The Night Portrait by Laura Morelli

Author:Laura Morelli [Laura Morelli]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: William Morrow Paperbacks
Published: 2020-06-22T00:00:00+00:00

41

Edith

Outside Puławy, Poland

March 1940

WAHL I. WAHL II. WAHL III.

First Rate, Second Rate, Third.

The harsh rake of light from the desk lamp illuminated stacks of ledgers and inventories. Farther away, in the shadowy recesses of the basement storage room, unknown treasures awaited her inspection. Over the past weeks, Edith had identified a small picture by the Dutch painter Anthony van Dyck. And there were more stacks of paintings, sculptures, rugs, and furniture lying in wait for her examination. There were also scores of smaller pieces—silver services, glass and crystal, brass.

Wahl I. Wahl II. Wahl III.

Edith had started thinking of them in colors: green, blue, red.

And photographs. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of photographs. Nameless faces stared out at Edith in the shadows as she sat alone with her pen and a blank ledger page. Photographs in frames, in boxes, in albums, loose.

Yet another Polish estate. This time, she did not know the name or the exact location of this once-fine country house, nor did she know what had become of its owners. The belowground level—now transformed into Edith’s workspace—had been set up for the collection and sorting of property stripped from private owners across Poland. Edith was only glad that Hans Frank had chosen a location far from Wawel Castle. Far from Frank’s own offices. Far from Frank himself.

Edith was so relieved to have been assigned far away from Frank that she didn’t even mind being the only woman lodged along with a houseful of men. The upper floors had been transformed into barracks to house Nazi officers. Once the men learned that Edith’s fiancé was one of them, that he too was deployed on the Polish front, they treated Edith with respect. They also shared stories about their own wives, girlfriends, sisters, and mothers they had left behind in Germany.

Edith was assigned to a sparse former servants’ quarters off the kitchen, where the smells of stewed meat and pastry filled her room. She and the officers were fed from a large ground-floor dining room staffed by three Polish matrons who had been coerced into housekeeping and kitchen duty. The women whispered among themselves as they rolled dough or chopped onions and carrots. Edith had tried to be friendly with the only other women in the building, but she quickly discovered that the kitchen ladies were not only extremely guarded but also understood no German. Edith spoke no Polish, so she soon gave up trying to make a friend or even have a conversation beyond crude hand gestures if she needed something.

All day long, Edith sifted carefully through each item that came through the doors. Three repositories. One for valuable items, one for those of some interest, and another for objects of little value. For months, the goods had continued to pour into the rooms without ceasing. Once-empty palace rooms had begun to fill, and they had moved into adjacent rooms.

Edith was only a little surprised by the variety of items that came through her hands. Oriental carpets, silver candelabras, bronze clocks, small sculptures, porcelain of Meissen and Sèvres, entire silver table settings.

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