The Librarian of Burned Books, page 31
“When I got to Berlin, the Nazis used that apathy against me. They spun compelling stories about an economic recovery, a return to a Germany that was greater than it had ever been before, a movement that had been born from the young people’s discontent. On the other side of that coin, they gave me a boogeyman to fear—the communists who they said would kill you dead in the street as soon as look at you. In fact, it was the Nazi thugs who had no compunction in doing that.”
Beside Viv, Hannah nodded.
“What does any of this have to do with the ASEs, you might ask,” Althea said, with a slightly self-deprecating smile. “I started paying more attention to politics in the decade since I had my eyes viciously opened in Germany. And my opinion on the practice hasn’t changed much—it still feels like people are playing poker or baseball or football. Each side counts up their wins and losses without regard to the lives involved, and most of the time that’s fine. Things swing left and things swing right, and we get a semblance of a government coming out in the middle.”
The speech was a little sharper than Viv had been expecting, but as it was Althea James speaking, it seemed no one was willing to risk looking bad in storming out.
“Most of the time, it’s fine,” Althea repeated. “But it can also blind you to the occasions when politics isn’t just politics. World leaders spent most of the years before Hitler invaded Poland pacifying the man. They treated him like he was any other politician who would play by the rules of the game, the unspoken ones that keep millions of citizens from being disappeared in the middle of broad daylight. The unspoken ones that keep the party’s street fighters from murdering their opponents in the town’s square. The unspoken ones that keep countries from brutalizing their neighbors and slaughtering their own people.
“Miss Brecht told you that you are sitting here in a moment that could be far more significant than it feels,” Althea said, and Viv saw Hannah’s mouth tick up. “As someone who was there that night with her at the book burnings, I have to agree.”
A ripple cascaded through the audience at that, surprise and delight at having the two speakers tied together.
“I am no longer that innocent girl from Owl’s Head, Maine, who had stars in her eyes that blinded her to cruelties because she just didn’t care enough,” Althea said. “Even if it’s the elephant in the room today, I know why this amendment exists, I know the politics behind it. Roosevelt’s fourth term is your boogeyman, Senator Taft.”
Viv gripped her clipboard. “Not one for half measures, is she?”
“No.” Hannah sounded far too amused. “Apparently not.”
“And you want the numbers on your side of the scoreboard to be higher than your opponents’,” Althea said, clear and decisive. “But if you walk away from today, from every testimonial about how much joy and relief the Armed Services Editions bring to our boys overseas, then all you are is stuck on a court playing games while the rest of us live in the real world.
“There are bigger things in this world than politics,” Althea continued. “There are bigger things in this world than scoring a win for your side just to score a win for your side. This might seem like a melodramatic overreaction for some of you, maybe you scoff at the notion that there should be so much brouhaha over books. There were plenty of people who felt that way in May 1933, as well. And I promise you, if I’ve learned anything from my time in Berlin, it’s this: an attack on books, on rationality, on knowledge isn’t a tempest in a teacup, but rather a canary dead in a coal mine.
“There are moments in life when you have to put what is right over what party you vote for. And if you can’t recognize those moments when the stakes are low—let me assure you, you won’t recognize them when the stakes are high. Thank you.”
“Jeez Louise,” Viv muttered, but when she turned to grin at Hannah she found the space next to her empty. It threw her, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. Althea was there in front of her, and Viv couldn’t help but throw her arms around the shorter woman.
“I’m proud of you,” she breathed into Althea’s temple, not caring that Althea probably gave about two figs if Viv was proud of her.
Althea patted her back awkwardly. “I hope I didn’t get you into hot water with the senator.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Viv said, pulling back a little. “Even if the papers run only some of your quotes, he’ll look petty if he continues to dig in on the issue.”
“And he’ll look like he’s a Nazi and on the wrong side of history if they run Hannah’s,” Althea said, her eyes slipping to the spot behind Viv. But Hannah wasn’t there, and she wasn’t anywhere that Viv could see backstage. Althea’s shoulders sagged, but then her walls were back up. The smile she shot Viv was forced, but Viv didn’t know her well enough to prod. “Congratulations. I do believe he’ll yank the amendment after this.”
“I agree,” a voice came from the stairs leading out into the hallway.
Viv whirled to find Hale standing there, in his flawless suit and artfully rumpled hair, looking every bit the imposing congressman he was. But she could see the pleasure in his crinkled eyes, his repressed smile, the way he leaned toward her as if he wanted to gather her up in a hug like the one she’d bestowed upon Althea.
“You think it’s enough?” Viv asked, a little breathless. She’d spent months trying to pull this off, and if she could actually claim success? That would be beyond her wildest dreams.
“Yes.” He crossed the room and cuffed her on the shoulder, a light punch that had her grinning up at him. “I think it’s enough.”
And he was right.
The media had already been throwing itself behind the council’s cause, but following the event in New York, papers across the country upped the ante. There were editorials in nearly every publication. The general message was: the men who were putting their lives on the line were quite able to decide for themselves what they wanted to read.
What Viv loved best, though, was the general consensus that books were not just books. They were stories that helped the exhausted men overseas remember what they were fighting for—freedom of thought, American values, antifascist sentiment. For a country that had been primed with anti-Nazi propaganda for years, the idea of being associated with Hitler and his authoritarian thinking was abhorrent.
It was Leo Aston who helped deliver the knockout punch. Not with his profile of Althea James and her time in Berlin as a guest of the Nazis, though that had been one of Time’s bestselling issues.
No, rather, he’d managed to overhear Taft as he walked out of Times Hall and told a staff member that if given the chance, seventy-five percent of servicemen would vote Roosevelt and that’s why he was opposed to soldiers voting. After that quote started making the rounds, even Taft’s allies began distancing themselves from him and his overbroad amendment.
And while that hadn’t been the story Viv had been trying to tell, nor had it been what she’d poured all her hard work into, at the end of the day the event had helped get her what she wanted.
By mid-August, lawmakers were emerging out of the woodwork to support killing the amendment.
Moving faster than Viv had ever seen Congress act, lawmakers effectively gutted Taft’s amendment by an overwhelming majority. The president quickly signed the legislation and just like that, the council was free to include whatever books they wanted in the Armed Services Editions program.
HALE TOOK VIV out to Delmonico’s to celebrate with good red wine and a thick steak, in true politician fashion. She didn’t mind, though; she liked it just as much as the lawmakers tended to.
“What happens now?” Hale asked as he contemplated the dessert menu.
“The world turns on,” Viv said, sighing and sinking back in her chair. She had been sweat-soaked from the hot day, but in the cool, dark restaurant, she’d found exquisite relief and she wasn’t looking forward to braving the weather once more. “We keep fighting the good fight when we can, I suppose.”
Hale watched her from beneath hooded eyes, all sinful and dark and brooding. “What will you do when the war is over?”
“When?” she asked with a little laugh.
“You can read the writing on the wall as well as I can,” he chastised. “Come work for me?”
“Is that a real job offer?” Viv asked, a little thrown.
“Yes and no,” Hale said, putting down the menu to give her his full attention. “Yes, in that I think you would be a valuable addition to my team. No, in that I don’t think you’ll accept it.”
Viv grinned. “If there’s anything I’ve learned from this it’s that I prefer almost anything to politics.”
“You can’t blame me for trying,” he said casually, smiling at the waiter when he came over. He ordered a chocolate cake and two espressos. “But truly, what will you do?”
“Find some more good fights to fight,” she said, nudging his foot with her own. He linked their ankles and she left hers there, caught.
“That sounds like politics,” he said, with a half smirk.
“Everything sounds like politics to you,” she shot back. Then she sobered, looking away from his intense gaze. “I think books, maybe? We’ve created a generation of new readers overseas. Publishing houses will be busy once they come back home.”
“Telling stories,” Hale said with a nod. It could have sounded patronizing but didn’t. “People trust you with theirs.”
Viv rested her chin against her fist. “I hope so.”
He linked the fingers of their free hands together. “I would trust you with mine.”
“You’re biased,” she said, with a teasing smile.
“Maybe,” he admitted, rubbing a thumb over her knuckle. She didn’t pull away when she might have a few weeks earlier. He studied her, the humor bleeding out of his face. “Are you happy?”
“Are any of us?” she asked with forced levity. When his serious expression didn’t budge she fought the urge to retreat any further. And she admitted, “It’s hard to be.”
“Because of the war?”
“Yes, always. But also, I think I’ve been unduly influenced by novels,” Viv said, dropping her eyes to their still-joined hands.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
If this were a book . . .
“There’s a narrative that builds and builds and builds to a resolution,” Viv said, trying to collect her scattered thoughts into something reasonable. “And then there’s a denouement and then an ending.”
“You had your resolution,” Hale followed easily. “But now life goes on.”
“Happy endings are for novels, not real life,” Viv said, and then tossed her hair. “I would be angry if this was my ending, don’t get me wrong.”
Hale nodded like she was actually making sense. “But it feels strange to go to work and pay your bills and get your coffee just like any other day.”
“Althea James said that she was guilty of too often thinking of herself as the protagonist of every story,” Viv said. “I get that now.”
“You were the protagonist of this one,” Hale said, pressing his thumb into the vulnerable space on the back of her hand. “You fought like hell, and got the job done.”
“But in the next, I might be a supporting character,” Viv pointed out.
Hale laughed and it was a good look on him. Viv realized she wanted to be the person who did that all the time—the person who made him laugh.
“I can tell you,” Hale said, bringing her hand to his mouth. His lips brushed against her knuckles, his breath hot, his eyes far too intense for the moment they were sharing. “You will never be a supporting character to me.”
“Sap,” Viv chided. But there was that warmth in her belly, golden like fizzy champagne that made her believe this really might be a happy beginning if only she could be brave enough to admit it.
“Maybe so,” Hale said, with a quirked brow. “But you love me for it.”
“I do,” Viv said softly and when he beamed at her she couldn’t help but grin back. “We’ll make a knight-errant out of you yet.”
Chapter 51
New York City
July 1944
Althea waved off Vivian Childs’s offer to escort her around the city to see all the sights.
Instead, she let the woman bask in her victory and in her beau, who clearly had eyes only for her. Vivian had done something remarkable, and even if after all this she failed at her goal, she would have known that she had tried.
Wasn’t that more important than victory itself?
Althea wasn’t sure. She told herself it was, but the fact that she’d put herself out there and Hannah had walked away anyway was a blow she hadn’t been expecting.
Hannah had been magnificent, inspiring, courageous, like she always had been.
For once, Althea had thought she’d met her there in that space that was worthy of admiration.
But when she’d stepped offstage, it was to find that Hannah had left. Had she even stayed to listen to anything Althea had said?
Would it matter if she had?
At the end of the day, Althea was glad she had given the speech, glad she had done something real rather than hide away in her cottage. Too long she had allowed a bad judgment call to dictate her actions. So what if she had believed the Nazis a legitimate party for a few months back in the early thirties? So had most of the world’s leaders, who were far more intelligent than she.
It was long past the time that she shed whatever guilt had clung to her in the years since. She certainly hadn’t earned a life sentence for her behavior.
She hated that Hannah had been hurt, but Althea realized now she had not been the cause of it. Adam’s capture had been punishment for Althea’s actions, yes, but the Nazis had never needed an excuse. If they’d known he was plotting against them they would have captured him regardless. The punishment was just a personal bonus for Diedrich.
For years, Hannah had been the judge, jury, and executioner over each move Althea had made, and she had no one to blame for that but herself. Hannah’s ghost had permeated every aspect of Althea’s life, because Althea had given it permission to.
And in the end, she knew that it hadn’t really been Hannah’s voice that haunted her every waking moment, but her own.
She had sided with the Nazis for three months and paid for that choice for ten years.
It was time.
It was time to move on. It was time to forgive herself. It was time to forgive Hannah.
Althea had been waiting for a moment when she could be the hero of the story. But she realized now that she didn’t need to be. She had taken the spotlight, she had slain the monsters—or at least helped in slaying the monsters—and none of her problems had disappeared.
She had truly thought that if she did the right thing, if she fought the valiant fight, she could be redeemed. But redemption had never lived in one single moment. It lived in a thousand of them.
It lived in the times where she’d written about bigotry and hatred and the ways that it sunk into the soul with hooks and refused to let go.
It lived in the times that she’d taken groceries to a neighbor who, in Nazi Germany, would have been shipped off to a concentration camp because of his inability to walk; in the times that she’d challenged a friend’s careless slurs; in the times she’d laid bare her own mistakes in hopes that others would learn from them.
She never again would wish herself a hero, but maybe she proved with each action she took that she wasn’t a villain, either. She was just a person trying to live the best she could, trying to make sure no one else was hurt in the process.
Vivian had given Althea Hannah’s home address, cautiously, carefully, in a way that had made Althea grateful that this was Hannah’s secret keeper.
The big event at Times Hall had been three days ago, and Althea had yet to gather the courage to knock on Hannah’s door.
Hannah hadn’t written her, was the thing. Even though she must have opened Althea’s letters, especially the one with the visa that Althea had pulled every string available to get.
Perhaps Hannah still blamed her for Adam’s capture.
But why would she have smiled like that at Althea when she’d come off the stage?
Althea paced around the small park across from Hannah’s apartment. It was in an up-and-coming Brooklyn neighborhood, the kind that Althea could see settling down in. Kids played stickball in the streets, women gossiped on stoops, old men played checkers on the sidewalk. It reminded Althea of home despite the fact that home to her had always been the cliffs and the sea.
It made her think that home might not be a place, but rather a person.
She stared down at the address and remembered that night.
Do people like us get happy endings? she’d asked Hannah.
They may be complicated, but that doesn’t make them any less happy.
Althea sucked in a breath, gathering her courage.
And then she crossed the street, climbed the stairs, and knocked on the door.
Chapter 52
New York City
July 1944
Hannah fled.
She didn’t often consider herself a coward, but for once she let herself be one.
Althea was stunning, powerful. With every word she spoke, Hannah’s body trembled.
Hannah had fallen for the girl with the big eyes and big emotions, the one who’d worn her heart on her sleeve and blushed as easily as she breathed. That girl had ruined her, had sunk claws into a part of her soul and then poured salt in the wounds.
This woman in front of her, the one who spoke with such conviction, could be far more compelling. And that terrified Hannah.
She had used Althea’s visa to flee Paris and everything she knew was coming. To flee Otto and his haunted eyes.
But she hadn’t sought out the woman herself. Because she’d been scared about what Althea would say once Hannah told her that she’d been falsely accused for years. That Hannah had believed her to be a monster for years.
When Hannah had arrived in New York City, it was to a country that reminded her too much of everything she’d been escaping from. She’d seen the pictures, the ones that had Black Americans drinking from separate water fountains than white Americans; the ones that had signs proclaiming Jews the secret plague of the West. It had reminded her so much of Nazi Germany that she’d nearly thrown up after looking at them.
