Secrets She Kept by Cathy Gohlke Read Free Book Online Page A

transaction.”
    “Yes,” Dr. Peterson coughed, barely suppressing his grin. “Yes, Frau Sommer, it was ‘complicated.’”
    I was still thinking that Lukas had taken my hand, that he’d not immediately let it go. I didn’t care about candlesticks.
    But Marta cared very much. “They’re magnificent. May I hold one?”
    Dr. Peterson shrugged, taking pleasure in her interest.
    “Oh,” she said in approval, “it weighs a ton. Are they real silver   —through and through?”
    “Through and through,” Rudy pushed in, taking up the other, flirting with Marta. “Worth a fortune.”
    “They’re heavier than yours, Mama. But, look, they have almond buds engraved on each of the branches   —just like yours.”
    “You have such candlesticks, Frau Kirchmann?” Dr. Peterson took new interest in her. “I should like to see them.”
    “They’re not for sale!” Marta exclaimed. “They’re to come to me one day   —they were Grandmama’s, from Austria, and her mother’s before.”
    “Indeed?”
    “Oh, they are nothing so grand. We have so many things of Mama’s and Papa’s   —sentimental value, I suppose.” Frau Kirchmann made light, but I could see the questions unnerved her.
    “Engraved with almond blossoms?” Dr. Peterson probed.
    But Frau Kirchmann had turned away.
    “Hyacinths,” Herr Kirchmann offered. “They are hyacinths.”
    “But   —” Marta objected.
    “You’ve forgotten, my dear. Hyacinths were your grandmother’s favorite flower. They’re on everything.”
    Now Marta looked uncertain.
    Herr Kirchmann hefted one of the candlesticks. “But these are certainly lovely. A bargain at any price.”
    Dr. Peterson pulled it from his hand, returning both candlesticks to the velvet bag. “I’m glad you think so.”
    “Where did you get them?” Mutti asked quietly. No one answered. She insisted, “Wolfgang, where did you and Dr. Peterson find them?”
    “I’ll leave that to you, my friend.” Dr. Peterson lit a cigarette.
    But Vater only moistened his lips and would not meet Mutti’s eyes.
    “Oh, for pity’s sake,” Rudy scoffed. “It’s nothing. We got them off some Jews near Pankaw. They were moving out.” He emphasized the last, smiling wickedly.
    A pall fell over our company. Mutti slipped her hand from Vater’s. Her eyes lost their light and all the room dimmed, no matter that the late December sun streamed through the windows. A minute passed, or two.
    Frau Kirchmann   —always Frau Kirchmann   —came to the rescue. “Marta, Lieselotte   —help me with the Weihnachtsgeback and finger sandwiches,” she ordered. “Lukas, come, carry the punch bowl. We’ve a party to get underway!”
    Rudy plugged in the phonograph and set a record on the turntable, placing the needle carefully into the groove. Soft Christmas music poured through the rooms. But the day was ruined. Even I knew what Rudy had meant. More property “Aryanized.” More Jews sent into the streets or to the community house   —a ghetto forming. The knowledge that Vater took advantage, that Rudy gloated, that Dr. Peterson egged them on, eager to share the spoils, would send Mutti into a dark place.
    And yet, gradually, the others pretended otherwise, forcing more levity than before the intrusion. In that moment I couldn’t care about the Jews who’d been forced to move   —at least not so much as I cared about Mutti. Her last Christmas   —for surely it was   —had just been stolen by that hateful Dr. Peterson. And by Vater . . . and by Rudy. I hated them . . . and yet, Lukas had held my hand. Why did I care more about that?
    By the time we returned with platters of food, Mutti had recovered some of her color, which surprised me. She was engaged in a conversation with Herr Kirchmann, doing her best to draw Vater in. It was Dr. Peterson who intervened yet again.
    “I understand you have not been able to keep up with these things, Frau Sommer, but you must realize that these Confessing