CHAPTER 4

MAX

VIENNA, AUSTRIA

MARCH 1938

Gray cobblestones pressed into Max Dornbach’s knees as he knelt in an alley near Heldenplatz and scratched Frederica, the stray tabby cat he’d befriended, behind her ears. A peaceful ruler, her name meant. And right now, they desperately needed der Frieden in Austria.

Frederica liked it when he scratched her ears, but even more, she liked sharing whatever he brought for her in the rucksack that held his lunch and books for Gymnasium, a rucksack he carried even on days like today when the schools were closed. She mewed when he retrieved the strip of bacon along with a chunk of mild Drautaler cheese, devouring it rapidly from his palm.

He could almost hear his mother’s voice, scolding him for feeding a stray, but secretly she liked animals as much as he did.

She wasn’t in Vienna to scold him anyway. Instead of driving back to the city last night, she’d opted to stay at their summer estate for another week.

A roar erupted from the heart of Vienna, rippling out into the corners of its districts. Crowds had gathered on the lofty road called Ringstrasse, buzzing like a thousand hornets around a nest. Many of them waved flags and belted out the lyrics of a Nazi anthem as if they’d been National Socialists all along.

“For the last time, the call to arms is sounded!”

“For the fight, we all stand prepared!”

Freedom, the Viennese sang—they were finally free from bondage. As if they’d been caged up.

Max’s stomach turned at the thought of Nazis descending upon their beautiful city today. Vienna’s elegant streets, with their budding tulips and gilded facades, darkened by the shadow of Adolf Hitler, the old cobblestones contaminated by the boots of his henchmen.

Dr. Weiss had sent Max a telegram while the Dornbachs were at Lake Hallstatt, asking him to visit after the parade. If only he could retrieve the man’s daughter as well and retreat to the lake.

Much had changed in Austria in the past four weeks. Luzi Weiss and her family, no matter how much Max begged, would never receive an invitation to the Dornbachs’ summer home, even if Frau Weiss and Max’s mother were old friends. Dr. Weiss’s father was Jewish and so were both of Frau Weiss’s parents.

This hatred of Jewish people already ran deep in Vienna, but the Nazi Party and their blatant anti-Semitism had been banned in Austria until last month. Now with Chancellor Schuschnigg’s arrest, everything had tipped on its head.

Much of Vienna was celebrating this new alliance with Germany, the new Führer a savior of sorts. As the general director of the Mercur Bank, Max’s father was expected to celebrate as well—front-row seats for the Dornbach family when Hitler ascended to Hofburg Palace for his victory speech today.

Max refused his father’s offer for a seat of honor, but he’d promised to attend the parade. School had been canceled, businesses closed, so Austrians could crowd the streets as they waited for the Führer to make his grand entry. A much different entry than when a penniless Hitler had attempted to attend the art academy here thirty years ago.

“Stay away from the parade,” he told Frederica as he brushed the dust off the knees of his trousers. “Too many stomping feet.”

Max moved toward the boulevard, standing in the back of the crowd, trying to block out the rancid chant in a city that prided itself on beautiful music.

Couldn’t they see that fighting alongside Hitler would imprison them all?

“He’s coming,” someone shouted.

Cheering replaced the song, and his heart sank further. A woman next to him began crying, joy instead of sorrow streaming down her cheeks. This new chancellor was worshiped in these streets as if he were a god. But a god of what? What virtue did he bring?

Reconciliation, some might say. Hitler was able to verbalize like no one else the anger many Austrians already had toward the Jews, a hatred that had been boiling for centuries.

About eight hundred years ago, Jewish refugees had arrived in this city, and over the centuries, they’d been repeatedly expelled, welcomed back, and then expelled again, their synagogues burned as they fled. Not until the last century were Jewish residents finally given full Austrian citizenship. Many Jewish families had garnered wealth and prestige among their fellow Austrians in these years, but not everyone celebrated their achievements. Many, the jealous ones, wanted to expel them again.

A motorcade of open cars crawled up the boulevard with uniformed men marching solemnly beside the vehicles. And then Hitler was there, in the front seat of a Mercedes-Benz, grand marshal of the parade with his black hair slicked back under a brown hat, an awning of a toothbrush mustache over his lips, the sleeve on his overcoat outstretched as he saluted the soldiers lining the streets. His mouth was set in a firm line below the mustache, a hairline crack in the face of stone.

Austrian hands waved in unison as he passed, hailing high even as they sank low to worship the German Führer who’d promised salvation for Austria.

“Salute, Max.”

Max glanced over his shoulder to see Ernst Schmid, his chest drowning in a black suit coat as if he were going to the orchestra instead of a street rally. Ernst was a year younger, still more boy than man with his short hair sticking out in all directions in spite of a generous coating of hair oil.

Max didn’t reply, but his arms stiffened at his sides, hands in his pockets.

Ernst’s arm was fixed forward like the others, but his eyes remained on Max. “Heil Hitler,” he barked as Hitler saluted the crowd.

Max still didn’t move. The motorcade passed by, and the crowd followed after it, clamoring toward Heldenplatz to hear Hitler speak.

“Heil Hitler,” Ernst repeated, this time to Max.

Max’s hands burrowed deeper into his pockets. “Heil Austria.”

Ernst stayed beside him as people swarmed toward the plaza, and he eyed the rucksack slung over Max’s shoulder before glancing back out at the street. “It’s time for you to grow up, Max.”

“I don’t need to cling to a man like Adolf Hitler to make me feel important.”

Ernst sniffed, appropriately offended. “Why didn’t you salute our Führer?”

“You’re not my superior, Ernst, and he isn’t my Führer.”

“He is all of our Führer.” Ernst’s rigid chin inched up. “And in time, I will be superior to you.”

Max shook his head, disgusted. The man was the son of the Dornbachs’ former housekeeper in Vienna. Frau Schmid had been released about three years ago for stealing, but Ernst had hated Max long before his mother’s dismissal. Ever since they were children, Ernst had tried to torment Max, stealing things that were his. Max wondered still if Frau Schmid’s purported theft had really been Ernst’s doing, his mother taking the fall.

“Perhaps one day you will salute for the sake of Fräulein Weiss,” Ernst said, sounding as if the thought gave him great pleasure.

Max wished he could slug Ernst right here, as he’d often wished when they were younger. Though he was vocal about his distaste of anyone with Jewish blood, Ernst was obsessed with Luzi. Max had seen him watching her at the Dornbach parties, when Ernst was supposed to be helping Frau Schmid serve the food, but it wasn’t admiration in his eyes. He looked more like a bird of prey ready to attack.

Ernst would probably be first in line to become a member of the notorious Schutzstaffel. Germany’s bullies. Hopefully Hitler would send him far away to train for the SS.

“Yes, Max.” Ernst clipped his shoulder. “You will salute, for the Fräulein if nothing else.”

“I’ll never salute,” he said.

A footbridge crossed the Wien near Hietzing, and Max followed the street over the river, into this southern district of Vienna. Luzi and her family lived in a coral-painted villa; Luzi’s father practiced medicine on the ground level, and their family lived in the flat above.

Music spilling from Luzi’s violin streamed out their window, pooling over the street and the park behind their home, beckoning him forward. He could imagine the gentle sway of her body as she bore the weight of her music, cradling her violin. Then the passion in her face, her lips pursed in concentration when she brushed the strings with her bow made from Pernambuco, wood taken from the heart of the tree.

Luzi didn’t just play music. She was music, embodying a song from her chin down to the black heels she wore for every performance. The same heels her mother once wore when she performed.

Before he saw Luzi, he must speak to her father.

The door to Dr. Weiss’s office was unlocked, and when Max stepped inside, the violin music drifted down from the back staircase, into the office. Dr. Weiss looked up from the shelf he was rearranging by his desk. He was about forty years old, a few years younger than Max’s parents, but his dark hair had begun to thin. In a frame above the desk, the only decor in the room, was his medical diploma from the University of Vienna.

Max had rarely been here when there weren’t patients crowding the front, but with the parade today, he suspected that most men and women were either waiting for Hitler’s arrival or hiding out in their homes.

“Thank you for coming,” Dr. Weiss said.

Max leaned back against a post. “I hid the things you gave me. They are—”

The doctor waved his hands. “Don’t tell me.”

“Safe, Herr Doktor. That’s all I was going to say.”

“Where are your parents?” Dr. Weiss asked.

“Mother stayed behind at the lake, and I suspect my father has forgotten all about me by now.”

“One of my patients—the Nazis tore apart his house, looking for his family’s jewelry.”

“It is safe,” Max assured him.

“Already I have more things.” Dr. Weiss opened his medicine cabinet and took out dozens of glass bottles. “They arrived yesterday.”

Max held up his rucksack. “Will they fit in here?”

“I believe so.”

The doctor glanced toward the window at the front of his office before removing a burlap bag from its hiding place behind the jars. He slid it underneath the remaining food and a schoolbook that Max brought with him in case anyone asked why he needed the rucksack.

“Did your family attend the parade?” Max asked.

“Frau Weiss would never celebrate the arrival of that schlimm man.” He’d never heard Dr. Weiss call Hitler by any name other than evil. “I was required to go, but I didn’t stay long.” He pounded his chest. “In here I’m not celebrating.”

“Nor am I.” Max looked at the ceiling. After a short pause, the music started again. “Will Frau Weiss let me see her?”

A smile slipped across Dr. Weiss’s face. “If you inquire nicely, Max. Like a house cat instead of a lion.”

Nothing seemed to irritate Frau Weiss more than someone, particularly Max, stepping between Luzi and her violin. “You won’t ask for me?”

“Miriam will do as she sees fit.”

He hadn’t spoken to Frau Weiss about his intentions, but Dr. Weiss knew. One day soon, if Luzi would have him, he planned to marry her.

He strung the strap of the heavy rucksack over his shoulder and climbed the steps in the foyer to the second floor. Nina, the housemaid, answered his second knock, her knee propped as a barrier against the edge. Through the slat, he could see her graying hair pulled tight in a bun, the blue plaid apron over her dress.

“Hello, Herr Dornbach,” she said, but she didn’t open the door any wider.

Behind her were two upholstered chairs and a couch in the sitting room, but no one was seated there. “I’d like to speak with Frau Weiss.”

“One moment.” Nina slid the bolt across the door as if he might try to break down the door.

When Nina returned, she opened the door wide enough for Max to squeeze inside and directed him into the sitting room. His gaze trailed toward the hallway as he listened to Luzi’s violin. A private concert, he imagined, just for him.

“What does your father say about the Anschluss?” Frau Weiss asked as she stepped into the room, her waved hair skimming the collar of her starched white shirt. Suddenly the papered walls surrounding them felt more like a boxing ring.

Max straightened in his chair, trying to appear as if he weren’t preparing for a fight. “He doesn’t talk to me about such things.”

Frau Weiss sighed. “We will continue on here, minding our own business.”

Max feared what would happen, though, when others started minding their business as well. “I’ve come to see Luzi.”

Frau Weiss shook her head. “She’s practicing for the Opera Ball.”

“That’s not for two more months!” He sounded more like a lion now, but Frau Weiss infuriated him. He and Luzi had grown up as friends, but for the past year, her mother had thwarted every attempt he made to see Luzi outside a formal social engagement, as if he might harm her.

“She needs every waking minute to prepare, and you, Max, will only distract her.”

“Just a few minutes,” he begged. “Please.”

The door at the opposite side of the sitting room opened, the private staircase leading up from the office. Dr. Weiss joined them in the ring, a stethoscope draped over his white lab coat. “I believe what Max meant to say was that he has the utmost respect for Luzi’s talent and that he is kindly requesting to spend five minutes encouraging her in her endeavors, not distracting her.”

Frau Weiss glanced between the men, and Max attempted to smile in the kindest way possible so that Luzi’s mother didn’t think he was a cad who expected to get everything he pleased. Or a man who would misuse her daughter’s heart.

A baby’s cry broke through the music, hijacking the beauty of Luzi’s song. It was Marta, Luzi’s only sibling.

“Nina?” Frau Weiss called toward the kitchen.

The housemaid peeked her head through the door, nodding. “I’ll get her.”

Frau Weiss turned back to Max. “Five minutes,” she said sharply.

Max thanked both Frau and Dr. Weiss before rushing down the hallway. Near the end of it, he stepped into the library, a room devoted to both music and books. Luzi stood beside a tall window, the violin fixed between her jaw and shoulder as she played, her ash-brown hair swept back in a loose chignon.

The stand before her was layered with music sheets, but instead of reading the music, her gaze was focused on the park behind the apartment as if she could will its flowers to bloom.

Their city might be unraveling, but Max was content right here. “Hello,” he said quietly, not wanting to frighten her.

Stepping away from the window, she lowered her bow, but the violin remained cradled over her arm when she smiled at him. Her eyes were a pale green, the color of spring. “You are here.”

“Indeed.”

She gently placed the violin in its case. “How did you convince Mutti to let you in?”

“Your father convinced her for me.”

“Ah . . .”

“Five minutes is all she gave us, but it’s enough for today.”

How could anyone hate someone as beautiful and talented as Luzi Weiss, no matter her heritage? For that matter, how could anyone hate another person because of their ancestry?

If only he could scoop Luzi into his arms and steal her away to the lake, hide her from men like Ernst Schmid.

“Did you attend the parade?” she asked.

“Yes, so my father can tell whoever he must that his son was there.”

She sighed. “I wish I could go outside with you, if only for an hour or two.”

“I’ll ask your mother.”

When Luzi shook her head, a soft strand of hair fell forward across her white blouse. “Mother thinks only of the music.”

His fingers drummed against his leg, aching to brush that strand back over her shoulder, but he reached for her hand instead. “I think only of you.”

She blushed.

“One day soon we must leave this city.”

“My parents will never let me go.”

A picture ran through Max’s mind of him and Luzi hand in hand, husband and wife, taking a train to Czechoslovakia or south to Italy. Far away from Hitler and all those who seemed to worship him.

“I have a friend who can make papers for us,” he whispered. “A wedding certificate and passports for Herr and Frau Dornbach, married this year.”

Luzi glanced toward the door before focusing on him again. “Father has started making inquiries for our family.”

“To emigrate?”

She nodded. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“I’ll accompany you—”

“Away with you now,” Frau Weiss interrupted them as she stepped into the room, carrying Marta. The baby’s cheeks were red and streaked with her tears. “Luzia must practice.”

Max slowly released her hand before turning toward Frau Weiss. “It hasn’t been five minutes.”

“Clearly you are not a musician, Max.”

“No.” He smiled. “But I have the deepest appreciation for the violin.”

Luzi laughed and then quickly choked back the laughter when her mother stamped her foot.

“You shall hear her at the ball.”

He waited a moment, hoping that Luzi would contradict her mother, but her eyes were focused on the music stand.

Baby Marta squirmed in Frau Weiss’s arms. “On your way now,” the woman said, shooing Max again. He glanced back at Luzi. She’d placed her bow on the strings, preparing to play.

He lingered by the door, hoping to hear Luzi’s voice one more time.

“May I hold her?” Luzi asked her mother.

“Another hour, and then you can rest.”

The memory of her violin trailed Max through the streets as he turned toward Vienna’s old town. What would it be like to move with Luzi and her family to a place like England or America or even South America, where other European Jews had gone? A place where Luzi and her family would be safe?

They would have to leave soon. He would be eighteen in December, the age of conscription. Like so many students in his city, he’d been planning to join the Austrian Army to fight against the invasion of Nazi Germany, but their army never shot a single bullet to ward off Hitler.

Max would never salute, and he would never fight for that man.