“Not always. None of the other ladies have young children, so they’re out and about more than me. I have my hands full with three.”
“My goodness. I can only imagine. Three children…” I say in wonder.
Ingrid chuckles following a sigh. “They certainly keep me busy. Gunther is seven, Ada is nine, and Marie is fourteen going on thirty.”
The thought of taking care of just one child makes me dizzy. “It must be lovely to have a big family.”
Ingrid grins, an expression I can’t completely decipher.
A moment of awkward silence makes me brush my fingernails against the side of my neck as I try to control my focus from returning to the picture frame. “I’m sorry. I apologize if I’m being too forward, but I noticed you turned down a picture frame when we walked in. I can’t stop myself from wondering about it. Is there a special story behind it?”
Ingrid’s shoulders square and she tilts her chin upward, allowing me to see her struggle to swallow. She clears her throat and reaches up to fiddle with her pearl earring. “I wasn’t expecting company,” she says, her throat sounding dry. “The photo is something of a family secret, but the picture contains a memory of someone dear.”
I shouldn’t have been so nosy. I’ve been so consumed with everyone keeping secrets from me that it’s the first thought I have when anyone does anything out of the ordinary. “How lovely. Memories are the greatest gift, aren’t they?”
“Most of the time, yes,” she says, curtly.
She’s still staring at the ceiling, and the sunlight filtering in between the linen drapes twinkles across her eyes. Tears form. “I treasure my memories, especially from when I was a young girl, back when I could believe this world wasn’t so scary.”
Ingrid lowers her chin and presses the knuckle of her index finger beneath her eye. “Exactly. The photo is of my closest friend when I was a child. We were like sisters. Unfortunately, she passed away three years ago. I regret not keeping in touch with her like we promised to always do.” She releases a heavy breath. “Anyhow, it’s not a conversation starter, so I tend to put the photograph away when expecting company.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. Life only gives us the best of people for a short amount of time.”Like Danner.
“That’s what I think to myself all the time.” Ingrid smiles and takes in a deep breath. “I suppose we must think alike.”
“We must,” I agree. “I’m happy to lend an ear whenever you’d like to talk.”
As if I set off an alarm, a ferocious scream bellows from upstairs.
“Mama, my drawings are missing. Marie took them from me. Tell her to give them back!”
“Girls, we have a guest over. Please don’t start a commotion. Marie, give your sister her drawings back if you took them,” Ingrid says, keeping her voice chipper rather than replying with haste like I might do if I was embarrassed by my children.
A rumble grows from upstairs, and Ingrid lowers her head into her hand. “I apologize, Emilie.” Gunther looks up toward the stairwell and smiles before running up the steps as quickly as he can. Before long, the three children are screaming at each other.
“They don’t act like this when their father is here. It’s only for my benefit,” she says.
“How about I go pour the water into the teapot and you take a break for a moment?” I ask, standing from my seat.
“No, no, no. Please, sit back down. I’ll take care of the water.” She lunges from her chair, not so eloquently, and ambles into the kitchen.
Again, I stare at the upside-down picture frame and then peer down at the tea table, curious as to what she removed as we walked inside. I scan the room, finding landscape portraits hanging from the walls, a piano in the far corner, and a magazine rack by the piano bench.
I squint at the newspaper folded over the top, wondering if my eyes are deceiving me as I spot a copy ofDas Reich, a paper that features Nazi propaganda and daily updates supporting the Führer’s agenda.
EIGHT
EMILIE
FEBRUARY 1942
Dachau, Germany
As I fidget with the foil sealing the dinner plate, a deep rumble shakes the house and I grip the table for support. A startling pop follows the rumble and I collapse in front of the sink, trembling. I pull my knees into my chest and curl into a shaking ball.Even in Munich, we were far enough away from the resistance and Gestapo guarded streets. Though I’ve heard a fair share of fired shots over the last decade, none have been so close and consistent.
I pull myself up using the ledge of the sink and move across the hallway into Otto’s study where I peer out between the drape and window frame, finding only darkness. Otto is late from work again, causing me to worry. Despite my racing pulse, I try to reassure myself everything is okay but I’m not sure it is. I kneel under the desk, counting heartbeats while longing for the comfort of my parents.
“Emilie?”
