A few days after Natan came home, Dieter phoned to ask if he could see her, if a visit would not impose upon the family. She invited him to come for tea that afternoon, guiltily mindful of the many dates she had canceled as the family prepared for Natan’s release. In two days Dieter would be leaving for Australia on business and would not return for four months. She had to see him before he left, and this might be their only chance.
“Maybe you should go with Dieter to Australia,” said Natan, lingering in the doorway as she tidied the living room.
“He’s going on a business trip, not a vacation. Anyway, we’re not married yet. Mother and Father would never allow it.”
“I think they might. Maybe they should go too, and you all should... stay. Indefinitely.”
“You mean emigrate.” Shaking her head, Sara plumped a pillow vigorously and set it back down on the sofa. “How could we leave you and Amalie behind?”
“You could return when the Nazis are out of power.”
“And that would be when?”
“Or we could join you in Australia.” Natan heaved a sigh and turned away. “Just think about it.”
There was no point in thinking about it; Dieter was leaving in two days and she could never make arrangements to accompany him on such short notice. Nor would she leave the university so close to earning her degree. Natan was just being an overprotective elder brother, she told herself as the doorbell rang and she hurried off to welcome Dieter.
“Sara, darling, it’s so good to see you,” he said when she opened the door. He was bundled up in a heavy wool coat and a hat, his cheeks red from the cold, and he carried a large box she assumed held imported delicacies. “How is Natan?”
“Getting stronger every day.” She opened the door wider and beckoned him inside.
Dieter shifted the box as he drew closer, and when he did, a glint of metal on his lapel caught her attention. “What are you wearing?” she asked, sickened, although she knew exactly what it was.
Dieter set down the box and scrambled to remove the swastika from his lapel. “It’s just a pin. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“Sara—” He shoved the pin into his pocket. “I’m not a Nazi. You know that.”
“Then why would you wear—” She gestured to his pocket, anger surging. “That thing, that horrible symbol? Do you usually wear it whenever I’m not around to see?”
“I didn’t want to offend you.” He reached for her hand, but she recoiled. “I wear it for business. My boss expects it. Our customers appreciate it. It means nothing. You know how it is. I have to go along to get along.”
“That’s no excuse,” she said, incredulous. “Howcouldyou? These are the people who held my brother in a concentration camp. You know what they think of Jews, of my family, of me. You know what they are. And yet you wear their symbol because it’s good for business?”
“Sara, please, let’s talk.” He took a few steps toward her, arm outstretched, but he halted when she backed away. “I’m leaving in a couple of days. Let’s not part like this. We’re going to be married.”
She tried to speak, but words failed her. She shook her head, blinked tears from her eyes, and closed the door on him, ignoring the pleas and apologies he sent after her, first contritely and then with rising frustration, until he fell silent.
Twenty minutes later, when she cautiously drew back a curtain and glanced outside, the box was on the doorstep, but Dieter was gone. Her heart ached with regret, but somehow she felt more relief than sorrow.
Chapter Thirty
April–May 1935
Greta
In April, Mildred threw a small party for Arvid when he passed his last qualifying exam for the civil service. Soon thereafter, with the help of one of Greta’s childhood friends, he was offered an excellent job within the Ministry of Economics.
“I can’t thank you enough,” he told Greta soon after he accepted the position, surprising her at her boathouse flat with a small basket packed with decadent treats. “I hope this expresses my gratitude more eloquently.”
“This wasn’t necessary,” Greta protested, marveling as she peered inside and discovered a bottle of Russian vodka, a tin of Russian caviar, South American coffee, and her favorite Swiss chocolates. “You shouldn’t have squandered your first paycheck on me—unless all this came from your friends at the Soviet embassy?”
“Neither,” Arvid admitted. “Mildred received this from one of her students to thank her for helping arrange her brother’s release from a prison camp.”
“You mean Sara Weitz.”
“Yes. Mildred demurred, but Sara insisted. I hope that doesn’t make my gift seem any less sincere.”
