CHAPTER 33

LAKE HALLSTATT, AUSTRIA

APRIL 1939

Life grew inside her.

She hadn’t told Annika about the baby, but while her friend slept, Luzi spent the midnight hours ripping seams from Frau Dornbach’s borrowed clothing to accommodate her growth. She had altered several dresses and a skirt for Annika too, replacing her friend’s worn clothing. Unlike Luzi, Annika grew thinner as the months passed.

Luzi wanted to hate this baby inside her, the offspring of a man who’d stolen what he had no right to take, but each time she felt the baby move, she clung to a new hope. This child was hers, not Ernst Schmid’s. She would raise him or her in these lakes, far away from the evil in Vienna.

This castle was her new home. Annika her sister, of sorts.

The two of them had worked with Hermann to clean up some of what the fire had destroyed, though they’d closed the door to the parlor—it was beyond their ability to repair.

She whispered quietly to her baby at night, quoting the passages of Scripture she remembered in lieu of a song. But on the days her chest felt as if it were gasping for air, those days she missed her sister and parents so much that she wished her life had been stolen away as well, she’d walk down to the shore and watch the strands of mist linger over the lake.

A warm foehn blew down from the mountains this morning, bringing with it the damp fog and wreaking havoc on Luzi’s muscles and her mind. She’d already milked the goats, the handle of the tin pail cold in her hands, but she wasn’t ready to return to the castle. Life was a mist of sorts, she decided. It blew between two shores, never really going anywhere, and when the sun came out, the mist disappeared. In the light, everything became clear.

One day, when the madness ended, she would find Marta and raise her alongside the child growing within her—that hope drove her out of bed each morning, waiting for the sun.

Passover began today, the celebration of God’s passing over their people and their freedom from oppression in Egypt. Her parents had never celebrated the Jewish holidays, but Luzi’s grandparents remembered each one. Annika wanted to remember these holidays as they waited for Max, to celebrate the God who loved His people.

But how could she celebrate freedom today when her people were still being oppressed?

Last December, she and Annika had lit candles for Chanukah, remembering how God had provided to defeat the enemies of the Jewish people. Annika had celebrated God’s miracles with her, and Luzi helped Annika celebrate the birth of her Christ with the turkey Hermann had brought for them and the small tree they’d found in the forest. They’d decorated the pine boughs with ribbons from Frau Dornbach’s bureau, glass balls, and miniature candles.

On Christmas Day, they’d read from the Dornbachs’ Bible, and Luzi hadn’t stopped reading it since. The New Testament was a story of a Jewish man, a righteous man who claimed to be the Messiah. As she read through the story of His crucifixion, she felt His wounds keenly. And she longed for the freedom He offered, no matter what the people around her took away.

On her left, Hermann’s motorboat streamed toward the estate, and he waved to her as he approached the boathouse. He joined them more often now, repairing things that were broken or bringing them meat from the fertile hunting grounds.

Annika had taught her how to fish and milk their goats, and Luzi had taught her how to sew. Annika had also cut Luzi’s hair and bathed it in hydrogen peroxide so she resembled a younger Aryan girl, a resident of these lakes. Together they’d raided the Dornbachs’ library during the winter months and read books that took them far from here.

For these months, the Nazis had left them mostly alone.

The Gestapo in the black cars had arrived at the estate last month, searching for Max. Luzi had hid in the space near the library’s fireplace while Annika told them the truth—that she hadn’t seen Max in a long time.

Annika hadn’t seen him since the day he left Luzi here, but some mornings the two women would wake up and find a note under their door. He didn’t give them much information, only a line or two, but it was enough to know he was safe. Twice he’d come into the house while Annika was asleep. He’d kissed Luzi’s cheek, promised that he would return for her, and then he was gone.

His love for her never seemed to waver, and she wished with everything inside her that her heart didn’t feel so cold. Empty. As if she had nothing left to give except life to the one person who remained in her care.

If only Max could see how much Annika adored him. How she would do anything for him. If only he knew that Luzi was as broken and charred as the parlor in his family’s castle.

Hermann began crossing the bank toward her, and she released arms that had wrapped themselves around her chest.

Some nights, Hermann would come, and she’d hear him and Annika whispering together. Annika hid whatever was in Hermann’s bags in a plot between the trees, but Luzi harbored their secret for them. Just as they faithfully harbored hers.

She wanted to control her life, as she’d once controlled the music pouring from her violin, but life wasn’t a neat set of notes, composed by Strauss or Bach. It was much more messy, chaotic, like an orchestra tuning their instruments before the concert began.

Oh, she craved a concert. Musicians working together to create something beautiful that brought joy to the listeners, not something ugly to tear people apart.

Waiting was all she had now.

Waiting until she could find Marta.

Waiting until someone stopped Hitler.

Waiting the four months until her baby was born.

Annika wanted to hate Luzi Weiss because Max loved her, but she couldn’t do it. Luzi’s beauty on the outside, the beauty that Annika had tried to burn away when she clipped the newspaper photograph, was embedded inside her as well. And now she was expecting Max’s child.

Annika had known it for a few weeks, but she hadn’t dared voice the truth, for voicing it would make it into a reality. She kept hoping that she was wrong, that Luzi had gained weight as the gash on her leg had healed, but each day it became more apparent that Luzi was pregnant.

Annika’s heart had shattered at first, knowing that Max would always see her as a kitten, but there was more to care about in this world than her heart. She still loved him, always would. She just couldn’t tell Luzi—or anyone else—of her feelings.

“When do you expect the baby to arrive?” Annika asked as they ate their dinner of broiled trout on the veranda. The air was cold, but neither of them wanted to be inside. No matter how big the house was, the walls seemed to close in on them.

“In August, I think,” Luzi said quietly, her voice sad. “Why do you care for me, Annika?”

She almost said because Max asked her to, like he’d asked her to hide the heirlooms for their Jewish neighbors, but it was about more than Max. The words in Mama’s Bible swept back to her. “Jesus said to love our neighbor as we love ourselves.”

“Aren’t you afraid?” Luzi asked, her voice trembling with the question.

“Terribly.”

Luzi rested her hands on her stomach. “Do you think Jesus was afraid when He died?”

In her heart, Annika believed that this man who loved and healed would be deeply grieved by what was happening in their world. Like Pastor Dietz said, He came to heal, not to kill. But she didn’t know if He was afraid.

“I’m not certain, but I don’t think we have to fear if we serve a God who can conquer death,” Annika said, trying to cling again to those words.

Hermann joined them on the veranda as he often did in the evenings, sitting beside Luzi. He blushed when she looked at him, and Annika’s defenses flared again. He shouldn’t be watching Luzi like that. Surely he must know that Max’s baby was coming soon.

Hermann nodded toward Annika. “Herr Pfarrer needs to speak with you.”

She glanced over at the parish church perched on the hill across the water. The Dornbachs had attended Mass there, but she’d never been inside. “Why would he want to talk to me?”

“He has to arrange a time to transport the Eyssl casket.”

Annika cringed. With the changes in their country, the Dornbachs gone, she’d thought the church would surely forgo those plans.

Hermann scooted his chair toward her. “The Nazis want parishes to go about their business as if nothing has changed in our country. Herr Pfarrer thinks this will help with morale.”

“But everything has already changed,” Annika insisted. Their lakes, her family, her home. In the past year, Germany had swallowed up the heart of her country. She no longer recognized the parts that remained.

Moving a box of old bones across the lake wouldn’t rejuvenate anyone.

“Annika—”

She shook her head.

“It’s only for one night.”

The thought of having the man’s bones in the chapel . . . She would never sleep until they took them back to the church.

“If you refuse, the Gestapo will ask questions. Maybe even return for another visit.”

A Kuddlemuddel—that’s what her mother would have called this.

“I don’t want his remains here.”

“It’s necessary, Annika.”

Luzi glanced between the two of them, her eyes wide. “What casket?”

And Annika began to explain the tradition of old.