making for the western edge of the woods.Gretchen’s legs shook from hunger, and her vision wavered. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. Maybe on the train into Munich, but that had been luncheon, about nine hours ago. She stumbled over a tree root and Daniel’s hand was instantly on her arm, holding her upright. His touch felt so familiar, so right.
Tears trickled from her eyes, trailing an icy line down her cheeks. He wiped them away, his fingers twitching, a sure signal that his old injury was troubling him again.
“Are you in pain?” she asked.
“I’m fine.” He was white to the lips.
“You don’t need to do that,” she said. “Try to pretend you’re all right when you’re not. I wish you’d let me help you sometimes.”
He gave her a tired smile. “Gretchen, you don’t know how much you already do.”
She smiled back at him. They continued walking in the darkness between the trees, but Gretchen carried the heat and the light of his words with her, keeping her warm, helping her believe, if only for a moment, that they were safe.
9
THE FARMHOUSE SAT IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIELD . From far off, it looked as Gretchen remembered: a large, old house made of dark wood silvered with age. As she grew closer, breathing hard from a stitch in her side, she saw that some of the blue shutters with heart cutouts were missing or hung cockeyed. Several roof tiles were gone. The farmland her grandfather had plowed for his potato fields had surrendered to mud and weeds. Clay pots on the front steps lay on their sides, cracked, spilling dirt across the porch.
At the far end of the mud-choked fields, Gretchen stopped in confusion. What had happened here? Her grandparents never would have let the farmhouse fall into such disrepair. She shot a wary look at her surroundings, but she saw no one. Had the National Socialists sacked the place?
“What’s wrong?” Daniel asked.
“It’s a mess.” She looked over her shoulder at the outbuildings: a barn, a couple of sheds, a henhouse, but they were quiet, the doors shut, no lights showing between the wooden slatted walls. The place was quiet as a tomb. “Let’s go in,” she added, shaking off her unease.
They knocked repeatedly and had to wait for several minutes before shuffling footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. It opened and a woman, bent with age, peered out at them. She carried a kerosene lantern, its yellowish flicker washing over her face. She wore a knitted woolen shawl over a white nightgown. A blue kerchief was wound around her head, but Gretchen didn’t need to see her hair to know who she was. Mama . She let out a half-gasping sob.
Mama stared at her with red-rimmed eyes. Her cheeks, once so fair and soft, stretched tightly over her cheekbones. She opened her mouth to speak and a strange whistling sound streamed out. Dark holes dotted her gums. She was missing half of her teeth.
Gretchen froze. “What happened to you?”
“Gretl, is that truly you? Your hair . . .” Mama stretched out a trembling hand, then let it fall, as though she were afraid to touch Gretchen.
“I dyed it.”
“Why would you do such a thing? Your beautiful hair—oh.” Mama’s expression hardened. The words seemed to whoosh between her missing teeth, making it difficult to understand her. “You did it to look like him , I suppose.” She looked past Gretchen, her eyes narrowing as they swept up and down Daniel.
Daniel removed his hat and nodded at her, his face carefully blank. “Good evening, Frau Müller.”
Mama glared at him. “Why are you here? Isn’t it enough that you took my daughter from me? Do you have to come back and rub my nose in it?”
“Mama, please.” Gretchen laid a hand on her mother’s arm. “It wasn’t Daniel’s fault that I had to leave Munich.” The words she longed to say felt heavy in her mouth: It was Uncle Dolf’s fault; he’s the real monster! But she didn’t dare say them. She and Daniel needed to
Tears trickled from her eyes, trailing an icy line down her cheeks. He wiped them away, his fingers twitching, a sure signal that his old injury was troubling him again.
“Are you in pain?” she asked.
“I’m fine.” He was white to the lips.
“You don’t need to do that,” she said. “Try to pretend you’re all right when you’re not. I wish you’d let me help you sometimes.”
He gave her a tired smile. “Gretchen, you don’t know how much you already do.”
She smiled back at him. They continued walking in the darkness between the trees, but Gretchen carried the heat and the light of his words with her, keeping her warm, helping her believe, if only for a moment, that they were safe.
9
THE FARMHOUSE SAT IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIELD . From far off, it looked as Gretchen remembered: a large, old house made of dark wood silvered with age. As she grew closer, breathing hard from a stitch in her side, she saw that some of the blue shutters with heart cutouts were missing or hung cockeyed. Several roof tiles were gone. The farmland her grandfather had plowed for his potato fields had surrendered to mud and weeds. Clay pots on the front steps lay on their sides, cracked, spilling dirt across the porch.
At the far end of the mud-choked fields, Gretchen stopped in confusion. What had happened here? Her grandparents never would have let the farmhouse fall into such disrepair. She shot a wary look at her surroundings, but she saw no one. Had the National Socialists sacked the place?
“What’s wrong?” Daniel asked.
“It’s a mess.” She looked over her shoulder at the outbuildings: a barn, a couple of sheds, a henhouse, but they were quiet, the doors shut, no lights showing between the wooden slatted walls. The place was quiet as a tomb. “Let’s go in,” she added, shaking off her unease.
They knocked repeatedly and had to wait for several minutes before shuffling footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. It opened and a woman, bent with age, peered out at them. She carried a kerosene lantern, its yellowish flicker washing over her face. She wore a knitted woolen shawl over a white nightgown. A blue kerchief was wound around her head, but Gretchen didn’t need to see her hair to know who she was. Mama . She let out a half-gasping sob.
Mama stared at her with red-rimmed eyes. Her cheeks, once so fair and soft, stretched tightly over her cheekbones. She opened her mouth to speak and a strange whistling sound streamed out. Dark holes dotted her gums. She was missing half of her teeth.
Gretchen froze. “What happened to you?”
“Gretl, is that truly you? Your hair . . .” Mama stretched out a trembling hand, then let it fall, as though she were afraid to touch Gretchen.
“I dyed it.”
“Why would you do such a thing? Your beautiful hair—oh.” Mama’s expression hardened. The words seemed to whoosh between her missing teeth, making it difficult to understand her. “You did it to look like him , I suppose.” She looked past Gretchen, her eyes narrowing as they swept up and down Daniel.
Daniel removed his hat and nodded at her, his face carefully blank. “Good evening, Frau Müller.”
Mama glared at him. “Why are you here? Isn’t it enough that you took my daughter from me? Do you have to come back and rub my nose in it?”
“Mama, please.” Gretchen laid a hand on her mother’s arm. “It wasn’t Daniel’s fault that I had to leave Munich.” The words she longed to say felt heavy in her mouth: It was Uncle Dolf’s fault; he’s the real monster! But she didn’t dare say them. She and Daniel needed to
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