Saving Amelie (50 page)

It was dark in the attic when Amelie woke from her afternoon nap. She didn’t like afternoon naps and she didn’t like the dark made by the blackout curtains over the little attic window. It reminded her of hours squished into the cupboard with Rivka and Aunt Rachel. She was tempted to put her head beneath the covers and stay there.

But she needed to use the chamber pot. She couldn’t wait much longer. Aunt Rachel got angry if she waited too long and wet the pallet. And that was worse than getting up in the dark and padding across the splintered floor and down the attic ladder.

Amelie didn’t know why she couldn’t have a pot in the attic. But the grown-ups were very strict about that. And about rolling her bedding tight each morning and keeping her clothes and shoes and even her picture book and dolly in the cupboard. There must be no sign of Amelie—or even of Aunt Rachel or Rivka—anywhere. Anytime, day or night, they might rush into the cupboard and close the door. She supposed it was a game. But she didn’t like the game, and she hated the cupboard.

When the door finally opened and she came out, the older lady, Oma, always hugged and petted her. She gave her a little Kuchen or porridge and milk and let her sit close beside her at the table. Amelie loved to finger the creases in the old woman’s face and make her smile. Then the creases lit up, like birthday candles.

The younger women smiled sometimes. But mostly they looked worried, and when they worried, they frowned. Amelie didn’t know if it was because of something she’d done. Her father used to frown at her, and that frightened her. But the pretty aunts weren’t like him. They often even cuddled her, like her mother used to do. And the man—oh, Amelie smiled to think of the man. Uncle Friederich smiled great big whenever he saw her, as if she brightened his day. It made Amelie feel glad to be alive.

Still, there was a great deal of time when the two pretty aunts who looked alike were gone, and Uncle Friederich, too. Aunt Rachel, who shared her attic room, was often reading, and the dark-haired lady—Rivka—seemed sad.

Sometimes, when Amelie felt lonely, she fingered the locket at her throat—the one with the picture of her mother inside—even though it was getting harder and harder to remember her.

When Amelie finished with the chamber pot she slid it back into its little cupboard in Oma’s room. She padded to the window and lifted the curtain, just a little. She could see the road, the front garden gate, and the walkway round to the back door from there. That was the path the pretty aunts walked whenever they came home.

The sun was shining brightly over the path leading from the road to the front door. There was no sign of either aunt. She’d almost dropped the curtain when she saw a truck pull to a sudden stop on the road, just outside the front gate.

Amelie knew she was not supposed to pull back the curtain, so she held it close to the window and peered through the very edge. Why were men in uniform jumping out of the truck? And big dogs? Amelie had never seen such big dogs! She stepped back.

Amelie didn’t like the men in black uniforms. Black uniforms reminded her of her father—her father who’d grown dark and angry whenever she’d approached him.

The men looked very much like her father—tall and broad-
shouldered, the same severe posture. She peered closely, but the limbs of the ash tree shadowed their faces.

Soldiers ran toward the house in different directions—to the front and around the sides. And they carried guns.

Amelie dropped the curtain. She was afraid to confess that she’d been peering out, but she was more frightened by the uniformed men with guns. She ran to the kitchen for Oma. But she’d barely crossed the threshold when Rivka jumped from the table and dragged Amelie with her into the dark cupboard below the stairs.

At the same time she saw Oma pale and walk slowly toward the kitchen door. She made the “be still” motion to Rivka and Amelie, just before the cupboard door closed. Through her bare feet Amelie felt the rumble of more banging. She thought of the soldiers and the big dogs and Oma, all alone. Amelie began to cry.

Rivka covered her mouth, but Amelie bit her and cried harder. And then Rivka shook her, which didn’t help.

Amelie felt the thunder of boots through the floor, and that, more than anything, made her catch her breath in fear. The boots rumbled angrily, and everywhere all at once. She could feel Rivka tremble beside her. Amelie reached for her in the darkness and Rivka pulled Amelie into her lap—not gently. Amelie could feel Rivka’s heart beat wildly through her dress, felt her fear in the way the older girl gripped her around the middle.

The pounding through the floor went on a long while, sometimes coming very near the cupboard. When Amelie reached her hand to the wall or the little door, she felt them shudder.

The smell of urine seeped through the cupboard wall. Amelie knew it wasn’t her own. Rivka clapped a hand over Amelie’s mouth. Amelie was so frightened that she didn’t struggle to free herself this time.

At long last Rivka relaxed her grip on Amelie’s mouth, and on her middle. She didn’t push her away, but laid her head on Amelie’s
back. She felt Rivka’s tears through the back of her shirt, and felt the jerking of her body. There was not room for Amelie to turn around to comfort Rivka. So she remained very still.

When the older girl stopped sobbing, Amelie leaned her head against Rivka’s shoulder. No one came to the cupboard door, and they didn’t move for what seemed a very long time. At last Amelie fell asleep. She dreamed of her mother and how she used to lay her head against her mother’s chest. She dreamed of her soft skin, of her smell, of the times she cried and the way she’d let Amelie kiss the salt away.

When Amelie woke, she was still in Rivka’s lap. But Rivka’s heart was beating rhythmically now, slowly. Amelie thought she might be sleeping. She sighed and fingered her heart-shaped locket. She needed to use the chamber pot again, so she tried to move, to push open the cupboard door.

Instantly Rivka was awake, pulling Amelie’s hand away. And so they waited, and waited some more.

Dietrich had gone immediately to Munich but urged Rachel to wait a few hours, so their departures would not be linked. He’d arranged for the groundskeeper to give Rachel a ride into Oberammergau.

She could walk from the grocer’s shop near the town square to wherever she wished. She might pass Friederich’s shop, but of course she wouldn’t go in the front door. She must show no connection to them unless absolutely necessary.

She was thinking of this, and if she should take a back road home to Oma’s, when the driver slowed. “What is it?”

“Trucks ahead.”

“What kind of trucks?” Rachel tried to keep her voice natural.

“Gestapo, if I had to guess. Or—no, maybe not.”

But Rachel recognized the vans of the SS, and her heart sank. Did
Curate Bauer break down? Oma . . . and Amelie? What about Rivka and Lea and Friederich? She thought she might be sick.

The driver turned down a side street, avoiding the town square. “I won’t be shopping for the abbey today.”

“No, of course not,” Rachel said. “You can let me out here. I’ll be all right.”

“Are you certain? It’s not far to the shops, if that is where you’re headed.”

“Not far at all.” She tried to smile. “
Danke schön.
You’ve been most kind.”

The driver tipped his cap, not making eye contact. She didn’t blame him for being afraid. One didn’t have to do anything wrong to fear running afoul of the SS.

Rachel adjusted her kerchief to cover as much of her face as possible and climbed from the truck cab. Keeping her pace slow, she circled the village, coming up behind Friederich’s shop, thinking she might slip unnoticed through the back and wait there until dark. She dared not draw attention to Oma’s home by returning in daylight. But just as she reached the walkway, two SS guards stepped through the shop’s back door, and Father Oberlanger came round the building.

Rachel’s knees went weak and she stumbled, nearly losing her footing.

“Careful,
meine Frau
!” one of the guards shouted.

“Ja, ja—danke.”
She waved, breathless. The old priest’s eyes shot up, but Rachel stared at her feet, as if trying to command them to hold her up.

“Papers,” the other guard ordered.

Rachel stopped and opened her purse to comply. Women were stopped and searched every day. She must remain calm, give them no reason to search beyond a cursory glance at her papers.

“Elsa Breisner? From Stelle?” One guard looked at the other. “Isn’t
that the name of the woman Sturmbannführer Schlick sent troops to question earlier?”

Rachel nearly fainted.

“
Nein
, that’s Hilde Breisner. She lives just up the road. It’s a common enough name.”

“Stelle. I’m from Stelle.” Rachel made her voice crack.

“Frau Breisner!” Father Oberlanger interrupted. “I’ve been waiting for you. I thought you weren’t coming for our talk. Did you have trouble with the train?”

Rachel searched the old priest’s face, unbelieving. She clasped a hand to her heart.

“You are here to see the priest?” the soldier asked. “You just arrived in the village?”

“Ja, ja.”
She nodded, bending over. “My heart.”

The priest pushed between them, taking her arm. “Allow me. You’ve checked her papers; now let me take her to sit down. You can see she’s not well.”

The guards stepped back, and the priest wrapped a protective arm around Rachel as they limped toward the church. “Say nothing,” he whispered. “I remember you from the Advent market. You were with Frau Breisner. I don’t know your game, Fräulein, but you’re a better actress than you are a teacher.”

Rachel couldn’t have agreed more. They returned to the main square and headed for the church. From the corner of her eye, Rachel saw a furious Gerhardt Schlick slam open the door of Friederich’s shop and drop into the backseat of an official black car, swastika flags flying. The car whipped into its turn and sped up the hill, just past Rachel and the priest, close enough for her to feel the spit of gravel from its tires on her face.

60

“
O
MA
!
” Lea, badly shaken from Gerhardt’s interrogation in her husband’s shop, reached her grandmother through the open door first. Friederich, grim, limped right behind her.

Oma groaned as her eyes opened, fluttered, and closed again.

“I’ll lift her. Support her leg,” Friederich ordered.
“Eins, zwei, drei . . .”

Together they lifted their precious Oma from the cold tile floor.

“It’s broken—her leg is broken!” Lea’s teeth chattered in shock. She’d never seen her grandmother so ill-used—bruises across her cheek, her lip split, a cut just above her temple, her leg unnaturally twisted, surely broken. And the slight stench of urine. Lea’s heart broke. That, above the rest, would humiliate her proud Oma.

Lea pulled back the eiderdown and Friederich laid the old woman on her bed almost reverently, as though she were the crowning star from his Nativity scene. He adjusted the pillow beneath her head, and he and Lea arranged another pillow beneath her twisted leg.

“What monster would do such a thing to an old woman? To this dear, dear woman?” Lea cried.

“I’ll go for the doctor.” Friederich’s voice grated as he turned. Lea knew he was heartbroken and angry—angry enough to strangle the life from the men who’d dared to lay hands on their Oma.

“Amelie . . . Rivka,” Oma moaned.

Friederich’s eyes grew round. “They took them?”

“The cupboard,” Oma moaned again.

Lea’s heart caught. “No more talking, Oma,” she ordered. “Friederich, check the cupboard. See if they’re there.”

Lea could hear Friederich opening the cupboard, could hear Amelie’s guttural expression of delight upon seeing him. Lea closed her eyes, thanking God the little girl was safe. She heard Rivka’s soft whispers as she climbed from the hiding place, saw Amelie tear through the room to the chamber pot.

Rivka could tend to Amelie. But where was Rachel? Was she not back from Ettal?

Lea didn’t wish either woman harm. But after seeing her dear Oma beaten, she wished them both safely away.

She’d not finished the thought when Rachel appeared in the doorway, her face streaked and dirty from pulling off her disguise, her eyes nearly wild. “What did they do to Oma? What did they do?”

“Her leg is broken, I think. Friederich is going for the doctor.” Lea turned back to her grandmother and began removing her soiled dress. “Take care of Amelie and Rivka. You must hide before the doctor comes. They might return.”

“Let me help you with Oma.” Rachel pulled a fresh nightgown from the drawer.

“There is no need. I can manage.”

“I need!” Rachel countered. “I need to help her!”

“This is not about what you need, Rachel. It’s about what Oma needs. And she needs for you to be safe and out of sight.” Lea pulled the dress gently over Oma’s shoulder, but it took everything she had not to jerk the fabric in anger and frustration. If only her sister would do as she was told!

“I heard them.” Rivka appeared in the doorway. “I heard them scream at her and beat her! I heard her slump against the cupboard door. She was trying to shield us, to hide us.”