“How is Mrs. Baker?” I ask, packing up Devon’s books.
“She moved to Wisconsin a few months back.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, though I’m not entirely sure that’s the proper sentiment.
Mr. Baker pushes his glasses up his nose. “We’ve been separated for more than a year.”
I eye the front door, wishing another child in town would have a sudden book crisis. Or an adult for that matter. I’d be fine with just about anyone, except perhaps Scott, walking through that door. “Hard for everyone, I’m sure.”
“Not so much,” he replies. “We fell out of love long ago. She’s engaged to someone else up there.”
Ten seconds, that’s how long it would take me to sprint to the staircase by the office and be halfway upstairs. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me or the way he’s announced his ex-wife’s engagement as if I’m supposed to rejoice at this news.
“Thank you for shopping here, Mr. Baker.” I hand over the bag. “I hope you and Devon have a good night.”
“My name’s Nate.”
My nod is sharp, dismissive. “Thank you,” I say again, though I don’t want to acknowledge his first name. It’s old school, I know, but titles are not only a form of respect; they keep a safe distance between me and any man who threatens to step into my space.
“Devon and I are having dinner at China Buffet,” he says. “Care to join us?”
Brie’s right. I’ll never marry if I continue to run from every man who expresses interest in me, but then again, I’d rather stayhidden away upstairs for the rest of my life than marry someone who could fall out of love.
“I’m afraid I can’t.” I glance at the clock behind the counter. “Ihave to work until six, and then I have a date afterward.” No need to tell him that the date involves hanging out with my nephews.
His smile falls slightly, but he’s not deterred. “Perhaps next weekend.”
Devon squeals as he zooms down the slide.
“Let me know if there are any other books you’d like me to order,” I say, escorting both Devon and his father toward the door before Devon decides to climb back up.
He swipes the bag from his dad’s hand. “Thanks, Story Girl.”
“Next weekend,” Mr. Baker reminds me before stepping toward the door. “We’ll go on some sort of adventure.”
I lock the front door and head back upstairs to prepare for an adventure of my own through someone else’s story.
CHAPTER 10
ANNIKA
LAKE HALLSTATT, AUSTRIA
JUNE 1938
Annika had learned how to read inVolksschule, in the years before Vati decided that she needed to stay home and work with him. Instead of schoolbooks, she now read every word of the newspapers her father brought home to feed the fire in their kitchen stove.
These days Annika almost wished she didn’t know how to turn letters into words or words into the haunting stories that the Vienna newspaper was celebrating these days—the arrival of Hitler into the country that he’d renamed Ostmark, the plunder of shops in Judenstrasse, the mass burning of Jewish and Marxist books in Salzburg, the arrest of Jewish people attempting to leaveVienna, and the expulsion of renowned Jews like Bruno Walter from their positions.
How could the people of Vienna celebrate when some of their innocent neighbors were being arrested and others were being denied the privileges to shop, read, and work?
Annika sipped her coffee, creamy with goat milk, and turned the page as the clock ticked to half past eight. She had more time these days—the only animals on the estate now were chickens and the two goats who feasted on the lawn and rewarded the Knopfs with milk, and Vati had locked the castle after he found her looking through the shoe boxes. The next day he’d monitored while she finished cleaning the rooms, and then hid both the key and the star necklace, probably in his pocket because she’d searched the house while he was gone at night and couldn’t find it.
Perhaps he’d already lost or sold the necklace in a drunken state. Then the Dornbachs would have nothing to fear.
Soon she would begin frying ham for Vati’s breakfast. He was still asleep after another night at the beer hall. He spent most of his evenings there now, probably to avoid being with her or alone with his memories.
The older she grew, the more she reminded him of his deceased wife. Or so she’d heard him say to Hermann when they were working on the chapel.
