As the Russian forces approached, Dr. Lange assured me that moving the twenty-seven crates containing the Amber Room meant preserving the riches of the Reich. In reality, he and Koch had plans of their own. They were hiding the room for themselves and, in the process, implicating me in the biggest heist of all time. It was calculated and clever, putting an unknowing young apprentice in the middle to blame later, if necessary.
When we sealed the crates to move them, I noticed that one was unlike the others.
“Why is this crate marked differently?” I had asked Lange.
He was all too eager to tell me. “Inside that one,” he breathed, “is another very small box. It contains the crown jewel of the Amber Room.”
“What is it?”
“A tiny amber swan.” Lange put his hand to his chest, practically over his heart. “It is the Führer’s most favorite.”
We dug a secret bunker deep beneath the castle and locked the crates inside. I then painted the stone floor above the cellar to look aged. The door to the cellar was undetectable.
But I knew where it was.
I also had the key.
? ? ?
Hidden behind the organ, I carefully pulled the lid from the small wooden box and removed the top layer of straw. Even in the low light, the amber swan glistened and shimmered. People had fought for it, killed for it, died for it.
And I had it.
Had Dr. Lange gone looking for the key? Had he discovered my betrayal?
I carefully arranged the straw over the swan and slid the top of the small crate back into place. The key was my revenge against Lange. But the tiny crate with the swan was more important.
It held my revenge against Hitler.
emilia
The shoe poet woke early, rapping our feet with his walking stick.
“It is time to cross the iced lagoon,” he announced. “If it were summer, I would swim across. I am a very strong swimmer,” he told the wandering boy.
Poet said once we crossed the ice, we could walk down the narrow strip of land to one of the ports. There was no other option. The Russians surrounded us on all sides. But where was the knight? Had he walked across the ice alone?
I overheard Joana talking to Eva. “Do you have any cosmetics? It might make Emilia look a little older, like the Latvian in the papers. I can tell them she’s on her way to meet her boyfriend.”
Boyfriend.
I thought of August and how hard he worked the family’s land. He was so kind to come into the kitchen and apologize for his mother’s cruel behavior.
“Don’t pay any attention to her, Emilia. Someday she’ll get a dose of her own medicine,” he’d said.
I learned things about him, just by watching. I knew which section of rabbit pleased him most, that he preferred autumn to spring, and that he would rather take his breakfast bread alone in the stable than with his parents in the dining room.
I watched intently, remembering Mama’s words: If you observe carefully, dear, you won’t have to ask. Mama observed too. Visitors never had to ask for cream with their coffee or jam for their tea. She had noted their preferences long before.
Joana knew who was hurting and I knew secrets about the knight. But I felt certain that no one knew my secrets, except maybe the ravens that nested above the cold cellar.
joana
My hips and back ached from sleeping on the cold stone floor. I had woken in the middle of the night and imagined I saw the German standing above me in the dark. When I blinked he was gone and I realized it was a dream.
I was concerned about his wound. That’s what I told myself. But the truth poked at me. Why was I looking for him? His wound was healing well; he was stronger than most. I was embarrassed to admit it: I wanted to see him again, not to evaluate his wound but to discover his name, his mission, and why he had taken the drawing from my suitcase. Ingrid said he was a thief, but she thought he was stirred to know me, not to hurt me. I wanted to believe her. The war was full of brutality. Were there any nice young men still out there?
“He’s probably here somewhere.” Ingrid smiled. “Watching.”
I had glanced around the crowded cathedral many times the night prior, wondering if she was right.
“Joana,” whispered Ingrid, reaching for my hands. “The Russians draw nearer each day. Without you . . . I can’t bear to think what would have happened to me.”
“We just need to cross the ice,” I assured her. “We’re close. The crossing point is only a short walk down the hill.”
We gathered our belongings. Ingrid spooled the soft scarf from the German soldier around her neck.
Emilia smiled at me behind red lipstick as we left the cathedral.
What a group we were. A pregnant girl in love, a kindly shoemaker, an orphan boy, a blind girl, and a giantess who complained that everyone was in her way when she herself took up the most room. And me, a lonely girl who missed her family and begged for a second chance.
? ? ?
We were among the first to cross. The expanse of ice looked enormous. “Fifty meters between each group,” instructed the soldiers. “We must not stress the ice all at once. Hurry.”
How could we hurry? The walk was kilometers long and the ice was slippery.
“Let me go first,” said Ingrid, her eyes still bandaged. “Alone.”
“Absolutely not,” I told her. “We’ll go together.”