“Beautiful Jews or beautiful Christians? I think Sara’s mother-in-law will have the last word.”
“Jakob—”
“Yes, yes, focus on the good.” A chair creaked as if her father had risen and had begun to pace the room. “He’ll give her an Aryan last name. That might protect her from Nazi harassment.”
“And he travels abroad often. If Sara needs to flee the country, he should be able to organize a quick escape.”
Their voices faded to murmurs, but Sara had heard enough. She crept back upstairs to bed, her tea forgotten. She lay under the covers, heartsick and confused, until she heard her parents climb the stairs and retire to their room down the hall. Only then was she able to drift off to sleep.
The next morning, nagged by guilt for eavesdropping, she said nothing to her parents about what she had overheard. If they sensed her downcast spirits, they hid it well. And yet Sara’s mother unexpectedly followed her to the door and hugged her as she was leaving for her first class. “It’s true that you and Dieter have much to discuss before you marry,” she said, “but all couples do. Take heart, my dear.”
“Thanks, Mutti,” said Sara, blinking back tears and kissing her cheek.
Later that afternoon, instead of going directly home after her last class, Sara took the Untergrundbahn to her sister’s neighborhood. She arrived at their home just as Amalie and the nanny were coming outside with the children, adorable in their matching dresses and dark brown braids. “Would you like to come to the park with us?” Amalie asked, but after she took in Sara’s expression, her smile faded. “Or perhaps Mrs. Gruen can take the girls, and you and I can stay here for a cup of coffee and a good chat.”
When Sara nodded, fighting back tears, her sister quickly kissed the girls goodbye, murmured instructions to Mrs. Gruen, and sent them on their way. Putting an arm around Sara’s shoulders, she led her inside to the kitchen, directed her to sit, and put on a pot of coffee. “Now then,” she said when they both had steaming cups in hand and a plate of English biscuits on the table between them, “why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”
Out spilled the entire story—Natan’s remarks, Frau Koch’s concerns, their parents’ valiant attempts to find a silver lining in Sara’s engagement. “I don’t know what to do,” Sara lamented. “I was happy, and now—” She lifted her hands and let them fall to her lap. “Everyone is anxious, and I hate that I’ve upset Mama and Papa, and I just want everyone to like Dieter and be happy for us.”
“I like Dieter,” said Amalie. “I’m happy for you. I know Wilhelm is too.”
Sara felt a rush of gratitude. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” Amalie reached for Sara’s hand and clasped it on top of the table. “I won’t pretend that the religious differences aren’t significant, because of course they are. So are questions about how you’ll raise your children. Wilhelm and I went through this too before we married.” She smiled, but her brows drew together in concern. “Don’t shy away from the difficult, uncomfortable questions. Those are the ones you most need to answer. You can’t possibly prepare for every challenge that might come up in a marriage, but the question of your children’s religion is one you must resolvebeforeyou marry. Don’t imagine things will sort themselves out after your children are born. Whatever you decide, you both must be sure you can abide by that decision without harboring any secret hopes that the other will change their mind.”
Reluctantly, Sara forced herself to ask, “You don’t think I should break off the engagement?”
“Of course not. No one has suggested that, not even Frau Koch.” Amalie studied her intently. “Unless you’re suggesting it now. Are you?”
“No, not at all,” said Sara quickly, shaking her head. “I love Dieter with all my heart. I want to marry him.”
“Then you should.” Amalie smiled, but her eyes glistened. “Oh, Sara, there’s so much hatred and fear in the world right now that if you’re fortunate enough to find true love, you should embrace it, cherish it, as a rare and precious gift.”
Sara smiled through her tears and clasped her sister’s hand tightly. She hoped that what she and Dieter had was true love. Was there really any way to know until a love was tested and either grew stronger or shattered?
“Cherish love, Sara.” Amalie’s voice was a soft, fierce whisper. “Only love will sustain us in these dark times. Fear can’t do that. Worry can’t. Only love.”
Chapter Seventeen
July 1933
Martha
The sea was calm and beautiful throughout the Dodd family’s eight-day voyage from New York to Hamburg, so although Martha grieved for all she had left behind in America—the family’s comfortable home on Blackstone Avenue in Hyde Park, her job as assistant literary editor at theChicago Tribune, dear friends like Carl Sandburg and Thornton Wilder, who encouraged her writing—her sorrow lessened day by day. She passed the hours strolling the decks of theWashingtonwith her mother, enjoying the sunshine and breezes; playing cards and cracking wise with her older brother, Bill Jr.; and dutifully listening while her father read aloud from a German history textbook for an hour every day so she would become familiar with the language. In the evenings, she drank champagne and danced with Franklin D. Roosevelt Jr., the president’s second-youngest son, who by a delightful coincidence happened to be on board the same ship as his father’s new ambassador to Germany.
Months before, when rumors first began swirling that William Dodd was being considered for a position in President Roosevelt’s administration, he confided to his family that he hoped for an appointment to Belgium or Holland, where his role would be prestigious but his duties light enough so he could continue his academic life’s work, a comprehensive history of the Old South. Then, in early June, Mr. Roosevelt phoned his office at the University of Chicago to offer him the embassy in Berlin. “I want an American liberal in Germany as a standing example,” the president said, and gave him two hours to decide.
Naturally he accepted, once his wife gave her reluctant consent. William Dodd was not the sort of man to refuse a direct request from his president to serve his country.
Martha’s father had invited her and Bill to come along, promising them the adventure of a lifetime. Martha could assist her mother in her role as official embassy hostess, and Bill could pursue his doctorate. Whereas Martha thought it would be a lark, full of embassy parties, cocktails with foreign diplomats, and a waltz with a prince or two, Bill said he most looked forward to experiencing German culture on the precipice of historic transformation. She teased him for his foreboding tone, the same one he used whenever he mentioned the Nazis. From the little she had read about the National Socialist movement, it sounded wonderfully exciting, youthful and vigorous and strong and noble, much like their own American Revolution. How thrilling it would be to witness the rejuvenation of Germany firsthand, and from such a vantage point as the American embassy! All that she would experience in the year ahead would invigorate her writing like nothing else.
A breathtaking glimpse of Ireland from afar—an enchanting vision of brilliant emerald hills, lush and wild in the golden dawn—heralded the end of their ocean crossing. Many passengers disembarked at Southampton a few hours later, while still more, including the young Mr. Roosevelt, went ashore at Le Havre. The Dodd family remained aboard for the dull, slow sail up the Elbe to Hamburg, where they docked at long last on July 13.
Martha had eagerly anticipated taking the famous “Flying Hamburger” express train to Berlin, but when Counselor of Embassy George Gordon met the Dodds at the pier, they discovered that no arrangements had been made to transport them to the capital. Complicating matters was the Dodds’ reliable old Chevrolet, which Martha’s father had insisted upon bringing along so he could drive himself rather than indulge in the customary extravagance of a chauffeur. Bill agreed to drive the car to Berlin, and while he worked his way through the mountain of paperwork required to get the car from the ship’s hold onto German soil, Gordon scrambled to book two compartments aboard a disappointingly ordinary train for Martha, her parents, and himself. In the meantime, the new ambassador fielded questions from a throng of reporters, his shy wife and smiling daughter standing by his side, their arms full of bouquets presented to them by various officials and organizations.
Before long their train departed. At first, they all gathered in one compartment so that Gordon could brief them on what they could expect upon their arrival in Berlin. Martha listened politely, but she soon began to develop an intense dislike for the embassy’s second in command and passionately wished she were motoring along with her brother instead. George Gordon was a gentleman of the old school, impeccably attired in an elegant, finely tailored suit more expensive than any her father had ever owned, complete with gloves, stick, and a proper hat. He had a ruddy complexion and gray-white hair, and the tips of his mustache curled upward as if to approximate the smile he had yet to offer. He spoke in a clipped, formal, and unmistakably condescending accent, and he was clearly rendered aghast by the Dodds’ lack of pretension and uniformed servants. President Roosevelt had heartily endorsed her father’s plan to live modestly and limit expenditures, but apparently no one had told Gordon. Most ambassadors were men of means who entertained foreign dignitaries lavishly, paying from their own pocket when they inevitably went over budget. If Gordon expected a man as principled as William Dodd to continue in that style while millions of unemployed Americans were going hungry, he was in for a rude awakening.
Finally Gordon announced that he had important political developments to discuss with the ambassador in strict confidence. Recognizing their cue, Martha and her mother left the two men alone to talk, slipping gratefully into the relative peace and quiet of the other compartment, fragrant with the flowers that had been presented to them at the pier.
