A Thousand Years Will Pass

By Carol Corinne Morgan

As the Nazi war machine ravages Europe, nineteen-year-old Regina Belyeu returns to Warsaw and meets Anton Dziengel, a young Jew chafing at the bit to fight back. They are plunged unwittingly into deep love that could cost them their lives because under the Nazi regime, a Jew and Gentile together is punishable by death. The Jews are terror stricken as daily, new directives are issued, systematically stripping away their rights, then their property, and finally, they are herded into and sealed in the newly built ghetto. Anton and other young people attempt to obtain weapons and rally people to fight back but are met with resistance and disbelief. As the fearsome darkness continues to grow and people are starving and dying, they realize Hitlers plan to annihilate the biological foundation of Jewry. Finally, the Nazis announce a resettlement in the east. Each day, thousands are rounded up and taken by trains to a camp at Treblinka. It is soon discovered that those people are being gassed to death. The roundups halt, but the fighting movement prepare for the Nazis return, ready to fight back when they do. Knowing that in the end they cannot win, they are determined to resist and to live with honor and die with honor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984515490

Carol Corinne Morgan

Carol Corinne Morgan is a native Texan who grew up reveling in her familys history told to her by her grandmother and other family elders. This book is a work of fiction but is inspired by those old stories, some of which are interwoven with the fictional characters. Carols love of her Texas, her home, and her roots and family ties, is etched lovingly into every page of this book.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

"Those who do not remember the past

are condemned to relive it."

- George Santanya

PROLOGUE

I first saw him when I was thirteen.

Marcy Jones looked away from the television screen to the old woman who had rolled her wheelchair to the window. Dusk had settled early and snow fell in an ever thickening swirl, whipped by the wind that whistled around the eaves of the building.

Who is that, dear?

Adolf Hitler.

My goodness, did you really? Marcy smiled politely and turned back to the canned laughter of an I Love Lucy rerun. The Queen of Angels Nursing Home was quiet tonight with only a few visitors talking quietly in small groups.

Father and I were traveling abroad that winter. January of 1933, it was. We were in Berlin. I could feel the tension gripping the city, but I hadn’t an inkling what it was about. We were staying at the Kaiserhof Hotel on the Reichskanzlerplatz, just down the street from the Chancellery. He was there too.

Who was that, dear?

Adolf Hitler. What a funny looking little man, I thought, not one to be taken seriously with that silly moustache, and rather homely looking, after all.

Yes, he was, Marcy murmured, rightly ugly, I recall from his pictures. She clicked through the television channels. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and the party. She would have the late shift. How unfair was that, leaving her own family to celebrate without her! And the weather only promised to get worse!

Olivia Reid’s granddaughter Dana was visiting from California, and her interest was caught as Marcy’s was not, in Regina Belyeu’s ramblings. Dana rolled her grandmother’s wheelchair closer, tenderly tucked the plaid blanket about her, and sat down to listen.

He was old and doddering, eighty-five or eighty-six, as I recall, and of course he wouldn’t have suspected the ramifications of what he’d just done.

I didn’t think Hitler was that old, Marcy said. She flipped the channels again. There wasn’t a thing worth watching so she settled on the umpteenth run of A Christmas Story. Like, buy the kid a bb-gun and let him put his eye out! See if she cared!

No, no, it was President von Hindenberg. That day, January 30th it was, he had appointed Hitler as Chancellor of the German Reich. From dusk until after midnight those storm troopers marched in a torchlight parade to celebrate the victory. After dinner that evening, Father and I went out to watch.

Old Mr. Thorne and his son had drawn near to listen too. Jonathan Thorne signaled for Marcy to turn down the television. Marcy complied, her lips thinned in annoyance.

"The sidewalks were packed with people, and the noise ... oh my, the bands blaring and thundering drums, and their jack boots pounding so fiercely on the pavement. Thousands of them marched in columns from the Tiergarten, beneath the Brandenberg Gate, down the Wilhelmstrasse, their voices bellowing that new Horst Wessel song, holding their torches high, a frighteningly awesome queue of flame that lit up the night! And he ... Adolf Hitler ... stood at an open window of the Chancellery dancing up and down, thrusting his arm up in the Nazi salute. Sieg heil, they would shout, Sieg heil! Such ugly, heinous words .…" She closed her eyes, seemed for a moment visibly shaken by the memory.

Ms. Belyeu, Dana Reid said softly, would you tell us more?

More? She opened her eyes, seemed startled to have a small audience around her.

About Adolf Hitler.

Well, Father was grim and unsmiling, and I was clinging to his arm in the crowd, shivering in my new coat. I didn’t understand what was happening. The German people were enraptured, but I was frightened. Certainly Father had no inkling of the dire consequences to come of Hitler’s appointment. I doubt that anyone foresaw the Shoah ... the Holocaust being unleashed.

The head nurse, Vivian Fowler, stepped into the room then to announce that visiting hours were over. Dana bid her grandmother goodnight and watched as Ms. Fowler took Regina Belyeu to her room.

Excuse me, Dana paused at the desk. Marcy looked reluctantly away from the television. Can you tell me anything about Ms. Belyeu?

Like, what do you want to know? We have a privacy rule where our patients are concerned. Her eyes cut back to the television.

Well, who is she? That was a wonderful story she was telling. You see, I’m a writer and .…

I read those books of yours. Wow, they’re great.

Thank you. I was just wondering .…

Do you just make up all that stuff? Or do you get it from real life?

Six of one, half a dozen of the other. Listen, can you just give me a little background about Ms. Belyeu?

"It’s Miss Belyeu, she’s never been married. Marcy’s eyes took on a sly look. She’s got an old black and white photo of a handsome young guy in a frame in on her dresser. Now there’s a story for you, know what I mean?"

How did she come to be in a nursing home in Brooklyn? How long has she been here?

Marcy shrugged. She was here when they hired me. She’s something of a hoity toity. Likes to have tea in her room every afternoon, reads those old books she brought here with her, big thick ones about history and poems and stuff nobody these days care about.

Yes, Dana murmured, unfortunately that seems to be the case.

But she’s really a kindly soul. Not mean and crabby like some of these old folks.

Hmmm. Well, look, Ms. Jones, when I come back to see my grandmother, I’d like to visit with Miss Belyeu too if that’s not against the rules.

This isn’t a prison. You can visit with anybody you want if they don’t mind.

Alright, then, thanks a lot. Good night.

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Nobody wants to read the ramblings of an old lady in a nursing home, Dana.

Dana stared at Peter Gantt, editor-in-chief of McKewn Publishing. How can you say that? There’s no way this won’t be a best seller. She’s old, yes, but she’s sharp as a tack, articulate, and what a memory for details! Why, listening to her is like ... like being there. I mean, you feel the tension, smell the fear .…

If this story is so great, why has she waited until now to tell it?

Maybe because until now nobody was willing to listen!

Peter sat up straight and slapped his palms on the desk. Okay, let me get this straight. You want to relocate to New York and write a book about an old lady in a nursing home who happened to catch a glimpse of Adolf Hitler when she was a kid. Is that her only claim to fame? What else has she done that’s book worthy?

I don’t know her whole story yet, Peter. But there is a story there, I can feel it in my gut!

And you want advance money on a gut feeling?

You’ve done it before.

You’ve cranked out best sellers.

Chick lit. Shallow frippery.

That’s your genre.

No, it is not! I broke down publishing barriers that way! I made a name for myself as a published author. Now I want to write something that has beauty and depth and ... texture. I want to write something that matters!

"What if there is no more, Dana? What if her glimpse of der Führer was it, and she went on to grow tomatoes and keep cats and make elderberry wine, or whatever it is old ladies do?"

There is more! So much more! I can feel it!

This Miss Belyeu, she’s what? Eighty, you said? Odds are she wouldn’t live long enough for you to finish a book about her. Dana, tomorrow night we ring in the new millennium. This decrepit old woman’s reminiscences are not what people are going to buy.

Then I’ll do it on my own.

"You’re under contract for Falling in Lust ... Again! You can’t just walk out .…"

I’ll finish it in New York. My contract does not dictate where I must live!

"You’ve got the momentum going your way. When Falling makes the best seller list, you’ll be able to write your own ticket."

I already have. I’ve bought my ticket. I’m flying back to New York tomorrow night.

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Dana moved into her grandmother’s Manhattan apartment over the weekend. It was good to be away from San Francisco and reminders of a bitter divorce. Richard was on a honeymoon with Misty, his twenty year old trophy wife. There were no memories of him here. A fresh start. A chance to write something worthwhile. Falling in Lust ... Again was almost finished, and Dana did not plan to renew her contract for more of same. She was excited, impatient for her afternoon visit with Regina Belyeu.

Regina Belyeu’s room was simply but comfortably furnished. Two blue chintz chairs flanked a tea table by the window. A bookshelf was stuffed full of books and on the dresser was a small lamp and the framed photograph Marcy had mentioned – a black and white photo of a handsome, dark eyed young man smiling into the camera.

Marcy tells me you are a famous writer, Miss Belyeu said softly. May I inquire as to what you’ve written?

I’ve had two best sellers, popular fiction, but they’re nothing like the story you have to tell.

Well, dear, one has to begin somewhere.

But now I’d like to move on to something more substantive, something worth reading.

And you think my story is that?

It could be Pulitzer Prize material.

My, my, imagine that. Well, I’m not the first to tell this story, but it needs telling over and over. People must not be allowed to forget, lest it should happen again. Miss Belyeu gazed out the window at the flurries of snowflakes. You see that? Like goose down drifting from the sky.

What do you mean?

The snow, she said. When they ripped open the feather mattresses in the Ghetto ... but that was a bit later. She closed her eyes and her thoughts drifted back. When I first saw him, oh my dear, he was handsome – tall and dark-haired, with fiery black eyes ... and quite arrogant. He infuriated me so!

Go on, Dana said softly. Who was he?

Anton Dziengel. Her faded amber eyes softened in memory, then she smiled. But I digress. Old age ramblings. Have I confused you greatly?

Oh, no. Please go on. Dana turned on her recorder.

After I finished school, father and I kept an apartment in Paris until he was killed in a plane crash over Tanganyika. Suddenly I was adrift, alone and grieving – and ungodly rich. Mother and I had never been close. She and Father divorced when I was nine. She was an actress, you know.

Who was she?

"Her name was Elżbieta Kaczmarek, born in Warsaw. But Elizabeth Carmichael was her stage name. She starred in a number of Broadway plays. Paris by Storm was her last and greatest triumph."

I’ve heard of it.

Well, Mother kept a lover, quite risque for those times – Wilhelm Liebknecht, a young German national who was eight years younger than she. He suggested I come to them. Mother was less than enthusiastic, of course. At Dana’s perplexed look, she said, Mother’s career had begun to ebb, and she didn’t fancy reminders that she had a grown daughter.

Dana had a thousand questions but she did not want to break Miss Belyeu’s train of thought. There would be time later for questions.

"He hadn’t a złoty to his name. Vee-lee, she called him. By then she’d assumed a rather generic version of the Polish accent she’d once worked obsessively to get rid of. He was attractive, in that Aryan way that Germans fancied, and as it turned out, of course, a Nazi sympathizer." She shivered and pulled a crocheted shawl closer about her shoulders.

Shall I turn up the heat?

No, no, it’s fine. Sometimes memories cause a chill. She turned a wide, antique gold ring around and round on her finger. Where was I?

You went to your mother in Warsaw?

Yes. She had a lovely apartment in Sienna Street. Dr. Dziengel’s family had the apartment on the first floor.

This was when?

It was in May of 1939. The past year had seen Austria, then Czechoslovakia more or less wiped off the map, and the threat of war cast a blight over Poland. When I arrived, Mother sent her car for me but wasn’t there to greet me in person. I was nervous about our first meeting and not at all eager to meet Willi.

PART ONE

"This is an awesome darkness which

casts fear into everyone within it."

From Scroll of Agony: The Warsaw

Diary of Chaim A. Kaplan, page 25

CHAPTER ONE

Hello, Mother.

Regina? Elizabeth was stunned. She had last seen Regina as an awkward nine year old with her hair in braids. Now she was nineteen, slender and shapely, with a gleaming tumble of tawny gold hair and her father’s almond-shaped amber eyes. There was about her an air of sophistication from the years of traveling the world with her father.

Regina made a move toward her then froze. What had she expected, after all? A motherly embrace, warm welcome? Perhaps a fond kiss on the cheek? When had she ever known those?

And you must be Willi, Regina smile brightly, determined that they would not see her hurt.

Regina, what a pleasure! Willi kissed her hand in courtly fashion. He was tall, blond and mildly attractive. You didn’t tell me, Elżbieta, that she would be a vision of loveliness.

Elizabeth glanced beyond them to the gilt mirror over the mantle. Even in the lamplight she could see the fine lines beginning around her eyes and she had just that morning plucked a silver strand from her pale blonde hair.

The apartment is charming. Regina glanced around. The parlor was a study of baroque grandeur with coffered ceilings, intricate parquet scattered with oriental carpets, dark green and gold flecked wallpaper above the wainscoting, and plush sofa and chairs. The windows were splattered with rain drops.

We shall strive to make you happy here, Willi said.

Thank you. You’re very kind.

Well, darling, Elizabeth adopted her seductive stage voice, drawing attention back to herself, you must be very tired. Anya will show you to your room.

Actually, the flight was pleasant. Regina was stung by the dismissal. But I would like to freshen up a bit.

Dinner is at eight. Elizabeth rang for the housekeeper.

However, cocktails are at seven-thirty, Willi said, and of course you’ll join us.

Thank you, I will.

Anya led Regina down the hallway, past the immense double doors of the master suite, to the guest room she would occupy. She opened the door and stepped back for Regina to enter.

French doors opened on to a balcony that overlooked verdant gardens at the back of the apartment. The room was carpeted in rich apricot, the wall papered in peach and cream, with cream lace curtains. The open bathroom door revealed a gleam of white tile. Her trunk and valises were at the foot of the bed.

Do you wish me to unpack for you? Anya asked.

No, thank you. That will be all.

When she had gone, Regina locked the door and leaned against it. The tears she had struggled to contain slid silently down her cheeks. Reality was setting in – Father was gone and all of life stretched ahead without him.

They had enjoyed a close companionship. Aunt Mary, Father’s sister, lived in New York, but theirs was a negligible relationship, a few letters and a birthday gift each year. She had invited Regina to come to her, but though the threat of war hung like a dark cloud over Europe, it was home to her as America had never been.

When Mother cabled, inviting her to Warsaw, it had seemed a godsend, but that feeling hadn’t even lasted until she boarded the plane. She had distinct memories of her mother – her cloying perfume, quick movements to brush away imaginary wrinkles from her clothing after Regina hugged her, the bitter quarrels with Father that had led to the divorce.

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Elizabeth drank several cocktails, then picked at her food through dinner. Willi kept conversation flowing. After dinner he tuned in to Radio Deutschland’s belligerent bellowing about blutschande (blood desecration) and rassenschande (defilement of the race), and how Germany’s economic problems could only be solved by obtaining more lebensraum (living room). Regina’s German was sketchy at best but she recognized the word Juden repeated over and over. She listened politely for as long as she could stand it, at last pled exhaustion and said goodnight.

Things did seem better the next morning. She looked out the bedroom window into the garden. A pretty dark haired girl was snipping a bouquet. Sensing that she was being watched, she looked up and waved. Regina waved back. Someone near her own age, perhaps they might become friends. She must be a member of the doctor’s household in the first floor apartment.

Regina wanted to go out into the bright morning and see her beloved Warsaw again – the Stare Miasto, or Old Town with its cobblestone streets and medieval architecture, and the tall columns of the eternal flame on Piłsudski Square that framed the entrance to the Saxony Gardens where she and Father had often gone to watch the swans gliding on the lake.

When she stepped out of her room she heard the radio in the parlor tuned again to Radio Deutschland. Willi was already up and about. She tapped on the door of her mother’s room.

Come in, was the irritable reply.

The room was done in shades of rose and pink with pink tinted lampshades, all designed to minimize signs of aging. The soapy scent of Je Reviens, her signature perfume, hung heavily in the air. Elizabeth reclined among goose down pillows in a four poster bed, wearing a pink bed jacket.

Good morning, Mother. Shall we go out this morning? I can’t wait to see the city again.

Elizabeth glanced at the mantle clock. Ask Willi to drive you.

I can drive myself. Perhaps I’ll buy a vehicle of my own to run about in.

Elizabeth made a moue of distaste. I forget how grown up you are.

It’s a lovely morning. Regina crossed to the windows to open the drapes. Bright and sunny after yesterday’s rain. It would be nice if we could go out together.

Close the drapes! She smoothed the frown on her forehead. The bright light is so unflattering, you know.

I’m sorry. Regina closed them and turned to look at her mother. Would you like to go? It will be fun. We can have brunch at the Bruhl House or maybe one of those darling little cafés.

No, no, no! Please, just ...! Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at Regina apologetically. It would take me hours to get ready. Just go! Ask Willi to give you the car keys.

I think I’ll walk.

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Regina left through the back door, crossed the garden, pausing a moment to admire the fountain, then slipped out the gate into Złota Street. The enjoyment she’d anticipated waned after the encounter with her mother, but as she walked along, rediscovering the city where she’d been born, her spirits lifted. Warsaw was beautiful, and she was glad she had come back even if Mother didn’t care for her at all.

She wandered aimlessly along broad sidewalks where concrete billboards posted items of varying interest, paused to study the poster of an Irene Dunne movie, The Awful Truth, and walked on – past parks and squares that were adorned with monuments of Piłsudski on his horse, of Stefan and Casimir and Poniatowski. She passed Holy Cross Church where Frederic Chopin’s heart resided in a little urn near the altar, and walked along amongst bearded Orthodox Jews, housewives in bright colored babushkas, and students in university caps.

At the Barbican Gate she entered the cobblestone square of Stare Miasto or Starówka – the Old Town. In a small café she ordered coffee and babka, a wonderful yeast bread made with raisins and dried fruits, soaked in rum and sprinkled with powdered sugar – and watched people strolling past. If Father were alive, they would go over to the bridge where white sails billowed on the Wisła River. She paid for her coffee and babka and left.

Regina came to Piłsudski Square and entered the Saxony Gardens where nursemaids pushed perambulators while keeping a close eye on frolicking small children, and couples sat on benches or walked hand in hand along the paths. The warm sun and the swans gliding on the smooth surface of the lake soothed her.

Mother did not love her. That reality and the loneliness stabbed her fiercely in this sunlit Friday morning, but not even young Victor Richard who wanted to marry her, enticed her to return to Paris. Warsaw is my home, she thought, in spite of Mother. I will not be driven away!

Elizabeth and Willi were finishing a late lunch when Regina returned to the apartment.

So, how was your morning jaunt about town? Willi asked, pouring coffee for her.

I’d forgotten how beautiful Warsaw is. I’m very glad to be back. I’m going to stay.

"Wundervoll! Willi cried. There is plenty of room here, so much lebensraum, if you will. He grinned at his little joke. We’re delighted, aren’t we, Lizka?"

Well, darling, don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty, considering all your options? What about the apartment in Paris? Your life is there, and isn’t there a young man you’ve been seeing?

Victor Richard has proposed marriage at least once a week for the past year.

And he’s a young man of means, is he not?

I suppose, but I’d rather hoped to be in love with the man I marry.

Regina is a young woman of means, Willi said unctuously, and of course she has many options. That she chooses to remain with us is an honor.

If I stay, of course I’ll want my own apartment.

Nonsense. This is your home. Now, Lizka, we will have a party to introduce her to our friends. I am acquainted with a number of fine young men who will be captivated with lovely Regina. Get a notebook and we’ll draw up a list of guests immediately.

Regina watched the play of negative emotions on her mother’s face. When will I stop letting her hurt me so? Elizabeth had never been more than a distant and glamorous illusion always looming just out of reach.

"No, we will not draw up a list immediately. I’ve got a frightful headache. I’m going to lie down for a while. Send Anya to me with aspirin and a cool drink."

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Regina went out and sat on the steps. Sunset streaked the sky with rose and gold. Lamplight glowed in windows along the street. From the open window upstairs, Willi’s damnable Radio Deutschland blared. He had spent the afternoon working on a guest list while Elizabeth shut herself in her room with cool compresses on her eyes and vodka in a water goblet.

She did not look forward to a party introducing her to Willi’s friends or to Elizabeth’s dilettante acquaintances. Behind the lace curtains in the doctor’s apartment she could see Mrs. Dziengel moving about and she heard a girl’s laughter, comfortable sights and sounds of a home. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

The door flew open and a young man hurtled through it and down the steps. He didn’t see her until she uttered a small cry and leaped out of his path. He skidded to a halt and scowled at her.

Excuse me, she said.

That’s not a wise place to sit. You could get hurt. He was tall and terribly handsome with dark hair that curled just over his collar and sultry black eyes that blazed with anger.

It seemed safe enough when I sat down.

Appearances can be deceiving.

The pretty dark haired girl Regina had seen in the garden came out then. Anton, don’t go. Momma’s about to light the candles. Please stay. She saw Regina. Don’t pay any attention to my brother, she apologized. He’s not as horrid as he seems right now.

He could have fooled me.

Then perhaps you fool too easily! He snapped.

I’m Rebekah Dziengel. This formidable creature is my brother Anton. He has an apartment on Leszno Street, but he comes for Shabbat on Friday nights.

I’m Regina Belyeu. Elizabeth Carmichael is my mother.

And so, are you an actress also? Anton’s gaze traveled slowly over her and came back to rest on her face. She saw a flicker of admiration mingled with contempt in his eyes.

Regina raised long lashed amber eyes to his. "Are you a doctor?"

Touché, he said softly, and the arrogant nuance infuriated her.

Regina watched him stalk away and turn the corner. It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Rebekah. I’m sorry I can’t say as much for your brother.

Anton is ... he and Momma don’t ... well, they don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things.

I could empathize with that, Regina said ruefully, if he wasn’t so ... so contentious!

Well, at least you didn’t swoon at his feet as he’s accustomed to pretty girls doing.

"Swoon at his feet?" She realized that she was miffed because he hadn’t swooned at her feet as she was accustomed to young men doing.

He seems to expect it, usually with good reason, Rebekah laughed softly. I think you offended him.

If I did, it was well deserved!

I agree, but I don’t think he was as immune to your charms as he pretended to be. Rebekah glanced around at the fading twilight. I must go inside now. It’s Shabbos ... Shabbat in Hebrew, our Sabbath.

CHAPTER TWO

On Monday night Aharon Lipszyc’s flat in Wolynska Street was smoky and crowded. Aharon taught Hebrew and Jewish Studies at a private school. He embraced Zionism with fervor and was popular among the Zionist movement. He and his wife Celina had emigrated to Palestine in 1921 where they worked as teachers. There they contracted malaria. Celina died and Aharon, his health waning, returned finally to Poland.

When Anton arrived, Rebekah was there with Tzvi Grynszpan. His arm was around her waist and her cheeks bloomed like roses. Momma is wrong, Anton thought, to forbid them to marry, and Poppa, who liked and respected Tzvi, would not take a stand against his stubborn wife. He did not see his little girl at seventeen as old enough to have serious interest in a man. Now, with the Nazi war machine poised to overrun Poland .…

Rebekah’s smile wavered. She knew what Anton was thinking. She wanted to marry Tzvi and go to Eretz Israel. It was all she had wanted since she was thirteen and Tzvi had stolen a kiss beneath the rose arbor in the garden.

Yitzchak Szapiro, always the studious one with his thick glasses and air of earnestness, was hunched over a notebook scribbling away in his daily journal.

So, Yitzchak, what are you writing now? Anton slapped him on the back and sat down across from him.

Oh, Anton, sorry! I was just making notes about that ship .…

Anton, Izabela Dragomir interrupted, don’t get him started. We’ve got concerns now, here in Warsaw.

Trying to get to Palestine these days .…

The MacDonald White Paper that the British issued last month not only restricts Jewish immigration to Britain, it also restricts Jewish land purchases in Palestine.

Now, when people all over Europe are desperate .…

Their familiar words, oft repeated, and not getting them anywhere, was an indistinct buzz in Anton’s ears. He kept picturing Regina Belyeu – her amber eyes shadowed with long dark lashes, her lips red and tempting, the way the gentle breeze had rippled her tawny gold hair and the seductive scent of her perfume.

So, Anton, you are preoccupied tonight, Aharon said. You’re thinking about a girl?

Who said I was thinking about a girl?

Well, you’re not ruminating about Hebrew lessons on such a beautiful night?

A beautiful girl, no doubt, Izabela said.

The actress’s daughter? Why would I be thinking about her?

But you are. Izabela laughed. You see that he knew immediately who I meant?

How do you know her?

I don’t know her. I saw her the other morning coming out the gate on Złota Street behind your building, and I know how much you like beautiful girls.

Anton, who is this? Aharon asked.

She’s the daughter of that actress who lives upstairs with her German lover!

And she is not Jewish?

She’s a nice girl, Rebekah said.

I wouldn’t know! Let’s get down to business.

But this is business, of a sort, Aharon warned. If Poland is invaded, a Jewish man and a Christian woman together ... a death sentence.

I’m not ‘together’ with anyone! I tripped over her while she was sitting on the steps. If that’s a crime, then shoot me now!

Perhaps we should. You’re certainly not together with us tonight! Izabela was a Rumanian Jew. Her parents were dead, and she had decided to leave Rumania as fear of the Nazis grew.

I am here, aren’t I?

Anton’s father was an observant Jew. Eszter, his mother, staunchly embraced her Polish citizenship, and neither of them had any interest in Eretz Israel. While this put enmity between him and his mother, Izabela annoyed him no end with her rabid Zionism that left no room for anything else. She believed everyone should eat, drink, and dream Zionism twenty-four hours a day!

Regardless of war ... or in spite of it ... Anton hesitated, realizing that he was interested in Regina, and it made him angry that Izabela was right in her teasing.

Maybe there won’t be war, Rebekah said. Maybe now Hitler will be satisfied .…

Poland sits between Germany and Russia waiting to be crushed, Aharon slapped his palm on the table, and our people wait to be crushed ... again. Palestine is the only answer – a homeland after centuries of persecution. Am I not right, Anton?

About what? I’m sure you’re always right, Aharon.

You still don’t listen. Where is your head tonight?

I listen! We’re sitting on a powder keg! It does no good to deny it or try to wish it away. There will be war, and we all know what to expect of the Nazis when they occupy Poland.

If that happens we will fight, Tzvi said.

Along side the Poles? They don’t want us!

Then we go into the forests and fight. Tzvi was a young firebrand. He had been in more trouble than Anton because he would not bow down under the harassment of the anti-Semitic Poles.

Fine! Izabela was exasperated. All you big brave men run off to the forests and wait for the Germans, while the rest of us wait here – to die young in Warsaw instead of growing old in Palestine! She crushed out her cigarette and jumped up. I’m going home!

We have Hebrew lessons, Aharon reminded her. Among the Zionist movement, Hebrew was being revived as a spoken language, although Yiddish remained the movement’s working language. Aharon taught Hebrew classes after their meetings each week. He taught not with the Ashkenazi pronunciation but instead the Sephardi (Ivrit) pronunciation used in Palestine. Izabela, in her zeal, was his most diligent student.

Anton, Yitzchak said after Izabela stormed out and Rebekah went to the kitchen to make coffee, "you know that ship, the St. Louis that was turned away from Cuba and the United States?"

I know of it. Roosevelt ordered his Coast Guard to stop any passengers from going ashore in the United States, even if they jumped ship.

It has docked at Antwerp.

What will happen to them?

Belgium has offered to take some of the passengers, 214 to be exact. The Netherlands offered to take 181, and Britain and France will take some.

How many?

I don’t know.

Maybe those who get to Britain and France will survive ... maybe ... but the rest, Anton shook his head, I’m telling you, Germany is not going to stop until all of Europe is occupied!

So, Anton, Tzvi said as Rebekah came back with a tray of coffee and strudel, about this girl ... she has caught your eye, huh? Rebekah tells me she’s a very beautiful girl.

She truly is. Rebekah handed Tzvi his cup first. "Anton is put out, I’ll wager, because she didn’t swoon at his feet. But I believe she is accustomed to men swooning."

If she is or is not, it’s no concern of mine! Anton took a gulp of hot coffee and gasped. He stood up. Rebekah, you should go home. Momma will be angry.

She is already angry about this meeting. She sat down on Tzvi’s lap and linked her arms around his neck. Just marry me, Tzvi, now. Momma will never approve, not in a hundred years, and Poppa will never oppose her, and I want to be your wife before the Germans invade Poland.

I take it Hebrew lessons are out for tonight? Yitzchak queried.

Aharon sighed and closed his book. Nobody is in the mood for lessons.

Come, Tzvi, Anton said, let’s go to Fukier’s and drink vodka.

Not without me, you don’t! Rebekah linked her arm through Tzvi’s. Don’t glare at me so, Anton. At least I will be with my protective big brother.

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Regina heard music, voices and laughter from Fukier’s Wine Cellar. She crossed the cobblestone square of Stare Miasto and stepped inside. It was noisy and smoky and smelled of old wines, ale and cheeses. Bottles lined the walls, and a gypsy trio wended their way from table to table playing music.

Rebekah saw Regina hesitate in the doorway and nudged Anton. He frowned at her forbiddingly and took a big slug of vodka.

That’s her, huh? Tzvi asked. The pretty shikse?

She’s the one who is a figment of Izabela’s wild imagination, yes.

She looks to be much more than a figment, my friend.

Rebekah recognized the loneliness in Regina’s eyes as she scanned the boisterous crowd. Though Rebekah and her mother did not always agree, there was deep love between them. Elizabeth Carmichael was self-centered and cold, and that hateful German lover of hers .… Before Anton could stop her, Rebekah jumped up and wound through the crowd to Regina’s side.

Hi, Regina!

Rebekah, how nice to see you.

Come and sit with us.

Regina saw Anton and another young man watching them. Anton sipped vodka and regarded her insolently over the rim of his glass. Thank you, but I don’t think .…

Yes, come on, Rebekah tugged at her arm, I want you to meet Tzvi, and don’t worry about Anton. His bark is worse than his bite. Ignore him.

Tzvi rose courteously and Anton made a half-hearted effort as the girls reached the table. Rebekah introduced her to Tzvi. And my brother, of course .…

We’ve already met, Anton growled.

It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tzvi said. I’ve heard about you, of course.

Not all bad, I hope. Regina sat down beside Anton who glowered darkly and downed the rest of his vodka.

Lovely things from Rebekah, of course, Tzvi squeezed Rebekah’s hand affectionately.

And not so lovely ...? Regina cut her eyes toward Anton as she spoke, and the moment the words were out of her mouth, she blushed hotly. How coy and flirtatious that was! She hadn’t behaved that way since she was a gauche fourteen year old suffering through her first infatuation! Her embarrassment was not lost on him. She saw the sardonic gleam in his dark eyes before he turned back to Tzvi to continue their conversation.

It won’t be pleasant for anyone, not the Poles, nor anyone else caught here, Anton said, but for Jews, he shook his head, the death knell has already sounded.

Then are you so certain the Germans will invade Poland? How inane! There again, the moment the words were out of Regina’s mouth she blushed hotly. Of course it was going to happen.

It’s just a matter of when, Tzvi said. And you, Regina, how much longer will you stay in Warsaw? I suppose you and your mother will go to the States?

Mother might go, but I intend to stay here.

You’re a fool if you don’t go, Miss Belyeu! Anton snapped. When the Germans cross the Polish border, there won’t be any patience or leniency for self-proclaimed martyrs!

Don’t be so surly, Anton! His rudeness annoyed Rebekah. Regina isn’t .…

Regina can evacuate with the Americans when things get rough.

I was born here, I’m also a Polish citizen!

But you’re not a Jew!

No, I’m not. Regina sipped her vodka, felt its warmth course through her veins. If I were, I would already be in Palestine.

"That’s where you’re wrong ... again. If you were Jewish, you would not be in Palestine. Have you not heard of the White Paper?"

I ... I don’t think I have.

The British have given in even further to Arab demands! They’ve published the MacDonald White Paper stating that an independent Arab state would be created within the next ten years, and Jewish immigration is limited to 75,000 for the next five years. After that, it will cease altogether. It also forbids land sales to Jews in 95% of the territory of Palestine.

But what about the ... the Balfour Declaration? Regina tried to remember from school if that was the correct edict. She could not bear for him to think her stupid. I thought that it’s purpose was to establish a Jewish National Home in Palestine?

It was, Tzvi said, twenty years ago. It’s been a slow but steady whittling away since.

The Churchill White Paper in 1922, Anton told her, confirmed the right of Jewish immigration but ... well, basically it said that the British government did not wish to see Palestine become as Jewish as England is English!

And there’s been more, much more, Tzvi said. There was heavy Jewish immigration between 1933 and 1935 when that mustachioed buffoon came into power.

Would that he were merely a buffoon, Rebekah sighed.

As I was saying, the British response to the immigration was, as usual, appeasing the Arabs, and it has only gotten worse.

But that’s wrong! Regina imagined she could feel the hot breath of German occupation breathing down her neck. How much worse it would be for these people!

Yes, it is wrong. But what difference does it make? Rebekah’s dark eyes filled with tears. We can’t get to Palestine! All our work, our studying, the wonderful little farm ... all for nothing!

A farm?

Yes, a farm where our young people are learning to till the land, to bring it to life again.

Anton rose abruptly. It’s late. We should go.

Escort Regina home, Anton, Rebekah said. It’s a beautiful night and Tzvi and I are going for a long leisurely walk.

Come along, he said to Regina. I’ll see you home and let these two love birds be alone.

They took a drozhka. At Regina’s apartment house, Anton dismissed the drozhka and the clicking of the horses’ hooves was loud in the late night silence. Regina fished in her handbag for her key, and Anton watched her. The moonlight glimmered on her tawny gold hair. She looked up at him and her full red lips seemed aching to be kissed. Why not, he thought, if it’s what she wants. Even as he took her in his arms and savored their sweetness, he refused to admit that at that moment it was what he wanted more than anything in the world.

Anton released her, looked down at her with a ghost of a smile twitching his lips though his dark eyes smoldered with passion.

How dare you! Regina was aghast at her response to him. She felt flushed, then faint. She thought she should slap him or ... or something! So why was she poised to go into his arms again should he reach for her?

Well?

Well what?

You liked it. Shall I kiss you again?

You insufferable, arrogant ...!

Anton caught her about the waist and pulled her close. His mouth came down on hers and his kiss was rough and demanding, then deliciously soft and seeking, until he felt her capitulate. He set her from him and she was breathless and trembling.

"If I’m mistaken in thinking you wanted to be kissed, Babusiu, then I apologize. But I don’t think I am." He spun on his heel and trotted down the steps.

"Babusiu, Regina murmured, watching him disappear around the corner. She touched her lips that were still tingling from his kiss. He called me Babusiu. If I’m not mistaken, she whispered, you wanted that kiss as much as I did."

CHAPTER THREE

When Regina woke, sunlight streamed through the lace curtains and birds twittered outside the window. She rang for coffee and Anya appeared moments later with a small tray. She dressed and took her coffee out to the balcony. So beautiful, she thought, the sweet fragrance of lilacs and prisms of dew glistening on the junipers. Rebekah was daydreaming on a stone bench beside the fountain. Regina went downstairs to join her.

It’s a beautiful morning.

Yes, lovely.

And how was your evening alone with Tzvi?

We want to be married, but my mother disapproves of Tzvi. He lives with his mother on Dzielna Street, Rebekah blushed prettily, so we like to go for long walks just to be alone.

He’s very nice, I like him a lot. I envy you, being in love. I’m very lonely sometimes. My mother ... well, she only loves Elizabeth Carmichael.

Oh, but she must love you! Maybe she doesn’t know how to show it, you’ve been apart most of your life and she’s been so wrapped up in her career.

Regina shook her head. I’ve tried to convince myself of that, but I finally have to accept the truth. It hurts deeply, but ... I’m not a child anymore, I have my own life to live.

And maybe you’ll find someone to fall in love with too.

Maybe.

It is wonderful, being in love, but for the threat of war. Rebekah bent to pluck a flower. You know, she mused, Anton is not always as surly and horrid as you’ve seen him.

I suppose not.

Perhaps you’ve noticed that he is a very attractive man. Some girls would give a lot for just a smile from him.

And do they ever receive one?

On occasion. She tossed the blossom away. Momma asked me to invite you to dinner next Thursday evening. Please come.

I’d love to, but Mother and Willi are having a party that night, to introduce me to their friends. She saw Rebekah’s face fall. But I’d adore an invitation any other night. I’m looking forward to it.

Me too. Rebekah smiled to herself. She suspected her new friend was looking forward to more than just meeting her parents.

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Baroness Solange Lamarliere was one of the most intriguing personages in Warsaw’s high society, and invitations to her lavish parties were highly prized. Elizabeth despised her but dared not exclude her from Willi’s party. Her notoriety was tempered by her innate merriment and charm. Not that the women didn’t gossip terribly about her, for of course they did, but they regarded her risque mien as rather benign since she was not known to dally with married men.

The Baroness saw Elizabeth watching her daughter who danced with Maximilian Koenigsdorff. Regina’s black voile dress with an off-shoulder ruffle, swirled gracefully as the tall, blond German waltzed her about the floor.

My dear, Regina is absolutely ravishing.

Ummmm, Elizabeth murmured. She abhorred everything about Solange, from her odalisque beauty and blase airs to the provocative scent of her L’Heure Bleue perfume! She was nothing but a Paris guttersnipe, barely seventeen, when she seduced and married an aging French baron, Etienne Lamarliere, who conveniently dropped dead less than a year later. Now she was just turned thirty, ungodly wealthy, and well known among high society in the European capitals.

She’s got every man in the room drooling over her. Might that conceivably be the cause of your dour visage?

I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.

Just that this must be the worst possible time for a beautiful adult daughter to appear on the scene. Word about is that you were passed over for the part of Adrienne in Vidal Roquebrune’s new play. He wants a fresh young face, or some such?

Roquebrune is a bucolic fool!

And you mourn incessantly for what can no longer be. Solange’s black eyes sparkled with wicked humor. "Pitié, Elżbieta, do something worthwhile with your life before it’s too late."

Oh? Marry a doddering old roue as you did, in the hope that he’ll drop dead as quickly?

At least I didn’t frivol away my fortune on a block headed cretin like Willi. She chuckled softly, then her smile disappeared. Perhaps Willi will acquaint you with some elderly German aristocrats ... once they take Poland.

Regina was weary of the party before the first hour ended. There was an air of phrenetic gaiety. The guests laughed a bit too loudly and smiled too widely, pretending no concern about impending war. Baroness Lamarliere’s dégagé flirtations with Willi’s German national friends rankled some of the guests, but she didn’t appear to care. Regina liked the Baroness with her disarray of dark curls, refreshing openness and risque humor, but she’d had her fill of the strutting and posturing of Willi and his friends with their boasting about their beloved Vaterland. She kept expecting them to click heir heels together or shove their arms in the air and shout Sieg Heil!

Maximilian Koenigsdorff was one of Willi’s favorites, but she had not liked him at all. Fritz Schroder was a bit of a bore, but lacking the arrogance she so detested. And she had liked Klaus Bauer well enough until he’d begun to wax ecstatic over der Führer. And, she thought, if the vision of a certain dark eyed young man did not intrude upon her thoughts with sultry persistence.

Oh, there you are. Willi came toward her with a grin. Come, allow me a dance with you. You’ve been quite the belle of the ball tonight. He bowed at the waist and extended his hand to her.

No thank you.

"So you prefer Max? His father is one of der Führer’s most trusted people."

I don’t prefer him at all. Please excuse me!

Willi watched her wend her way through the crowd toward the kitchen. He had seen the loathing in her eyes. Loathing put there by her new Jewish friends downstairs!

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Regina sat down on the bench in the garden and heaved a weary sigh. Maybe it’s a mistake to stay here, she thought. Her mother’s coldness continued to hurt, and Willi, with his blind devotion to the little Nazi fanatic, sickened her. Yet she did love Warsaw, and she had to admit she was more than mildly attracted to Anton.

She heard footsteps on the flagstones and turned to see Maximilian with his cocky smile walking toward her.

"Liebling, it’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?" He spread his arms and looked up at the moon peering dusty gold through the leaves of the chestnut trees.

I was about to go back inside, Max.

Not just yet. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and used gentle force to hold her there. This night, this lovely garden ... it’s made for romance.

I’m afraid not! Regina pulled away but he caught her arm and lowered his mouth toward hers. She turned her head so that his lips only grazed her cheek.

Regina, Regina, your pretty little pretense of demureness inflames a man’s blood, he chuckled softly, but of course you know that.

Let go of me! Regina wrenched suddenly out of his grip. He caught the off-shoulder ruffle of her dress and it ripped loose.

Max, that is quite enough! The Baroness hurried down the terrace steps, her heels clicking on the flagstones and her violet silk skirt swirling about her ankles. Unhand her immediately!

Maximilian gaped at the Baroness and let go of the torn ruffle. There has been a misunderstanding.