Late in the morning, Sara and Natan hauled the children up a long, gentle rise and paused at the top to catch their breath and to admire the view of the entire Riechmann estate spread out below all around them.
“See that man down there?” Natan said, his cheeks red from cold as he knelt between the two sleds and pointed to a frozen pond at the northern edge of the forest, fed by the same creek as the moat. “That fellow is Mr. Albrecht, the groundskeeper. He’s clearing the ice for us so we can skate after lunch.”
Hans let out a cheer and Ruth clapped her mittened hands together in delight. Then Natan’s last words sank in and both children suddenly realized they were hungry. Her own stomach rumbling, Sara swung Ruth’s sled around and followed the trail Natan broke through the drifts down the slope, careful not to let the children’s sleds get away from them.
The children’s grandmother met them at the back door and quickly ushered them indoors, smiling as she noted their rosy cheeks and shining eyes. As she helped them out of their coats, boots, mittens, and scarves, Natan quickly shrugged off his own winter gear and hurried away, whistling, no doubt intent on typing a few paragraphs before lunch. As the elder Mrs. Panofsky took charge of her grandchildren, Sara hung up her things and went upstairs to change, rubbing her hands together to warm them.
Just as she passed the library, she heard Mr. Panofsky say, “But are you certain the staff is absolutely loyal?”
Curious, she paused in the doorway and found Mr. Panofsky and her father seated in adjacent chairs before the fireplace. As she entered, they looked up and immediately fell silent. “Is something wrong, Mr. Panofsky?” she asked. “Do you need help from the staff?”
After the barest hesitation, he smiled and patted his stomach. “Only lunch,” he replied. “Our tour of the estate left me with a hearty appetite.”
“Sledding with the children had the same effect on me. I’m sure lunch will be ready soon, but if there’s anything you need in the meantime—”
“Thank you, child,” her father broke in, shaking his head wryly at his friend. “Rest assured, Frau Osthaus would never allow a guest to starve between meals.”
Satisfied that nothing was amiss, Sara excused herself and continued upstairs to her room.
Later, after lunch, while Mrs. Panofsky bundled up the children for ice skating and Natan stole away to his room to write, Sara curled up on a sofa in the drawing room with a new novel, a blanket, and a steaming cup of tea. Midway through the first chapter, she glanced outside the window and saw her father and Mr. Panofsky trudging through the snow away from the house. Mystified, she watched them until they disappeared behind a stand of fir trees. They were heading too far north to be going to meet the children at the skating pond, and the only outbuildings that lay before them were the stables and the riding arena, which Mr. Panofsky had already seen. Perhaps they wanted to ride, Sara thought, although it seemed unlikely, as her father had not sat a horse since he was wounded in the leg in the Great War.
At supper the two gentlemen said nothing about their excursion, but instead joked about a contentious game of chess that they claimed had consumed the better part of the afternoon. Taken aback, Sara did not contradict the falsehood, but she could not help watching them more closely afterward.
As the days passed, full of playful romps in the snow with the children, quiet snowshoe hikes through the woods, leisurely afternoons with games and books, and so many delicious meals that Sara was not sure her skirts would fit by the time they returned to Berlin, her father and Mr. Panofsky often slipped away on their own, with no explanation for anyone. Nor did their wives ever mention their absences or wonder aloud where their husbands had disappeared to.
On the last day of their country idyll, Sara came upon the gentlemen at the riding arena just as she was leading Amalie’s horse back to the stable. She caught them by surprise at the foot of the staircase, either on their way up to the offices on the second floor or descending from above. “Papa?” she interrupted, suddenly, inexplicably anxious. “What are you doing here?”
“Another tour,” Mr. Panofsky said. “Your father promised to show me everything and I intend to take him at his word.”
Her father nodded agreement, but then both men simply stood there, smiling politely, apparently unwilling to speak or move until she departed. “Well,” she said uncertainly, “enjoy yourselves.”
They assured her they would, and she tugged gently on the horse’s lead and continued on to the stables, wondering.
Later, after supper, she managed to get her brother alone and asked him if he had noticed their father and Mr. Panofsky behaving strangely. “Actually,” he said, rubbing at his jaw, “yesterday I was trying to edit a story but my concentration kept being broken by this strange banging sound. I traced it to its source and found them upstairs in the attic, stomping on the floors and peering out of the windows.”
Quickly she told him what she had observed over the previous few days. “Have they gone mad?” she asked.
“No,” he said slowly. “I think they’re entirely sane.”
Jerking his head to indicate that she should follow him, he strode off to the library, where they found the two gentlemen poring over a map of Europe spread out upon the broad oak desk, various objects holding down the curling corners.
“Papa,” said Natan as they entered, a hint of exasperation in the endearment, “when are you going to tell us what you’re planning? Does Mutti know? Does Wilhelm?”
The older men looked up, startled, but then their father straightened, resigned. “It was Wilhelm’s idea,” he said. “And of course both your mother and Mrs. Panofsky know.”
“And you didn’t think to enlist my help?”
“We didn’t want Sara to worry, and we knew you would tell her.” Sighing, their father nodded in her direction. “As you clearly have already done.”
“He hasn’t told me anything,” Sara said, instinctively rushing to her brother’s defense, although she had only the vaguest idea what she was defending him against.
“Sara didn’t need me to tell her. She’s the one who noticed you two acting suspiciously.”
“What is going on?” Sara asked, although suddenly she was sure she knew.
“We’re evaluating several locations on the estate for their suitability as a hiding place for our family and the Panofskys,” came her father’s reluctant confession.
“Just in case,” Mr. Panofsky hastened to add. “Nothing has been decided. We haven’t given up hope that we will be able to emigrate.”
