The next day, Sara’s mother suggested that they invite Dieter and his mother for supper so the parents could become better acquainted. Sara suspected that Natan was behind it; she had not sworn him to secrecy and the timing fit too well to be a coincidence. Even so, she agreed, and after some back-and-forth with Dieter, they settled on the following Sunday.
Sara scarcely knew Frau Koch, having met her only once. One spring afternoon a few months after she and Dieter began dating, Frau Koch had invited Sara to their small flat forKaffee und Kuchen. She was a quiet, unsmiling woman, thin but with squared shoulders and a ramrod spine, her hands and face aged a decade beyond her forty-some years. Sara knew from Dieter’s stories that his mother had had a difficult life even before his father was killed in the Great War, and that he attributed all his success to her unrelenting devotion.
Sara brought her flowers in a cut-glass vase, did her utmost to be pleasant and polite, and complimented her on the butter cake, which truly was excellent. In return Frau Koch offered faint smiles and courteous murmurs, but aside from a few hard, appraising looks she gave Sara when she thought herself unnoticed, the focus of her attention was Dieter, who carried the burden of conversation as if unaware how uncomfortable his companions seemed.
Now that Sara and Dieter were engaged, she could only hope that her future mother-in-law had a warm, friendly side she had not revealed in their first meeting.
Dieter and his mother arrived promptly at six o’clock, and as Sara’s parents escorted their guests to the parlor, Frau Koch’s gaze darted this way and that, taking in the crystal chandelier in the foyer, the Renoir and the Monet in the gallery, the tastefully elegant furnishings, the warmth of ample light. “You have a lovely home,” she said as she seated herself in the chair Sara’s father offered. “They say your kind is prosperous, and I see that it’s so.”
Sara stiffened, but her mother only raised her eyebrows in polite inquiry.
“Mother wanted me to go into banking,” Dieter quickly added, “but my apprenticeship led me elsewhere.”
Sara smiled, relieved. Frau Koch meant bankers, not Jews. Given the political climate, the Weitzes could be forgiven for assuming the worst.
Frau Koch declined a cocktail, but Dieter accepted. The parents’ conversation turned to Sara and Dieter, who offered faint protests as amusing, sometimes embarrassing stories from their childhoods were shared. Over dinner, after the first course was cleared and the second was placed before them, Sara’s mother turned to Frau Koch and said, “I must say we’re pleased that Dieter and Sara are going to be married. Your son is a fine young man and we trust they’ll be very happy together.”
Frau Koch’s face took on a pinched look. “I hope so, but they haven’t chosen an easy path, have they?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Sara’s mother, no less pleasantly than before.
“I’ve raised Dieter to love the Lord.” Frau Koch’s brow furrowed as if the hazards were so evident they needed no explanation. “I gather Sara has no plans to convert, but I hope my son can change her mind.”
“I told you, Mutti,” said Dieter amiably, “we’re planning on a civil ceremony.”
“A marriage that isn’t blessed by the church isn’t a true marriage.” Frau Koch’s gaze darted to Sara’s parents. “No offense intended.”
Sara’s father inclined his head, expressionless.
Frau Koch turned back to her son. “And what about the children? Will they be baptized? Will they know the scriptures?” Her gaze lit upon Sara for a moment before returning to Dieter. “Have you given that any thought at all?”
Sara’s throat constricted. In what she now realized was a glaring oversight, she and Dieter had never discussed whose religion they would pass on to their children. Sara had never posed the question because to her, the answer was obvious; in her tradition, children born of a Jewish mother were Jewish. But perhaps Dieter had different traditions that were equally obvious to him.
“It’s true Sara and I have much to discuss before the wedding.” Dieter reached for Sara’s hand, and squeezed it once in a private message of reassurance. Looking around the table, he added, “We’ll come to you often for advice. We’ll respect your opinions. However, in the end, all decisions about our children will be ours alone.”
He spoke so reasonably that he disarmed any argument before it could be raised. Overwhelmed, Sara lowered her eyes and pressed her napkin to her lips to hide her distress. What if her own parents objected as strongly as Frau Koch, and for similar reasons, but were keeping silent out of respect for her right to make her own decisions?
The rest of the evening passed without incident, but when Dieter bade Sara good night, he left her with a kiss and the unsettled feeling that more objections were likely to appear before the first were resolved. Pleading a headache, she thanked her parents for hosting the dinner, kissed them good night, and hurried upstairs to her room.
She prepared for bed and settled down with a well-worn copy ofThe Call of the Wildthat Mildred Harnack had lent her, which Sara dared not read anywhere but at home since Jack London’s works were among those burned and banned in theVerbrennungstaktof May 10. Always before, his evocative prose had swiftly transported her into the vast Yukon wilderness, but on that night she brooded over the concerns raised at dinner and those yet unspoken. She set the book aside and turned off the light, but sleep eluded her. Eventually she flung off the covers, drew on her dressing gown, and went to make herself a cup of chamomile tea to calm her churning thoughts. She moved quietly to avoid waking her parents, but from the top of the staircase she glimpsed light coming from the parlor and realized they were still awake.
A good, honest conversation would ease her mind better than any cup of tea, so she descended the stairs and went to meet them. Just as she was about to rap gently on the open door, she heard her father say, “Everything will be fine. He’s not an unpleasant young man, or cruel, or in any way objectionable.”
“Then why do we object?” her mother replied.
Sara’s heart thudded. She inhaled deeply, silently, straining her ears to hear more.
“Object?” said her father. “A strong word for a small uncertainty.”
“Natan calls him an empty suit.”
“Natan has very high expectations for the young men who pursue his sisters.”
“He always has,” said her mother. “Sara loves Dieter. Shouldn’t that be enough for us?”
“I suppose.” Her father sighed. “We should think of all the good that may come from this marriage. He’s advancing in his career and he will surely be a good provider.”
“Yes, and he’s very handsome, so our grandchildren will be beautiful.”
