The Sky Beneath Her(75)

How long had Sigrid and William been together? I stood silent. He was toying with me. Sigrid had told him about me, or maybe he’d always known?

“Alfred would never have found your tiny bookshop if I hadn’t told him about it.” When I didn’t respond, he added, “German and Austrian officers are a very efficient group of men, though some have rather harsh methods. They don’t tolerate resistance or disloyalty from their soldiers or their women.”

Panic tightened harder, like Alfred’s fingers around my neck. William was enjoying my fear, just as Alfred had.

“I found your husband a calculating bastard, but he could be very charming.”

I met his gaze but remained silent. I didn’t remember him from the party. So much had happened that night, and I barely recalled the hundreds of lost faces.

“When you vanished after the party, the poor man was beside himself. He’ll move heaven and earth to find you.”

Heat warmed my face.

“That night at the party, you played the piano. Many of the officers liked watching you. Many wondered aloud what you could do with those delicate hands.”

I wasn’t so naive that I hadn’t heard such whispered comments. “This isn’t a proper conversation.”

“I’m sorry.” He drew on the end of his cigarette and allowed the smoke to trickle out his mouth and nose. “I shouldn’t be so bold with Alfred’s wife. He would skin me alive.”

“My husband died in the war. I’ve never been to Vienna. I’m not who you think I am.”

“You’re exactly who I think you are. You call yourself Gertrude now, but we both know your real name is Naida.”

Naida. She was weak and always afraid. I’d left Naida behind in Vienna. “I must go.”

He blocked my path. “Where are you going, Gertrude? We’re trapped on this ship until New York. There’s nowhere you can run that I cannot find you.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Your husband wants you back. He’ll especially want the child.”

His deep voice amplified Sigrid’s earlier threat. I could get away from her, but I wasn’t so sure I could escape William.

Tears jammed my throat. I’d heard tales of murders as I’d moved from port to port. I had prayed for the lost souls, including my own. Now I implored the ocean to save me.

“Go on. Run. But Sigrid and I will be waiting for you on the dock. It won’t take long to ship you back to Vienna.”

I hurried my awkward frame across the deck and headed through the portal. Unshed tears rose, quickly filling my eyes. But I refused to let one spill. I kept my chin up and put one foot in front of the other until I’d reached my room. I locked the door. My hand over my mouth, I sank down on my bunk. The past I’d been running from was determined to ensnare me again.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway. The person paused outside my door. A knuckle wrapped against the door three times. I sat still, barely breathing. Finally, the person moved on, only to enter room 112.

I rose and crossed to my bag, then pulled out the kitchen knife I’d carried since Vienna. Many times, I’d nearly tossed it into a river or the ocean, but the waters always rose as if to warn me I needed to keep it. When I was in Lisbon, I’d visited a blacksmith in a small shop on a darkened alley. I’d paid well to have it sharpened so that it could slice through a single sheet of paper.

Seven months of running had changed something inside me. I hid out of necessity but not fear. I was not Naida. I had escaped Alfred, Europe, and Port of Spain. And soon I’d be in New York.

If my past was destined to follow me, I wouldn’t accept it lightly. I would die fighting now.

I would remain free.

And this child would never be sent back to Alfred.





Chapter Twenty-Nine


Gertrude





Friday, April 24, 1942, 9:30 a.m.


Less than four hours until the Oceanus is torpedoed


When the morning bell announced breakfast, I heard William and Sigrid leave their cabin. I sat on my bunk fully dressed, the knife gripped in my fist. I’d spent most of the night awake and wondering how I could slip away.

The steward knocked on my door several times. He always came when the breakfast bell rang as guests ambled to the dining room. This was his chance to clean the rooms. Each day, I assured him that I didn’t need towels, nor did my room require cleaning.

“Mrs. Werner? It’s Steward Thomas.”

This time I crossed to the door, slipped the knife into my pocket, and opened it. “Good morning,” I said.

The young sailor’s startled gaze rose to mine.

“Would you change my bed linens today?” I asked.

“Of course.”

Down the hallway, I saw that William and Sigrid’s door was open. Another steward appeared, carrying their soiled sheets, which he shoved into a cloth bag.

In the hallway, I walked toward the toilet and past William and Sigrid’s room. As I closed the lavatory door partway, the second steward turned away from their room, then closed and locked the door behind him. He moved to the next room.

I quickly left the toilet. As the other steward cleaned my room, I walked back toward his cart, where his keys dangled from a small hook by a stack of towels.

My heart raced as I stared at the numbered silver keys dangling and daring me. As I drew closer, I saw that each key was marked with its corresponding room number. With careful, quiet steps, I hurried to the cart and snatched the keys carefully in my fingers, holding them tight. I had only a short time before the stewards realized the keys were gone.