Page 7 of The Girl with a Secret
“He’ll probably be very excitable,” Sophie warned. “But, yes, if you don’t mind, then I certainly don’t! And I’m desperate to explore the ship. What I’ve seen so far has looked amazing.” She smiled, and Rosa smiled back, glad that their friendship seemed firmly forged.
“Then it’s a date,” she said, before giving her new friend a little wave and heading back down the deck, to the main corridor that led to the first-class cabins.
Back in their cabin, her mother was seated at her dressing table, looking bleary-eyed and disconsolate. Her father was nowhere to be seen.
“Where have you been?” her mother asked accusingly as Rosa closed the door and then took off her coat.
“I went to see the ship set sail. We’ve left Germany at last.” Rosa kept her tone pitched light, although she was aware of her mother’s surly glance. “Where’s Father?”
“Who knows.” Her mother let out a weary sigh as she stared at her reflection; her face powder had collected in the creases between her mouth and nose, and she looked every one of her forty-eight years. “Meeting new people, I suppose, as he loves to do.”
Rosa regarded her quietly for a moment. “You could go out with him?” she ventured. “Stay by his side?”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed to slits as she glared at Rosa. “I don’t recall asking for your advice,” she stated coolly, before deliberately turning away from her daughter.
Rosa watched silently as her mother began to smooth cold cream over the tired lines of her face. She felt as if she should apologize, but she knew it was far too late for that. Besides, what was she meant to apologize for? Knowing the truth, or simply existing in the first place? Her mother had resented her presence in their lives for as long as Rosa could remember. It was only when she had realized what Rosa knew—and had kept from her—that that resentment had turned into something resembling hatred.
Without a word, Rosa walked past her mother and then through the shared parlor to her own cabin, closing the door quietly but firmly behind her. A breath escaped her in a shaky rush as she leaned against the door. Now more than ever, she was looking forward to spending some time with Sophie tomorrow. Now more than ever, she needed a friend.
CHAPTER 4
SATURDAY, MAY 27, 1939—HAVANA, CUBA
A dawn mist moved in ghostly shreds across the still harbor as Rosa stood at the ship’s railing. She’d watched a few moments ago as a small launch had chugged across the expanse of water, bearing several Cuban immigration officials to the ship. They’d spoken cheerfully in Spanish, gesticulating broadly, seeming as if they were off for a holiday jaunt rather than inspecting a thousand desperate passengers for entry into their country. For some reason, their easy bonhomie had made Rosa feel uneasy, but it was far from the first thing on this journey that had given her pause. After two weeks traveling across the Atlantic, theSt Louishad finally arrived at its destination… almost.
Last night, the ship had docked outside of the harbor, but when the passengers had awoken early this morning, ready to disembark, there had been a flurry of confusion and alarm, as everyone saw that the ship had not been allowed into the bustling port. Even at just past dawn, rumors were already flying—the ship’s papers were not in order; thepassengers’papers were not in order. It was a mere formality; it was a cause for concern. With everyone up at the crack of dawn in the hope of disembarking, tempers were already starting to fray; the men were tight-lipped, the women pale-faced, the children tearful orfractious. Everyone wanted information, and no one seemed to have it.
As Rosa watched the last of the mist clear, a now-familiar dread settled in her stomach. While many aspects of the voyage had been pleasant—including the entertainments her father had spoken about—others had left Rosa feeling uneasy and uncertain, even fearful. Early on, it had become clear that the voyage of theSt Louiswas not without its perplexities and dangers—the presence of the Gestapo firemen aboard the ship; the visas everyone had received with what Rosa’s father had remarked was far too much ease; the news that traveled in whispers that Cuba might not be as welcoming as they had been led to believe when they’d booked their passage.
The first warning had come only a day into their journey. Rosa had spent a very pleasant day exploring the ship with Sophie and her brother Heinrich. Away from her own family, and with a kindred spirit, she’d felt that deep-seated cynicism she so often cloaked herself with soften a bit, at its edges. They’d even made another friend—Hannah, only eighteen years old and from Dusseldorf, traveling with her shy little sister, Lotte.
Rosa had felt a deep sympathy for the young woman, who was on her own and yet clearly very protective of her. Their father had been working in Havana for the last few years, and their mother, a gentile, had abandoned them to marry an SS officer, a fact Hannah had offered up with great bitterness, and which had made Rosa wince.
Hannah had taken some of the other children traveling on theSt Louison their own under her wing, and Rosa and Sophie had also pitched in, while Heinrich and Lotte played together.
Everyone seemed to get on very well, but on that very first night, when they’d gone to the cinema, they’d been shocked by a virulent newsreel of Hitler ranting about the Jews that had been shown before the film. Sophie’s poor father had run outof the theater in terrible distress; Rosa’s father, on the hand, had paraded down the aisle like an angry peacock, and then demanded to speak to the purser about the lamentable state of affairs that had a hundred Jews subjected to a Nazi newsreel, as if they’d never seen such a thing before, back when they’d been allowed in the cinemas.
Rosa had been embarrassed by his posturing, as well as annoyed by his hypocrisy. She’d also felt ashamed, that her father had protested—and she hadn’t. It had created a welter of unhappy emotions inside her, but, in any case, the captain himself had apologized to her father, and, shortly after, asked him to be part of a select “passenger committee”—a group of the more prominent men on the ship, to liaise with the captain about the concerns of the other passengers.
It was through that committee that Rosa had come to hear of things she’d rather not have—the death of a passenger that was deliberately kept quiet, his body slipping into the water with a gentle splash late at night; the suicide of a Russian Jewish crew member; and worst of all, the growing disquiet on Captain Schroeder’s part that Cuba would not welcome theSt Louisand the nearly thousand Jewish souls on it, which Rosa now feared might be coming true, as she looked out at the distant harbor and wondered why they had not anchored closer.
Amidst all this, there had been many pleasures—not least making such good friends as Sophie, Hannah and then Rachel, a young woman in tourist class who had joined their little group after she’d helped Sophie and her father when he’d bolted from the cinema. Rachel was married to Franz, a man still suffering from his months of incarceration at Dachau, and Rosa greatly admired Rachel’s seeming serenity in the midst of such obvious hardship. She was always ready with a soft word, a quiet smile, and she’d provided a steadying presence in their little group,especially when Hannah, protective of her sister and anxious about her father, could sometimes be volatile.
The four of them had spent many happy afternoons learning Spanish, with Sophie as their instructor, or having coffee and cake in the social hall, or simply strolling the deck, chatting and laughing, while Heinrich and Lotte played, and Franz walked quietly beside them. They’d even gone swimming in the pool, and there had been a wonderful costume ball the night before last, where they’d all toasted their bright futures with champagne, vowing to be firm friends forever, no matter where their fortunes took them.
As she’d hoisted her own glass, Rosa had managed to suppress the cramp of fear that so often assailed her, tightening her stomach, straining her nerves, that those bright, shining futures might not happen at all. She’d spoken of some of her concerns to her friends, especially to Sophie, but she already could tell that neither Hannah nor Rachel wanted to hear of her doubts. Hannah in particular was focused on her future in Havana; her father was already there, waiting for her, just across the harbor, and she did not want to hear anyone say otherwise.
No, Rosa decided as she straightened up from the railing. She would not bore or distress her friends with the nebulous fears that still plagued her. She wanted to be cheerful, hopeful, focused on the future the way they were. After all, worrying would accomplish nothing.
With a determined spring in her step, she turned from the railing to go in search of her friends. They’d all agreed to meet in the morning, in the hope that by the afternoon they would be disembarking. Rosa thought that unlikely.
As she walked down the corridor toward the social hall, she saw a member of the crew moving swiftly toward her, his head down, his manner furtive. With a lurch of alarm, she realized it was the same man who had threatened her on the first night ofthe voyage, calling her a dirty Jew and shoving her hard in the shoulder; shehaddeveloped a bruise.
There was no one else in the corridor but the two of them, and Rosa feared an ugly scene, or worse, if she came across him alone. She’d managed to avoid him for the entire journey; she certainly didn’t want to run into him now, when they were—hopefully—on the cusp of disembarking.
She glanced around for some place to go or hide, but the corridor was straight and narrow and there was nowhere to go but backward. The man, she realized, hadn’t even seen her yet; he was too occupied with what he was doing, holding something in his hand. She should turn around and run, Rosa knew, and yet somehow, she couldn’t make herself do such a cowardly thing. Why not brazen it out the way she had before, even if she’d been, quite literally, sick with nerves?
Frozen with indecision, her heart starting to hammer, Rosa watched as the man came toward her and then stopped, a mere dozen feet away, still oblivious to her presence. He was, she realized, unscrewing the top of a fountain pen. Several endless seconds passed, each one more torturous than the last, as Rosa stood there, still frozen, while the man peered into the pen. What on earth was he doing? Nothing, Rosa suspected, that he wanted her to see. As quietly as she could, she took a step backward, realizing that there was cowardly and then there was simply foolish—and letting this man see her now seemed likely to be the latter.
