CHAPTER 8

LUZI

VIENNA, AUSTRIA

MAY 1938

The conductor’s lecture lasted until long after the guests were gone, chastising Luzi—rightfully so—for dancing instead of joining the other musicians on the stage. Then Herr Krause dismissed her with a wave before he marched across the floor.

Luzi lifted her violin case and walked slowly toward a side door that led down into the courtyard. One of the flutists was supposed to drive her the seven kilometers home, but it seemed that Daphne had left with the rest of the orchestra. Only the waitstaff remained behind, bustling around the ballroom as if they didn’t see her, hadn’t heard the conductor screaming about her negligence.

But still she smiled at the memory of her dance. For a moment tonight, it had felt as if she were in a dream. As if all of Vienna were celebrating her coming out as a debutante, an event that would no longer happen next year or probably any year—at least for her.

Were the aristocrats, along with the Gentile bourgeoisie, whispering about the Jewish girl in Max Dornbach’s arms? Or did they wonder why she wasn’t playing her violin? Most of them knew her parents, and many of them knew her name as well, but these days, she doubted if they wanted her dancing among them.

Her mother would be irate at the conductor for keeping her so late, at Daphne for leaving her behind . . . and at Luzi for succumbing to Max’s charms. She didn’t doubt that Max cared for her, but her mother said that much of Vienna was closing their doors to the Jewry here, and she wanted her daughter to be known above all else for her music.

As long as Luzi could lose herself in her music, everything would be fine.

The door at the bottom of the Rathaus staircase opened into a rectangular courtyard boxed in by a portico. The scent of spring—flowers and grass—wafted through the arched corridor on the other side, from the park that separated city hall from the University of Vienna.

Spring—the warmth of this season made her heart full.

Her violin case clutched in both hands, she lifted the bow in her mind and began to play a piece from Die Jahreszeiten—Joseph Haydn’s oratorio about the seasons. The music sent sparks of light through the dark yard, chased away the miserable thoughts that wanted to repeat—da capa al coda—in her head.

Al fine.

She’d already rehearsed what would happen when her mother found out about her dance. Now she needed to focus her thoughts on reaching University Ring, the road beyond the park.

Her heels clicked against the stone pavers in the courtyard, like the hooves of horses that pulled the grand carriages around this city, her mind teasing her with its tricks in the absence of music. There was nothing to fear. . . .

Like the swift flick of a match, the bitterness of cigarette smoke invaded the scent of spring. Luzi bristled in the dim lantern light, searching the portico on both sides of her for a face. It must be one of the staff, she told herself. A waiter or custodian who’d come outside to smoke.

Still she walked faster, to the corridor across the plaza, leading into the park. On the other side of Rathausplatz, she’d hail a taxi to take her home. Or catch the tram if it wasn’t too late.

Her gaze focused on the chamber of light beyond the courtyard as she began replaying the music about seasons in her head.

Something shuffled on her left, and a shadow grew where the lantern light spilled on the ground. Her first thought was to retreat into the hall, but the door had locked behind her. So she rushed forward, focused on the arch above the corridor, on the sliver of open space on the other side of these walls.

A man stepped out of an alcove, and fear clenched her chest, talons pressing through her skin. At first she couldn’t see his face, but then she recognized him. It was Ernst Schmid, the man once employed at Max’s home.

Did he know that she was playing tonight? He might have seen her name in the newspaper announcing the event.

Luzi turned away, trying to pretend he wasn’t there, pressing one heel after the other on the stone even as her mind yelled for her to run. But where would she go? It wasn’t like the last time he’d found her—this time no one was around.

Ernst stepped in front of her, blocking her exit through the tunnel, and her mind flashed back to memories that she wanted to leave buried.

When she was fourteen, she’d stepped into a bedroom in Max’s home to rest, escape the party outside for a few moments. Ernst found her there alone, but instead of excusing himself like a gentleman, he had cornered her. She’d screamed, and she remembered so clearly the shock in his eyes at her protest. Then the anger. He’d fled from the room as if she’d been the one to accost him.

She hadn’t told anyone what happened, but she’d seen him several times after that event, and each time she could feel his gaze. Not pleasant like when she caught Max stealing a glance at her. Nor friendly. It was as if he was biding his time.

She clutched her violin case to her chest as if it were a shield and veered around Ernst. Her heels clapped loudly on the stones as she rushed under the arch, through the corridor, trying to cling to the echo of song.

Ernst didn’t say anything, but she heard his feet falling behind her, keeping pace. She wanted to run, but suspected it would only encourage him, like a panther hunting its dinner. He might only toy with her, but then again . . . she didn’t want to think about what else he might do.

She rushed along the tree-covered walk in the empty park, the chaos of traffic in the distance, honking horns and squealing brakes replacing the music in her head. The noise was a beacon to her, the promise of a crowd to ward off this man.

“Luzi,” Ernst said behind her, her name like a growl.

She walked even faster, toward the streetlights she could see beyond the trees. Surely, even at this hour, some students would be walking the sidewalks of Universitätsring.

Ernst grabbed her arm, whirling her toward him.

“What do you want?” she demanded, wrestling against his grip. She tried to remain strong, but she felt like one of the strings on her violin about to snap.

He tightened his fingers. “Why are you out so late?”

She straightened her shoulders. He knew exactly where she’d been tonight, and he would have been at the ball as well if he’d been invited. “I’m on my way home.”

He pulled her closer, and the stench of his breath, the stale alcohol and smoke, gagged her. The canopy of branches overhead blocked out most of the city lights. “It’s as if you wanted me to find you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Perhaps you were hoping for Max Dornbach, so the two of you could sneak away.”

“Max is a gentleman,” she retorted, her arm throbbing under his grip.

“Then I’ll show you what Max is too cowardly to do.”

If she screamed out here, no one would hear her with the noise of the traffic, so she shook her arm again, praying for deliverance under her breath, but he didn’t release her.

He forced her to turn toward him. “And I’ll protect you from the Nazis.”

She cringed. “I only need protection from you.”

He laughed as if she’d made a joke.

“Let me go, Ernst,” she said, harsher now, trying to evoke the courage of her father, a man who’d fought a war to stop foreigners from bullying them.

“You don’t want me to let you go, Luzi. Not really.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Think what I could do for you.”

Her violin case was lodged between them, and she feared what would happen to the instrument if she dropped it, almost as much as she feared what Ernst might do. “I don’t want anything from you,” she insisted.

The heat from his breath burned her neck, seared her skin. With one hand wrapped around her waist, he yanked up her gown, pushed it up her thigh.

She pulled away, slamming his chest with the case. “No—”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I distinctly heard the Fräulein say no.” A man half a head taller than Ernst stepped from behind the trees, dressed as a gentleman with the air of someone accustomed to being in charge. A blonde woman wearing a sweater and short skirt stood beside him.

Ernst dropped the hem of Luzi’s dress, but he didn’t release his grasp on her arm.

The man moved closer. “Must I call for the Polizei?”

Ernst snickered. “The police won’t care.”

“Any assault against a lady will greatly concern them.”

“This one’s not a lady.” He lowered his voice with contempt. “Nothing but a Jew.”

The blonde woman tugged on the gentleman’s arm, and when he took a step back, Luzi was afraid they would leave her. “I was playing with the orchestra tonight at the Rathaus,” she blurted, wanting him to know that she was a musician. That she was human.

The man didn’t reply.

“He has no right to me,” Luzi pleaded.

Ernst traced his finger down her neck, lingering on her collarbone, and she felt as if she might be sick all over his shoes. “I have every right to you.”

If this couple walked away, she had no doubt Ernst would force himself upon her. And her life . . . it would be forever ruined.

“Go home, lad,” the gentleman finally said.

“Leave us alone, and I will.”

The man lifted his arm and punched Ernst in the nose. Ernst reeled back, holding his hand over his face, but before he bolted away, he spit on Luzi as if she’d betrayed him.

“Are you hurt?” the man asked her, though it seemed that he’d lost some of the confidence in his voice.

“I’ll be fine.”

He glanced at the path. “Do you live nearby?”

“No,” she said, her entire body shaking. “I was planning to take a taxi home.”

He responded with a brisk nod. “We’ll follow you out to Universitätsring, to make sure he doesn’t return.”

“Danke.”

Her body was still shaking as she climbed into the cab, down to the toes hidden in her mother’s narrow dress shoes.

“Number 69 Elisabethallee,” she told the driver.

“You shouldn’t be out by yourself,” he said as he turned south.

“I know.” The conductor shouldn’t have made her stay so late at the hall, but she couldn’t blame him. Max shouldn’t have distracted her, and she never should have danced with him.

She must stay focused on what was best for her parents and her sister, not what her heart might urge her to do. Music, she prayed, would be her family’s ticket out of Austria.

The taxi stopped, and after she paid the driver, Luzi looked both ways before stepping onto the sidewalk, as if Ernst might have followed her all the way home. But she didn’t see him, nor did she smell cigarette smoke.

She rushed into the building, up the steps. Inside their apartment, her mother waited for her in the sitting room, hurrying toward her with arms outstretched. “We were so worried.”

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Luzi set her case on a chair, her voice sounding as hollow to her as the belly of her violin.

“The ball was supposed to end two hours ago.”

“I was delayed,” she said simply. Tomorrow she would tell her mother about Max, but she’d never tell anyone about Ernst. Her father might retaliate, and if he did, she feared no one would fight for him.

“Where’s Papa?”

“He took the trolley to the Rathaus to look for you.” Her mother scrutinized her. “You’ve stained your gown.”

“Have I?” She looked down at the brown stain near her waist, the place where Ernst had spit on her.

Mutti stepped back. “I’ll get some soda and water to clean it.”

As Luzi moved toward her bedroom, ready to change out of her dress, she began humming “Village Swallows from Austria,” trying to remember the dance.

She prayed that her mother was right. The music would carry her entire family, migrating like the swallows of Austria, across their country’s borders and perhaps across an ocean as well. They would get their visas, and then they’d all be safe from men like Ernst Schmid.