Saving Amelie (29 page)

“That was alone—with room at least to stretch out!”

Oma grabbed their arms and shook them both. “Stop it! All our nerves are frayed, and neither of you are helping.”

“Frau Gerda was here early this morning asking if Oma would take in a boarder—a niece of one of her boarders from Hamburg,” Lea said. “Do you understand what that will mean?”

“That’s impossible!” Rachel felt the nerves tingling on the backs of her hands. “Why doesn’t she keep the woman herself?”

“She’s already got two boarders,” Oma said wearily. “We all take in boarders during the Passion Play year—and the year before, as we prepare for the season.”

“Why? The play doesn’t start until next spring.”

“For the transients,” Lea explained, patiently drawing out each word. “There are hundreds of transients in a Passion season year—hotel and hospitality workers, cooks, carpenters, itinerant musicians, tailors and seamstresses—all looking for work, needing food, needing rooms. Even our barns and stables fill up.”

“And there are so many more now.” Oma shook her head. “The cities are emptying of women without husbands, families who’ve been evicted because their fathers have gone to the army, or those who fear the bombing and rationing.”

“And some looking for a change, who just want to get out of the city, who take advantage of the fact that Oberammergau is known to house transients during play season!” Lea huffed.

“We musn’t judge them harshly. We don’t know their circumstan—”

“That’s it, then! We’ll be boarders!” Rachel shouted.

Lea shushed her.

Rachel shook Oma’s arm. “Don’t you see? You don’t have to hide us at all! I can take a position as a skilled laborer—hotel management or something.”

“My dear, you can’t walk outside that door without the whole of Oberammergau turning its head and seeing that you are the mirror image of Lea. We could never hide you in plain view. The cupboard is the only way.”

“They won’t let you off the hook for boarders long,” Lea warned. “Frau Gerda won’t be the only one badgering you.”

Oma agreed. “There’s simply not enough room in the village to refuse.”

“There’s not enough room in the cupboard to accept!” Rachel retorted.

Lunch was a quiet affair. Amelie had eaten early and was tucked into bed for a nap, sleeping with her thumb squeezed into her mouth, looking every bit a cherub.

Lea had walked home to scrub and order her house before choir practice. She and Oma had agreed that letting it out to boarders was the only way. If it became clear to everyone that she’d moved in with Oma until Friederich returned, Oma may not be so pestered about boarders.

Oma and Rachel sat across the table from one another. Rachel set her spoon beside her bowl and tore the last of her roll. She watched Oma pass her hand over her brow and sigh.

“I’m sorry for all the worry, Oma. My friend never should have sent Amelie here.”

Oma smiled sadly. “I’m only sorry that Germany has come to this. To think that I am hiding my granddaughter and a little child in a secret cupboard in my house—it is unbelievable.”

“I don’t know how long I can do this—this hiding in the cupboard. I feel as if I’ll go mad—I’ll scream and give us all away.”

Oma reached for her hand. “No, my dear. You won’t scream. You won’t give us away.”

“I’m just not sure I can—”

“You must look beyond yourself, Rachel. You must think of others before yourself.”

Rachel tried to rephrase Oma’s words in her mind. “I look after Amelie hour after hour.”

“Yes?” Oma asked. “She is your responsibility now—your child. Is that such a sacrifice?”

“Well . . . yes, it is. I wasn’t raised for such things. It requires so much patience, so much tolerance on my part.”

Oma’s brows rose in mock amusement.

“I mean I’ve never looked after children. I certainly never had anything to do with a deaf child.”

“Is it so hard?”

Rachel pulled her hand away. “I’m not even twenty-five years old. I don’t want—”

“We are all doing things we don’t want to do, my dear.”

“You don’t want me here?” Rachel could not stop the indignation rising in her chest, the familiar bite of betrayal.

“Don’t put words in my mouth. Of course I want you here. And I want Amelie.” Oma sighed. “I simply wish it were under different circumstances.” She folded her hands. “But we must accept things as they are—be glad we’re together and make the best of these times. And we must all make sacrifices—willingly.” Oma smiled softly but gave no quarter. “It is called grace, my dear.”

32

L
EA
UNPACKED
sheet music in anticipation of her students’ arrival. She set a plate of apple strudel cut into small squares and a jar of milk on the teacher’s desk, in full view of the class. They tended to perform even better with the promise of treats before their eyes. Several of the mothers had combined their rations to allow Lea the freedom to bake for their children, and for those children who had no families.

Lea loved pampering her students, and she loved teaching them—more than any work she’d ever done. But today she didn’t smile. Today she thought about her sister and Oma, about Amelie and Friederich.

Oma was right. With so many restrictions, Rachel could not maintain her composure much longer. Lea knew her sister had tried, but Rachel spun a whirlwind, a bright butterfly ready to burst its cocoon. And now that Amelie was here, she was no longer the center of attention—something her twin didn’t handle easily or gracefully. She’d not the temperament for self-control or self-sacrifice or for sharing the limelight.

Lea sighed, throwing her score to the piano’s rack. The problem was, she could understand Rachel—to a point. She, too, would have hated being cooped up in a tiny cupboard with someone who couldn’t understand her. But a child! How could she not love Amelie? Still, Lea would have done it without complaint because she would have been grateful to Oma for taking her in, for hiding her.

Lea knew she deserved nothing—expected to receive nothing. But Rachel seemed to expect that everyone would bend to her needs, even
her wants. Rachel would not have said so, but Lea was certain her sister thought herself superior to all of them—even to Oma.

She’d as much as said their dress was provincial and their ways backward. She’d gasped at Lea’s lack of experience with makeup and fashion. She’d cringed at Lea’s stout shoes—shoes all German women wore to walk the cobbled streets and climb steep and rolling hills.

Lea sank to the piano stool. She may as well admit it—at least to herself: she did not much like her sister.

Oh, Friederich! Where are you? I need to talk all these things over with you. I need for you to see Amelie—what she could mean to us. I need you to be here, to be strong where I am not, to just be here. . . . Where are you, my love?

“Frau Hartman, are you all right?” Maximillion Grieser, dressed smartly in his Hitler Youth uniform, stood suddenly in the doorway. He was by Lea’s side in a moment. “Can I help you in some way?”

Lea roused herself, embarrassed and strangely uncomfortable in the young man’s presence. “It’s nothing, Maximillion. I’m just a little tired; that’s all.” She stood, straightening the sheets of music. “I’m afraid you caught me at a poor moment. Is there something you wanted? The children will be here any minute.”

“Only to be of service.” He stepped closer—too close. “With Herr Hartman gone, you may be in need of help from time to time.”

Lea walked round the piano and toward the desk. “I’m quite all right, Maximillion. Thank you for asking.”

He followed her. “There is nothing I would not do for you, Frau Hartman. I hope you know that. I’m entirely at your disposal.”

Father Oberlanger, the parish priest, stepped silently into the classroom.

“Thank you, Maximillion, but I need nothing. Now, I am about to begin my class. You must have other duties.”

He looked crestfallen, thoughtful, but nodded. “You need only send for me.”

She turned away, cringing under his stare and Father Oberlanger’s open curiosity.

When Grieser had gone, Father Oberlanger, keeping his distance, offered, “I hope young Grieser is not a nuisance. The Party has stationed several of their local Hitler Youth here to be of service. It might not do to shun him.”

Lea knew that meant they were stationed to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the church and clergy. Father Oberlanger walked a fine line, fearing the Party’s interference and reports, and needing to cooperate in order to maintain as many of the church’s freedoms as possible. “He makes me uncomfortable, Father. I’m not sure his behavior is entirely appropriate.”

The priest sighed. “What is appropriate these days is up to the Gestapo, as nearly as I can tell, Frau Hartman.” He turned to walk out but paused at the door. “Try not to ruffle his feathers. It could make things . . . more difficult. These Hitler Youth are quite full of themselves, but essentially harmless.”

Curate Bauer knocked at the music room door a few minutes later, uncertain if he should disturb Frau Hartman, who looked to be praying before the arrival of her class. Father Oberlanger had told him of the unwanted attention from Maximillion Grieser. She surely didn’t need that. He sucked in his breath, hoping, praying the children had not worn her out or turned into the little he-devils and she-devils Frau Fenstermacher vowed they were.

“Frau Hartman? May I come in?”

She lifted her head, and he saw the shine of tears in her eyes, the streaks of those already shed on her cheeks. Embarrassed, she swiped them away. “Forgive me, Curate Bauer. I’ll be myself in a moment.”

“Tears are nothing to be ashamed of, Frau Hartman. I shed my own.”

“You?”

“A priest is not immune to sadness.”

“No—no, of course not.” Lea cleared her throat. “There are many sad things these days.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, there are.” He pulled a woolen scarf from a large wooden rectangle, the olive-wood paint box given him by the Levy child.

Lea’s eyes lit in eager appreciation.

“You are your husband’s wife.” Curate Bauer smiled. “You know beauty when you see it.”

“It’s stunning—the grain and coloring.” She ran her hand over the smooth surface. “Olive wood?”

“From the hills of Jerusalem. Excellent craftsmanship with no knots; a more perfect piece I have never seen.”

“It is magnificent. Friederich would love to see this.”

“A gift for him, and for you.”

“Father, that’s too much!”

“It was given to me as a sacred trust, to see that its contents are used to paint something precious—something most sacred. I can think of no one better able to bring that trust to life than you and your husband.” He smiled. “You paint Herr Hartman’s carvings, and as Heinrich Helphman says, Herr Hartman is the finest carver in all of Oberammergau.”

“Heinrich Helphman says that, does he?” Lea smiled sadly.

“Yes, and I’ve meant to tell you that he came to me to confess stealing the Christkind from Friederich’s Nativity, though he refuses to give it back.”

“Why does he—?”

But Curate Bauer did not know. He simply shrugged. “Each time we retrieve one, he steals it again—or steals another one. He seems to prefer the one in your husband’s shop window. We shall talk to him together, and I will try to get him to return it—again.”

“Not today, Father. I’m not up to confronting Heinrich about anything but his solo today.”

Curate Bauer nodded, remembering her tearstained face, which had dried beautifully. “Is there something I can do for you, Frau Hartman?” He spread his hands wide. “You’ve done so much for me, for the children. I would be honored.”

She nearly spoke but stopped, as if reconsidering. She started again. “I’ve had no letters from Friederich in . . . in far too long, and I’m afraid—”

The three o’clock bell in the tower rang, and the chimes welcomed the rush of students into the classroom.

Lea swiped her cheeks again and straightened her back, breathing deeply.

Curate Bauer squeezed her shoulder. Hers was a familiar pain for which he had no answer. He bowed and stepped back toward the door, allowing the smallest children to smother Frau Hartman with hugs—hugs he knew would be the best medicine for her soul.