“You see your father very often?” I hadn’t known Truman’s father was still living.
“No. He lives in Oregon now. In a cabin in the woods. A decade ago, he decided to become a hermit, basically.”
“Oh.”
Truman dried his hands on a second dish towel. We were finished.
“Thanks for helping with the dishes,” I said.
“Used to do them all the time growing up. Wouldn’t want to forget how. I’ll find out where Helen’s latest letter is. I know you like the stamps.” He turned and left.
The kitchen seemed to diminish in size the tiniest bit after he was gone. It had been nice talking with Truman. I realized with a start that I missed that more than anything now, talking with someone while doing an ordinary task, like I used to do with Momma and Daddy and even Tommy.
When Alphonse arrived to start supper, I went into the kitchen to assist, and the promised newly arrived letter from Helen Calvert was sitting on the countertop. I slipped it into my apron pocket to read later.
When the supper dishes were cleaned and put away and I was alone in my room, I opened the envelope:
May 4, 1938
My dear Truman, Celine, and Wilson:
I hope this letter finds you all well. Thanks for your package, Truman, and the boxes of BostonBaked Beans! They are the only American candy I miss. That was sweet of you. And many thanks for the letter with all the news of home.
I was so touched to hear that you have taken in Rosie, and so sad to hear of the terrible accident that took her family from her. Please pass along my heartfelt condolences. I am sure the loss has been tremendous. My thoughts and prayers are with her.
I appreciate your plea for me to come home before tensions rise further here, but I feel that I must stay. I belong here. I can’t recall if I’ve told you that the youngest of the Maier children, Brigitta, was born with only three fingers on each hand and a few other health problems. She is learning to master skills with six fingers that the rest of us can do with ten, but she still struggles with almost every developmental step a child takes as she grows. My guess is she will likely always remain at home. My employer, Captain Maier, had a demanding position before, in what had been the Austrian Army, and it is even more so now that he is part of the German Wehrmacht. His duties often mean travel. And Frau Maier is heavily involved in the related activities expected of an officer’s wife. They need me here to help care for Brigitta during this especially tumultuous time in Vienna.
It is actually quite important that Brigitta is seen to be well cared for and not a burden to society. The government here doesn’t like people who are different in any way, and there are more and more rumors about what they are doing to people seen as inferior. The new leadership here feels toward the weak and disabled the way they feel about the Jewish residents.They do not like them. It is appalling. So you see, it is important that I remain here and make sure the child is cared for. Surely you can understand.
I have to say that in spite of all this, Brigitta Maier is a sweet child, nearly made of sunshine. Always happy, always laughing, always in good spirits. Life did not give me a family of my own, but with Brigitta, it is almost as if I do have a daughter. And with the rest of the Maiers, I almost have a family like yours.
Please turn your concern for me into prayers for the Maiers and this country and the world. These are dark days. I fear they may grow darker.
I hope to write again in the summer.
All my love,
Helen
I folded the letter and put it back inside its envelope and then added it to the collection of letters from Helen Calvert that I kept—even though this letter wasn’t full of the usual descriptions of gardens or concerts or the ski chalet that she and this family she worked for sometimes went to. I found myself worried for this little girl named Brigitta whom I did not know. That night when I went to bed, I said a little prayer for her, like Helen had asked of us.
But then my thoughts turned to Wilson’s expected visit, a much happier thought, and one that I wanted to fall asleep thinking about, rather than a little disabled girl in Vienna who apparently needed to be shielded from her own government. I nodded off imagining Wilson liking the idea that I was now living in his house. And that I was a young woman now.
•••
Over the next few days, I allowed myself to daydream about what it was going to be like to see Wilson again. I wondered if he’d notice how much I had changed since the last time we were in the same room together.
On the day I changed Wilson’s bed linens with fresh sheets, I wondered crazily what it might be like to be kissed by him. The thought made me giggle, and the giggle felt good. It had been a long time since I’d laughed.
As I fluffed Wilson’s bed pillows, I fantasized that maybe after seeing me again he’d end up wishing he hadn’t planned to stay on Cape Cod for the whole summer.
It was a silly thought. So silly. But still...
Maybe he would tell me that he hoped the next time he came home for a visit, I would still be there.
7
FEBRUARY 1939
