“But,” Elise said, “the tiara!”
I waved a hand that felt like it weighed pounds. “Alix has it in her backpack. Well, it’s hers now, isn’t it?”
“In herbackpack?”Elise looked appalled.
“Yes,” Alix said, “but I’m thinking, Mother, that I’ll give it back to you for now. The earrings, too. I can’t imagine where I’d wear a tiara, but it’s so beautiful,somebodyshould wear it, and God knows you’ll have more opportunities to do that than I will. The ballet season, the opera season, the symphony season … all those wonderful Tiara Moments.”
Elise hesitated, to her credit. “As a loan, perhaps. And really, Alix, it’s in yourbackpack?The security risk alone!”
“Well, yes,” I said. “One doesn’t check priceless jewelry, and other than sending it by private courier, how else would we get it home? Sebastian’s as good a bodyguard as one could hope for, and after all, the thing survived for months in Andrea’s rucksack as we tramped across half of Germany.”
“That girl,” Elise said. “A thief all along, and you never suspected.”
“I’m not interested in discussing that today,” I said. “Thank you for coming to meet us, but I really must go to bed now.”
What can possibly be more comforting than lying down, clean and safe and warm, in one’s own house, with the windows open to the breeze and the birds, and hearing the voices of one’s beloved family? Ben’s laugh, Alix’s exclamations,the rumble of Sebastian’s calm voice, and Elise, bossing all of them as she loved to do. I turned over, tucked the pillow more firmly under my head, and dozed off again.
But when I dreamed, it wasn’t of Dresden, or even of Germany. It was of that other journey, halfway across the world and away from the only life I’d known. Of coming down the gangplank and catching sight of Joe, and all that had followed.
3
THE WELCOMING COMMITTEE
New York, New York
November 1947
How my heart leapt at sight of Joe! He wasn’t the tallest man here, or the most handsome—his nose was too beaky for that, his cheekbones too pronounced, his frame too angular—but his face was more dear to me than anybody’s in the world. I thought,I’m with my husband again. I’m here to stay, and this is only the beginning of our new life,and tried to believe it.
He had to fight his way through to me, for the crowd was enormous. The women, the infants, the toddlers, the waiting GIs—they swarmed like bees around me, but I saw only Joe.
He stopped in front of me anddidn’ttake me in his arms. I was confused for a minute, because there was something odd about his expression. Finally, he spoke. “Marguerite. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Pardon?” I blinked at him stupidly. Why wasn’t he kissing me? The other men were kissingtheirwives. Did he not want me anymore? Not possible. This wasJoe.
“Marguerite,” he said. “The baby.”
“Oh!” I jumped a little, then laughed. “I forgot I was holding him. He’s somebody else’s, of course. See, he belongs to Sadie, just there. She was kissing her husband, so …”
At that moment, the brunette beside me turned, smiled radiantly, and said, “Cheers, love. Look, Harry, here’s Harry Junior. Isn’t he the loveliest baby?”
Harry Jr. was not, in fact, particularly lovely, bearing a marked resemblance to Winston Churchill, scowl, jowls, and all, but Harry Senior said, “Boy, oh, boy, he’s a pip, all right,” and looked pleased as punch as he took the baby gingerly from me and held him awkwardly. Junior started to fuss, but they’d soon get that sorted.
Joe said, “Oh. I thought?—”
“That would have been quite the surprise,” I agreed. “A bit much for you to adjust to on the first day, no?” We both laughed, then hedidtake me in his arms and kiss me—he lifted me off my feet, in fact, and twirled me—and I wrapped my arms around his neck and felt—I can’t even say what I felt. Thrilled. Joyous. Whole.
He put me down at last, though I could tell he didn’t want to. His entire face was a smile, but there was intensity in his eyes, too, and he still had his hand at my waist as if he couldn’t let go. I thought,Did you get a hotel room?and then,I can’t ask that.Then remembered,He’s my husband,which was when I buried my face in his neck and breathed in his familiar scent, like clean cotton on the washing line, but with something darker and more thrilling underneath. I could have closed my eyes and known it was Joe anywhere. I asked, “Did you get a hotel room? Please say yes,” possibly rather breathlessly, and watched his brown eyes darken and a flush start on his neck.
Somebody was staring at me. Disapprovingly, I was sure. A middle-aged woman, her dark hair expertly styled and topped by an elegant flat black hat with a fluffy bit on top. The hat wentperfectly with the black wool coat that swung to mid-calf as if she’d never heard of a clothing coupon. She’d heard me, it was clear, and disapproved, but why? Was that so bad for a wife to say? The man beside her was equally dapper, and Joe, too, I realized belatedly, looked more stylish than I’d ever seen him. All of them—nearly everyone on the pier—looked like that. Well fed, well groomed, well clothed. And I was practically a ragamuffin. Thatwas probably why she was staring at me this way.
Which was when she said, “Introduce us, please, Joe.”
“Right!” Joe laughed a little, kept his hand on my waist, and said, “My mother, Lena Stark, and my father, Jacob Stark. The welcoming committee. Mom and Dad, this is my wife.” His smile reached all the way to his eyes. “Marguerite Glucksburg Stark. I sure do like the sound of that name.”
“Mrs. Stark.” I put out my hand in proper German fashion. “How do you do. And Mr. Stark.” Another quick, firm handshake. “I’m so pleased to meet you. But you’ve all come such a long way! I told Joe that I could easily come on the train by myself and meet him in California. I’m used to traveling, and it’s quite safe, I hear. One is taken to Grand Central Station and put on the correct train, and of course, your railroads run very well. Not like the German ones, which are still in a dreadful state.” I ran down, because, first, I was chattering and I knew it, and second, Mrs. Stark’s face wasn’t getting any friendlier.
Joe said, “How about if Dad and I go collect your luggage? You and Mom can meet us in the terminal, under the big clock. We don’t catch the train west until tomorrow night, so we’ve got some time for me to show you New York before we get into that Pullman car for your coast-to-coast tour. Not that I know much about the city. I had exactly two days here before I shipped out. We’ll explore together, how’s that?” He grinned and was my dear, familiar Joe again, despite the graysuit, soft hat, and wool overcoat that made him look so businesslike and prosperous.
