Chapter Three Gertrude
Chapter Three
Gertrude
Four days until the Oceanus is torpedoed
Port of Spain, Trinidad
The hot, humid weather in Trinidad was a stark contrast to Vienna, which had just emerged from its bitter winter.
The moderate winds gave me hope that I would reach New York City and leave Vienna behind forever.
But faith was dangerous. And I needed to keep my guard up and remain cautious.
Though no other Austrians were likely on the ship, I could leave nothing to chance.
The war had made the world a smaller place, and I didn’t dare trust luck.
The local morning papers had few updates about the war in Europe, and the little I’d found was in the Spanish papers.
I’d gleaned enough to know that the United States had joined the war in mid-December, and those from the United States who’d been in Nazi-controlled Europe had now either fled or been arrested.
When I’d left Austria, many Austrians were being deported, gunned down, or imprisoned.
The city I’d once loved so much was gone.
In Port of Spain, the news focused on the arrival of US troops and the U-boats now hunting ships loaded with supplies bound for Europe.
The Germans, once solely tethered to their ports in the Baltic Sea, now controlled France’s western Atlantic coastline, putting these underwater vessels over a thousand nautical miles closer to the US East Coast. Hundreds of ships had been sunk in the Atlantic Ocean since January.
My German was excellent and my Spanish acceptable, but my English was lacking, so I’d spent my idle hours during this long journey studying English and preparing for the day I would be safely on US soil.
Normally, I didn’t speak much to anyone, but when I did, I carefully scrubbed any hints of my Austrian accent.
I’d reinvented myself several times since I left Vienna in September. In Vienna, I was the wife of an Austrian military industrialist whose career had been rising long before we’d wed three years ago. And when Germany annexed Austria, he’d gained more prominence, fame, and notoriety.
On the first leg of my journey, I was Ingrid Swenson, a woman of humble birth on her way to take a job with a family in Bucharest. By early November, I’d crossed the Mediterranean Sea into Spain and taken refuge in a small hotel room in the port town of Barcelona.
I’d spent the next few months hiding, trying to forget Vienna.
But there were times when I’d cried so hard, I’d made myself sick to my stomach.
The tears dried, but my nausea didn’t settle.
I’d sought help from a local physician, who’d declared me with child.
The news wasn’t shocking, but it was deflating. The past now would follow me forever.
I remained vigilant, changing my name to Johanna Benson.
I was careful to listen for anyone looking for a woman like me.
I went to no restaurants or plays in Lisbon.
I kept to myself until I was able to buy passage on the Star, which would take me only as far as Port of Spain.
I’d been frustrated by the extra stop but had been assured that a direct crossing of the Atlantic was too dangerous.
Securing passage to the United States as the newly minted Gertrude Werner had been difficult.
I’d learned the Salvadoran embassy issued visas to Jews fleeing Europe, so I’d approached a sympathetic staff member.
My purchased Salvadoran visa had cost me several generous bribes.
The nausea had long cleared, but my belly expanded, and the child, unmindful of the world, grew bigger, turning my slim figure pear shaped.
And now I would finish my journey to the United States before the weight of my impersonations crashed around me or the child was born.
The Oceanus had a black hull, the upper decks painted white.
It had an open promenade deck for passengers, with railings, and with lifeboats mounted along the side.
The large vessel had two smokestacks, and rows of portholes lined the lower deck.
A chain of colorful flags stretched between the masts, fluttering in the soft breeze.
As I stepped out of the carriage, the ship loomed large as I hefted my bag and walked toward the gangplank. My wide-brimmed hat shadowed my face, already turning pink in the Caribbean sun. I gripped the leather handle of my satchel, wondering how it had become so heavy.
“May I be of assistance?”
The man’s voice was directly behind me and startlingly close.
I hadn’t heard his approach. I stopped and faced a midsize man with broad shoulders, dressed in a linen suit.
A fedora covered dark slicked-back hair, brown eyes, and a striking nose reminiscent of a Roman.
It was difficult to judge his age, but I guessed early forties.
“Thank you,” I said carefully. “I am fine.”
He easily ate up the distance between us, moving with the posture of a confident man. “I cannot let a woman heavy with child carry her own bag.”
I stood above most women, and this stranger wasn’t much taller than me. “It’s not so heavy,” I insisted.
He stepped in front of me, forcing me to stop. “My name is Dr. Atticus Brooks. I am a book dealer. I am from the United States. May I carry your bag?”
My true valuables and my false papers were sewn into my dress, and if he was intent on stealing a lady’s oversize dresses and a few old books, he was in luck. I held out the bag for him. “Very well. Thank you.”
He accepted it, lightening my load immediately. “And may I ask your name?”
“Gertrude Werner.” I’d practiced the name endlessly, making sure it rolled automatically off my tongue. Any hesitation would be a red flag signaling a spy or wanted refugee.
There was no flicker of recognition when he heard the name or studied my flushed face. “Do you have family in New York City?” he asked.
“Yes. A cousin.” That was the story I’d given the administrator at the Salvadoran embassy in Lisbon when I’d handed him two gemstones from my cache.
He held out his hand, indicating he would follow. “And where are you from, Mrs. Werner?”
I traced the underside of my slim, now tight, gold wedding band with my thumb. “Innsbruck,” I lied. I didn’t offer that I was alone, but I assumed he’d already determined that.
“Frau Werner, do I hear hints of Vienna?” he asked.
“No, I have never had the pleasure.” I focused on my accent. As a business titan’s wife, I knew how to make meaningless conversation from the smallest details.
He seemed kind, but I didn’t trust either my first impressions or his story. Many now lied easily. “What is the rarest book you have held?”
Carts ladened with fruits and vegetables rumbled past us. An army jeep honked. A sailor shouted orders to another. More nicely dressed passengers gathered at the gangplank. I scanned the crowds, searching for anyone who might be staring at me.
“A volume of Shakespeare. The Tempest. A Vienna broker brought it to my attention. I still get a thrill when I think of that robust volume.”
I’d owned a similar volume once. Sweat pooled under my swollen breasts as I walked. “How old was it?”
An easy smile held no hints of bravado. “This was part of thirty-six plays published in 1623.”
How many of those exact copies still existed? A couple of hundred? “America was a fledgling colony that year, and King James sat on the throne of England.”
“And in your country, Leopold V was archduke of Austria.”
Dr. Brooks had a way of easily ingratiating himself. A good salesman, I knew, had to be friendly. “You must be a student of history.”
“It’s a requirement of the job. Sounds as if you know our history too.”
The distant past was filled with strangers and no emotional attachments. Recent history and current events were far more charged. “Yes.”
I was slightly winded when we arrived at the base of the gangplank. My hand on the railing, I stared up at the narrow metal trail. This mountain would carry me away from Europe.
“May I assist?” Dr. Brooks asked.
Pride had me lifting my chin as I stepped off the dock onto the incline. “I am fine.”
The ascent was slow but steady, and Dr. Brooks walked unhurriedly and patiently behind me.
When we reached the deck, I paused to catch my breath and to glimpse my last view of Port of Spain’s white one- or two-story buildings threaded along the water.
Green mountains rolled along the horizon, reaching toward a vivid blue sky.
“A beautiful city, no?” I sounded breathless.
“It is. But you’ll find New York City more to your liking.”
“And why is that?”
“Vienna has more history, but New York City teems with energy and life. I suspect you don’t mind a challenge.”
“I couldn’t compare your city to Vienna. I am from Innsbruck,” I corrected.
“Ah, right. My mistake.”
A crewman dressed in a dark uniform walked up to us. I removed my ticket and visa from my purse and handed them to him. He studied the papers and then me before offering both back to me. I met his gaze as I donned a not-too-expectant smile.
“Welcome aboard, Mrs. Werner. I am Chief Mate Riggs.”
“A pleasure,” I said.
Dr. Brooks plucked a slim black leather wallet from his breast pocket and presented his papers. Whereas I questioned and double-checked each decision, Dr. Brooks never hesitated, as if he expected the world to make space for him.
One glance at Dr. Brooks’s face, and the chief mate’s eyes lit with recognition. “Welcome aboard again, sir. Did you find any rare books in port?”
“Not last night,” Dr. Brooks said easily. “The rare ones are hard to find.” He nodded toward me. “May I introduce Frau Gertrude Werner? We made our first acquaintance on the docks moments ago.”
My distended belly had stretched my once-trim body into a painfully awkward shape. When I took a step toward him, the swaying ship forced me to stagger. Dr. Brooks steadied me.
“Thank you.” Nervous and tired, I felt my Central European roots sloshing between my words.
Since the Germans had taken over Austria in 1938, many Austrian Jews were fleeing to the United States. The Jews and Roma who denied the country’s dark turn were either in hiding or being rounded up and transported to camps.
“Your husband isn’t on the manifest,” Chief Mate Riggs said.
“My husband died in Salzburg last year,” I said carefully.
The story was very plausible and not easily challenged. Thousands of good Austrian men had died in the last few years.
He nodded his head. “I am sorry for your loss.”
My cheeks warmed. “Thank you.”
“We have another Austrian on board. I’ll tell the captain to introduce you two at dinner tonight.”
Another Austrian wasn’t a surprise, but still I was wary. “Thank you.”
Dr. Brooks shifted the weight of our cases, reestablishing his grip. “We were both lucky to get tickets for the voyage. I believe I purchased the last ticket.”
“We’re always willing to accommodate loyal customers,” Chief Mate Riggs said.
“This might be my last trip for some time,” Dr. Brooks said. “The war makes travel too dangerous.”
“We all keep saying the war will be over by Christmas, now that the United States is in the fight,” Chief Mate Riggs said.
“That would be excellent,” Dr. Brooks said. “Best get our mother-to-be to her cabin.”
I considered arguing but realized resistance could draw attention. “Thank you, Dr. Brooks. Chief Mate Riggs, it was a pleasure.”
“Ma’am. Dr. Brooks,” Chief Mate Riggs said. “Can I have someone escort you to your room?”
“I’m happy to see her to her cabin,” Dr. Brooks said.
The doctor’s kindness caused concern. I’d found few on my journey who helped without expecting something.
As I walked across the deck, the shifting water tossed my swollen belly off balance.
Dr. Brooks was ready, taking my elbow in hand and steadying me.
We stepped through a portal into a narrow hallway.
Walking into the ship set my senses on edge.
In this vessel I was trapped, and if we encountered trouble, I’d have nowhere to go.
“Accommodations aren’t luxurious on ships like this one, but they’re acceptable, especially in war,” Dr. Brooks said.
“I’m used to simple.”
He tossed me a sideways look. “I would argue that you have known luxury.”
“Why do you say that?” I held on to a railing as I descended a set of stairs.
“The war has stripped away many things, but a good upbringing is hard to disguise.”
Silent, I continued down a hallway, and I was relieved when Dr. Brooks announced we’d reached my cabin. He twisted the key dangling from the lock and opened the door for me. “Your new home, Frau Werner.”
“Thank you for your assistance, Dr. Brooks.”
“Very happy to help. Perhaps you can join me for dinner.”
A question that sounded more like a directive. “I’m very tired. I’m not sure if I’ll make it to dinner.” I didn’t know the man, and I was hesitant to take his kindness at face value.
“Of course. You must rest.” He carried my bag into my room and set it on a small bunk.
The room was furnished with a tiny closet, a table with one chair, and an oval mirror over a washbasin. The room retained the port’s heavy wet heat, making the air oppressive. I’d grown to dislike tiny rooms.
Dr. Brooks crossed to the twelve-inch porthole overlooking the harbor. Twisting the brass latch, he opened it. Thick, slightly cooler humid air rushed the room. Despite the heat, the fresh air was welcome.
“Perhaps I’ll see you during the journey,” Dr. Brooks said.
“Yes,” I lied.
“I find the ocean invigorating,” he said. “I hope you do too.”
“I’m looking forward to the voyage,” I lied.
He removed the key from the door lock and handed it to me. “Your cabin is number 110. I’m 120. On the same level, but at the far end.”
“Excellent,” I lied.
As he turned to leave, he paused. “The toilet is at the end of the hallway.”
“You’re very kind, Dr. Brooks.”
“Not at all.”
When he closed the door behind him, I released the breath I’d been holding.
I tugged off my gloves and set them and my hat on the small table.
I sat on the bunk and unlaced my shoes and wiggled my swollen toes.
The short walk had taken its toll on my lower back, which had been aching for days.
I unrolled my thin socks and laid them on the chair to air out.
Sweat pooled at the base of my back and under my full breasts.
I’d had little activity over the last eight months. And the journey from the carriage had been more taxing than I’d imagined.
Very carefully, I lay back on the bunk and stared out the porthole. The baby kicked in my belly as the boat rocked gently in the harbor waters. I breathed in and out, trying to calm the energy surging in my body. I was certain I would never fall asleep. But slowly my eyes drifted closed.