hurried out the door.

The cold was biting as I walked slowly so as not to garner attention, my head down, the scarf covering my hair feeling as though it might blow away.

There were even fewer people out today than there had been yesterday, and I kept close to the walls of buildings as I made my way to my destination, hoping no one took notice of me or, if they did, would dismiss me as someone not worth bothering with.

At the street where I’d seen the woman get shot, I crossed to the other side so as not to be standing in the same spot where I’d been when she was killed. From the opposite corner I had a better view of the front of the house. Her body had been moved, but a bloodstain on the pavement could be clearly seen. Not wanting to linger in one place too long, I began to walk down the street, ducking my head, my eyes searching my surroundings for signs of Max as I passed an older man walking his dog, a young woman pushing a pram with a crying baby inside, and a flustered-looking woman with two young boys trailing behind her. But neither Max, nor the car we’d arrived in, were anywhere in sight.

At the end of the street I stopped and looked back. The quiet was eerie. Unnatural. I had imagined a different sort of scenario here. A hostility in the faces of the people I’d pass. But then I remembered. Not all of them had chosen this, and they were paying a price for the monsters who had. Monsters like my parents.

My stomach turned uncomfortably and I pressed a hand to my lips as I paused beneath the barren branches of a tree, leaning against the trunk and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible as I ducked my head and glanced around.

It was a risk to stop. I was a stranger here and should anyone be watching, I would stand out. This would be good if someone Max knew was keeping a lookout for me, but bad if a nervous neighbor noticed and called the police on the suspicious-seeming woman loitering about.

I pretended to be searching for something in my bag while discreetly scanning the area. Should anyone stop and ask, I could say I’d lost my key. Since there wasn’t one in my bag, it was the perfect lie.

But as the minutes ticked by with no contact from anyone claiming to know Max, I began to falter, defeat weighing me down, disappointment and fear welling in my eyes. It had been a risk to come here. An unknown woman stood out. Especially on a street where a safe house had been found. I wouldn’t be able to come again.

I gave the street one last look before pushing off the tree and slowly beginning my journey back to my mother’s house.

There was a box of food on the kitchen counter when I returned. After changing out of the borrowed clothing and back into my own, I returned to the kitchen to see how I could help Paulina.

“Stir,” she said, pointing to a pot on the stove where the scent of an aromatic broth filled the air. “Your mother will be up any minute and will be hungry.”

“She sleeps a lot these days?” I asked, remembering a time when she always seemed to be awake, watching, scrutinizing my every move.

“Most of the day,” Paulina said, removing a cloth bag of vegetables from the box. “And the night.”

I nodded and picked up the ladle to give the soup a stir.

“The groceries were delivered by the store’s owner today,” she said.

There was something in her voice that made me turn around.

“Is that odd?” I asked, worry filling my limbs. Had someone seen me and grown suspicious? Was the house being watched?

“Not really,” she said, and slipped something into the pocket of my cardigan sweater before taking the ladle from me and grabbing a bowl.

I watched as she placed the bowl and a spoon on a tray, followed by a small, blue ceramic teapot, a matching cup and saucer, and a thin slice of bread. She picked up the tray, glanced down at my pocket, and then disappeared out the kitchen door.

Taking a breath, I sank into one of the kitchen chairs and reached inside my pocket, pulling out a folded scrap of paper.

4 compromised , it read. Exit tomorrow. 2pm sharp. Same place as drop.

I exhaled. The grocer had delivered a note from Max. I only had to survive one more night here and then I could leave. But what would Max say about me going to Berlin? Would he help me? Or would he insist I give up my plan and take me back to England?

While I contemplated an argument for taking me to see my sister, the kitchen door swung back open, causing me to jump.

“She wants to see you,” Paulina said, the look on her face apologetic.

“Why?” I asked.

Paulina shook her head. “She didn’t say and...”

“You couldn’t ask,” I said, nodding. “I know. It’s okay.”

I got up from the table and handed her the paper. “I have to leave tomorrow or I may be stuck here with no way out.”

A few minutes later I was standing outside my mother’s darkened room, the sour scent of dying seeping into the hall, while my stomach threatened to give and my knees buckle.

“Gisela,” my mother said.

Her voice was a ragged whisper that made my body go cold beneath the layers of clothes.

“Yes?” I said.

“Come.”

When I was a girl I was never allowed in my parents’ room. It was a grown-up room, I was told time and time again. Not a room for little girls with sticky fingers and dirty shoes. I’d been confused by this, as I was never sticky and my shoes checked constantly. God forbid I track in a speck of dirt. I remember watching guests enter for a party once and watching as Paulina and our other servants allowed them in without checking the bottoms of their shoes for grit. Did only a child’s shoes attract such things? Regardless, my parents’ bedroom remained a mystery to me much of my life. I got glimpses now and again as I passed by and one or the other of them came in or out, but I wasn’t to knock if I wanted to talk to them. I was to ask my nanny and she would relay any messages or inquiries I might have. What I did see in those brief moments though made me think, at least when I was very small, that my mother was a princess, making my father, of course, a prince.

Gleaming wallpaper, a four-poster bed with decadent covers that changed for each season, luminous curtains, and a clean, almost effervescent scent. Like fresh air with champagne bubbles floating through.

I stepped inside the room and gagged as the smell intensified. Urine, sharp and putrid. Sweat. And something else that nearly made me gag. I assumed it was the festering lesion Paulina had told me about.

“Do you need Paulina?” I asked, standing in the doorway, unable to take a step closer, the smell like a wall.

“No. You’re the nurse. You can help me.”

“What do you need?” I asked, praying it was merely a glass of water. Perhaps a cold cloth on her forehead.

“I’ve soiled myself. I need you to clean it up. Me, and the bed.”

“I think Paulina is more suited—”

“Help me, or when that sniveling soldier boy with the greedy eyes comes, I’ll tell him you’re an American spy.”

I sucked in a breath. My mother was horrible in a great many ways, but I’d never once considered she’d willingly put my life at risk.

Steeling myself, I moved toward the bed, the stench growing with every step, my stomach threatening to give.

“Ma’am?” Paulina said from the doorway. “What’s going on? What can I do?”

“Nothing,” my mother said, waving her away. “Gisela will take care of it.”

She watched my every move as I peeled her many layers off until I reached the soiled nightgown and removed it from her emaciated body. Wetting a cloth to clean her, I returned to the bathroom at least a dozen times to rinse it or get a new one when the other became too dirty to continue using. When she was clean, I pulled a fresh nightgown, socks, and several other items from her large walk-in closet and dressed her as she pretended not to be bothered by the indignity of the situation. But the goose bumps covering her pale skin, the shivering, and the little mewls of pain gave her away.

Once she was clean, I helped her to one of the armchairs and covered her with a blanket before beginning the task of removing the linens from the bed.

“You look...” Her voice trailed off and I glanced over at her, wondering if she’d fallen asleep midsentence. But she was peering at me, her pale eyes scrutinizing as they always had.

“I look what?” I asked.

“Come here.”

It was the oft-snapped command of my childhood. Come here. Stand still. Don’t make a face. Be strong. Don’t make a fool of me. The list went on.

Sighing, I set the pillow in my hands on the bed and went to stand before her, watching as she reached out with her curled, boney fingers, running them over my stomach.

I flinched. I’d hated being touched by her for as long as I could remember. She’d never had a kind word for me after her scrutiny and physical examination of my hips, stomach, thighs, and ass. No doubt I would hear something demeaning now too.

Her hand rose, cupping one of my breasts, and I took a step back.

“No,” I said.

“It’s heavy,” she said. “And your belly is soft.”

“I’m hardly fat, Mother,” I said, wanting badly to roll my eyes, but stepping away from her instead and going back to work on the bed.

I was the thinnest I’d ever been. Though she was right about my breasts. They had felt strangely heavy for the past few days. And they ached.

But she still peered at me, suspicious, her lip suddenly curling in a way that reminded me of getting caught being naughty as a girl.

“Have you done something even more stupid than leaving here ten years ago, girl? Have you gone and gotten your traitorous self pregnant by the enemy?”

“Of course not,” I said, unfurling the clean top sheet.

“I hope not. Your father would roll over in his grave if you tarnished his family name.”

“He already did that himself,” I said, tucking the sheet in and then grabbing a fresh blanket.

“Don’t speak ill of your father.”

I bit my tongue to keep from arguing. This conversation was pointless and I knew it. Instead, I kept working, placing a second blanket on top of the first before hauling a clean quilt from the closet and placing it on the bed as well.

But her words circled my mind. Pregnant?

“Ready?” I asked her, and then leaned down to help her to her feet, across the room and back into bed.

I tucked the covers in around her and then turned my back on her and headed for the door.

“Come back here!” she yelled after me. “I need things!”

“I’ll send Paulina,” I said as I hurried out the door and practically ran to my room.

I heard her shout my name, but I ignored her, closing the door and slowly moving toward the full-length mirror.

One by one I pulled off my layers until I stood only in my underwear, staring at my reflection. I’d ignored it for weeks now, but I could feel it. The shift in my body. My breasts were larger, my stomach softer, there was more weight in my face, and a fullness inside me. Not to mention the morning sickness I’d tried to convince myself was exhaustion mixed with a stomach bug. But I could no longer hide the truth from myself.

I was pregnant. I was going to have William’s baby.