“I don’t know—” Ilse began, but what she didn’t know, Audrey never found out.
A thunderous banging sounded from downstairs, followed by male voices shouting.
Audrey’s heart pounded against her tonsils. “What was that?”
One spectacular bang and the sound of splintering wood confirmed that someone had broken through the front door.
“Good God, someone’s in the house!” Ilse hissed.
Audrey’s mind flew to images of the roundup, of guns and blood and Ruth mouthing I love you. She could not let them take Ilse. Her eyes flashed around the room, the lock on the door, the window. And then they landed on the ceiling.
“The attic!” she said. “Go!”
Ilse struggled on the rope ladder, feet slipping in her haste to climb, but she made it to the top. Audrey scrambled up next and hoisted the rope, tossing it into a pile beside her. There were two different male voices on the stairs now, taunting, somehow simultaneously jovial and angry. Audrey rushed to lower the door back into place and her eyes fell to the glittering array of Ruth’s jewels on the dresser below.
“No,” she breathed, a new horror overlaying her acute fear.
“What?” Ilse whispered.
“The jewellery.”
Ilse’s hand flew to her mouth.
In the briefest wild moment, Audrey debated retrieving them, but the men were in the hallway. They could either risk immediate death at the hands of violent intruders or gamble their future survival by losing their most valuable assets.
Audrey pressed her lips together to stop them from trembling. Closing her eyes against what might prove to be a calamitous loss, she shut the attic door.
“They’re here for me, aren’t they?” Ilse whispered, fear keen in her eyes. “The Gestapo?”
They both jumped as the bedroom door sprang open below and instinctively retreated a few paces from the attic hatch.
“Ha!” one of the men called. “Lars! Right here!”
The other man let out a satisfied sigh. “Christ, it’s like they just left it there for us.” A nasty chuckle. “Grab it all, and we’ll head downstairs for the silver.”
“Best score of the night so far though,” the first one said.
Audrey’s eyes found Ilse’s and she was sure that she, too, was picturing this fiend stuffing Ruth’s jewels into some dirty sack.
“How many houses left on the list?” the second man asked.
“Not sure. Three or four?”
More thuds and grunts told them that the rest of Ilse’s room was being ransacked. A minute later they retreated, their voices on the stairs, and Audrey’s breathing slowed a little. She held on to Ilse, whose limbs were curled in on themselves. She felt so frail. Just when it seemed no more could be taken from her, here were two bandits to strip her family home of its heirlooms and valuables. Audrey worried this latest assault would break her.
“He said something about a list,” Ilse said, pulling away. “Papa had to register our property back in the spring. Do you think they’re going to all the Jewish houses? Or was this just because they think we aren’t here? After what—what happened today?”
Audrey thought of the shouting she’d heard earlier. “No, I think this is all some sort of plan.”
“A plan for what?” Ilse asked.
Audrey swallowed. Her arms wanted to hold Ilse again, to touch something solid and familiar, because everything was terribly, terribly wrong.
Half an hour later, after the noise had ceased and they could be sure the men had vacated, they emerged from the attic. Audrey’s jaw dropped at the sight, astonished at how much damage had been wrought in a few minutes’ time. Ilse’s drawers were all open, the bedclothes torn off and tossed to the floor. The large brass lamp on the dresser was overturned. They found a similar sight in the other bedrooms.
Downstairs, Audrey went to the front door and listened, picking up the sounds of banging and shouting in the distance. She peered outside, but their side street was deserted, quiet, and there was no sign of broken doors or windows in any of the neighbouring houses. It confirmed her suspicions that the attack on the Kaplans was targeted: they were the only Jewish family on the street. The realization trickled down her spine like cold water. She withdrew into the house, shutting the door against the terror outside, but the lock was broken. Together she and Ilse dragged the heavy coat tree over and shoved it against the door. It would have to do for now.
In the dining room, the curio cabinet had been emptied of its silverware and some of the crystal. The silver candelabras were gone from the sideboard and shards of china plates encrusted the floor. In the sitting room, the large front window that overlooked the street was shattered. It wasn’t even for entry. It was purely for sport. Mercifully, Ira’s book collection appeared intact. The thieves, it seemed, did not understand the library’s value.
Ilse stared at it all with blank eyes, still wrapped in her robe. Her mother’s necklace glittered at her collarbone. “We aren’t even safe in our homes anymore,” she said.
Audrey had no response.
Ilse gestured at the mess. “We have to clean this up. But I can’t do it tonight.” She said it dully, as though she were simply too tired, or had other commitments. As though it didn’t matter either way. And that made Audrey fear for her mental state. There was only so much a person could absorb in one day. Audrey nodded. Better they try to get some sleep and approach these tremendous hurdles with rested minds tomorrow.
They trudged back upstairs. After a brief discussion, they agreed that the house was not secure enough for them to sleep unprotected in their bedrooms. It was cold, but the attic felt safer. Seizing some blankets and pillows, they dressed themselves in their heaviest clothing, then scaled the ladder with a pair of candles. The room felt much smaller than it had when Audrey and Ilse played here as children, but the low, sloped ceilings, yellow warmth of candlelight, and piles of quilts exuded a much-welcome sense of security.
They’d nearly drifted off when another loud noise in the distance jostled them.
“What now?” Audrey muttered. Wrapping a quilt around her shoulders, she walked, ducking against the slope of the ceiling, to one of the two small windows. In the moonlight, she could see into the neighbouring street, and beyond that, the peaked roofs of buildings and churches and—her stomach plummeted—the unmistakable orange glow of fires burning. She creaked open the window. The sounds of screams, crashes, booming echoes and harsh laughter rose up in the night air. It sounded like a riot, like animals tearing each other apart.
I fear this is only the beginning.
Audrey felt Ilse at her elbow. “That’s the synagogue,” Ilse said, her voice brittle. “They’re burning the synagogue.”
Chapter 6
Kate
