Revelations of the past

For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest;
neither any thing hid, that shall not be known and come abroad.
The Bible, King James version
Luke 8:17

The following morning, Mart and Natasha met on the Metro train and walked to Max’s apartment together from the Metro stop.

“So, Natasha, are you an artist like your grandmother?” Mart asked to make conversation.

“No, but I’m interested in the art world.  I’ve studied art but don’t have her talent.”  Natasha shrugged.  “For now I’m looking for museum work, like what Diana does.”

“Diana’s a talented artist,” Mart bragged on behalf of his old friend and ex-girlfriend.  “I don’t think she realizes how talented she really is.  But she seems to enjoy her work and she’s obviously good at it.”

“Here they are now,” Natasha exclaimed, clapping.  “Good morning, Max.  Good morning, Diana.  Did you decide if we’re going to Versailles by train or driving?”

“I took my car to the garage yesterday after we ate lunch,” Max told her.  “They won’t be able to have it fixed until the end of the week.  I checked into getting a rental car, but the ones that would hold four in comfort were a bit too expensive.”

“I told Max we could go by train just as easily,” Diana broke in.  “The train goes directly to Versailles and comes back here; we can even use the same stop and the two of you can take this train back to your hotels with no problems.”

“After the attack yesterday, we might be safer on public transportation,” Mart agreed.

“Attack?  Do you think that stupid cyclist was frightening the horses on purpose?” Natasha’s eyes widened and her hand went to her mouth.  “I thought it was just a crazy idiot who didn’t know how to drive.”

“I don’t know,” Diana demurred.  “It was certainly odd that he came back after the first pass.  It’s hard to pass that off as coincidence.  But I don’t know what possible reason anyone could have for trying to harm any of us.”

“No one else knows about the Rembrandt, do they?”  Natasha seemed frightened.

“I certainly haven’t told anyone,” Max said.  “It wasn’t leaked by me.”

“Neither have I,” Mart protested.  “But there was publicity about it earlier.  If the right people were paying attention, something could be out there in the ether.”

“Well, we’ve got to complete our task,” Diana said, pushing back a few strands of her ebony hair.  “Let’s get our tickets to Versailles and back.”

The four approached the Metro station Mart and Natasha had just left, and purchased round trip tickets to Versailles.

During the trip, Mart kept his eyes peeled for the stocky dark-haired man, but didn’t see any sign of him.  The group debarked at Versailles and sought directions to Karl Schmidt’s residence.  The station attendant pointed them to the schedule, which showed that another train would be departing for the area in ten minutes.

“Hurry up and wait,” Mart quipped.

“That makes no sense,” Natasha complained.

“I guess it’s too American,” Mart apologized.  “It just means that even when you hurry to get somewhere, something is going to delay you.”

“It still sounds nonsensical, but I can appreciate what you mean,” Natasha conceded.

Mart looked across the aisle at Diana, who appeared to be texting on her phone.  Next to her, Max was also entering something into a PDA.  Mart wished he had a PDA.  He sorely missed his laptop, and didn’t wish to write in a notepad with Natasha in the seat next to him.

Karl Schmidt’s address surprised them all.  Instead of the detached single-family home Mart had expected, Schmidt lived in an assisted living complex.  Inside the front entry they used an intercom to notify him that they had arrived.  Then they made their way to his unit.  A stooped old man opened the door, leaning on a cane.  He wore a black patch over one eye and there was a seamed scar across his forehead.

“Guten Morgen, Herr Emmerich,” he said after Max introduced himself and showed identification.  “Please come inside.”  He ushered them into a painfully neat living room, hung with a couple of generic pictures of Germany and with a small, old television in a place of honor. 

“Please sit down,” Schmidt invited them in German-accented French, waving his free hand toward the narrow sofa and armchairs grouped around the television.  “May I offer you refreshment?”

Mart had been feeling inferior all week in comparison to the others’ language skills.  Whatever Diana had done after their breakup, she certainly had become more cosmopolitan.  Her French accent was impeccably Parisian to his ears, and her German was better than his.  Max and Natasha both seemed equally fluent – and comfortable – in either French or German, and they both spoke English at least as well as he spoke French and German.  He certainly couldn’t detect any deficiencies in their accents.  Finally, here was someone who didn’t seem totally comfortable conversing in French.  Mart’s heart warmed toward Karl Schmidt and he smiled at the old man. 

“Many thanks, Herr Schmidt,” replied Max in German. “However, let us talk first.  I’d like to tell you our purpose in visiting you today.”

The four younger people arranged themselves on the furniture, and Karl Schmidt sat down as well.

“Let me begin,” offered Max.  “I am the grandson of Johannes Bauer.  It seems he may be an old friend of yours.”

“Johannes … yes, we were boys together in Waldkirch.”  The old man’s single bright blue eye had been welcoming, but it seemed shuttered now, and he visibly stiffened at the sound of his old friend’s name.  “Johannes has been gone for many years now.”

“I have only recently learned that Johannes Bauer is my grandfather,” Max explained.  “He changed his name after the war to Klaus Emmerich.”

 Mart studied their host.  What did he really know about Emmerich, the secret code, and even the painting?  They waited in silence for a long moment.  Mart wondered if Schmidt was going to answer or not.

“How do I know you are telling the truth?” their host demanded in a gruff voice.  “Without proof, I can only tell you that my old friend passed away many years ago.”

“Here.”  Max drew the small key from his pocket.  It was the one that had been stored in the safe-deposit box.  He handed the key to Schmidt, who turned it over and over in his hands.  Finally, the old man looked up at Max and spoke again.

“Very well.  I will tell you what I know.”  He looked at each of them in turn.  “My old friend, Johannes, was my commanding officer during the war.  As a former member of the Hitler Youth, he moved quickly up the ranks.  In May, 1940, German forces invaded France.  There was little resistance overall, but I was wounded during a counterattack by General Charles de Gaulle’s forces at Montcornet on May seventeenth.  Johannes saw that I was taken to a hospital, and he visited me as often as possible.  When I was released I was missing an eye and was crippled in my left leg.  Johannes found me a nice little place in the country in the Freiburg region of Germany, just over the border from France and not far from our homeland.  He had just been promoted and was being transferred from the Heer, or regular army, into the Waffen SS – special forces.  Because of that, he had more freedom to travel.  He promised I could be his valet when I recovered as much as possible.”

“That was very early in the war, Herr Schmidt.  How did my grandfather come to entrust you with something of such secrecy and importance that you’ve remained silent for sixty-five years?”  Max frowned, the vertical crease between his brows more prominent than usual.

“More important, what does this story have to do with our search?” Natasha tapped a foot in impatience.

“Natasha, please allow Herr Schmidt to tell his story as he sees fit.” Diana smiled pleasantly, but her eyes flashed with violet steel that Mart recognized.

“I’m sorry; this is not an easy story to tell.  During the war, many atrocities were done,” Karl Schmidt replied, looking at Natasha.  “Please forgive me if I seem to hold back.  It’s not easy to discuss such things.”  He cleared his throat and continued.  “After about six months, I had gained most of the strength back in my leg, and returned to the Army.  I had written to Johannes, and he was able to have me transferred to his service as his personal aide.  But later he received some special duties and I was transferred away.  I was wounded again, and although by this time even very young boys were being taken into the army, I was unable to go back due to my injuries.  We lost track of each other until several years after the war ended.  I had returned to Freiburg and he came to visit me.  I will show you what he brought me to keep for him.”

The old man stood and made his way to the rear of his apartment, returning a few minutes later with a battered tin box bound by metal strapping.  Each strap fastened with a lock.   He held the box out to Max.  “It is time to return the box and whatever it holds to my old friend.”

“Johannes had been out of the country for several years.  He had changed his name and grown a mustache.  He had also bought a small ski chalet in Switzerland, near La Fouly.  It was a business venture for him, not a permanent residence, although he hoped to spend holidays there, he said.  He offered me a position there, caring for the place and taking care of rental matters when he was away.”

“I’ve never known anything about a Swiss property – until yesterday,” Max protested.  “Why the secrecy?”

“Johannes, or Klaus as I was to call him, married soon after he hired me and took me to live at the property.  He kept the chalet rented forty-eight weeks a year, and I cared for it and handled the rentals as his agent.  I couldn’t do a lot of physical work, but he oversaw the maintenance himself.  He promised me I’d never want for a roof over my head, and I trusted him – he had saved my life.  I would do anything for him, no questions asked.”

Mart looked up.  He had been jotting down notes as Schmidt spoke.  The old man’s blue eye had brightened as he told of his younger days.

“He and his wife used it now and then for ski holidays,” Schmidt continued.  “When their son was young, they visited frequently.  Young Maxim was a talented skier.   Years passed and Maxim married.  He and his wife were about to have a child, and the whole family was at the chalet for a ski vacation.   Maxim had an accident; there was a sudden avalanche in the area where he was skiing, and he was buried.  Search dogs were sent after him, but when they finally located his body … it was too late.”

Mart suddenly felt that he couldn’t breathe.  His heart pounded and the pencil fell from his numb fingertips.  Sweating profusely, he choked out the words, “Please, excuse me,” before staggering out of the apartment and the lobby, and into the fresh, chilly air. 

“Mart!”  It was Diana, touching his arm and looking worried.  “Are you all right?  It must be difficult to listen to that story.”  Her eyes were bright with tears.

“I’ll be all right in a minute.”  His breathing was ragged.  “I hadn’t thought about Mead’s Mountain for a long time.  That brought it back.  I could have … ”   He couldn’t finish.

“I know.”  Diana threw her arms around him.  “Thank God – thank God – you didn’t!” They shared a moment of silent thanksgiving.  Mart allowed himself to wonder if there could be a place for him in Diana’s life.  “If we need to go to Switzerland, do you think you’ll be able to go to the chalet?” she asked, drawing back and gazing into his face with a level stare.

“Yes.  I’ll be ready, I promise.”  He stared back at her and willed her to understand his determination.

The two of them returned to the apartment, and Herr Schmidt resumed his story.

“Klaus was brokenhearted.  Maxim was his only child.  He told me he would never return to the chalet, and for a time considered selling it.  However, I reminded him of the income it brought him, and he finally decided to hold onto it.  He gave me this box and said to keep it for him until he sent word or came for it himself, but not to give it to anyone unless they could prove they were authorized by him.  As you can see, I have kept my trust.  I hope my old friend is well, but I am afraid he is not, since you are here.”  The old man’s rheumy eye seemed to fill with moisture suddenly, Mart noted.

“My grandfather has had a severe stroke.  It’s difficult for him to communicate, although I hope he’ll recover more fully,” Max said.  “He has asked me to locate something, and the key was to be found with you.”

Max stood and shook hands with Karl Schmidt. “Thank you for seeing us.  You have given us very important help today.”

Herr Schmidt saw them to the door.  “I am forever in my friend’s debt.  Although I’m unable to manage the chalet anymore, in the past year my nephew has taken over its management, with Klaus’ consent.  It was my pleasure to meet his’ – Johannes’ – grandson.”

No sooner had the foursome reached the curb than Natasha cried, “ Max, can we look in the box now?  I have to know if it holds the answer for us.”

Diana spoke up.  “I think we’d better wait until we reach Max’s apartment.  We were attacked yesterday, and we’re out in the open.  We don’t know who may be watching.”

“I agree,” Max slid the box into the attaché case he carried.  “It will be safer to open it at home.  We may have to make travel plans once we find what the box holds.” 

As they traveled back to Paris, Mart kept one eye open for the stocky dark-haired man who seemed to pop up wherever they had been in the past few days.  He thought he caught a glimpse of the mysterious groundskeeper in the crowd at the Metro station when they exited their train, but could never get a clear view of the man.  He used his phone to text Diana with the information, but didn’t mention it to the other two, since he couldn’t be sure.  

Back at Max’s apartment, Natasha was almost vibrating with excitement.  “Please, will you open the box now?” she begged Max.  Her green eyes shone.

“Very well.  I think it’s time, don’t you?”  Max looked at Diana for confirmation.  At her nod, he withdrew the old-fashioned key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock.

Mart held his breath as each lock gave way to the key.  Max slid the metal strapping away from the box and lifted the hinged lid.  Inside, under a cover of crumpled brown paper, lay a folded map and a pair of keys.

“Let us see the map,” Natasha pleaded.  She stood at Max’s elbow.  “Is it La Fouly – is it the chalet?”

Max drew out the map and unfolded it.  It didn’t take long for all of them to see that it was indeed a map of the mountainous area near La Fouly.  In faded red ink, an “X” marked a spot at the end of a dotted line extending from the French border.

“I’m going to show this to Grandfather,” Max said.  “He wants the painting found, but I don’t like to go there without his knowledge.”

Mart felt that the tension level in the room was so thick, there was no room for conversation.  He busied himself by adding to his notes, while Diana – as usual – checked her phone for messages and sent texts.  Natasha simply sat stiffly in a chair, her gaze fixed on the hallway down which Max had disappeared.

The clicking sound of a door closing brought Mart’s attention back to his surroundings.  Max strode back into the living room and announced, “It’s time to study the train schedules.  We will go to Switzerland tomorrow, to find the chalet and – as I hope – find the original painting of The Girl With Daffodils.”