Masters of Silence Page 2

  There was a bell ringing in the distance, and sunlight poured in from several large windows that extended across a long wall. It had been pitch-black when she had crept into this room the night before. Sister Cecile had shown her to her bed, and where to put her things. Before leaving her, Sister Cecile had whispered, “He’ll be fine. I’ve seen so many others arrive here just like your brother. They all adjust eventually. They have no choice.”

  Helen hoped that was true. But she worried about Henry—worried that he had become quiet. She knew what he could be like when he was scared, how he could shut down—like the time that boy in his class had shoved him to the ground and grabbed his bicycle from him, saying, “Jews can’t have these!” Henry had walked home, bruised and shaking. He didn’t talk for days after that, no matter how hard everyone encouraged him. And that was over a bicycle! This time, Henry had lost Maman and Papa. She didn’t know how or when he’d recover from that.

  She sat up in her bed and looked around. In the early morning light, she could see eight cots lined up across from each other, feet pointing toward the center of the room. This place reminded Helen of the book she had read a year earlier. It was called Madeline, the story of a girl in an orphanage.

  In an old house in Paris that was covered in vines,

  lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.

  Helen had practically memorized the whole thing. The girl in the book seemed to like the place she was living in. The nuns there were kind and the other children became her friends. Helen wondered if she would have the same experience here. All around her, girls were stretching, sitting up, and glancing around, seeing Helen for the first time. She pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  “You’re new.” A girl sat up in the bed next to Helen’s. She appeared to be about her age. She had long, wavy hair that was held back in a ponytail. Strands of dark curls that had escaped in the night hung in ringlets across her cheeks. She brushed them behind her ears as Helen nodded. “I must have really been sleeping when you came in,” the girl continued. “Usually, I wake up when a new one arrives.”

  New one. Is that what she was?

  “I’m Michelle,” the girl continued.

  “Helen,” she replied softly.

  “I know, it’s hard to be here, right?” Michelle said. “Do you know where your family is? Do you know what’s happened to them? My mother is in Paris—at least, I think she is. I haven’t heard from her for such a long while.”

  Helen gulped.

  “So, do you know where your mother is? Is she hiding? Is your father with her? Were they arrested?”

  A warning bell was going off in Helen’s mind. In the past couple of years, Maman had trained her and Henry to say little about who they were or where they had come from. And definitely don’t talk about being Jewish, Maman had insisted. The less you say, the better it will be for us. Now this strange girl was peppering her with questions—personal questions. Could Helen trust her?

  “Do you know where your family is?” Michelle persisted. And then she paused and sat back in her bed, eyeing Helen carefully. “We’re all in the same boat, you know.” She gestured around the room where other girls were getting dressed. “Everyone has parents who are hiding somewhere or were taken away somewhere. That girl over there”—she pointed toward a tall girl with red hair and freckles sprinkled across her nose—“her name is Anna. She actually saw her father get shot right in front of her. And that one over there”—she shifted and pointed toward a girl in the other corner—“she’s Danielle. She went to two other countries with her parents before finally making it here.” Michelle turned and looked back at Helen. “Do you want to know about me?”

  Helen nodded.

  “As I said, my mother is in Paris, hiding safely, I hope. I have no idea where my father is. He went to work one morning and never came home.” Michelle waved her hand around the room again. “Your story probably isn’t all that different from anyone else’s in this room.”

  Helen glanced around at the other girls. Had everyone here been left behind by a mother or father? Had they all whispered quick good-byes not knowing when they would see their parents again? Helen responded hoarsely, “My mother brought us here—me and my brother. My father was arrested in Frankfurt. That’s where we’re from.”

  Michelle nodded. “You’re lucky.”

  Lucky?

  “At least you have a brother who’s here with you. Most of us are alone.”

  Helen felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

  “Let me tell you about the routine here,” Michelle said, seeming to ignore Helen’s distress. “Breakfast in the early morning and then classes. Lunch at noon and then chores. We have church services twice a day, morning and evening.” She paused, noting the puzzled expression on Helen’s face. “The nuns will explain all of that to you. There are performances sometimes,” she continued. “The nuns think it’s important to keep us entertained. A clown comes to do shows.”

  “You mean a circus clown?” Helen pictured someone with a painted face and colorful costume.

  Michelle frowned. “Not really. He does skits all by himself. And he pretends to be different characters. You’ll understand once you see him. Oh, and there are outings, to town. The department store isn’t very big, but it’s got the most wonderful dresses and ribbons and shoes. Sometimes the nuns will buy something special for you. And getting out of here, even for a morning, is the best!”

  Just then, another series of bells rang, only louder and more insistent. Michelle jumped out of bed. “There’s so much more I have to tell you.” A cloud crossed her face. “Not all of it is as much fun as visits from the clown or even outings.” She shook her head as if to clear those thoughts away. “But that’s the breakfast bell. Get dressed as fast as you can and follow me. Most of the nuns are pretty nice here. But you have to watch out for Sister Agnes. She won’t be happy if we’re late.”

  Was that one of the nuns who had greeted her the previous night? The one who had sniffed the air and seemed to hate her? She had made the hairs on the back of Helen’s neck stand straight up. Something inside of Helen told her she’d be better off staying away from that one.

  “I think I may have met her already,” Helen said.

  Michelle pulled a face. “You can’t forget Sister Agnes!”

  The girls dressed hurriedly, and Helen followed Michelle down the long staircase to a huge dining hall, with at least ten large wooden tables lined up next to one another. Two old wrought-iron light fixtures were suspended from the wooden beams in the ceiling. Helen could see that this had once been a grand space. But the flowered wallpaper was peeling and torn, and the wooden floors were scratched and worn down in places. The room was already filled with girls and boys of all ages—at least sixty from what Helen could tell. They were standing behind their chairs, whispering and giggling to one another, and waiting for something—Helen didn’t know what.

  Michelle pointed to a chair next to hers and Helen stood behind it. She scanned the room, trying to find Henry in the crowd. But a moment later, a group of nuns entered and took their places behind a table at the front, and Helen shifted her attention to them. Sister Cecile was among them, smiling brightly and waving to all the children. Beside her was the nun who had scowled at her when she arrived, and her face this morning was still puckered and sour looking.

  Michelle touched Helen’s arm and, pointing to the mean-looking nun, whispered, “Sister Agnes.”

  The nun in charge, the tall one with the pointy nose who had done all the talking when Helen and Henry had arrived the night before, stood at the center of the table. She raised her hand and the room fell instantly silent. Then she closed her eyes, lowered her head, and began to recite a blessing of some kind. The children joined in to chant the responses. Finally, everyone in the room crossed themselves and in unison said, “Amen.” The sound of chairs scraping across the wooden f
loor joined the chatter and laughter that resumed as the children finally took their seats.

  Helen frowned. She had never heard this prayer before, and she certainly knew nothing about crossing herself! Of course, she knew what it was to be Catholic. There were many Catholic people who lived in Frankfurt. And Greta, the young Catholic girl who had often come to their house to help Maman with the cleaning, would cross herself whenever Helen asked how her mother was. Greta’s mother had been sick for years, and when Helen would ask about her health, Greta would say, “I pray to God every day for her quick recovery.” And then she’d reach up and touch her forehead, her stomach, and each shoulder in order, just as the children in the dining hall had done.

  “It’s all part of the routine here,” Michelle said, seeing the confused look on Helen’s face. “You’ll get used to that as well.”

  “But aren’t we all Jewish?” Helen whispered back.

  Michelle laughed. “Of course!”

  Helen sat back in her chair, her brain more muddled than ever.

  “You’ll find out everything you need to know soon enough,” Michelle continued.

  “But I don’t understand.”

  Michelle sighed. “You will. I also had a lot of questions when I first got here. You have to be patient. And you need to eat something. You must be starving.”

  Several of the older boys and girls in the room were passing out plates of food. Helen suddenly realized how famished she was; she couldn’t remember the last time she had had a proper meal. She gobbled up the cheese and fresh, crusty bread, slathered with butter and raspberry jam, and drank down the hot tea. This was not Maman’s cooking, but it filled her stomach.

  Finally, Helen glanced around the room again, once more searching for Henry. She spotted him on the other side, sitting at a table with other boys. But they were all talking to one another and paying no attention to the small boy who sat with his head down, playing with his food. It broke Helen’s heart to see him all alone and still so sad. She rose from her table and was about to make her way to him when Sister Cecile suddenly appeared in front of her.

  “Hello, Helen,” the nun said. “How are you this morning?”

  Helen glanced around Sister Cecile at Henry, who was still seated at the table, his head buried in his hands. She needed to get to him before breakfast was over. “I’m fine, thank you, Sister,” she replied, hoping to move on.

  “I have a message for you,” Sister Cecile continued, her eyes following Helen’s toward Henry. “You’re wanted in the main office—you and your brother.”

  Helen thought about the tall nun with the long face who was in charge. “Have we done something wrong?”

  Sister Cecile shook her head. “No, of course not. It’s just a meeting to help you get settled. You must have a lot of questions about the convent.”

  That was certainly true. Helen nodded.

  “All of those will be answered in this meeting.” Then Sister Cecile leaned forward and lowered her voice. “It will take some time to adjust to being here. I understand that. Believe me, I do. And I want you to know that I’m here for you, if you need anything. Don’t forget that.”

  Helen nodded again and finally went over to get Henry.

  CHAPTER 4

  Helen

  The tall nun with the long face and dark eyes said that they must call her Mère Supérieure. She was the head of the convent and she sat behind a big wooden desk in her small office, staring over at Helen, who perched at the edge of a straight-backed chair, her hands folded in her lap. There was a framed painting of Jesus Christ hanging on the wall just behind the nun. The artist had painted a soft, glowing light around his head, and his penetrating blue eyes appeared to be staring straight at Helen.

  “Are you finding your way around?” Mère Supérieure asked.

  Helen glanced at Henry, who sat in the chair beside her, his head still hanging low on his chest. “Yes, I’m starting to,” she replied.

  “And did you sleep well last night? You must have been very tired.”

  At that, Helen hesitated. “I … I had a hard time sleeping. I’m worried about my mother and father.”

  At the mention of their parents, Henry’s head shot up. He looked at her and then at the nun. Helen could see the dark shadows that circled Henry’s eyes. He probably hadn’t slept well either, she thought.

  Mère Supérieure sighed. “I don’t have any news.”

  Helen swallowed hard. “I didn’t think that you would. But I’m just wondering if there’s any way that we can be in touch with our mother. Is that possible?” Her voice trailed off into a desperate plea.

  Mère Supérieure shook her head. “Here is my advice to you both. It’s best if you stop thinking about your parents for now. I don’t expect I will hear anything for quite some time—if at all.”

  Stop thinking about Maman and Papa? That was unimaginable.

  Mère Supérieure leaned forward in her chair. “I’m really not trying to be cruel.” Her voice dropped when she said this and her eyes softened. “But there is so much for you to focus on while you are here. You must put your energy into understanding and following the rules of the convent. That’s what is most important now.”

  Helen swallowed again and nodded. And then the nun began to talk about the convent, explaining that Jewish children from countries across Europe were all being protected here. And while the nuns were trying to maintain a safe place for these children, Mère Supérieure reminded Helen that southern France was still dangerous. The government of Marshal Philippe Pétain was in charge, and he was known to be a friend of Adolf Hitler. She said that there were Nazi soldiers moving through towns and villages in southern France, searching for Jews who might be hiding—children as well as grown-ups. “And those soldiers are also searching for anyone who may be hiding them,” she added. “No one is entirely safe—not you and not us.”

  Helen’s eyes widened as Mère Supérieure continued speaking. None of what she was saying was doing anything to help ease Helen’s fears. “Excuse me,” she interrupted. “But if it’s so dangerous here, then wouldn’t we have been better off just staying with our mother?” This place was beginning to feel as unsafe as Frankfurt or even Kronberg had been.

  “No,” Mère Supérieure replied. “Despite what I’ve said, you are safer here than you could possibly be anywhere else. But there are rules that you must follow, and follow them without hesitation. First, you must obey the sisters. They are here to protect you, and even if they seem harsh at times, please remember it is for your own good.”

  Helen thought about the nun who had sneered and sniffed the air—Sister Agnes. Mère Supérieure must be referring to her.

  “Second, you must try to get along with the other children who are here. They will become your friends.”

  When Mère Supérieure said this, she stared straight at Henry, who turned away, avoiding her eyes. The nun stared a moment longer before turning back to Helen.

  “Do not, and I repeat, do not, speak to anyone outside of the convent. We trust one another in here. But out there, we can never be sure. There are some in this town who know that we are hiding Jewish children here. And they believe in our mission. But it’s difficult to know who might be a friend or not. Is that clear?”

  Helen wasn’t sure that she really understood what Mère Supérieure was saying. But after having run from Frankfurt, she understood that it was difficult to know who to trust. Helen nodded meekly and glanced again at the painting of Jesus. “I saw that all the children were reciting Catholic prayers this morning. I don’t understand why.”

  Mère Supérieure’s voice became even more serious. “That is perhaps the most important thing that I must explain to both of you,” she said. “It’s not that you will be hidden away while you are here, because in fact, everyone is living quite openly, as you can see. But the best way to keep you safe is to have you pretend to be Catholic children—orphans
who have been sent to live here.”

  The pieces were beginning to fall into place for Helen.

  “You will attend classes and go to church. We will teach you Catholic prayers and rituals. Learn these so well that you can practically do them in your sleep. That way, if you ever come in contact with anyone outside the convent walls, you will be able to pass yourself off as Catholic without hesitation.”

  Hiding but still visible, that’s what they were all doing here, Helen realized. And pretending to be Catholic orphans was what would hopefully help keep them safe. But something still troubled her. “Our names—Helen and Henry Rosenthal. They don’t exactly sound like Catholic names.”

  “Of course,” the nun replied. “It will be necessary to change your names, make them sound less … Jewish. From now on, your last name will be Rochette.”

  Helen rolled the name around in her mouth, glancing once more at Henry, who dropped his head again. It would take some practice before she would be able to manage with this new last name. But she still had one more question, and thinking about it immediately filled her with some dread. “And what about our first names?” she stammered. “Will we have to change those as well?”

  Mère Supérieure nodded. “I’m afraid so. Your new first names will be Claire and Andre.”

  “Claire Rochette.” Helen whispered her new name out loud, trying to fit herself into it as if she were trying on a new dress or a new pair of shoes. How strange to think of herself as anyone but Helen Rosenthal.