Yesterday Was Long Ago: Part Two Read online

  Air raid shelters were now a daily must. And there were still the many wounded soldiers arriving from Russia with the war being fought stronger than ever. They were determined to get their own captured homeland back. Leningrad was still under siege. No telling how many thousands more starved to death. But so far, there was no sign of surrender. Also, General Erwin Rommel was fighting in North Africa with the Italian army on his side and was expected to win at all costs. The Germans and their Allies were by now so thinly spread that many generals doubted Hitler’s strategy, but kept mum in order to stay alive. Regardless of anyone’s opinion other than the Führer himself, nothing would change.

  At the beginning of September some Soviet planes attacked Vienna, Breslau, and Budapest but did very little damage. The Nazis excused it as an attempt to show strength while Germany was in the process of taking Stalingrad.

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  It was a long and tiresome day, and Isabella walked slowly home, trying to relax when she heard someone moaning in the nearby field leading from the hospital to the castle. Since no lights were permitted anywhere, as all of Germany was in a total blackout, she had to make use of her green flashlight and follow the sound. She found a young girl squirming around, trying by herself to give birth to a baby. Taking a close look, she saw the Star of David on her blouse and took it off in a hurry in case a soldier walked by. She helped with the birth and promised aid immediately, telling her where she lived. She still remembered the girl’s sad smile.

  She wrapped the newborn in the blouse, put her white apron over it, noticing that the baby barely made a sound, but left it near the mother. She found the night watchman, who had conveniently dozed off, awakened him and explained the situation. Although half asleep, he said, “We better wake up Dr. Reinhardt. Your parents are leaving very early for Wiesbaden.”

  Isabella had forgotten all about it and rushed to Uncle Peter, who had just arrived. He ran for a bedsheet and towels, with Isabella showing the way. There they found the woman dead. Although the baby still kicked, it gave only an eerie sound. But Peter was determined to save his life; Jewish or not was, to him, of no consequence. He brought the little boy to the hospital, confiding to a nun the truth.

  “We will put the child in a crib and look him over, but his dead mother is another story. I am not worried about her, of course, but about you, Dr. Reinhardt. Her shirt will be taken care of, but how to bring her in?”

  “I’ll get her, or better, drag her. You get a hospital gown and have the paperwork ready.”

  Peter left again, while the baby was cleaned and wrapped in bunting without ever making a sound. However, he took to the milk bottle very eagerly and the nuns suggested a few days longer for observation. “Father Sebastian will christen him, and Dr. Reinhardt will think of a name. The dead woman will be unobserved in the morgue as it is overflowing with bodies. Only the mortician or pathologist may question us in the morning as to how we got her.”

  When he was told the girl was found in the nearby field, the mortician only said with a smirk and a shrug, “Ha! Another harlot trying to give birth by herself. Our troops’ pastime seems to be to impregnate those pick-ups.” With a few scribbles in disgust, he handed her body to another nun. “It’s all yours, Sister,” he remarked aloof, never inquiring about the newborn. The unknown Jew had to be buried among Christians. Only a little cross without a name adorned her grave.

  The little boy was a picture of health except for never uttering a sound. Peter and Isabella were quite proud of their accomplishment, regardless of the mother’s death. She and the baby were spared from a worse fate. Since his facial features showed nothing out of the ordinary, there would never by any questions.

  When Gaby and Paul returned a week later from Wiesbaden, both listened in awe about that little ‘miracle child’, as Isabella called him. By now, with all young servants in uniform, the Reinhardts had again the luck to have the old tried and true ones left, who could be fully trusted as they served their lifetime with them. They would raise the child, as there was no chance that after the war someone might claim him. As for the Jews still remaining in Vienna, they were confined to a district called Leopoldstadt, and it was still a puzzle as to how she had walked the long distance.

  Paul was happy for more than one reason. Gaby would feel needed, and so she wouldn’t mind staying home. She wouldn’t venture to the city so much to take Robert, who was three, and loved to play in Vienna’s parks with children his own age, rather than with his parents in Lindenfels. Paul was still an insanely jealous man, loving his wife even more than back in 1929 when he first laid eyes on her. At that time, he didn’t allow himself to go that far, as she was obviously married with a little child, or so he thought.

  After four years of marriage they were still on their honeymoon. Their only son, Robert, was told about a sick baby brought to them because there was an older brother who would take care of him. He was very proud to be part of it. There would be a christening in Lindenfels’ chapel, with Father Sebastian doing the required task. The priest, of course, was happy to have a new member. Isabella, after carefully reading the Reinhardts’ diaries, decided on ‘Karl Otto’, a very proper and worthy name. All had thought of ‘Kurt’, matching her horse ‘Lillian’.

  “That name is reserved in case she ever has an offspring.”

  “Now why didn’t we think of that?” Paul laughed heartily.

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  Daily life became harder with so many countless dying or wounded, the fighting still going on all over Russia, with Stalingrad the name most mentioned, either on radio or in newspapers. Rupert heard, after his last visit to Berlin, that Hitler was furious that the Russians wouldn’t lay their weapons down and surrender. And every day, other countries declared war on each other.

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  There was still the war fiercely fought in Africa, with more wounded arriving, and Isabella was at times too exhausted to write to Nico. He was out of the hospital, and his left arm did not have to be amputated but otherwise it was of no use to him. “My arm just hangs down and it was quite a chore to learn to dress myself in those ragged P.O.W. clothes.” He was still very much in favor of Hitler’s cause. “In the end we will win!” he usually ended his letters, and Isabella was always surprised that the otherwise heavily censured letters let his slip by.

  Otherwise, it was still more of the same. Fighting battles, victory or defeat. Germany’s friend and ally, Japan, was more and more in the news with its overall win against America. And as usual, the British R.A.F. and the German bombers were doing their best to destroy as many industrial facilities as possible, also taking the lives of thousands of civilians simultaneously. It was not too long ago that the German Commander Herman Göhring made the statement that no bomb would ever fall on German soil, or his name would be Maier. It had been Maier for quite a long time now, with much more to come. It seemed the British R.A.F. paid little attention to whether Göhring or Maier was in charge; they just kept on loading their bombs.

  The latest of many of their propaganda speeches was the great success of their submarines, which were judged and glorified according to the tonnage they sank. The loss of their own was, as usual, kept to a minimum. Winning was still the only thing that mattered to Hitler and his followers, though many more doubted his strategy. Father Sebastian made his rounds, visiting every family who had lost a loved one, had someone missing, or in a field hospital. The late Anette’s former erected monument had to be enlarged, as the list of fallen soldiers grew by the day and the P.O.W.s worked on it with greatest pleasure. After all, they lost their own land unless it was occupied. Paul’s factory worked day and night to keep the orders up as much as possible. His prisoners came from France, Belgium, Poland, Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia, and Russia.

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  Little Karl Otto was the ‘darling’ of the Reinhardt household. He only smiled whenever looked at, which was more than frequently. Gaby and Robert went for daily walks on the castle grounds, which looked more and more like a large
potato field. In that way, it fitted with the rest of the Lindenfelsers’ mansions. They watched Isabella ride and jump on her off days, which became less and less frequent. They also noticed that Karl Otto lacked hearing. Isabella decided to take a course on deaf mutes as Gisela suggested, and once again she had an ally to help her. Gisela visited the Reinhardts’ place very frequently, as Rupert sent many unobtainable spices to Victoria and Astrid. It seemed just like yesterday that they were doing the very same, and yet it was so many years ago.

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  Although the new year of 1943 had begun with fewer bells ringing it in, one would have never known it was a significant day. And the bells which Hitler’s factories melted down to make canons and other weapons with it were not the only reason. The war had started to take a turn for the worse.

  The town was deserted of young men unless they used crutches or showed other signs of disabilities. Many were also blind and found, with the help of Red Cross volunteers, a chance to be taken to the opera house or concert halls, which were still kept heated and open like during Vienna’s peace time. Some Germans insisted it was their own Minister of Culture, Joseph Goebbels’, doing, but they were quickly rebuked. Even after the end of 1918, prized Lipizzaner horses were put in front of coal wagons to keep cultural places heated.

  On January 27, America made its own air raid over Germany for the first time. The town was Wilhelmshaven and known for its heavy industry. Hitler and his generals knew it was their ‘All-American’ first, but surely not their last. Many feared the worst was yet to come. The only way they could retaliate was with their fighters and heavy anti-aircraft. So far, the V2 could not hit that long a distance.

  Stalingrad, despite Germany’s best efforts, was now in the hands of the Russians. Although General Paulus surrendered on the last day of January, it took the radio and newspapers a few days to announce it. Germany also took a three-day period of mourning while the Soviets advanced on all fronts. And there was still Rommel fighting in North Africa.

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  Rupert Foster got orders for a transfer to Berlin. It was another office job, but somehow, he was glad to leave Vienna. Many of his friends, who had returned wounded and would be sent back to the front again, avoided him. He was a pro-Hitler SS officer who had never seen a day of battle. They may also have seen the SS in action, assuming he was capable of the same violence. He served gallantly in the first war, but this time, Hitler made it a slaughterhouse and he had no way of leaving his SS outfit. However, he was permitted to take his family with him. Gisela, who spent quite a few years during Berlin’s worst times, was somehow glad to see a different city. The old Fosters refused to go with them, though their promised Berlin villa had plenty of space. They would be better off staying in Vienna to look after Rupert’s place since they were heartbroken. But so were the Reinhardts and von Waldens. SS or not, Rupert had saved Peter’s life when Teo Landgraf wanted every bone in his body broken.

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  While Isabella had a chance to play with her two little brothers and had a nice talk with her mother on many subjects, she was needed by a crying, barely understandable Mrs. Wiland, according to a servant.

  “I’ll bet her husband got worse, Mother. I am taking the bicycle and will be back in a hurry.”

  “Here,” Mrs. Wiland said, noticing Isabella’s arrival from her open window. “Here,” she repeated, shaking and handing her the telegram. It only stated, ‘We write to inform you with deepest regrets that Lt. Nicolaus Wiland, P.O.W. in England, is dead’. And, of course, there was the usual ‘Heil to our Führer’ at the end.

  “The only way he could have died is in an air raid by our own bombers,” Isabella stammered, her face white like a ghost with tears streaming down.

  “We will never know, will we?” Nico’s mother replied, crying bitterly.

  “May I please call my parents?”

  “And why not? They loved my son too.”

  Isabella had her own thoughts about it. Although they considered him nothing less than a fine young gentleman on the one hand, he was still a loyal Nazi on the other, and the Reinhardts abhorred the Nazi ideals. Paul only answered her via the phone how very shocked he was to hear about it, and only told Gaby his real feelings.

  “As a lawyer he would have been a good one like the rest of the Wilands, but otherwise, I felt Isabella was too good for him.” Gaby agreed.

  Isabella took Nico’s ring off and returned it, as it was a family heirloom. Mrs. Wiland didn’t object. She only cried, lamenting that her ailing husband would be soon in the grave too. “Then I will be all alone. All my relatives have so many sons except me, and theirs are still alive,” she uttered with envy.

  Isabella could have told her that Nico was only one of many she dealt with in the hospital on a daily basis, and many of them were not even Nazis like her Nico, just drafted.

  “Well, Isabella, you are still young and beautiful. You will have no trouble finding a husband.”

  “I don’t want to think about it, Mrs. Wiland,” she replied in parting.

  Upon arriving home, all servants were standing near the radio, hearing that General von Armin surrendered his African Corps to Field Marshall Montgomery, and over 200,000 prisoners were taken. It was followed by the march music as usual. “Today we own Germany and tomorrow the whole wide world.” Hitler planned to put more troops in Russia. For him, it was only a normal day.

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  In New York, Mrs. Frank Leitner had lunch with her husband at Schraft’s when she told him that she finally got a hold of her good friend Kathryn McAllister and both would meet, as they always did, at Luechows Restaurant on Fourteenth Street.

  “But Anne, dear, why not Tavern on the Green?”

  “Because it’s a very special old restaurant. I would even go so far as to say Manhattan’s oldest and it serves the best apple cake right out of the pan.”

  Frank only shook his head and asked her to bring those friends someday to their own house. He was looking forward to meeting the McAllister brothers who were bankers and financiers, also owning real estate by the thousands of acres in Virginia, where they kept their priceless thoroughbreds. He, being a stockbroker and owning a seat on the exchange, knew all about money. And the McAllisters were old money, like his present wife, Anne.

  Although both women had not seen each other for three years and their age difference was twelve years, with Anne being the younger one, they had not only much more in common than with anyone else, but both could be trusted with any secret, never to be shared with anyone. After their greeting in tears, as always, Anne started to talk about how she finally, at the age of forty, had the luck of meeting Frank. Of course, Chris O’Hara had given her a hard time about the divorce, but in December 1941, after returning from Daniella’s wedding, he finally caved in.

  “And how is your daughter?” Kathryn finally got a chance to ask.

  “Well, she met a nice young Irishman who left ten days after their short civil ceremony as a Navy Lieutenant, and is stationed in San Francisco on a submarine going to a little island in Manila Bay called Corregidor. There he got captured by the Japs. By the time MacArthur left the Philippines and promised ‘I shall return’, which was to my knowledge March 11 of last year, Lt. Thomas Buchanan was already a P.O.W.”

  “Oh, no! Poor Daniella.”

  “That’s not all,” she tried to catch her breath. “Nine months later she gave birth to a boy.”

  “How wonderful.”

  “Although I was not ready to be a ‘granny’, I love that darling child with all my heart. To be quite honest with you, I am a better grandmother than I was a mother.”

  “Happens quite frequently as we get older.”

  “But here is the funny part … Thomas calls his wife ‘Dany’. I don’t like it but what can I do about it? But the baby was called Christopher George after Chris O’Hara.”

  “It shows how much she thinks of her fine stepfather. Anne, we all still love Chris.”

  “I know, but you
will love Frank Leitner even more.”

  “I hope so. Where is your Daniella living now?”

  “Still on the corner of Park Avenue and 79th Street, where she always lived. Remember?”

  Kathryn gave a happy nod as it was a beautiful place with a short walk to Central Park. “But Chris bought them— for a wedding gift, mind you— a place in Scarsdale.”

  “No!”

  “It was quite a surprise for her too. But he really got a bargain with so many houses for sale. Don’t forget the men are in the service, receiving only a trifle of their former pay.”

  “And how often can you see your grandchild?”

  “Anytime I want. Chris and I are now best friends.”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  “Believe it or not, he even likes my new husband.”

  “Great!” Kathryn replied in surprise. “What do they have in common?”

  “Money and the war.”

  “Well, then my husband will fit in perfectly,” she smiled, ordering more wine.

  “How about your family, Kathryn? So far I’ve done all the talking.”

  “Well, where should I begin? Don Reed is a bomber pilot stationed in England like most of them are. He bombs Germany quite frequently, claiming that sooner or later, the population will live in ruins. And William Grant, after graduating from Harvard and two years in England on a Rhodes scholarship,” she said very proudly. “he worked for his father for a while, but seeing all his friends joining the service, he got the urge to do the same. He entered last year on his thirtieth birthday. What a surprise!”

  “Poor Kathryn, thank God for your daughter Barbara.”

  “You can say that again, but her husband is, like William, in the Army Air Corp and I had a hard time talking her out of becoming a WAC. Imagine every one of my children gone.”

  “Where did Don Reed graduate? I thought he was a Harvard man like your husband.”

  “No. He had his eyes on Princeton like his uncle since he already had a girlfriend.”