The Strausses said they’d been in hiding in France since Hitler invaded and now wanted their home back. They insisted that the Nazis had stolen it from them and had forced them, literally at gunpoint, to sell.
The couple did speak passable French which made it easier for Jessica to understand them. They’d been living in a cubbyhole in a farmhouse outside Marseille and had avoided being swept up by the Gestapo, because the family that had harbored them was able to keep their presence a secret.
“We are realistic,” the old Jewish man said. “Now we know we can never come back here and live safely and peacefully. No one could protect us. You Americans would have to provide around the clock protection for the rest of our lives. No, all we want is some of our possessions that we managed to hide. When the Nazis forced us to sell, they gave us only an hour to pack and then searched us to make sure we weren’t taking anything we shouldn’t. Perhaps we will someday get proper compensation from a new German government, but I am not confident.”
“How long will it take you to search for your property?”
“An hour at most and we will have to crack open a wall.”
When Sergeant Haney explained this to the current owners, they became irate and exclaimed that anything in the house was theirs since they’d bought it legally. Jessica then sweetly asked them what it was they had bought and they, puzzled, couldn’t respond.
“If you don’t know what it is, you can’t claim it as yours,” she said.
Jessica had no idea if that would hold up in any court, but it sounded good and the Germans bought it. After all, she was the representative of the United States of America, wasn’t she?
Haney told the Jewish couple to go in and sent two of his men to protect them and watch them. He told the Strausses to take as much time as they needed. The German owners again complained loudly until Haney stuck a submachine gun under their noses and spoke harshly. Jessica turned and stifled a grin. She knew enough German words to know he’d told them to shut their fucking mouths. Haney then went inside the house.
The sound of smashing wood lasted only a couple of moments. The Jewish couple emerged smiling and carrying a suitcase.
Haney grinned. “They had it hidden inside a wall and plastered it over before they had to leave. Some furniture hid it while it dried. Amazing nobody found it.”
Jessica laughed. “Nobody ever claimed the Nazis were very smart.”
Haney thought it would be fair play to confiscate the house, but decided not to. It was too far away from American facilities to be useful. Then he suggested taking a bulldozer and destroying the place, but again decided against it. Jessica thought it would be decades before all the legal squabbles about forced purchases would be settled and, even then, doubtless to nobody’s satisfaction.
The Germans who’d bought the house could keep it, the Jewish couple told her. It was part of a hateful past and all they wanted now was a new future and the contents of the suitcase would start them on that road. They took her aside and opened the suitcase. Jessica gasped. It was full of paintings. She was no expert but she could read the signatures and recognized the styles. The top two were by Van Gogh. The couple said the others were by older masters and were even more valuable. They said they’d hidden it months before the house was taken from them so the paintings couldn’t be plundered by looters.
Mr. and Mrs. Strauss were put in a Jeep and would be taken to a safe place. “It’s going to take the wisdom of Solomon to settle some of these disputes,” Jessica said.
Haney chortled. “In that case, the krauts are truly screwed.”
“Why?”
“Wasn’t Solomon Jewish?”
The Episcopal minister carefully and gently closed the eyes of the gray-skinned man who lay on the bed. He was so frail that he barely made a dent in the mattress. Franklin Delano Roosevelt was dead. Finally. His once strong body had given up a struggle it couldn’t win.
Harry Truman trembled but nobody noticed. All eyes were on the body of the man who’d been President since 1932.
“The stress was too much,” Jim Byrnes said.
Yes, Truman thought, and he was only beginning to feel the start of it. He was finally starting to comprehend the complexity and enormity of the worldwide war operation that FDR was running. Had been running, he corrected.
Truman left the bedroom and the grieving widow. Roosevelt’s other relations, including his sons, would be arriving shortly. After seeming to reach a physical plateau, FDR had suddenly taken a sharp turn for the worse. Truman thought it was a blessing for the family and the nation. How long could they and it have endured with FDR in a coma?
Truman stepped outside and walked briskly, the only way he knew how to walk, to the Oval Office. In the past few weeks, he’d avoided using it lest it seem like he was grasping for power. Now he needed to be there to show everyone that he was the man in charge.
He was aware of the eyes that were on him, ranging from marine guards to secret service to White House staffers and servants. The news had spread like wildfire and news bulletins, already prepared, were going out. The waiting and wondering were over. Harry Truman was the President of the United States and, he thought, the hell with Churchill and Himmler and Hirohito and Stalin and all the others. He would be his own man. They knew nothing about him and he thought it would give him a leg up on the opposition, both foreign and domestic.
He didn’t want the job, hadn’t asked for it, but, damn it, he would do it to the best of his ability.
CHAPTER 21
“Jesus Christ,” Morgan thought in disbelief as he read the mimeographed memo.
His hopes were dashed. There would be no leave for him or any of the other troops confronting the Nazis on the Rhine. The word had just come down from Eisenhower and SHAEF that the situation would not permit large numbers of American soldiers to leave their stations for a little vacation. Of course, he thought bitterly, those guys who were working behind the lines probably got as much time off as they wished. Once again, the combat trooper was getting fucked.
Realistically, he knew giving everyone leave was impossible. Where would literally hundreds of thousands of GI’s go, even if they got leave? France was still in a state of chaos, and violence was an ongoing possibility as the remnants of the communist uprising fought on. Large numbers of soldiers taking leave in the occupied Rhineland was also not possible. The United States was still at war with Germany and the German people simply could not be trusted. Again, how would the Rhineland, or any other European country, absorb so many hungry, horny and alcohol-deprived young men?
The notice said that the army would endeavor to make life a little more comfortable at the front. Beer would be provided and it wouldn’t be the low alcohol piss they had been getting. Better, the nonfraternization rule was being relaxed to permit such “social, commercial, and cultural interactions with the German people as would be considered reasonable and in the military’s best interests.”
Jack and the others thought whoever at Ike’s HQ had thought up that phrase must be laughing all the way to the officers’ club. Social, commercial, and cultural interactions would obviously translate into screwing and drinking and paying for it.
The big disappointment was that he could not have a chance to see Jessica and they were both saddened. On the plus side, limited telephone service was now available and he’d managed to make several calls to her. He felt like a teenager who couldn’t get a car and could only talk to his girlfriend by phone. It was great, however, to hear her voice, her laugh. He just wanted to reach out and grab her through the phone. He said it once and she giggled like a school kid and said it sounded like a good idea.
Not getting leave wasn’t fair, he thought and was reminded by Jeb and Roy that life wasn’t fair. “If it was,” Roy said, “everybody would be Jewish.”
