Page 35 of The Lies We Leave Behind

35

The following day I kept busy cleaning, my eyes constantly drifting to the clock in whatever room I was in, the minutes ticking by at a snail’s pace.

My mother woke around noon and I waited to be summoned, discriminated against, and verbally abused. But mercifully, she seemed too tired today to bother with me. I watched as Paulina readied her tray and then cleaned up after she went to serve the lady of the house.

At one forty on the dot I gave Paulina a tentative smile and a brief hug, and then grabbed my bag and hurried to meet Max.

I was early, but so was he. I slid into the passenger seat and his eyes did a quick assessment of me as he spoke.

“I’m sorry about the safe house,” he said.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Still, that must’ve been terrifying. And not knowing how to get in touch with me...”

“I knew you’d get a message to me.”

He nodded and then asked. “Your sister?”

“Berlin.”

He nodded again and we sat quietly for a moment before the words burst out of me.

“I want to go there.”

“No.”

There was no hesitation.

“Why not?”

“It is unsafe for you here,” he said. “But Berlin is downright dangerous. Do you know what she’s doing there?”

“She works at an office. She’s a secretary.” My voice was low. Sad. Max peered at me.

“For them?” he asked and I nodded.

“Right. Well then, what you’re thinking is basically akin to suicide and I cannot, in good conscience, take you there. I would advise you not to try to go on your own either.”

“I thought you might say that. The only other option I can see then is... I stay.”

“What? No. I cannot allow—”

“It’s not up to you, Max.”

“It’s too dangerous. The Allies are getting closer. They could bomb the area, take you prisoner...”

He was right, of course. And now I knew I was risking so much more than just myself. There was the life growing inside me. And there was the life I wanted to build with William to take into account. By choosing Catrin, I would be putting it all in jeopardy. But how did one choose one life over another? And would I be able to live with myself if I abandoned her again? True, she was an adult making her own decisions. But only because I’d left her behind when she was too young to fend off our parents’ and the government’s teachings. I should’ve fought harder for her to leave when I did. I should’ve refused to go without her. And now that I was back here, I couldn’t just go. I had to at least try to help her see the error of her ways and get her far, far away from here.

“She’s worth the risk,” I whispered.

“Kate. Lena.” He frowned as he uncharacteristically stumbled over the names. Names that weren’t really mine.

“My name is Gisela,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. “And I can’t go. Not until I’ve seen Catrin. Not until I’ve talked to her. I know she is not the same girl I left, but we are sisters and I have loved her since the day she was born. I will not leave her again.”

He stared at me and I stared back, resolute in my decision.

“Your aunt and uncle will never forgive me,” he said.

“They will. They’ll know you would’ve tried to make me see reason.”

“If anything happens to you—”

“Then that’s my fault, not yours.”

He looked away from me and sighed. A moment later he pulled a pen and small pad of paper from this coat pocket.

“This is my last contact in the city,” he said, scribbling something on the paper. “I was just with them and they know about you. I have no idea how long they plan to stay. Could be until tomorrow, could be until the war’s end. But here is the address and the name you’re to give them should you need a way out.”

He tore the paper from the pad and handed it to me. I read the address, then the name.

Raphael Dubois.

“Is that...”

“That is my name. My real name.”

“Tu es Francais?” I asked.

“Born and raised in Burgundy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Raphael.”

“And you, Gisela.”

He touched the tip of his finger to the paper. “If you go and they are not there, you have two pieces of identification to help get you out. Just be sure you give the right one to the right person.”

I nodded, giving him a small, sad smile.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked.

I took in a long breath and then let it out.

“No,” I said. “But I have to see my sister. I have to.”

He watched me for a long moment and then reached out his hand. I placed mine in it and for a minute we just sat there.

“Thank you,” I said, breaking the silence.

“I’ll bet you’re a great nurse,” he said and I gave him a quizzical smile.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’d have made a good spy. Calm in any situation.”

“I much prefer working on a life-threatening gun wound to having a gun in my face,” I said and he chuckled.

“A good point.” He shifted in his seat, his eyes growing serious once more. “You are sure?”

“I am sure.”

“Okay then. Be safe, Gisela. And come home soon.”

“I’ll do my best. Please give my love to my aunt and uncle. And tell them I’m sorry. When I can, I’ll send word.”

I didn’t wave as he drove away. I didn’t even watch. I merely listened to the sound of tires crunching on the broken cement as I turned and walked toward home.

“Fr?ulein,” Paulina whispered as she opened the front door and pressed a finger to her lips. She pulled me inside and we stood staring at one another, listening. Somewhere in the house I could hear movement. The sharp clip of footsteps echoing through the hallways.

“Who’s here?” I asked quietly.

“The soldier.”

My body went cold with fear. The soldier. The one I’d heard came every few days or so under the guise of making sure my mother was safe, but with a clear interest in what he would take once the lady of the house passed away. I hoped that calm I supposedly had would make itself known.

“Remember the story?” Paulina asked. We’d spent time that first evening after the woman was shot at the safe house coming up with a story for why I was there, in case the soldier came before I could get away.

I nodded.

“Good. Let’s get this over with.”

She led me to the kitchen and reached for my bag, but I grasped it tightly and held on, shaking my head.

Her eyes told me she understood and she pointed to the pantry.

“He’s already checked there so he won’t check again,” she said. Reluctantly, I let her have it and watched as she stashed it behind a box of sprouting potatoes.

She pointed to the cutting board where a small pile of vegetables waited to be cut, and then to the pan on the stove. I moved quickly, picking up the knife and beginning to chop, my fingers trembling.

His boots were on the staircase now, each strike of the man’s boot heel making me flinch. A moment later the kitchen door swung open.

“Who are you?”

His voice was like gunfire. Sharp. Quick. And came at me with a speed so fast I nearly took off my own fingertip

I was shocked at how young he was. Younger than me. Twenty at the most. His face was bland, void of any interesting characteristics, the bit of his hair I could see a dark blond, eyes blue. He was the perfect German soldier, and the ugly look in his eyes made my blood run cold.

“I—”

“This is Lena,” Paulina said, putting on a casual if not slightly irritated voice. “Her mother was a nurse and she’s learned some tricks of the trade so I’ve hired her to help with Mrs. Holl?nder.”

I gave him a quick smile before lowering my eyes again.

“Lena,” Paulina continued. “This is Lieutenant Schmeiden.” She said it in a way that made him sound important.

“She stays here?” he asked, moving closer to me.

“She does,” Paulina said. “As of two days ago.”

“Where do you normally live?” he asked me, his eyes taking my clothing, my battered shoes. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m from Wismar, sir.”

“How did you find a girl from Wismar to help you?” he asked Paulina.

“One of the neighbor women told me about her.”

“Hm,” he said, circling the kitchen island where I was concentrating on not cutting myself as I kept chopping vegetables. “And where were you when I arrived?”

“She was running an errand for me,” Paulina said, moving to the pantry.

He stopped beside me, his uniform brushing against my elbow.

“You have identification, I assume?” he asked, his breath brushing against my neck.

“Of course,” I said, setting down the knife and moving to the sink to wash my hands.

“I don’t have all day.”

I wiped my hands on my skirt and hurried to the pantry for my bag where I pulled my German identification from the small purse inside.

Silently, I handed it over and watched as he opened it, took a long look, stared up at me, and then snapped it closed.

“Lena Klein,” he said and I nodded. He gazed at me a moment more and then handed the ID back. “Your assessment of Mrs. Holl?nder?”

I glanced at Paulina, who had busied herself at the stove as if unworried about my interaction with the young solider. Remembering what she’d said about his visits, his obvious interest in the estate’s many expensive items, I gave him an answer I knew he would like.

“She is gravely ill,” I said. “I don’t expect her to last more than a month.”

I commended him for trying to keep the smile off his face. It was a valiant effort.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat as he strode to the other side of the room. “I am sorry to hear that. It is good of you both to take such care in her comfort these last days of her life.”

“It is our honor,” Paulina said.

“I shall return in a couple of days,” he said and then gave us a curt nod and disappeared out the kitchen door. A moment later, the front door shut.

“Is he gone?” I mouthed.

Paulina held up a finger and hurried from the room. When she returned, her face was filled with relief. I picked up the knife and resumed chopping while she set a pot of stock on to boil.