“You’ll make him a wonderful wife,” I said. Baby Abigail reached for me, and I took her, settled her cap more firmly on her head—she was constantly trying to rid herself of her socks and cap, as if she wished only to join a nudist colony—and said, “You’re about to meet your Papa, aren’t you?”
“No!” she said, because that was her favorite word.
“Well, that’s a brilliant start,” Paula said, and I laughed again, her cheerfulness settling me. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be here. It was that I wanted to be here too much.
Also—Joe.
A studiously refined voice from over my shoulder. “We’re here at last, then. I expect we’ll go through another round of questioning before they allow us into the country. Last chance for them to find anybody who doesn’t belong.” Yes, that was our Louisa.
“You worried, then?” Paula flashed straight back. “Think they won’t like your charming personality? America’s meant to be a democracy, remember. I don’t reckon they’re burning to add Princess Margaret Rose to the voting rolls.”
Louisa’s bosom friend, Claudia, a blonde whose hair and makeup were always perfect—and plentiful—said, “Ignore her, Louisa.”
Louisa said, “Thank goodness I’ll be living in New York. I can’t wait to stroll along Fifth Avenue, can you, Claudia, and pop into Bonwit Teller or Bergdorf Goodman for a new frock? You and Marguerite are going to California, aren’t you, Paula? All that way on the train, across the empty prairies, to live in the back of beyond. Do they still have all those Dust Bowl people in California? What are they called, Okies? I don’t know that I could live in such anewplace anyway, without any museums or any history, except the wild Indians. Never going to the theater again—that would truly be a fate worse than death to me. I do adore culture.”
I tried very hard not to laugh. It didn’t work perfectly, because I definitely snorted a bit before recovering enough to say, “You’ll be very happy here, then, I expect.” The best way to take the sting out of a snub, I’ve found, is not to recognize it. “And I’m sure Charlie will be thrilled to show you around.”
“Charles,” she said, losing some of the lofty polish and some of the accent. “His name is Charles.Ican call him Charlie, because I’m his wife. What’s your husband’s name again? Joe, is it?”
“Yes,” I said, perfectly calmly. Calmly about this, anyway; Louisa couldn’t shake my faith in Joe, or my admiration for him. And when you’ve been born and raised a princess, it does tend to stick, however reduced your circumstances. “I suppose I’d better go down and tidy up before we dock.”
“I’ll come with you,” Paula said. She sounded nervous again. Well, itwasnerve-wracking. I hadn’t seen Joe since he’dleft Nuremberg at the end of April. That had been a very long six months ago, but then, it was only natural that the Army would transport its troops home before it spared a thought for their dependents, and there were only so many ships.
I’d thought I was calm, but somehow, we were back in the cabin again without my being aware of moving. I grabbed my hairbrush from my purse and did my best. Paula said,“Pleaselet me put a bit of lippy and powder on you. You’ll look peaky otherwise, and he’ll think you’re ill. Women in the States wear makeup and nylons every day, you know, and, well …”
“And I,” I said, “have only a few dresses, ugly shoes, and somehow, an even uglier coat. But then, Germanydidlose the war.” I was trying for a joke. It didn’t quite come off.
“Three minutes,” Paula said.“Please.”
That was possibly why, when we found each other at last, Joe stared at me. It was probably why the two people with him stared, too. And looked horrified.
Well, my faceandthe very tiny baby I was holding.
Not the best start to my brand-new life.
2
NOT TIARA TERRITORY
San Jose, California
Present Day
“It’s weird to go through Customs and be, like, American,” Ben said, once the officer had handed back his new blue-and-silver passport. “I don’tfeelAmerican. I still feel Canadian. Also, I think Canadian is better, sorry.”
“You’re allowed to think so,” I said. “You still have your Canadian passport, and you can feel Canadian the rest of your life if you choose.” I looked back and saw Sebastian pushing the luggage cart with Alix beside him, so clearly wishing she could take the handle and sprint for the exit. My granddaughter is not a patient traveler. “Do you mind if I take your arm?”
“Oh, geez. Sorry. I’m supposed to be looking out for you.” Ben slowed his pace, and I took his arm with gratitude as Sebastian and Alix, yes, passed us. No reason to feel weak, though, despite my family now knowing that I was ninety-two rather than ninety-four. There’s not really much difference. Over ninety is over ninety, at least until one developsthe illness that will take one to the grave. I still had my sanity and the use of my limbs, and what more can one want? Not to have to wear ugly shoes, perhaps, but such is life.
Oh. Ben. Ben is my granddaughter Alix’s fiancé Sebastian’s nephew and ward. Is that still a word? One never hears it these days. It always sounded romantic in novels when I was young. So many stories about men marrying their wards. Really quite perverse, if one considers it for half a minute.
“So did you still feel German?” Ben asked. “When you came here the first time? You’ve never talked about that, at least not that I’ve heard. Did you keep your citizenship and everything? Or did they make people give it up because, like, no Nazis allowed?”
“No,” I said, “the Americans didn’t force one to renounce one’s citizenship, despite the Nazis. I did anyway, though.”
“But you just said?—”
“The circumstances were quite different,” I said. “You were forced to come here when your mother became ill. Iescapedhere. Anyway, I never felt so much German as Saxon. There was always a little … distance.”
