Amy stood in front of what was left of Frau Hellman's house. It was magnificent, and she didn't understand why the man had told her it was "destroyed".
Twisting arches framed the veranda. Roses would have climbed up many a whitewashed fence, and the flower garden was neatly mulched. Not a dead weed could be seen anywhere, its frozen brown limbs reaching stupidly for light it could not receive.
Whoever had taken care of this house had done a good job. Walking up the veranda steps, she stopped at the door. Should she knock? Should she just go in?
She vaguely remembered a riddle her mother had told her.
A woman is sitting in her hotel room, knitting lace. There's a knock on her door, and she gets up to answer it. A man is standing there, and he says, "Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought that this was my room."
Shutting the door, the woman calls security. What gave her reason to do this?
"If it was his room, the man wouldn't have knocked." Amy mumbled. Opening the door, she marched right in.
The room was cold, and drafty. Beautiful imported China vases sat neatly arranged on shelves around the large, airy room.
The frigid air wrapped itself around Amy's frail shoulders. Opening her mouth, she spoke in German in case anyone was listening. "Werfen wir einen Blick um diesen Ort und sehen, ob alles war, wie ich es verlassen."
"Let's take a look around this place and see if everything was how I left it."
Her real reason for saying this was because she had no clue where the heating stoves where, nor where the coal, (if there was any left) was. Nor did she know where her money was, and she had absolutely no clue what the heck she was going to eat.
Suddenly, a cold hand was placed on her shoulder. The scream had left Amy's mouth, and was ringing in the icebox-air before she had a chance to think.
Whirling around, she looked into the face of an old woman. The woman gasped. "Lotte? Bist du das?"
"Lottie? Is that you?"
Amy nodded. "Ja." Biting her lip, she continued, "Wer bist du und was machst du in meinem Haus?"
"Yes." ... "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?"
The woman's mouth fell open. "Honig? Kennst du mich nicht?"
"Honey? Don't you know me?"
Amy cringed. Mistake number one.
Poland, 1940
The man noticed the basket of strawberries, and remembering the previous meeting between "Mrs. Smit", he stood up. He was hungry for some strawberries.
The street were frozen solid, and he wondered where the woman had gotten strawberries. As he approached the woman closer, and passed her, he noticed her well-worn hands, and how dry they were.
Washer woman, He concluded. These women's hands were always rough and gnarled from the hours spent doing someone else's laundry. Most likely someone had given her these strawberries as pay.
He stepped into an alley, waiting for the woman to pass by. Minutes passed, and still the woman had not come by.
He stepped out into the bright sunlight, and nearly gasped in surprise. The woman was gone, and there were no houses in this part of town. This road meandered through farmer's fields, gently rolling hills, and occasional huts with dingy alleys between.
Where had the woman gone? Then it struck him. She had cut through a field. But the question was, which one?
The woman under suspicion had evaded him, for now.
Reaching her destination, which was actually back in town, the woman smiled. Evading that man had been such a piece of cheesecake. She smiled as the thought occured to her.
The man had passed her when he saw she was going out of town, and it had been easy for her to turn around, and slip into the bare bushes on the side of the country road.
She had waited patiently until he had slipped out of the alley, his face etched with confusion. She had smiled to herself as she saw him start stumbling across a frozen field, mud and straw frozen into cold, hard lumps that tripped a body when they walked.
The woman's in whose house she was in was chattering away. Then, pausing, she looked down. "Why did I see you go out of town, and them come meandering back as though you had just gone for a stroll?"
Smiling, she responded, "I just felt like taking an extra walk. All this cheesecake I've been eating has certainly made the fat begin to stick to me like glue."
The woman's eyebrows arched. Then her mouth dropped open as the double meaning occured to her. "You just evaded a Nazi agent?"
Shrugging her shoulders, she smiled coyly. "Maybe. But that's not what matters right now. We have a cheesecake to be baked. I have some guests coming over tonight, and I was wondering if I could bring them over for a slice of your delicious strawberry cake."
The woman twisted her lips. "As long as they don't eat all of it, they can come. Are you taking them on a dessert tour, or something?"
Nodding, she said, "I'll leave the strawberries with you. There's some instructions on my sauce, just in case you wanted to cover your cheesecake with it."
The woman nodded. "Off with you, then! I have a cheesecake to make, and you cannot see how it is done!"
Later
There was a knock on her door. Pulling the most perfect cheesecake out of her oven, the woman stepped over to the door and opened it.
Her earlier visitor is standing outside. But beside her are two guests, with shawls pulled tight around their bodies.
Smiling as though it was a normal social gathering, she announced loudly, "Come in, come in!" They stepped inside, and she announced, "My! You're letting in freezing cold air, honey!" She quickly shut the door, and then, in a hurried whisper, she said, "Are these the "strawberries" you were talking about?"
The other woman nodded. "Yes. I cannot keep them. I am already under suspicion. If you would keep them, even if it was just for two weeks, it would be such a help."
So much can happen in a week. Even more can happen in a week when the world is at war. She knew this, yet she nodded her head. "I have just the place for you to hide. It's going to be cold, but its the only place I can think of that will be safe. Are any of you afraid of cows?"
Cara's feet were freezing. Her fingers trembled, and she feared she looked ungrateful. She wasn't ungrateful, really.
She just wished that they had been given somewhere warmer to sleep. A barn was hardly the place to keep warm in, although the cows did add a little warmth.
The woman who was to be their host motioned towards a ladder, and said, "You might want to stay up there, in the darkest corners. My son won't see you if you're quiet."
Cara nodded, and stepped onto the first rung of the rickety ladder. Her thin, tattered dress clung to her knees, and she struggled to step up to the next step.
Her fingers, however hard she tried, would not let go of the rung she was clutching to grab the next. She was so cold. She was oh-so-ever-cold, and all she wanted to do was sleep.
She heard her mother mumble something to the woman, and then, her eyes shut, and it was ever so black. But it was so warm, and Cara wished she could stay forever.
Frankfurt, Germany, 1940
The tears came, but of their own accord. Amy sobbed, and blubbered, "Nein. Ich weiß nicht, wer Sie sind. Ich bin so verwirrt. Bitte sag es mir!"
"No. I don't know who you are. I'm so confused. Please tell me."
The woman's face softened. "Natürlich nicht, kleines Mädchen. Es tut mir leid. Du hast so viel durchgemacht. Setz dich hin und ich mache dir eine Tasse Tee und vielleichteine Schüssel Brühe. Und dann reden wir." She stood up and bustled away, her limp skirts rustling about her legs.
"Of course you don't, little girl. I'm sorry. You've been through so much. Why don't you sit down, and I'll make you a cup of tea, and maybe of bowl of broth. And then we'll talk."
Amy nodded. "Aber bitte... sagen Sie mir jetzt. Wer bist du?" She needed to know who this woman was before she made any other mistakes.
But please . . . tell me now. Who are you?
The woman's smile was broad, almost too bright, as she answered. "Ich bin Ian Kabra's Magd." At Amy's gasp of astonishment, which she took to be recognition, she continued, "Ich dachte, du würdest mich erkennen. Er wohnt schon eine Weile in deinem Haus. Trauer kam zu ihm, der arme Mann. Er ist einfach nicht dasselbe."
"Why, I'm Ian Kabra's maid. I thought you'd recognize me ". . . . . . "He's been staying at your house for a while. Grief got to him, the poor man. He just isn't the same."
Amy bit her lip. When was this Ian Kabra going to get here? Was he going to . . . . touch her? The question haunted her. She wasn't ready. She would never be.
Nodding slowly, she said. "Sagen wir ihm nicht, dass ich zurück bin, nur noch."
"Let's not tell him I'm back, just yet."
The woman nodded coyly, "Ah, ja! Ich verstehe perfekt. Sollst du in sein Schlafzimmer gehen und ihn überraschen? Das wäre viel Spaß, denke ich. Ich würde gerne den Blick auf sein Gesicht sehen, wenn er dich auf seinem Bett liegend sieht!"
"Ah, yes! I understand perfectly. Shall you go up to his bedroom and surprise him? That would be great fun, I think. I'd love to see the look on his face when he sees you lying on his bed! "
Amy's face dropped. That was not what she meant. Shaking her head wildly, she realized she still had one card to play. Summoning all her willpower, she gathered tears into her eyes, and cried, "Nein! Nein! Nein!" She sank to the floor, crying.
The woman's face displayed pure shock, and she dropped to her knees next to the sobbing girl. "Was ist los, Liebling?"
"What's wrong, honey?"
Amy's tears fell freely. She placed her palms on the carpet, and bent her head. "Ich bin nicht bereit. Ich habe Angst vor dem, was er von mir denkt. Ich bin so verändert. Sie . . . Sie mir weh, und ich habe so viel verändert."
"I'm not ready. I'm scared of what he'll think of me. I'm so changed. They . . . they hurt me, and I've changed so much . . ."
The woman's face was all astonishment. Her eyes blinked rapidly, and tears came to her eyes too. "Die Kühe!" She opened her mouth to say something else, but instead gathered Amy into a hug.
"The cows!"
The woman's ample girth folded Amy in, and she felt warm, secure. The hug was comforting, although not for the reasons the woman suspected.
And then the door swung open, and Amy saw the person with which she was to have an affair.
Home of the Waltz, 1940
His mind was wandering.. The music they were playing was putting him to sleep. Blue Danube Waltz had always done that to him. He liked his sleep. He wondered what his wife was doing.
Was she lying cold in bed, stiff with terror, afraid to come down, afraid to see? Or was she sleeping? Was she thinking that her husband next to her in bed, where he belonged? Was she softly crying to herself?
The notes of the waltz droned on and on. The rippling, harsh notes, which had normally called him to attention, warned him to stay away now seemed to put him into a deep sleep.
Was the man holding tightly to his arm doing this? Had they put a drug in the air? Were they going to kidnap him?
Suddenly his heart was beating, as fast as the rhythm of a galloping horse's hooves. His active imagination imagined himself falling asleep, and awakening to find that he was in a cell, being tried for working actively against Germany.
Would his beliefs kill him? He was so tired of war, yet it had scarcely begun.
The sudden stop of the music jerked him to attention. The men were talking to each other, in German.
Fools. The man thought. Did they not realize he understood German? He had to resist a smile as he stared stupidly ahead, pretending he couldn't understand the vulgar words they were speaking against him. They thought he was an idiot, pretending to spy, pretending to do great works against their "Fatherland", Germany. They thought he was a pretender.
And then they shoved him to the floor, muttering, "Sie Idioten-Pretender. Du denkst, du weißt alles! Aber das tust du nicht. Haben wir! Wir werden den Krieg gewinnen und dein Land übernehmen, Dummkopf."
"You idiot pretender. You think you know everything! But you do not. We do! We will win the war, and take over your country, stupid."
They left, slamming the door behind them with a bang. The Waltz lay where he had fallen, gulping in deep, sweet breaths of air, purified from the lack of Germans. His heart still hammered loudly at the close call he had just experienced.
Thankfully, they didn't know that the Blue Danube Waltz meant "Stay Away. Danger."
He only wondered what his neighbors would think . . . . imagine! Him playing the piano at three o'clock at night!
Frau Hellman's Home, Frankfurt, Germany, 1940
Terror. That was all that she knew. Would he recognize her as an impostor? As someone who didn't belong? Would he expect her to - gulp - sleep with him?
She looked closer at him, and from her position on the floor, it wasn't a very good look. She got an amazing view of him from the waist down. Craning her neck, she looked up into the face of Herr Ian Kabra for the first time.
Gorgeous amber eyes stared back at her. His face was smooth shaven, and his eyes glittered with a funny light that she hoped wasn't lust. His mouth was twisted, and he asked his maid, sharply. "Who is this?"
He didn't recognize her. She was caught. Once and for all. Her mission was finished before it had even begun. She shut her eyes.
Just as Amy was about to bow her head and confess, she felt the maid's arms drop, and heard her struggling to get to her feet. She kept her eyes shut. The moment dragged on.
The maid's voice was strong when she spoke. "Herr Kabra, Das ist keine Möglichkeit, eine Dame zu behandeln, und Ihre Geliebte an, dass. Das ist Frau Hellmann, aus Polen zurückgekehrt. Ich schlage vor, Sie geben ihr einen warmen Gruß, gerade jetzt."
"That is no way to treat a lady, and your mistress at that. This is Mrs. Hellmann, returned from Poland. I suggest you give her a warm greeting, right now."
The man turned a dark red. His skin was fairly dark, so his face could not turn quite the same shade of bright red that Amy's did. "Lottie? Lottie? Bist du das wirklich?"
"Lottie? Lottie? Is that really you?"
He bent down next to her, and taking her hand, placed it to his lips. "Willkommen Zurück." He said, smiling, although his lips were on Amy's hand.
Suddenly all Amy was focused on was the fact that her hand was rough. Was "Lottie's" hand rough? Did Herr Kabra like the feel of her rough hands? Then shame filled her. She had just met this man, and she was worried. Shrugging internally, she thought, "All he'll think is that they're rough from misuse in Poland."
"Danke." She said, looking down at the floor. Did Lottie look at the floor when Ian kissed her, or did she look into his eyes?
She would never know. There was only so much that could be told.
Herr Kabra's mouth was off her hand, and he was talking to her, "Wo möchtest du schlafen? Dies ist Ihr Haus, und ich bin nicht daran gewöhnt, wo Sie Ihre Nächte verbringen."
"Where would you like to sleep? This is your house, and I am unaccustomed to where you spend your nights."
Amy gulped. She had no clue where anything was in this house, let alone where the bedrooms were. She couldn't exactly say, "I'd like to sleep in the fourth bedroom on the upstairs floor." She didn't even know if there were bedrooms on the upstairs floor, let alone if there were four!
She smiled. "The master bedroom, of course." Then she realized she had spoken in English. Herr Kabra and the maid stared at her, as though she had just sprouted another head.
She stared back at them dumbly, unaware of what to say. Shrugging internally, she decided on the first thing that popped into her mind. "Oh, meine Güte! Es tut mir leid. Ich habe leider nur Englisch in einem deutschen Haushalt gesprochen. Ich fürchte jedoch, dass ich das wieder tun könnte, da die Leute, die mich hielten, nur Englisch absichtlich sprach und mich zwangen, es zu erlernen. Und ich habe es gelernt!" She sucked in a deep breath, and smiled reassuringly at the two people who were staring at her.
"Oh my goodness! I'm sorry. I'm afraid I just spoke English in a German household. I am afraid however, that I might do that again, seeing as the people who kept me only spoke English purposely, forcing me to learn it. And learn it I did!"
The maid smiled. "Natürlich, Liebes. Ich verstehe. Früher musste ich auch Englisch sprechen, als ich für ein englisches Ehepaar arbeitete, das für den Sommer in Deutschland wohnte. Leider dachten Sie, dass Deutsch zu hart für eine Sprache war, also beschränkten Sie mich darauf, es zu sprechen. Ich musste schnell Englisch lernen, und als ich in einen normalen deutschen Haushalt zurückkehrte, habe ich leider die ganze Zeit versehentlich Englisch gesprochen."
"Of course, dearie. I understand. I used to have to speak English also, when I worked for an English couple who were residing in Germany for the summer. Unfortunately, they thought German was too harsh of a language, so they restricted me from speaking it. I had to learn English quickly, and when I went back to a normal German household, I'm afraid I accidentally spoke English all of the time."
Amy was struggling to keep up with the woman's stream of chatter. She hoped she had gotten the jist of it, so she smiled coyly and said, "Ah . . . so that means us women can have private conversations in the kitchen . . . with or without listening ears."
The woman nodded. Winking at Herr Kabra, was staring blankly at the two, she said, "Yes! Of course."
Herr Kabra frowned. "Ich weiß, du hast gerade ja gesagt." He paused, and wrinkled his brow. "Aber das es."
"I know you just said yes." . . . "But that's it."
The maid smiled. "Gewöhnen Sie sich daran, Arschloch."
"Get used to it, asshole."
Herr Kabra frowned. "Ich werde es tun müssen."
"I'm going to have to."
The maid nodded vigorously. "Das ist richtig, du ist richtig, du wirst."
"That's right you will!"
Amy laughed, grabbed the maid's arm, and led her away into the kitchen. "Ich möchte eine Tasse Tee."
"I would like a cup of tea."
Poland, 1940
Cara awoke to an ear-shattering scream. Instinctively, she burrowed deeper into the pile of hay she was hiding in, and prayed that it was not the Gestapo.
It wasn't. In fact, it was the farthest thing from the Gestapo. The woman who had taken her in had found a spider.
Cara had to let the smile creep onto her face, although it seemed wrong, painful even, to smile in such a desperate time.
She peeked over, and saw the woman holding a pitchfork out at the unconcerned spider, who scurried up the wall, and into a crack in the barn wall.
Then she remembered someone could see her if she peeked out.
Fear gripped her, and she scurried back into the haystack, her heart beating. She knew it was irrational, but she couldn't help it.
She'd watched what the Gestapo did to the Jews they found, and it wasn't good.
She'd heard the screams of the women, the tortured sobs of the men, as they watched their wives being raped by the solders, and then heartlessly tossed into a cattle truck to be escorted to their new home-a death camp.
She remembered the savage look in the soldier's eyes as they dug into another's body with their swords.
And she knew she would never forget.
Helllllooooo! Thank you all for reading this! You don't know how much it pleases me to entertain you miserable half-wits. :PPPPPP
AND! Ian Kabra is in!
What do you all think?
What's going to happen?
Dun!Dun!Dun!
What do you all think of me incorporating Cara into this?
I'm thinking of throwing in a Jewish Jake too. Someone tell me if that would be a good idea.
So . . . all . . . please remember to leave me a review and you will make my heart beyond happy.
Thank you, and I love you all.
-Addict
