Free The Ring by Danielle Steel Page B

nothing more to survive in Germany, except the patience to endure, the wisdom to be quiet, the willingness to be blind and mute.
    He still remembered Ariana's horror when she had gone to see her mother's furrier one day three years after her mother's death. When she was a little girl, Rothmann, the furrier, had always given her hot chocolate and cookies, now and then some small mink tails. But when she had gone to find him, she had found instead a dozen men with armbands standing guard outside the store. It was dark and empty, the marquee torn, the windows smashed, the huge, luxurious emporium empty, and on the windows one single word Juden.
    Ariana had run to her father's bank crying, and he had shut the door and been firm, You must tell no one, Ariana! No one! You must not discuss it or ask questions. Tell no one what you saw!
    She had stared at him in confusion. But other people saw it, too. The soldiers, they were all standing outside with guns, and the window ' and, Papa ' , I know it I saw blood!
    You saw nothing, Ariana. You were never there.
    But
    Silence! You had lunch today with me, in the Tiergarten, and then we came back to the bank. We sat in here for a while, you drank a cup of hot chocolate, and then the chauffeur drove you home. Is that quite clear? She had never seen him like that, and she didn't understand. Was it possible that her father was frightened? They couldn't touch him. He was an important banker. And besides, Papa wasn't Jewish. But where had they taken Rothmann? And what would happen to his store? Do you understand me, Ariana? Her father's voice had been raised harshly, almost angrily, yet she had sensed that he was not angry at her.
    I understand. And then in a little voice that pierced their silence, But why?
    Walmar von Gotthard sighed and sank back into his chair. It was a large, impressive office, an enormous desk, and across from him, despite the fact that she was twelve, Ariana looked so small. What could he tell her? How could he explain?
    A year after that incident the worst had happened. In September war had come. Since then he had steered his own course with caution, but he knew that it had paid off. The children were safe and protected. Gerhard was twelve and a half now, and Ariana just sixteen. Very little had changed for them, and although the children always suspected that he hated Hitler, it was a suspicion they never discussed, not even with each other. It was dangerous to admit that one hated Hitler. Everyone knew that.
    They still lived in the house in Grunewald, went to the same schools, attended the same church, but they seldom visited other people's homes. Walmar kept a tight rein on them for their own sake, he explained carefully, and it made sense to them. After all, the country was at war. Everywhere were uniforms, laughing soldiers, pretty girls, and at night they sometimes heard music when their neighbors gave large parties for officers and friends. In some ways, all over Berlin it was a time of gaiety beyond measure. In other ways the children knew that it was sad, too. Many of their friends' fathers were off fighting. Some of them had already lost fathers and brothers to the war. But for Ariana and Gerhard, despite other children's teasing, it was a relief to know that their father was too old. They had already lost their mother, they couldn't have borne to lose him, too.
    But you're not too old for parties, Ariana had told Walmar with a waiflike smile. This was the spring of her sixteenth birthday, and she desperately wanted to attend her first ball. She was old enough to remember that while her mother was alive her parents had been very social. But in the seven years since her passing, Walmar had spent almost every waking moment either at his bank or at home in his rooms or with them playing cards. The life of balls and parties had ended when Kassandra took her own life. But the children knew very little of their mother. The facts of how and why their mother died were