Page 26 of The Nanny Outside the Gates

NINETEEN

HALINA

Should I act as though the shouting between Officer Sch?fer and his wife wasn’t echoing between every wall of the house?

Or that I’m not just a few steps away from them both?

They can’t possibly want their children watching this brutal argument take place in the kitchen when the rest of us are in the small adjacent play area.

Isla watches them as if she’s holding a magnifying glass, studying their every motion, and mentally recording each word.

“It’s clear you were in my office,” he hollers again. “Why were you rummaging through my work?”

“I—I wasn’t in there, Heinrich,” Ada says, her words weak, unsure and withering into doubt. “You must have forgotten to lock it when you came out of there last.”

“You must think I’m stupid,” he snaps back. “Just two nights after you vehemently shared your concern about me keeping a?—”

“Don’t—” Ada growls. “Not in front of the children.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about then.

Following our discussion and your disdain for me—” he lowers his voice as if it will make a difference when we’re all in the same space, “keeping means to protect our family at night, I immediately locked my office door. I haven’t been in there since, and now—it’s unlocked and—the?—”

“Heinrich…” she warns him. “This is absurd. No one is coming after us. You’re a lieutenant colonel.”

“Ada,” he growls. “The Allies invaded Sicily. They bombed Rome. And Mussolini was arrested last week. Do you think it all ends there? Italy could surrender any day. First Mussolini, then the Führer will be next, and when he falls, we all go with him.”

Mussolini. Arrested? If dictators are being taken down…what does that mean for the ones standing behind them.

“Did any of you see anyone in my office today? Or were any of you in my office today?” he barks at us, stepping to the side of Ada to be in our clear view.

“No, Papa. We know never to go inside your office,” Isla says.

“I don’t even know where the key is,” Marlene follows.

As if he needs to be reminded that the door would need a key to be unlocked, he drops his hands into his pockets and pulls out the silk lining from each.

He takes several more steps toward us, his stare centering on me as I hold Flora tightly to my chest, patting her back as I’ve found it comforts her for a bit. “What have you seen? You were here all day, were you not?”

“I didn’t see anyone walk inside your office.

I haven’t seen a key. I certainly didn’t go inside, and neither did the girls.

I’m afraid I can’t be of much help.” I’m able to speak with a level of confidence I’ve possibly stolen from Ada.

I’m not sure where I’m pulling this strength from, but I have no reason to sound guilty or afraid to answer him truthfully.

“It must have been one of the prisoners,” he grunts, turning around and ambling past Ada. He wraps his hands behind his red neck and weaves his fingers together, his gold ring catching the kitchen’s ceiling light.

The thought of the blame shifting to the others cramps my stomach, leaving me with a sense of guilt I couldn’t prevent.

“They wouldn’t have a key, dear,” Ada follows. “Where did you put the key after you locked the door?”

Heinrich doesn’t respond. Instead, he begins to pace back and forth between the entrance of the kitchen and his wife.

“Papa, do you want me to help you find the key?” Marlene offers.

“Do you know where it is?” he snaps, coldly.

“No. But I can help look.”

“No, no,” he said, shooing his hand at her. “You—” he says, pointing at me. “Take them upstairs. At once.”

The girls jump up and stand as if at attention before filing through the kitchen, past their parents. I follow, keeping my eyes set ahead just the same.

The moment I turn the corner into the hallway, a harsh slap of flesh against flesh slices through the air. My teeth clamp together, my jaw straining against the tension.

“Where is the key?” he shouts again followed by a hard thud and glass rattling.

“I don’t know,” Ada cries out. “I would have told you.”

I hurry the girls to the stairs as they try to look over their shoulders, a look of concern lining their eyes.

“It must have been one of the prisoners—they might have picked the lock,” she rambles.

Adam was outside all day. The woman who slaves in the kitchen doesn’t move from the space unless she’s instructed to, and I can’t imagine she would have the courage to break into his office.

If it was Gavriel—what was it he took? Why would he take the risk?

I don’t want to think about the consequences.

“Why don’t we go to your bedroom first so you can change into your pajamas, then you can help me get your sister ready for bed,” I suggest.

Neither argue nor go right into their bedroom where I’m reminded of one of Marlene’s vomiting spells that occurred in her bed.

“Oh, Hali…” Marlene says, placing emphasis on the shortened version of my name she’s decided upon. “I had a small accident last night,” she says, her cheeks burning pink. “I haven’t had one in a long time. I didn’t mean to. But my bed, it’s still wet.”

Isla covers her mouth, muffling a giggle. “Isla, that’s enough,” I scold her before returning my attention to Marlene. “Sweetheart, accidents happen. It’s quite all right. Where can I find you a fresh set of bedding? Do you know?”

“Papa would not say it’s all right,” Isla grumbles.

“He’s forgotten what it’s like to be five. That’s why,” I say, my words sterner than intended, though I don’t care at the moment. “Where can I find fresh linen?” My question is directed at Isla this time.

“At the end of the hall,” she says, pointing in the opposite direction to the stairwell.

I sit Flora down on their round carpet in between their beds. “Could you stay with your sister while I go look for it?”

Marlene plops down beside Flora and takes her little hand into hers.

Isla moseys over to her next, but with far less enthusiasm.

My muscles tense as I step back out into the hallway.

I only came down this way to help Marlene in the washroom last night, but I don’t recall spotting any other doors except Heinrich and Ada’s bedroom at the end.

Just past the washroom, I notice two inset doors, squarely across from each other.

I open the one next to the washroom first, hoping to find the linens.

A whiff of mothballs and dust cloud around me and I reach inside to the interior wall searching for a light switch.

Reluctantly, my fingers scrape across a button, and I press it, revealing a small room rather than a deep closet.

There’s nowhere else to settle my eyes than on the pile of objects mounted across an entire bed.

I glance to my right, ensuring no one is watching, then step inside.

It takes a minute to understand what I’m seeing, and I’m overcome by a wave of disbelief.

Silk scarves and handkerchiefs, handbags, fur muffs, pearl necklaces, silver hair combs, diamond brooches and gold-plated jewelry boxes.

I lower my hand, lifting one of the handkerchiefs.

I’m not sure I’ve ever felt real silk—a cool, soft and smooth texture.

This one is embroidered with the initials B.A.

and encased by a Star of David on each side.

My gaze drifts to a small jewelry box and I open it, finding a small prayer card inside with Hebrew letters.

Inside the top lid has the name Sarah engraved.

I pull my hands away and cup them over my mouth. These must all be stolen.

A rush of nausea forces me to step back toward the door. I find the light switch and back out, with the doorknob in hand. Without a breath left in my lungs, I clutch my chest and turn around for the other door, terrified of what else I might find.

Stacks of bedding are folded neatly into piles. Thank God. I reach in and take out the smallest stack, hoping it will be the right size for Marlene’s bed. With the pile resting in my arms, I notice a bottle labeled blonde liquid hair dye.

I balance the pile of linen in my arms to the side so I can slide the next pile to the left a bit so it’s in front of the bottle that seems to be hidden.

Of all the things she would potentially hide, I’m not sure why it would be a bottle of hair dye.

She must not want anyone to know she’s not a natural blonde, or perhaps not a pure blonde-haired, blue-eyed Aryan.

I’m surprised she doesn’t color Isla and Marlene’s hair too.

I hurry back to the girls’ room with the bedding, hearing the racket continuing downstairs.

“Are you ill?” Isla asks the moment I step back into the room. “You look like you just vomited too.”

“No, of course not. I was just looking for the bedding,” I say, my voice sounding full of guilt. Isla will be the first to notice something awry with me too.

“You must have gone into the wrong room and saw all the Jewish jewels Mama’s collecting. Someday she’s going to pass some of it down to me. It’s all so beautiful, isn’t it?” Isla asks.