“Why—why are you here?” I gasp. “Did you break the law? You wouldn’t do that…you-you wouldn’t,” I whisper, my words fumbling as I try to ask everything all at once.
He tilts head to the side and the faint line of his eyebrows arch with despair. “Of course I haven’t?—”
“Tell me what’s happened. Let me—” I swallow hard and peer back once more to see if Otto is returning, but he’s not there. “Let me help. Why would anyone bring you here if you’re not a criminal?”
His sharp, bony shoulders slouch forward, and he stares up at me for a long, painful second. A second I’ll never forget.
“Emi, you must know why I’m here…”
ONE
EMILIE
FIVE MONTHS AGO, FEBRUARY 1942
Munich, Germany
Crystallized snowflakes cover the red, gray, and white cobblestones between my house and Otto’s. Soon, we’ll be calling these houses “our parents’ houses, on the street we lived.”
Avoiding my husband’s concern, made obvious by the lines across his forehead, I stare down at my damp black oxfords, watching the flecks of snow melt away. Another sharp gust of wind slices through my stockings, making me shiver.It’s silly to be standing out in the cold like this.
“Emilie, you’re freezing,” he tells me, rubbing his leather-gloved hands up and down the length of my cardinal-red wool-covered arms.
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m struggling to understand all of this,” I say. “I didn’t think we’d be leaving so soon.”
“But we’re married now—husband and wife,” Otto says. I can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s time for us to start our married life properly.”
“Of course, and I’m eager for every bit that’s to come, but?—”
“Moving out of Munich won’t be so bad, I promise,” Otto says, taking my hands into his, our fingers intertwining. “No matter where we go or what challenges come, we’ll always have each other.”
My heart warms at his words and I peer up at him, finding his hazel eyes full with determination and passion. It’s becoming harder to resist his plea to join him in the car. He opens the passenger-side door, gesturing toward the leather interior.
We got married three weeks ago and, until last night, everything was going smoothly. But as I took my last bite of the pork roast I’d spent all day preparing, his words spilled out like water from an overflowing bucket.
“They’ve moved up the research job offer—my uncle’s agency. They want me to start right away, and they’re giving us a newly furnished house. A house, at no cost. I’ve been bursting at the seams, dying to tell you all day,” he said, his cheeks flushing pink, eyes open wide, and hands balled into fists on the tabletop.
I sipped from my glass of water, taking a brief second to process everything he’d just revealed. “Right away?” I managed to ask through the tightening nerves in my stomach. I guess I didn’t need to question his decision. Whatever happens, we rarely have time to think.
“Yes, I can take you to our new house tomorrow morning. They want me to start later this week if possible,” he continued. A sheen of sweat was beginning to form along his forehead, as the expression on my face became sullen. He’s always known I hate surprises.
“But how? This is so sudden…”
“Darling, we’re sitting in your parents’ kitchen, acting as if we live here alone. They’re in the next room over. We’re married! I wish you’d share my excitement for this opportunity.”
“What about our classes at the university? Where will we be moving?” I began to spout off questions, percolating witheach second longer we sat there between his announcement and my response. He has more classes than I do since the nursing program is slightly shorter than the doctor’s. Still, neither of us is anywhere close to completion.
“We’re just moving outside the city. We’ll figure everything out.”
I still believed I had a say in our future. But here we are, standing on our familiar street next to the packed car, and it’s clear things are moving along quicker than anticipated.
“You haven’t addressed how we will continue our classes in the city. Will we be driving into Munich every day? How will you do that if you’re working? You can’t keep telling me we’ll make everything work without a plan. This wasn’t our plan. Your father said that your uncle’s agency was going to wait for you to obtain your medical degree. Why would that change?”
Just before we got engaged a year ago, we discussed a potential job opportunity to work alongside his father and uncle in a medical research role. I can still hear Otto’s father, Herr Berger, proudly describing it as an “Evolving program…in a constant realm of development…” and his certainty that the governmental agency were offering Otto “a one in a million opportunity” since they were happy to wait for him to complete his degree. It all sounded so promising and exciting.
But this sudden rush to move everything along before we’re ready doesn’t.
Otto makes a show of looking around the quiet street off Munich’s busy cityscape. “Look around, Emi…this city is falling apart.” Our little nook among the city is still intact, but less than a five minute walk from here, the streets are swarming with Nazi rallies, propaganda, protests, and Gestapo overruling day to day life in general. “We’re being sucked into a war we don’t want to be a part of. The best thing we can do is put some space betweenus and Munich. By helping my vater and uncle in this position, we’ll escape the city for a greater sense of safety.”
