Read Chapter One Here:
Berlin, November 9, 1938, Kristallnacht
Margot held up one of the rose cashmere sweaters that had just come in from France. A sweater like that would go great with her maroon skirt and that perky little hat Sergey liked so much. She inspected it with a practiced eye. It wasn’t cut too low, either; just the way Sergey liked the clothes she wore. She turned to Lisa, who was walking toward her from the back room, two belts in her hand. “Isn’t it pretty? I’m going to buy one as soon as we’ll get paid Friday.”
Lisa hung the belts next to the others and wiped a blond curl from her forehead. “You’ll look as pretty with it as that mannequin in the window, the one I just finished.”
Margot hardly noticed her friend’s Russian accent anymore. She held the sweater to her chest and took a dance step. “Sergey will love it. I just know he will.”
The smile on the face of the window decorator faded. She looked around. “I wonder why no one is in the store at this time of day.”
Margot grew serious too. It was one thing to have a little fun, but she was here to work, to model for the customers. For some reason, Busch’s fashion salon had no customers this afternoon. Margot re-folded the sweater and placed it on the stack by the counter. When she looked up, she saw Karin, the first year apprentice, pointing through the large show window. “Look at what they’re doing!”
Margot joined Karin by the window. She pushed a dress out of the way, and her shoulder hit the corner of the sign in the window. She rubbed the sore spot. That stupid sign. Their customers obviously didn’t care whether a Jew owned the store or if the sign with its dumb warning was there or not. She shoved it away.
Across the street, in front of Goldstein’s haberdashery, teenagers in brown Hitler Youth uniforms mingled among men and women in everyday clothing. A rock must have hit the window of Goldstein’s store, because the glass exploded with a crash, and a cheer went up from the crowd.
Margot forgot to breathe. This wasn’t right! Here in Berlin, people were tolerant and educated, as her mother said all the time. And the Jews, too, were citizens and had a right to protection. She craned her neck, searching the street. The police would be here any time now.
Young Karin turned to the sales floor and called, “Hey, everybody! Something strange is going on outside.”
From the back room, Sarah and Dotty hurried toward them. Lisa hurried to the window, high heels click-clacking on the floor. Margot stepped aside to make room for her in front of the window. “I can’t believe this is happening. People looting? Right here, on Kurfürstendamm, the most glamorous street in Europe?”
Yells of, “Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Juden raus! Jews get out!” sounded through the window from across the street. The sharp, grinding sound of feet trampling on broken glass underscored their words. Margot shook her head, dark curls flying.
The girls surrounding Margot whispered to each other, their shocked voices blurring into a buzzing that enveloped and paralyzed her. Her stepfather Max and her mother had said it over and over, once the new government got used to having power, conditions would get better for Jews, not worse. What if they are wrong? Her skin tingled as though static electricity filled the air. She rubbed her bare arms. A goose had just walked over her grave, as her mother always said.
Karin whimpered, eyes wide in shock, “I-I think they’re coming to our store.”
More to reassure herself than to answer Karin, Margot said, “This can’t be happening. We’re the most important fashion store in the city.”
Lisa stood tall, blonde hair and pale skin glowing. She turned to Margot, concern in her proud blue eyes. “Do you think that matters? This is aimed at Jewish stores. They’ll come here next, and we need to do something!”
Margot shook her head. Lisa couldn’t be right. People just don’t loot and riot for no reason. “It doesn’t make sense. We are in Berlin, for God’s sake. People here know better than that.”
Karin raised an eyebrow. “Than what?”
Margot ignored her and frowned at Lisa. “Wait. They’ll pass by our store, you...” Her eyes grew wide as she glanced over Lisa’s shoulder.
A red-faced housewife ran across the street, toward their show window, other people trailing her.
Frau Busch’s office door burst open, and Margot’s boss hurried toward the knot of girls at the window.
“This is bad.” The knuckles on her fists shone white. “Ladies, our business day is over.” Her voice rose. “Gather your things and go home. I need to lock the doors. Schnell!”
Margot stared at her, frozen like the mannequins in the window. Frau Busch never let them go home early.
“Go!” Frau Busch repeated. “Hurry! Use the back door.”
Margot ran with the other girls to get her coat and hat. She squeezed next to Sarah to grab her purse from the rack above the coat hangers. Sarah slipped into her coat and ran off.
From outside, Margot made out voices.
“Should we leave this one alone?” a woman asked.
Margot grinned at the uncertainty in her voice. Yes, they should leave it alone and go home. Tomorrow they would be ashamed for behaving like this.
A deep voice answered, the meaning of the words drowning in calls and further off screams.
Margot’s hand atop the rack encountered an object, and she pulled it down, but it was Karin’s bag.
Karin grabbed it from Margot’s hand, and murmured, “thanks.” She ran through the back door, slamming it behind her.
The rack was empty. Margot’s purse was probably in the dressing room, and since the crowd would pass by Busch’s anyway, that was no problem. She pushed past the remaining two girls and walked to the dressing room, reminding herself there was no need to run.
Half-way there, she glanced at the show window and stopped. Her hands balled into fists and she shook her head. Instead of dispersing, the crowd had grown thicker, but a few out-of-control Nazis wouldn’t scare her away! She took a deep breath and walked on to the back of the store. There it was! Her purse sat on the bench, in charcoal gray to match her coat. She grabbed it and hurried through the abandoned sales floor.
Something was moving by the office. She squinted to see clearer. Beyond the open office door, Frau Busch rummaged through her desk drawer.
“Frau Busch, we need to go,” Margot called and stopped at the rack to grab her coat.
Outside, brakes squealed, making Margot jump. She glanced back at the window. Two large trucks had stopped, loaded with crowds in brown uniforms. Men and women, dressed in coveralls and cheap coats, milled around in front of the window and cursed at Jews with strident voices. A short, skinny youth with glasses jumped from one of the trucks.
She blinked. It was Hans, still wearing those silly, horn-rimmed glasses. In fifth grade, Hans had a crush on her, and she’d liked him too, at least a little. He used to pick small bouquets of buttercups for her and hand them to her during recess. And now, what was he doing?
She shrugged into her coat and stepped toward him from the shadow of the rack. She’d reason with him. But something made her hesitate. This wasn’t grammar school anymore. She shrank back into the protective darkness, the hammering of her heart drowning out the yells outside.
Hans resembled an overgrown monkey in his Hitler Youth uniform. The large wooden post in his hands made him look small and out of place. Like a distorted version of circus clowns, three older men in brown work coveralls followed him. But instead of hoops and balls, they carried a carpet beater and metal rods.
Margot bit her lip. This was no circus. These men were out for a kind of fun that could only hurt. What a strange idea, she scolded herself. People were basically good. The Nazis might do something like that, maybe. But normal everyday people? Never!
More men jumped from the trucks, most in uniform. They waved bats, sticks, canes, anything that could harm and destroy. One older man, probably the leader, held a large screwdriver aloft. Their harsh voices shouted, “Judenschweine raus! Jewish pigs leave! Heil Hitler! Sieg Heil, Sieg Heil!”
Margot turned to run through the back door, but a sharp sound, almost like a shot, stopped her. Hans had swung his fence post through the window and glass was exploding in glittering shards, accompanied by a musical tinkling. Something cracked in Margot’s mind. In spite of the warmth in the store she felt cold, as if she’d never be comfortable again. The downy hair on her neck stiffened and she gulped. Not wanting to take the risk of being seen, she did not dare to leave and remained in her dark niche.
Frau Busch hurried past her to the back door, stopped, and dug frantically in her purse. A strand of her chignon had come lose and obscured her face.
What would happen to her boss if they found her? Nazis definitely did not like Jews. But Frau Busch was fair and always treated everybody with dignity. She was a hundred times better than these National Socialists outside, pretending to follow the government’s laws.
“Will you be all right?” Margot whispered, the shaking of her body audible in her voice.
Frau Busch jumped, whirled, and looked at Margot. “I don’t know.” A quaver distorted her voice. “Go, go. We need to get out of here.” She tugged her keys out of her purse and dropped them.
At the show window men and women trampled over the glass shards, pressed through the shattered window, and tore the dresses from the mannequins.
Margot trembled. Sergey had once told her that the Nazis wanted what belonged to people they didn’t understand, and because of that, called them inferior. She could understand that, but rioting and looting was far removed from wanting something. How she wished her papa were still alive. Surely he would have reassured her and kept her world whole.
A movement at the corner of her eyes caught her attention. Hans pushed through the display window and gaped into the store. His eyes fastened on her and he dropped his post, which thudded to the floor. “Margot?”
She returned his stare. He used to be such a nice boy, and look at him now! She pointed an accusing finger at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
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