Weeks passed, and I did everything I could to pretend that everything was under control, but I knew it wasn't. I could feel myself begin to crack under the pressure. I could feel my father's presence everywhere I went, even when I knew he wasn't around. Suddenly, I was just as dangerous as he was, and I felt so foolish for not realizing it sooner. I didn't know what I was going to do. Rose and all those people relied on the food and clothes I could provide. Before John had showed me what the Siegfrieds were doing, and the underground mission they were running, The Siegfrieds struggled to obtain food and other supplies without looking suspicious. They didn't have any children of their own, and had no excuse to buy extra food unless they threw several dinner parties a week. John had done his best to get as much food as he could for them, but even John and his mother were struggling. I understood why Rose had punched John in the face when first seeing me. He and I were risking everything, and there was nothing that could change that.
One night I came with a basket of cheese, bread, meat, some fruit, and a bit of butter. My mother said she had received it as a birthday gift from my father and told me to get rid of it. It gave me an excuse to go over to the newspaper. A few of the Jews had been moved over the course of a few weeks, but Anne and her father were still there. They were the last to get moved because they were in the best physical condition. I walked into the paper, and Rose sat at one of the ten desks in the main room. I knew her private office was in the back corner, so it was odd to see her just sitting in the middle of the big room. She leaned forward with her face in her hands, and she rubbed the side of her face with her thumbs.
"Rose?" I asked softly.
Rose looked up at me, and I could see the tears in her eyes. She quickly wiped them away and cleared her throat. "What?"
"What's the matter?" I placed the basket on the desk before her.
She chuckled a bit, but not in amusement, "Nothing. And everything, I suppose." I saw her walls begin to crack. "More people died today. That should be more horrifying than it is, but every day I expect it, and every day it happens so...." Rose trailed off with a sniff.
"Who?" I was almost afraid to ask.
"No one we knew, but someone we could have saved if we had been quick enough. We just aren't quick enough. They die faster than we can reach them." Rose replied heavily.
"You save so many, you are doing everything you can," I said, desperate to comfort her in some way.
"It still isn't enough! I knew it wouldn't be enough from the start," Rose said, leaning back in the chair, eyeing the large room.
"I don't know what I'm doing either," I said cautiously.
Rose looked at me with suspicion, "What do you mean?" She asked seriously.
"You were right. I don't belong here, and I never did." I could feel tears begin to form in my eyes, and my throat constrict.
Rose sighed, sat forward, and took my hand tiredly in hers. "Listen to me," she said carefully, "John should have never gotten you involved, in fact, he should have never gotten involved himself," she said with evident frustration in her voice. "However, you have helped us. Beth, I didn't want you involved not because of who your father is, but for your reasons for getting involved."
"I don't understand, I only ever wanted to help," I said defensively.
"No, Beth, you did it to get back at your father." She stated plainly.
"I did not," I said, tearing my hand away from hers.
"Your intentions are good, always have been," she said, putting her hands up in defense. "But you're trying to rebel while trying to save your father's soul along with your own. It must be exhausting." Rose leaned back in her chair once again.
Her words struck me like a knife to the gut. I hadn't stopped to question my motives before. Everything I was doing had been a knee jerk reaction to Mr. Becker's death and my father's actions. I had never thought of my motives as anything but pure, but they were so much more. I wanted to help, I needed to help, but I also needed to regain some sort of power over my own life: even if that meant risking others lives.
"I'm sorry," I said, feeling like she had just forced the air out of my lungs.
"My brothers are both SS officers. I know that if they found out what Mr. Siegfried and I are doing, they would not hesitate to turn us in. The same goes for Mr. Siegfried's family. His sister is married to a Nazi officer, and their father met Hitler himself." Rose rolled her eyes and shook her head despondently. "We are all looking for redemption for those we love, while also trying to retain our own humanity. You are only a child, Beth, thrown into a world of fools. I do appreciate all you have done for us, Beth, even if your motives are polluted by youthful vengeance. I can't say I would do any different if I were you." She smiled grimly and took the basket of food off the desk and disappeared into her office in the back.
That night I walked home slowly, enjoying the soft snowfall and brief moment of solitude. The town seemed quiet and motionless, and for a moment, I savored the silence. My world had recently turned into chaos that seemed utterly unstoppable. I had started to believe that perhaps the noise of the world that swirled around me would drive me to the brink of madness.
When I turned the corner to my street, I noticed my father's car parked on the street outside my house. I looked around the surrounding area for other guards or military police. It was late at night, and my father never arrived late in the evening unless something important or dangerous had happened. As I began my march to the front door, I could almost hear the execution drums in the back of my mind. When I reached my front steps, I stopped. I tried to wipe off any obvious guilt from my face. My father had always known when I was keeping something from him, he could read me like a book. I needed to make sure I had control over every facial expression and gesture. I opened the door, and my father stood in the entryway, taking me by surprise. He looked so...normal. He stood in plain clothes and a sweater, and he was even wearing his reading glasses that I knew he hated. It made me even more anxious than I had been before. His officer persona was gone, and there stood the father I had grown up knowing. I could feel my walls begin to fall, and that made me tremble.
"Why are you here?" I asked before even taking off my coat.
"Close the door, you're letting snow in. Your mother will be very upset if we get her floor wet." My father said, shutting the door behind me.
My eyes followed him as I slowly took off my coat and other layers. My father walked casually back to his chair. For a long moment, neither of us said a single word, and it felt like time was suspended in mid-air.
"What are you doing here?" I repeated a little more forcefully.
"Why don't you sit for a moment?" My father said, seeming far too comfortable for my liking.
"No. Why are you here?" I demanded.
"I needed to come home for a bit, there is some business I need to take care of in town, and I decided that staying here would be easier," My father said with a disquieting calm.
"Where's mother?" I asked, scanning the house.
"Asleep, it's very late," he observed, taking a look at his wristwatch.
I gritted my teeth "When do you leave?" I asked, trying to regain some sense of control.
"Beth, please." I could sense his growing frustration with my questions.
I knew I was lighting a fuse, but Rose had been right: I was looking for a fight. I curled my hands into fists and took a deep breath. It was a fight I wouldn't win, even if I were on the right side of history.
"Where were you tonight?" My father asked, turning the conversation back around on me.
I thought for a moment and carefully considered my words "Out." deciding vague was my best approach.
I saw my father grip the side of his chair, "Where were you, Beth?" My father asked again with a glare that would make anyone nervous.
"I was with John," I said, fighting the urge to strike him.
My father took in my words for a moment, "You like young John, don't you?" He seemed to be playing with ideas in his head as though this were a game he was playing, and he was thinking about his next move.
I glared at him again. I knew my father didn't like John, not because of who he was but because of who his father was. His father was on the opposite side of what Germany stood for, which made John someone to be watched by someone like my father. "He is an interesting young man, I must admit," My father added, cleaning the lenses of his glasses with a handkerchief.
"Leave him alone," I said, taking a slight step toward him, my hands still in tight fists.
My father chuckled darkly, "My, my so defensive. I wouldn't dare touch the young man that has stolen the heart of my young daughter." He placed his glasses back on the tip of his nose and then said casually. "Unless he gave me cause." I didn't know what the right thing to say was, so I remained silent. I wasn't going to win my father's little mind game anyway: silence was my only defense. "You're mother tells me you have been spending quite a lot of time with him. His father is still in England, correct?" My father said, peering over the rim of his glasses.
"I'm not sure. John hasn't heard anything about his father in nearly a year," I replied, trying to keep my answer short but truthful.
"Shameful, a man running out on his wife and child." My father criticized.
"Mr. Abbott didn't run out on John and his mother. It's this stupid war that separated them." I tried not to, but I must have shouted this last statement because my father smiled at my reaction.
"Hmmm, perhaps. Or, perhaps he chose soldiering over married life. I only met the man once or twice, but he always gave me the impression he was quite reckless." My father said these things as though he had some deep insight that I was not privy too. He was toying with me, trying to get me to slip up and confess. I chose my next words very carefully.
"Your impressions of Mr. Abbott are mistaken. A man such as yourself would never admit to being wrong, so I see no reason to continue this meaningless banter." I gazed down at him in his chair, feeling tall and powerful as though I had somehow won, but I knew that it was a fight that was far from over.
My father nodded slightly, "It saddens me that you believe such a thing about me. I will attempt to overcome these preconceived notions you have in your young mind about me." He smiled and rose from his chair, kissed me gently on the top of my head then promptly walked into the guest bedroom. My mother no longer let him stay in the same room with her.
Knowing my father was asleep downstairs made my skin crawl. I did not sleep that night, afraid I would say something in my sleep. Every time he came around for any period of time longer than a few hours, it caused a suffocating tension to appear in the house. It made being there unbearable. The moment the sun rose, I dressed and walked to the paper. I wanted to warn Rose that my father was home, which meant everyone needed to be on high alert. It was too early for the paper to be open, and I knew the "guests" would be asleep. I didn't want to disturb anyone, but Rose always arrived early to make sure things were in order for the days business.
I sat on the bench outside the paper. Many of the soldiers that roamed the street knew me in some way, or at least they knew Rose and so they didn't pay much attention to me. It was cold, and I was shivering, but I preferred to be on that bench in the cold of the morning than to be home when my father woke. My mother would make him breakfast just to prevent a fight, and they would sit in silence until one of them would leave.
I sat outside the paper nearly an hour before Rose appeared down the street. She greeted passing SS officers with a smile and wave. It always surprised me to see how calm she seemed around them. While everyone else in town avoided their gaze, Rose greeted them with smiles. When she saw me, she seemed to scan the area and then approached me quickly. "Good morning, what did I do to deserve such an early morning call?"
"I have to tell you something," I said.
Rose smiled calmly, "Come inside, dear," She said with a swift hand gesture.
I walked into the newspaper. The building was empty except for Rose and I. I followed her to her office in the back.
"So, what news do you have for me?" Rose said, placing her coat on the back of her chair.
"My father is in town," I said, feeling my heart begin to race. My hands were sweating despite the cold.
Rose seemed indifferent to the news I had just presented, "I see," she said simply while organizing the papers on her desk "Does he suspect anything?" She seemed highly focused on the busy work before her.
"I don't know," I answered.
"How long will he be here for?" She asked quickly, wanting the conversation to end and evaporate as soon as possible.
"I'm not sure," I replied guiltily.
Rose paused for a long moment and took a deep breath, "What do you know?" Rose asked, clearly frustrated with the lack of information I had gathered.
"I wanted to warn you," I said with desperation.
"I'm afraid I cannot do much with the little information you are providing me with." Suddenly the bell that hung over the front office door rang, and Rose and I froze in place. She quickly walked around me, opened her office door, and walked into the main office space. People were filing in for the morning workday; however, the only person I saw was my father. He was standing in the middle of the room, eyeing some of the writers that were quietly shuffling in through the doors and beginning to organize their desks. Rose didn't pause for a moment. She smiled brightly at the sight of my father standing in the middle of her newspaper in full uniform, which would intimidate any sane person.
"Herr Schmidt," Rose nearly sang his name as she approached him, "What a pleasure,"
"Frau Siegfried," My father said, still suspiciously eyeing the room and everyone in it. He looked at me, and I did my best to not avoid his glance, but it was nearly impossible with the knowledge that 4 Jews were hiding directly underneath his feet.
"Father, what are you doing here?" I said firmly.
"I came to see where my daughter has been running off too at the break of dawn. I was surprised to find you here." My father responded coldly.
"You followed me here?" I could feel my hands begin to shake.
"No, one of my men did." He said as though his words meant nothing.
"Now, now we are happy to have you here," Rose said with her usual flirtatious flair that even my father couldn't ignore. She ran her hand down his arm and smiled brightly at him. "Is there anything I can get you, Herr Schmidt? This uniform is positively dashing on you, I must admit. I do love a man in uniform, one of my favorite parts of this war, all these men in uniform don't you think Beth?" She looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
"Too dark for my taste," I said spitefully.
I knew Rose was putting on her typical show, and that I needed to play along, but I thought I would throw up if I did. My stomach was in knots, my palms were sweating, and the room felt as though it were spinning.
"My daughter has questionable taste," My father commented, looking Rose up and down like a beautiful piece of artwork.
"It's the age. I was the same way when I was 17," Rose said laughing, "Please have a seat if you wish, would you like tea?" She said, brushing something invisible off of his shoulder.
My father was obviously quite taken with Rose. His eyes never left her no matter where she stood. I watched her guide him into her office and present him with a cup of hot tea. They left me standing in the big room as they chatted in her office. There was a big glass window that looked directly into her office, so I watched from afar.
Rose gave her best performance. She made him laugh, and his body completely relaxed, which I hadn't seen in nearly a year at that point. A few times, they both turned and looked at me, I was obviously a popular topic of conversation. She threw her head back in laughter, and frequently had her hand on his arm. She sat on the edge of the desk, nearly in his lap. I wondered if this was why Rose was naturally so cold and harsh. The show she put on for my father was what she had to do to be safe, but I guessed it made her skin crawl. Rose wasn't a person when she was acting that way, she was just a pretty object for men to look at while she snuck things behind their backs. I admired her ability to perform whenever the situation called for it, but I felt sorry that this was clearly a show she had spent her life perfecting out of necessity.
After nearly an hour, Rose led my father out of her office, laughing. They approached me, still whispering to one another.
"Beth, you never mentioned how truly inspiring your father is," Rose said, indeed sounding enthusiastic about his presence.
"I must have forgotten," I replied, and they both glared at me.
"I hope my daughter is not always this rude," My father said.
"Oh, not at all, she has much of your charm and passion," She smiled sweetly.
"I wish that were true," My father commented, looking at me as though I were his greatest disappointment. "Well, I must be off, quite the pleasure meeting you officially, Rose."
"Same to you, Commander Schmidt," Rose chimed.
"Please, call me Arnold," My father beamed. "Get to school today, and I'll see you at home." He said to me as he walked by.
Rose waved goodbye as my father walked out of the big room with two men by his side. I could feel Rose's relief as he left. Her arms went limp at her side, and she looked as though she was moments from tears, but she wouldn't dare cry in front of me, let alone in front of the entire office. She excused herself and went through the back door to the back, ally.
I skipped school again and spent the rest of the day cleaning and helping Anne make her small space as comfortable as possible. During the morning hours, she wasn't allowed to make any noise, but sweeping the floor didn't make much sound, and making beds for any new arrivals helped make the time feel somewhat productive. It was something to help keep my mind off of the morning events. The only remaining people were Anne, her father, and the young man and his sister. They rarely spoke to anyone other than each other, and no one bothered them. They had lost nearly everything. Both their parents had died, along with their baby sister, who had not been a year old at her passing. Every possession they ever had, had been stripped away from them. Nothing belonged to them anymore, not even the clothes on their backs. Nothing was safe anymore. I suppose they mutually agreed that the only people they needed to communicate with was one another. I didn't blame them, I rarely spoke to anyone other than John and Anne in those days.
Anne and I sat in silence on her bed until the clock struck six, and everyone began to clear their desks for the day. We could hear the busy shuffle of feet above our heads, and then there was silence. We waited for a while until Rose came downstairs to announce that all was clear, and everyone was allowed to move about freely. Rose said she was bringing down some food that had been delivered earlier.
Everyone in that basement looked as though they were wasting away. Watching them eat felt like a weight was being lifted off my shoulders. I wasn't able to wash away their trauma, but I was able to ease the general discomfort that accompanied it.
"What's the weather outside?" Anne asked, and I realized suddenly that she hadn't been outside in nearly two months.
"Cold," I smiled, "No snow yet, but any day now. It's cloudy, and the roads are sleek with rain." I held her hand in mine as we sat huddled together against one of the far walls.
"I miss the air outside," Anne said with a longing sigh.
I squeezed her hand, "The air is cold and bites at your cheeks, and at any moment, you feel like you might slip," I said, trying to ease her longing.
Anne laughed, "I suppose I don't miss that."
"You're not missing anything of any value, trust me. It's nothing but soldiers and snow up there," I remarked bitterly.
Anne sighed, thinking for a moment, "Tell me something good. Anything. A smell, a picture, something funny you heard, anything." I could hear the mild desperation in her voice and knew how difficult it must be to not hear a single piece of good news for weeks on end. I thought for a moment, attempting to find a recent memory worth sharing. "My mother was baking a cake a day or two ago. I don't know what it was for, but it made the whole house smell sweet and warm. It was chocolate cake, and she let me have the spoon after she was finished. It was lovely, I don't remember the last time I had something sweet." I smiled, looking at the grins on the faces of the bother and sister from across the room as they pretended not to listen.
"Rose brought us some cake the other day," Anne smiled widely.
I looked at her with a bit of confusion, "Really? How extravagant!" I beamed, "What kind?"
"Chocolate," Anne said excitedly, "We each got a piece."
"I should be asking you to tell me good things," I said, and Anne and I laughed together. It felt good to laugh. It felt like years since I had laughed. A wave of warm comfort swept over me. I liked sitting next to Anne, talking about anything other than what was happening around us. Nothing felt normal, and the few moments of peace I could collect were held close to my heart.
Suddenly I heard a loud boom upstairs, and everyone stood up all at once. We listened to a torrent of gunshots ring throughout the entire building. Anne and I looked at one another with horror. The basement door swung open, and three SS soldiers burst into the room. My heart stopped, I didn't have time to react. They pointed guns in each of our faces. I looked at Anne, who was firmly placed in her father's grasp, and he was whispering something to her. The brother and sister clung to each other for dear life, and I stood alone in the middle of the room. My eyes were wide with disbelief and horror, it was too late to run. There was nowhere to go and nowhere to run.
They moved us quickly upstairs with guns pointed at our backs, and we walked into the big room of the newspaper. The first thing I saw was my father standing in the center of the room, he stood tall and, for a moment, there seemed to be shock that covered his face, but it quickly vanished. I looked to my left and saw that Mr. Siegfried was dead on the floor; he was covered in a pool of his own blood. His shattered glasses lay next to his head, and Rose sat over his body, holding his hand in hers. Mr. Siegfried had always been mysterious to me. I hadn't had much interaction with him, yet my heart shattered for him, as well as for Rose.
Tears streamed down my face. I could feel the end of the gun pressed against my spine, and the lights from the cars shone in through the shattered windows of the newspaper and nearly blinded me. One of the soldiers grabbed Rose roughly by the arm, almost ripping her shoulder from the socket. Rose screamed, losing all her composure, trying to fight her way back to the body of her husband. She tried fighting the soldier that held her, but he slapped her across the face so hard she flew to the ground, hitting her head against one the desks.
"Rose!" I screamed, running to her side before the soldier behind me could reach me. Blood spilled from the side of her face, and she moaned slightly. I took her hand in mine, "Rose, I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry," I pleaded, not knowing if she could hear me.
One of the soldiers grabbed me by both my arms and dragged me outside onto the curb, a few moments later, I heard a single gunshot and knew exactly where that bullet had been directed. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, and, for an instant, my brain wasn't able to fully process what was happening. I looked at Anne and her father as they firmly held on to one another, then I glanced at the brother and sister who looked as though all of it came as some kind of relief. They held each other's hands tightly, gripping each other for balance. I stood directly in-between them attempting to find my next move, but I didn't have another move to make. This was it, all my rebellion, my fight against my father was crumbling before me at the cost of those I tried so desperately to help. I was coming face to face with the reality that I was not indestructible.
Glass was shattered all over the sidewalk. The lights from the trucks shone so brightly into my eyes that I couldn't tell how many SS were there. It looked like an entire army had gathered outside of Rose's newspaper. My hands were covered in Rose's blood, it was smeared all over my dress. I tried to shield my face from the lights, the only face I saw clearly was my father, who slowly approached me. He didn't look me in the eye but was surveying the entire scene, and I seemed to just be a tiny part of it.
"You have left me with no choice," He said calmly, "I wish to God you had just listened to me." I heard nothing but selfish rage in him. I wanted to grab his own gun and shoot him without hesitation.
"A difficult choice, I'm sure," I spat, any sense self-preservation leaving my body.
"You and your mother have left me with no choice," He growled.
I looked up at him, "Mother?" I said in horror, "She has no part in this! Please, I swear, she doesn't know anything!" My tone turned instantly from cold to desperate.
"You never did give your mother much credit." My father turned, and I saw my mother sitting in the back of one of the trucks.
I felt my heart beat out of my chest, and my eyed widened with horror. "She never knew! I swear! Please, father, please!" I screamed, fighting the SS soldier that held my arms firmly behind my back. "Papa, please!" I begged.
"You did this! All this is because of you, if you had just listened to me, none of this would have ever happened." My father lifted my chin roughly, so I was forced to look at him, "These people will die because of you," He said through gritted teeth.
Gunshots echoed throughout the town. Anne, her father, and the brother and sister lay side by side, shattered, just like the glass on the sidewalk.
Tears slid down my cheek at the memory of Anne's body lying face-first on the cold pavement outside the paper. I attempted to stifle a sob, not wanting James to see how the memory still haunted me so many years later. James approached me carefully and took my hand in his.
"Are you okay, mom?" James said, sounding worried.
I nodded, trying to regain the breath that had gotten caught in my throat. "They didn't deserve that," I said, looking up into my son's face.
"I know, mom." James said, "No one did, it was such a horrible time in history."
"I don't know what they did with Anne's body or the Siegfried's. I don't know where they are, where any of them are." I can't fight the tears any longer, and I allow the pain to sweep over me for the first time in a decade. It was always a pain I tried to hide from, afraid it would be too much to handle. But being back home to confront it felt like a suicide mission. James wrapped his arms around me, unsure what to do or say on the matter. There was nothing to be said; he couldn't change the past any more than I could run from my history.
"I can't believe your father did that to his own daughter, who would do such a thing?" James raged.
I shook my head, "Lies can be stronger than blood."