Chapter Thirteen Gertrude
Chapter Thirteen
Gertrude
Three days until the Oceanus is torpedoed
By fall, many of the Jewish shops had been smashed or burned during Kristallnacht, the Night of Broken Glass.
Others of the faith were forced to scrub the streets.
Ration allotments were reduced. Children had to leave school.
I had seen nothing good after the arrival of the Germans.
But I was too consumed with surviving the dark waters of my marriage.
After I’d lost my first pregnancy, I was very ill with a fever for days.
But even in my delirium, I’d been so grateful.
Fearing Alfred would want more children, I realized I most likely couldn’t have more.
When I finally recovered, I packed a bag and took a taxi to the train station.
I was in my train compartment, counting the seconds to departure.
And then Alfred walked onto the car. He was calm, smiling. Without a word, he took my arm and hauled me out of my seat. He pressed his lips close to my ear.
“Don’t make a scene,” he said easily.
“I don’t want to go home.” My words were awash with fear.
“You’re upset over the loss of our child,” he said. “I’ll forgive you this lapse. But don’t test me.”
No one in the car stood or spoke out. Vienna had been gripped with fear and tension ever since the failed civil war in 1934. We’d all learned to avoid trouble, attention, and the police.
Alfred pulled me from the car, through the train station, and toward a gleaming black Mercedes. Inside the car, I met the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror. His gaze registered my panic and then shifted to the bustling road ahead.
“The next time I catch you running, I will break your feet.” Alfred lifted an imaginary thread from my shoulder. “Soon we’ll make another child. Soon you’ll give me a son.”
The thought of children in this marriage terrified me.
The driver didn’t drive us directly home, but we detoured through a small neighborhood filled with small, modest town houses. Next, we passed my uncle’s shop.
The windows had been smashed, and amid the shattered glass on the sidewalk lay burned books that still smoldered from the fire. My one refuge was gone.
“Such a shame,” Alfred whispered.
Oddly, after that day, Alfred was kind and attentive. He bought me a one-of-a-kind ruby bracelet, which he’d proudly looped around my wrist at a candlelit dinner. The stones and gold carried the weight of a manacle.
From then on, I walked on eggshells. Under the tentative peace with Alfred swirled a temper as violent as the undercurrents of the lower Danube’s Iron Gate gorge. It was only a matter of time before he destroyed me.
I’d begun to plan and think how I’d escape. I had no allies in Alfred’s circle, but there was the woman who’d come into the bookshop to sell her rare books. She had connections in every corner of the underworld.
The Oceanus’ upper deck horn screamed. I woke up, fists clenched, cringing as I lunged forward in my bunk. The sudden move crimped my swollen belly, forcing me back. I looked around my cabin, anchoring myself in the familiar.
My breathing calmed, and I rose and pushed back the curtain.
The sun was high in the sky. I had slept the night away.
A first since Vienna. The ocean had rocked me gently to sleep and held me there all night as the ship took me farther away from Vienna.
Soon, I would not be confined, and the vast world would open to me.
The hallways were quiet, giving me a chance to hurry to the toilet down the hall and use the facilities.
Back in my room, I washed my face in the basin and took time to comb my hair.
My stomach grumbled, and as much as I wanted to avoid people, hunger got the better of me.
I dressed in a simple navy blue dress and my brown shoes.
As I walked toward the stairs, I heard the fading sounds of a laughing couple. At the dining level, the chatter of conversations and the clink of dishes greeted me.
The steward looked up at me, frustration etched in the lines of his face. I was tardy again for another meal.
“I only have one seat available now,” he said. “And you’ll have to share the table.”
I considered who this person might be. I thought about the DuPonts and the woman who reminded me of Vienna. If I wanted to eat, I had no choice but to share. “Of course.”
He escorted me around the side of the room toward a small table near the kitchen doors. Thankfully, most everyone was so busy eating or looking out at the ocean that no one noticed me.
My breakfast companion had laid his or her napkin by the plate, a sign they would return. I took my seat and accepted a menu from the waiter. As he poured coffee from a silver pot, I ordered eggs, toast, and whatever fruit was available.
I stared out the porthole. The vast waves rolled, turning in on themselves. There was no end in sight.
In Vienna, I could stand at the shore of the Danube and stare at the other side. But the Atlantic was so vast, but not too large for the submarines to find the Oceanus.
Submarines ran more efficiently on the surface using diesel engines. But once they submerged to pursue a target, those engines became useless. Underwater, they relied on electric power, which cut their speed in half.
The Oceanus was a desirable target. She might carry 132 souls aboard, but I suspected her cargo hold was packed with precious raw materials like uranium, manganese, and chromium, all favorites in military manufacturing circles.
Large guns positioned at the bow of the ship were manned by young soldiers with gazes trained on the horizon.
I’d come so far. Hunger, humiliation, and so many lies. I’d done it all to reach the United States. And now to think I could be so close to freedom, only to have it ripped away by an unseen team of men I could have been acquainted with in Vienna.
A flicker of movement caught my attention. Dr. Brooks approached me. “Frau Werner?”
I raised my gaze to him. “Good morning.”
His gaze scanned over me. “You look nervous.”
I painted over the worry with a grin. “You aren’t worried? So much water. So many endless waves.”
Dr. Brooks took his seat, spreading his napkin over his lap. “I work better with water under my feet. This great vastness is beautiful, no? Did you know water covers two-thirds of the world? We can’t survive without it.”
The waves smacked against the bow, jostling me. Stoneware dishes and glasses rattled. “It’s also frightening.”
A smile teased his lips. “You’ll arrive in New York City, and you and your baby will live a fine life.” His words were awash with such certainty.
His comforting words grazed their mark. “Tell me about New York.”
“So much to say. I grew up in a brownstone in Brooklyn.” When my brow rose, he added, “A town house on the east side of New York City. But I now spend most of my time in the port city of Norfolk, Virginia.”
Before the war, I’d read US novels and magazines that described cities with tall buildings, solid roads, and so many people.
Since Germany’s annexation of Austria, Austrian newspapers only reported low US morale, a failing society, and weak soldiers.
But the Lisbon papers spoke of the United States as a strong, vast country ready to supply the Allied war effort. “What do you like best about New York?”
“The food. The plays. The Hudson River.”
“Water again. You sound like you’re a creature of the water.”
“I am.” The definitive statement suggested a literal truth.
“What else do you love about the city?”
Hints of regret darkened his gaze. “The theater. The symphony. Central Park is in the center of the city. It’s over eight hundred acres of trees, grass, lakes, and pathways. Nothing prettier on a warm spring day. It reminds me of the Volksgarten in Vienna.”
“The People’s Garden,” I said easily.
“So, you have been to Vienna?”
I paused. “I’ve read about it.”
“Ah. The Volksgarten is a stunning park. Very lovely. It was once an imperial garden. And of course, many rare books in all those narrow side street shops. I hear the books have been a casualty of the war in Vienna.”
Even this far from Austria, I hesitated to speak out. One more slip, and I could reveal too much. “So I have heard.” I rearranged my napkin. “How is Norfolk different from New York City?”
“Smaller. A large port city. Smaller shops. Families. Kids. By now, the city must be awash with soldiers and sailors ready to set sail for Europe and fight.”
Many young men in Austria had already died on the battlefield. “I pray for them all.”
As if he understood that fear dominated my calculations, he removed a card from his vest pocket.
It read, Dr. Atticus T. Brooks, Book Dealer.
There was no address under the name, but he removed a pen from his pocket and scribbled a phone number.
“If you find yourself in need of assistance, you can send word.”
I flicked the edge of the card with my gloved finger. “Thank you, but it would be too much to ask.”
“Nonsense. Now that international crossings are precarious, I’ll be staying stateside for the time being. I would consider it an honor if you contacted me. I can always use help in the Norfolk bookshop.”
A bookshop was tantalizing. I wondered if his shop was like my uncle’s store. I tucked the card deep in the pocket of my skirt. “Thank you.”
I liked Dr. Brooks. He wasn’t as physically impressive as Alfred. But he had intelligent eyes that missed little. “What was your favorite discovery on this trip?”
“You shift the topic very smoothly, Frau Werner.”
My lips softened. “I would say you’re better at it than me.”
He grinned. “Guilty as charged.” He leaned forward a fraction, straightening the untouched spoon by his plate. “I’d say the coins I found in North Africa. They date back to Roman times.”
“Roman. Over a thousand years old.”
“Older,” he said. He reached into his pocket and removed a handful of silver pieces. He placed several in my palm.