“Don’t bust out the middle name on me, Dad. I just know that she had high expectations for me, and I didn’t always meet them.”
“Of course she did,” Dad said, sitting up straighter in his chair, wincing at the effort. “She was a Jewish mother. It was part of her genetic code to push you. But you never once fell short of her hopes. After almost twenty years of marriage, we’d given up even dreaming of having children. You were everything she ever wanted.”
“Dad, I know you defend her, but I saw the look on her face when someone else outperformed me at a piano recital. When someone else got better grades. Later, when her friends’ daughters married younger to more successful men than Greg. Had babies. You saw how she and I were together.”
“She wasn’t the warmest mother, I admit. But she had her reasons. Before I met your mother, she went through a very dark time. As did I. We helped each other through it. But her hardships had been worse than mine. If she seemed cold, it had little to do with you and very much to do with the life she had. Trust me. I know that she wanted to do better.”
“I believe you, Dad,” I said. I adjusted in my seat, summoning some courage. “Did you ever tell her about Margarethe and the baby?”
“Yes,” Dad said. “Though by the time I met her, I’d lost hope of finding them. She forgave me for my transgressions far more easily than I forgave myself.”
“I’m glad she knew,” I said. I would have hated for their marriage—and consequently my very existence—to have been built upon a lie of omission.
“You know your mother had a very unhappy marriage before she met me,” he said. I did know that about Mom—it wasn’t a hidden fact. But she never, ever spoke about her first husband, and somehow I knew asking her about him was off limits. “I spent my entire life after I met her trying to make up for it,” Dad continued. “She repaid me by making sure you were the best-looked-after child in all Southern California. And I’ll be damned if she didn’t succeed in her job. I hope you see that, darling girl.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
WATCHED
JOHANNA
September 2, 1944
Charlottenburg, Germany
I was summoned to the warden’s office on a bright day in September six weeks after I’d been imprisoned. The guard, as was their way, was humorless and not given to conversation, so I didn’t bother asking if he knew why I was being summoned. My stomach lurched as we approached the wing where the warden and his highest-ranking men kept offices.
When we turned the corner to the warden’s office, the bleak concrete floors and dingy white walls gave way to handsome wood paneling and marble tile. In this corridor, full of the grace of a bygone time, one would never imagine the grime and despair that reigned only a meter away.
I tried to master my countenance as the guard knocked on the warden’s door. I’d never been summoned to see the warden before, as he seemed to prefer to call on me in my cell. Mercifully, his intentions weren’t untoward, and I hadn’t had to submit to his baser desires. Indeed, he’d acted more like a kindly father. In most cases. He brought me a lamp to work by and permitted me some small liberties the other prisoners did not have, such as free access to the lavatory and the occasional stroll out of doors. In turn, I did whatever I could think of to be a model inmate. The guard left, and the warden gestured to the open seat across from his desk. It was plush and covered in thick velvet.
“Gräfin von Oberndorff, I won’t belabor you with niceties. I’ve been ordered to offer you release from Charlottenburg.”
“How wonderful, Gefängnisleiter. I am thrilled.”
“As I knew you would be. Though there are two conditions set before you. Neither of which I think you will find too onerous.”
“Of course,” I said, leaning forward.
“First, you must agree to go back to work immediately. While you have been able to do good work in our care, the government feels you will be able to work more efficiently from the DVL offices as you’ve done in the past.”
“Naturally,” I said. “I’ll be able to test my own aircraft.”
“Precisely,” he said. “And the second condition is that you will no longer use the von Oberndorff name, nor will any of your husband’s relations. You may retain the title you earned through your husband but will be known as Gräfin Schiller.”
I paused for a moment. The von Oberndorff name had been as much a part of Harald as his brown eyes or patrician nose. It would be losing another part of him. But what choice did I have?
“I accept the terms, sir,” I said. “I will be pleased to return to work and to some semblance of a normal life.”
“As I knew you would be, my dear,” the warden said. “I’ve never said this to another inmate before, but you will be missed. If all our prisoners were as diligent and responsible as you are, this job would be the easiest in the world.”
“Thank you very much, Gefängnisleiter. I will be forever grateful for the kindness you’ve shown me these past weeks. You allowed me to be of use, and that is no small gift.”
I was ushered back to my cell to collect my things and was given a ride back to the little lake cottage that Harald and I had shared so happily. It seemed entirely foreign without his presence there. The SS had ransacked the place, but nothing of import was broken. Harald’s clothes and personal items were strewn about our bedroom as cruel reminders of the man who would never return. I began to throw all his things in boxes for donation, hoping that ridding myself of his jackets, ties, books, and bric-a-brac would make his absence less painful. It only served to make the house look empty.
Metta arrived about an hour after I did, looking relieved. She enveloped me in her arms. “Not too much the worse for wear, are you?” she said, taking a step back to inspect me.
“Indeed no,” I said. “Being allowed to work was a great kindness.”
“I’m so glad,” she said. “It took all my persuasion to get Ansel to argue for it. In the end, they figured that you couldn’t leak state secrets from a prison cell.
“The problem is now you’re not locked in a prison cell. You are going to be watched. Closely. You have to keep yourself out of trouble or they will snuff out your life as easily as a cheap cigarette. I’ve used up every bit of familial loyalty Ansel possesses in order to keep you safe. I have nothing left to protect you now.”
“Thank you for your warning. I’ll watch myself and do nothing to attract undue attention.”
“See that you do. Ansel would love nothing more than to have you removed. He sees you as a blight on his name by mere association.”
“He sounds beastly, Metta,” I said, speaking honestly. “He’s not unkind to you, is he?”
“It makes no difference,” she said, shaking her head. She led me to the sofa in the living room and cleared off some of the books and knickknacks that had been strewn across it, so we could sit. “Johanna, I didn’t just come to warn you about Ansel. I’m afraid I have bad news. Mama got very ill after you were sent to prison. It came on suddenly. The doctors seemed to think it was some condition of the nervous system but wouldn’t pinpoint it any further than that. They’re far too busy with the war effort, you see. I didn’t think it was right to tell you while you were in prison and could do nothing about it. We had a small funeral for her, and we mentioned you, of course. I’m so sorry you couldn’t have been there.”