Chapter Sixteen
June 1933
Sara
Sara offered to accompany Dieter when he asked her parents for their blessing, but he preferred to speak to them alone. She waited in the garden while they met in the parlor, imagining their joyful surprise, her father’s proud smiles, her mother’s happy tears. But as the minutes dragged by, she become increasingly nervous, pacing beneath the linden trees, absently chewing on a thumbnail, a childhood habit that unfortunately reappeared at particularly anxious moments. Exasperated with herself, she thrust her hands into the pockets of her dress and kept them there until she heard the sunroom door open and voices murmur. She hurried back to the house, her heart racing with anticipation, but her parents’ expressions brought her to an abrupt halt. Dieter beamed happily, but her father’s face was curiously stoic, her mother’s in constant motion as it shifted between distress and a tearful smile.
They congratulated her, kissed her, and wished her and Dieter every happiness. And yet in the days that followed, they did not ask when she and Dieter planned to marry, nor did they announce the engagement to their friends. Sara tried not to take offense. Several years before, although her parents had been very fond of Wilhelm, Amalie’s engagement had rendered them more regretful than happy. Their reluctance had eased after Amalie convinced them that she would not convert, Wilhelm would respect their traditions, and their children would be raised in the Jewish faith. Even so, the gossip provoked by the unusual intermarriage had annoyed them greatly, and sometimes Sara’s mother had wept alone, unaware that afterward her red eyes and pale face betrayed her secret grief.
Several years had passed. The gossip had faded, the blissfully happy newlyweds had become devoted parents, and Wilhelm had become part of the family. Sara had assumed that her sister’s happiness would make it easier for her parents to accept her own marriage to a Christian. Instead, they seemed to have greater misgivings about her engagement than they had ever shown for Amalie’s.
Could something else be troubling them, something that had nothing to do with religion or their dismay at the prospect of becoming the subjects of pity and gossip again?
One day in mid-June, Sara packed a basket with sandwiches, fruit, and a large flask of strong coffee and went to see her brother at theBerliner Tageblatt. He could not spare the time for a picnic in the Tiergarten, so they shared lunch in his office instead, clearing a space on his cluttered desk for a table, closing the door to keep harried copy clerks from rushing in and out.
Natan sat back, propped his feet up on a stack of books, took a bite of sandwich, and raised his eyebrows at her in a silent, good-humored inquiry.
“I don’t think Mama and Papa want me to marry Dieter,” Sara began, recognizing her cue. “I don’t know if they object because Dieter isn’t Jewish or some other reason.” She sighed and picked a bit of bread crust from her sandwich. “Do you like Dieter?”
“I don’tdislike him. How old are you, nineteen? Amalie didn’t get married until she was twenty-four. What’s your rush?”
“There’s no rush. Dieter and I agreed not to marry until I finish my education.”
“Good. I strongly endorse any plan that involves a long engagement—the longer, the better.”
“If you think I’m making a terrible mistake, I wish you would just tell me.”
He took another bite of sandwich and eyed her thoughtfully as he chewed and swallowed, stalling for time. “Maybe Dieter isn’t the man I would have chosen for you, but as long as you’re happy and he’s good to you, I’m satisfied.”
“Why wouldn’t you have chosen him?”
“You don’t seem to have much in common. I know he’s good-looking, especially if you like Aryan features—”
“I wouldn’t marry someone just because he’s handsome.” Then understanding dawned. “Aryan features. So thatisthe problem. Dieter isn’t Jewish.”
“It isn’t a problem for me, but it might eventually become a problem for Dieter that you aren’t Christian.”
“Amalie and Wilhelm—”
“Wilhelm is a man of integrity and honor, a rare example of an aristocrat whose wealth and power haven’t corrupted him. Dieter, on the other hand—” Natan gestured as if trying to grasp a handful of smoke. “He seems... insubstantial. He’s one of the most amiable, inoffensive men I know, but that’s because he shapes himself to his companions. Who is he, on his own? What does he stand for?”
“Would you rather have him argumentative and disagreeable?”
“If he disagrees with me, yes, I would. I’d rather have a good, honest argument than empty pleasantries any day.” Natan drained the last of his coffee. “But that may just be me. Occupational hazard.”
“Maybe Dieter’s occupation has hazards too. A businessman has to know how to get along pleasantly with all sorts of people, regardless of his personal opinions. When you get to know him better, I’m sure you’ll find many things to argue about.”
“I’d almost welcome that. Listen, if you love him and he’s good to you, I can’t complain.”
“But I want you to like him. I want you to be friends, the way you and Wilhelm are friends.”
“I haven’t ruled it out.”
Sara knew she could not ask more than that. “Do you think Mutti and Papa feel as you do about Dieter?”
“We haven’t discussed it,” said Natan. “Maybe they believe no man is good enough for their daughter. They’d hardly be the first parents in history to feel that way about their daughter’s fiancé.”
Sara managed a wan smile, appreciating his attempt to reassure her, although it fell short.
