Gertrud Decamps
Chapter 2
The rain never stopped. It drummed upon the roof of the villa, a relentless, rhythmic beat that time was running out. Gertie stood in the hallway, her collar pulled tight around her neck. The iron cross, safe beneath her blouse, was heavy as the stolen Rhine gold. She had not told Lucie where she was going. She had not told the housekeeper. She had simply taken the key, the letter, and her bag, and walked out the front door.
The promised staff car was waiting.
It was a black Mercedes-Benz 320, the kind of car that murmured of power and death. The engine was idling, a low, guttural purr that seemed to vibrate through the cobblestones. The driver sat behind the wheel, a tall, gaunt man in a grey uniform. He did not look at her. He did not smile. He simply nodded, a single, sharp motion, as if to say, Get in. Now.
Gertie hesitated. The rain was heavy, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and diesel. She looked back at the house, at the dark windows of the study where her father had written his suicide note. She thought of the telegram, the words that still burned in her mind: Der Führer ordered my daddy to kill himself.
She pushed the thought away. There was no time for grief. Not here. Not now.
She opened the rear door and slid into the leather seat. The interior was warm, smelling of leather and tobacco. The driver closed the door with a soft thud, and the world outside was muffled, reduced to the sound of the rain and the hum of the engine.
"Where are we going?" she pleaded, her voice trembling.
The driver did not turn. "Silence, Fräulein. The orders are clear. Do not speak. Do not ask questions."
Gertie sat back, her heart pounding. She reached into her coat pocket, her fingers feeling for the house keys. Silly of her, she thought, to worry about the home she might never see again. She felt the familiar object, all that formerly stood between her and the world. She was tempted to throw it from the window as a dramatic gesture of renunciation, but feared attracting the suspicion of the driver.
The car pulled away from the curb, the tires crunching on the wet gravel. They drove through the village of Herrlingen, the streetlights casting a strange flickering on the pavement. The rain blurred the world outside, turning the familiar into something strange and alien. They passed the church, the school, the bakery. All of it seemed to be holding its breath, aware, waiting for something terrible to happen.
Gertie closed her eyes. She tried to think of something else. She thought of the scarf, the one she had knitted for her father. Where is it now? She thought of the waltz, the one that had played in the study. She thought of the photographs that showed her father as a young man, before the war, before the medals, before the fall from grace.
But the thoughts were fleeting. The car was moving too fast, the road too long. She felt a strange sense of detachment, as if she were watching the scene from a distance, out of her control. As if she were not really there.
"Where ARE we going?" she demanded, her voice stern this time.
The driver finally turned his head. A quick look. His face was dark, unreadable. "To safety. To a place where you will be safe. That is all you need to know."
Gertie sat back, resigned, though she did not believe him. She doubted that there was such a place. Not anymore. Not in Germany. Not in this world.
The car turned onto the main road, the one that led out of the village, up the hill, and into the darkness. The rain was heavier now, the wind howling through the trees. Gertie felt a chill run down her spine. She pulled the collar tighter around her neck, trying to block out the coldness, the fear, the uncertainty.
She closed her eyes again, and for a moment, she saw her father. He was standing in the desert, the sun blazing down on him, the scarf around his neck. He was smiling, a sad, gentle smile. He was looking at her, and he was saying something. She couldn't hear the words, but she knew what he was saying.
Be brave, Gertie. Be brave, such as he would say.
The car sped on, into the night, into the unknown. Gertie held her breath, her heart pounding, waiting for the next bend in the road, the next checkpoint, the next danger. She knew that the journey was just beginning. She knew that the real adventure was waiting for her, somewhere in the distance, beyond the German rain, beyond the Nazi fear.
She reached into her blouse, her fingers finding the iron cross. She felt the cold metal, its edge, the weight of the past, and the promise of a future.
We shall see, she absentmindedly thought.
The car disappeared into the rain, leaving the villa behind, leaving the past behind, leaving a world behind. Gertie sat in the back seat, her eyes closed, her heart beating fast, awaiting the next turn in her life, and what comes after.