His Majesty's Hope(88)
“What is it?” John asked.
“My father, you see, is the conductor of the Deutsche Oper Berlin—the Berlin Opera,” she said. “He travels quite a bit, usually in Germany, but also sometimes to Austria. He’s about to go to Switzerland.”
“We’d need papers,” Maggie said.
“Not necessarily.” Elise took a deep breath. “I’m going to get you out of Berlin—out of Germany—and to Switzerland.”
“Yes, but how?” Maggie said.
“My idea—and bear with me—is to hide you in the Berlin Opera’s musical instrument cases—the double bass, the timpani—when they travel to Zürich.”
Ernst, John, and Maggie looked stunned by the suggestion. “Would we fit?” Maggie asked, after a moment.
“Oh yes.” Elise nodded. “My friends and I used to hide in cases all the time when we were younger. It’s absolutely possible for an adult to hide in a number of instrument cases.”
“And could we breathe?” Ernst asked.
“We’ll have to make some holes.”
Maggie frowned. “Do you really think your father would do it? Isn’t your mother a high-ranking Nazi?”
“Yes,” Elise said, “but surely you remember their argument, the night of her birthday? Her party membership put quite a strain on their marriage. It’s one of the reasons my father’s never around anymore—he can’t stand what she’s turned into. He’s been here for the last few weeks, but sleeping in one of the guest rooms. Besides,” she continued resolutely, “he doesn’t need to know what we’ve done until after you’ve arrived safely in Switzerland. What other options do we have?”
Maggie was impressed—her half sister’s plan was good. Impossibly dangerous, but good. She smiled. “I love it. Let’s do it.”
Clara Hess stood in the adjoining attic room, her ear pressed to the thin wall. This new information, she realized, called for a change in plans.
She tiptoed to the staircase, then made her way down. It was time to get ready for the opera.
Chapter Eighteen
The Staatsoper Unter den Linden, or Berlin Opera House, was an enormous building with soaring columns and red Nazi banners snapping in hot gusts of wind. But to Elise, the massive structure was like a second home; she’d been coming here to see her father rehearse or conduct ever since she was old enough to walk.
Elise bypassed the grand entrance and went in through the stage door around back. “Hallo, Herr Benz,” she called to the guard on duty, a bald man, squinting through his pince-nez, reading Der Stürmer, the weekly Nazi party newspaper.
“Guten Tag, gnädiges Fräulein,” Martin Benz called back, tipping an imaginary hat. “You’re here to see your papa? They’re rehearsing now—room one oh eight B.”
“Thank you, Herr Benz,” she said, with a mock curtsey, something they’d been doing for years. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Elise walked quickly through the long corridors of the opera house until she reached the rehearsal room. She could see her father standing on a small apple box, baton in hand, behind a music stand that held a thick, pencil-marked score.
The orchestra was just finishing the overture to Wagner’s Lohengrin, the violins almost angelic in their high fermate. Hess lowered his baton and observed a moment of silence, like a prayer. Coming back to reality, he spied his daughter. “Elise!” he said, opening his arms.
“Papa!” She ran to him, like a little girl.
“Have you come to join me for lunch, mein Engel?” he asked, packing up his score. Around them, violinists were chatting and joking, putting their instruments back into their cases.
“Nein, Papa—I have a request for you. A few requests, really.”
“Anything, Engel.”
“First, I would like to come see tonight’s performance.”
He flourished his baton like a magic wand and gently tapped it on her head. “Your wish is my command!”
“And I would like to bring three friends.”
“Of course. I will have four tickets waiting for you. Box seats.”
“And I would like to come with you to Zürich.”
“What?” Hess was surprised. “You mean tonight?”
“Yes, tonight,” Elise replied. “I need—” How much should she tell him? “Well, let’s just say I need a little distance from Mutti. And the hospital. I think the change of scene and mountain air would do me a world of good.”
“Of course, Engel. I’ll arrange for your train ticket. You will come with me in first class—very fancy. Nothing but the best for my little girl.” He kissed her on the top of her head.