Part 22 (2/2)

That comment caught me off guard. I didn't know how to respond, so I pressed on about Herr Mueller. ”I lived in Germany under the n.a.z.is. I know what these men are capable of doing. They're merciless.”

”You'll soon find out even more about them. Because, darling, you're on a one-way ticket right back to Berlin,” she said, smiling coldly.

A chill ran down my spine. This woman was heartless. ”Ruth, how could you leave?”

She narrowed her eyes. ”Don't you dare judge me. You of all people! We're not so very different, you and I. We both know how to use men to get what we want. After all, you just married Robert to avoid deportation.”

Without thinking, I blurted out, ”I am not using Robert! I love him!” That p.r.o.nouncement surprised even me. I was not even aware of when I had come to that realization.

She smirked, as if I had just made a joke, and walked over to the window. She inhaled her cigarette and slowly blew the smoke upward, just like Aunt Martha's movie starlets.

”I am not like you,” I said, struggling to compose myself. ”What I meant was how could a mother leave her own child?”

Eyes fixed out the window, she said, ”It was better that I left. I never wanted a baby. Robert did. He wanted a houseful. Not me. I never had the feelings for the boy that a mother should have. And then he wasn't right. Something was never right about him. He cried and cried and cried. He was always crying. Robert was better with him.”

She threw the cigarette down on the tiled floor and twisted her shoe on it to extinguish it. ”It's better for him to be with Robert,” she repeated, though her voice lacked conviction.

I couldn't quite decide if she was trying to convince herself of that or excuse herself. She walked over to the door, apparently finished with our conversation.

Just as she reached her hand for the doork.n.o.b, I asked, ”Wait! Aren't you at all curious about William?”

She paused.

Finally. A crack in her armor.

”He's a wonderful boy, Ruth. He looks like you. He keeps a picture of you by his bedside.” I could tell I had found a hook; her shoulders softened, ever so slightly.

She kept her head down. ”Did Robert ever find out what's wrong with him?”

I rose to my feet and went closer to her, hoping to detain her a little. ”Yes. William is deaf. But he's learning how to communicate. He's learning to lip read and to speak. To talk, Ruth! And be understood. He's extremely intelligent.”

I stopped for a moment to let her take that in. ”The only thing wrong with William is that he has a damaged nerve in his ear. He can't hear. That's all. But if he were to have been born in n.a.z.i Germany, he would have been sent to a concentration camp and eliminated. That's the word the n.a.z.is use for killing innocent people. Innocent children. Disposed of, like rubbish. William wouldn't have been permitted to live, because he wasn't perfect. That's the Germany that Herr Mueller loves. That's the Germany he wants to take you to.”

She whipped around. ”I know all about Germany. I've already been, two years ago when I first left Copper Springs. Friedrich has taken me all over the world on his business trips. Rome, Buenos Aires, Rio de Janeiro. Trust me, Louisa, I know exactly what I'm doing. I couldn't be happier.”

Just then, we heard a pitiful sound-a wail or a moan-it sounded like an animal caught in a trap. It came from William. He had poked his head out from under the bed and recognized his mother. His eyes were wide with shock.

Ruth stepped back, clearly stunned. Then she opened the door and rushed out, slamming it shut behind her. I heard her walk, almost run, down the hall, her stiletto high heels echoing their staccato notes.

It suddenly occurred to me that she hadn't locked the door in her haste, but then I heard the guard walk over, lock it, and go back to his chair.

I went over and hugged William. He buried his face in my shoulder. I didn't know what else I could do or say. I just held him and rocked him in my arms. He didn't cry. He just seemed to go deep within himself.

My mind whirred with worries. What if Ruth told Mueller that he was here? I couldn't come up with any reasonable plan of escape; I was guarded too carefully. Nor could I jeopardize William's safety by trying to escape, either. Again, our only option was to wait.

I just kept sensing that word from G.o.d. Wait. But for what?

Obviously, Mueller was preparing to leave this villa, and it looked as if he didn't intend to return. From what I could see at the window, he was emptying the house of all valuable a.s.sets. All afternoon, the servants hurriedly carried out cardboard boxes, oil paintings, in large gilded frames, and wooden crates to the truck. How much of it was stolen? I wondered, fairly certain of the answer.

Later, when Maria came in to bring dinner, I watched her carefully but didn't notice any sign of a change towards me. Could Ruth have some tiny flicker of maternal instinct left in her and not have told Herr Mueller that William was here, hidden in my room?

I hoped so. I prayed so.

I wondered if I was taken along with Herr Mueller, if Ruth would somehow get William back to Robert. But judging from her reaction when she saw him, I didn't hold much confidence in that plan.

In broken Spanish coupled with gestures, I tried to ask Maria when Herr Mueller planned to leave.

”Maana.”

Tomorrow. Not much time left to hope for a rescue. I pondered uneasily what to do next. I wondered if Robert could find my paper trail. I decided Maria might be a better risk to hope for help than Ruth.

I tried to prepare William for what I thought might happen, but I didn't want to frighten him. I told him if I was taken away, he was to wait until he knew the trucks were gone, and knew for sure that Herr Mueller was gone, and then to find Maria. I was determined not to let Herr Mueller get near William. I found paper and a pencil and wrote Robert's name, address and phone number on it. With a prayer, I put it in William's pocket.

He was troubling me; I couldn't read his expression. He looked far away.

It was a terrible feeling to have to entrust a little boy into the hands of Herr Mueller's servants, but I had no other choice.

That night, again, I barely slept. Random thoughts bounced around in my head. Puzzles pieces started falling into place.

Just last week, in the church, when Herr Mueller tried to blackmail me into being his mistress, I accused him of ”wanting to do to me what he did to her.” I had meant Glenda. I now realized that by his answer, ”she came to me of her own free will,” he thought I meant Ruth.

Then my thoughts bounced to William, sleeping fitfully next to me. Spitting on Herr Mueller's shoes, throwing rotten eggs at him. Could William have seen Herr Mueller visit Ruth at their house? Is that why he hated Herr Mueller so much? Somehow, he must have known Ruth left Copper Springs with Herr Mueller but was unable, or too young, or both, to communicate that piece of information. Could he have been looking for her this morning when he slipped out through the window?

Then the last piece of this puzzle fell into place and I sat straight up in bed, heart hammering.

To William, girl meant Ruth! I had never taught William a name to call his mother. Neither had Robert. Since she was never spoken of in the Gordon home, she was never even given a name. Not Ruth, not Mother, not Mommy. When he had pointed to her picture by his bedside and said ”girl,” I had thought he meant ”female.” Ignorantly, I chided myself, I then taught him the word for ”boy.” He was asking me for her name. That's why he said, ”Bad man, Girl go.”

How could I have been so blind? He had been trying to tell us all along Herr Mueller was involved with Ruth. His tricks on Herr Mueller, and now his limited words, were all such obvious signs that William knew. He knew his mother had left with Herr Mueller. He knew.

I shuddered. What if Herr Mueller were to know William was here with me? What would he do?

I thought back to Ruth asking me if I loved Robert. I answered her without thinking. My answer came from deep inside, yet I knew it to be true. How close I felt to him-how much a part of the fabric of the Gordon family. With an ache in my throat, I realized I might not see him again.

In the middle of the night, I was startled awake from a restless sleep by a key turning in my door. I sat up, trying to hide William. My heart pounded so fast I thought it might explode. Please don't be Herr Mueller, I prayed. Don't be Herr Mueller.

Ruth tiptoed in. ”Louisa! Get up and get William. Now! Hurry! I'm getting you out of here.”

She didn't need to say another word; we sprang into action. We crept out of the room where we had been kept as prisoners for the last few days, past that blessedly useless guard who was sound asleep, snoring loudly. We moved quickly, obediently, behind her. She led us down the hall and out a back door. A car was waiting. She handed me the keys. ”Drive as fast as you can! Don't stop!”

As we scrambled into the car, William stopped, turned and said something to her.

”What did he say?” she asked me, her eyes glued to him.

”He wants you to come home.”

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