Read Online Vienna Prelude by Bodie Thoene, Brock Thoene - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bodie Thoene, Brock Thoene
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the bank account in Switzerland . . . “ just in case .”
“ In case of what? ” Elisa had asked. Didn’t her father’s war record protect them all? Didn’t their baptism into the Lutheran church mean anything?
When the signs began appearing in shopwindows— Juden unerwünscht (Jews unwanted)— Elisa had ignored them. With her blond hair and fine-boned features, she was often the subject of frank stares and longing looks by the same Nazi youths in S.A. uniforms who lay in wait for the Jews outside the synagogues. And she hated them—not as a Jew, but as a German; she hated what they had done to her homeland.
Others who also hated them were systematically disappearing in midnight raids by Himmler’s Gestapo. Names like Dachau and Oranienburg were whispered in hushed tones.
Admiral Canaris, who was the head of the Abwehr, feuded frequently with Himmler over the lawless policies of the Gestapo. The result was simply that Canaris had fallen out of favor with Hitler. Perhaps it made no difference to the career of Thomas von Kleistmann that he had turned his back on her. There could be no future for him if Canaris ended up in forced retirement in Dachau, like so many other fallen leaders.
The thought gave her no pleasure. A young couple kissed on the landing, and suddenly Elisa felt angry at Thomas all over again. He had only to cross the border into Austria where she still played the bright music of Mozart on her violin! He had only to come to her there, and she would be his, no questions asked! How she had loved him once! And now what a terrible tangle her feelings of love and hatred had become!
At the top of the stairs to the right was a small crowded lunch counter. Beyond that was the office of Theo Lindheim. Elisa debated going first to her father’s office or picking up the ski clothes she had left with the tailor for alterations the day before. Putting a hand to her hot cheek, Elisa decided it would be better to see her father after she had calmed down. There had never been a time in her life that he had not been able to read a mood in her eyes. She was certain that they would now be a very pale blue, and she was not up to having him ask her what was troubling her. A session with Grynspan the tailor and a new winter wardrobe would no doubt brighten her outlook.
She turned left and wound through the bright bolts of Christmas fabric. Lindheim’s fabric department had always been famous in Berlin. Satin and velvet lined the aisles as women wandered through the maze of bright yardage. At the back of the department, a small sign announced Alterations , and behind a blue brocade curtain, the soft ticking sound of an old sewing machine could be heard.
Elisa pulled back the curtain and stepped into the tiny, cluttered world of Grynspan the tailor. Patterns and material covered nearly every available inch of space. Suits dotted with chalk marks hung from a large rack beside the sewing machine. Three Luftwaffe uniforms were finished and hung just inside the door. German Air Force officers, it seemed, had not forgotten the exploits of Theo Lindheim.
The tailor sat hunched over the sewing machine, guiding the fabric and pumping frantically on the foot pedal. Assorted pins hung from his tight lips. He looked as he had since Elisa was a little girl. There was only one change in his appearance; he had stopped wearing his yarmulke, which had marked him as a Jew and easy prey to the Brownshirts.
His sixteen-year-old son Herschel sat in the back corner of the workshop and labored over the buttons on a man’s pin-striped suit. Neither of them looked up from their work, and Elisa waited silently in the doorway and listened to the news on the radio that sat on the shelf just above young Herschel.
“ London: December 10, 1936, will be a day long remembered. The blue-and-white flag of the Duchy of Cornwall fluttered slowly to the foot of its mast at 10 o’clock this morning on the high turret over Fort Belvedere. It was a
“ In case of what? ” Elisa had asked. Didn’t her father’s war record protect them all? Didn’t their baptism into the Lutheran church mean anything?
When the signs began appearing in shopwindows— Juden unerwünscht (Jews unwanted)— Elisa had ignored them. With her blond hair and fine-boned features, she was often the subject of frank stares and longing looks by the same Nazi youths in S.A. uniforms who lay in wait for the Jews outside the synagogues. And she hated them—not as a Jew, but as a German; she hated what they had done to her homeland.
Others who also hated them were systematically disappearing in midnight raids by Himmler’s Gestapo. Names like Dachau and Oranienburg were whispered in hushed tones.
Admiral Canaris, who was the head of the Abwehr, feuded frequently with Himmler over the lawless policies of the Gestapo. The result was simply that Canaris had fallen out of favor with Hitler. Perhaps it made no difference to the career of Thomas von Kleistmann that he had turned his back on her. There could be no future for him if Canaris ended up in forced retirement in Dachau, like so many other fallen leaders.
The thought gave her no pleasure. A young couple kissed on the landing, and suddenly Elisa felt angry at Thomas all over again. He had only to cross the border into Austria where she still played the bright music of Mozart on her violin! He had only to come to her there, and she would be his, no questions asked! How she had loved him once! And now what a terrible tangle her feelings of love and hatred had become!
At the top of the stairs to the right was a small crowded lunch counter. Beyond that was the office of Theo Lindheim. Elisa debated going first to her father’s office or picking up the ski clothes she had left with the tailor for alterations the day before. Putting a hand to her hot cheek, Elisa decided it would be better to see her father after she had calmed down. There had never been a time in her life that he had not been able to read a mood in her eyes. She was certain that they would now be a very pale blue, and she was not up to having him ask her what was troubling her. A session with Grynspan the tailor and a new winter wardrobe would no doubt brighten her outlook.
She turned left and wound through the bright bolts of Christmas fabric. Lindheim’s fabric department had always been famous in Berlin. Satin and velvet lined the aisles as women wandered through the maze of bright yardage. At the back of the department, a small sign announced Alterations , and behind a blue brocade curtain, the soft ticking sound of an old sewing machine could be heard.
Elisa pulled back the curtain and stepped into the tiny, cluttered world of Grynspan the tailor. Patterns and material covered nearly every available inch of space. Suits dotted with chalk marks hung from a large rack beside the sewing machine. Three Luftwaffe uniforms were finished and hung just inside the door. German Air Force officers, it seemed, had not forgotten the exploits of Theo Lindheim.
The tailor sat hunched over the sewing machine, guiding the fabric and pumping frantically on the foot pedal. Assorted pins hung from his tight lips. He looked as he had since Elisa was a little girl. There was only one change in his appearance; he had stopped wearing his yarmulke, which had marked him as a Jew and easy prey to the Brownshirts.
His sixteen-year-old son Herschel sat in the back corner of the workshop and labored over the buttons on a man’s pin-striped suit. Neither of them looked up from their work, and Elisa waited silently in the doorway and listened to the news on the radio that sat on the shelf just above young Herschel.
“ London: December 10, 1936, will be a day long remembered. The blue-and-white flag of the Duchy of Cornwall fluttered slowly to the foot of its mast at 10 o’clock this morning on the high turret over Fort Belvedere. It was a
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