The German Wife(15)

“Do you really expect us to believe you Germans had no idea what was happening in your own country?” I asked in disbelief, then glanced around the crowd of women listening to us. Some nodded to encourage me as I scoffed, “If the American government decided to commit genocide, I would do something.”

“And tell me, madam, what do you do when you go to a restaurant and there is a sign in the window that says Whites Only?” the woman demanded, jabbing her finger toward me aggressively. “Do you ‘do something’? Perhaps you should look into your own backyard before you make sweeping judgments about things you do not understand.” Her tone was dismissive and haughty, and all of the American rocket program wives were staring at us. My embarrassment and temper flared.

“I hate that Huntsville is segregated, but you’ll never convince me it’s the same as what you people did. I’ve heard the news and I’ve read the papers. I know the kinds of things the Nuremberg trials have uncovered.” Her lips thinned, but that she had no immediate retort only reassured me I was right to take a stand. “Can you honestly tell me you had no idea about the camps? No idea about the terrible things being done in the name of your country—things being done in your name?”

I expected her to deny it. Instead, her eyebrows knit, and her gaze dipped as the silence began to stretch. I felt no triumph at the raspberry flush that stole up her cheeks, only a horrified sense of disgust.

“You did know,” I whispered, stunned. “Well, isn’t that something? Lady, if you knew and did nothing, you’re as guilty as the men who pushed those innocent people into gas chambers. How do you even look at yourself in the mirror—”

“That’s enough!” Calvin hissed. I startled and looked past her to see my husband striding toward us, his eyes wide with disbelief and disappointment.

Only then did I realize that the entire gathering had fallen silent. Dozens of people were staring at me and the German woman. The only partygoers who hadn’t stopped to watch the spectacle were the children, who were still laughing and playing together.

Every now and again, I had a moment where I felt as though I stepped out of my life and looked at it from the outside. Whenever that happened, I was left with one stunning question I could never quite figure out the answer to: How did I get here?

As Calvin offered soothing smiles to the women, and gently took my arm to lead me away from the garden party, I had a moment like that—a stark, shocking instant where I had the distinct impression that I had somehow got myself trapped living someone else’s life.



10


Sofie

Berlin, Germany
1933

I was home that night later than I’d expected, and as I let myself inside, I hoped Jürgen would be in bed asleep. I wasn’t ready to face his questions about why my dinner with Lydia lasted six hours.

I knew Mayim would be awake, listening for the children from the sitting room. Georg was almost three, and Laura was eight months old. They both slept poorly, but Mayim often read until the small hours anyway and helped with the children overnight. This was one of the magic aspects to having my best friend living under my roof. Mayim was more than just a houseguest to my children—more even than a quasi aunt. She was almost like a third parent to them, a vital and much-loved part of our family structure.

I found her curled up in one of the armchairs in the formal sitting room, reading by the glow of a lamp. The blanket over her lap was her own creation, a jumble of colors knit from yarn left over from her many other projects. As she often did, she had the fire roaring. I kicked off my pumps as I entered the room and breathed a sigh of relief as my tired feet hit the cool floorboards. The sole of my left shoe was badly worn, and a blister was forming.

I could scarcely believe that I couldn’t even afford to repair a shoe. My whole life changed in a single afternoon three years ago, a few months after my father died of a stroke during a business trip to New York. My brother Heinrich was twenty-six years older, and little more than a stranger. But as the eldest, Heinrich inherited the von Meyer estate, and it fell to him to break the news that my generous monthly stipend would be no more. Father mortgaged every family property to the hilt, including the city villa—the home he’d gifted Jürgen and me for our wedding. Heinrich agreed that we could keep our house—but only on the condition that we assumed the mortgage for it too.

I’d never wanted for any material things, and I assumed that would always be the case. It turned out our father was much better at presenting a facade of extreme wealth than he was at managing the modest wealth he did possess, once upon a time.

“How was it?” Mayim asked, as she closed her book and looked up at me. I dropped into the chair opposite her and struggled to put the right words together.

It had been a shocking few months in Berlin. First came the destruction of our parliament building, the Reichstag—then a series of communist attacks across the nation were only narrowly averted. I’d pored over the details of the planned terror campaign in the newspaper: bombs hidden under bridges and in train stations, women and children used as human shields, the execution of swaths of public officials, poison in the Berlin water supply.

Even through all of that, I had never once been as terrified as I was at the rally I just attended with Lydia.

“There was a lot of passionate analysis of the problems we face as a nation, a lot of hints about who’s to really blame.”