The Plum Tree by Ellen Marie Wiseman Page B

went, while the world forever changed. She bit down on her lip and closed her eyes, trying not to burst into tears and run out of the room. She pictured Isaac’s family without a menorah or a tree, and she mourned the invitation to the holiday celebration that had long ago been canceled.
    When her family opened their gifts, she forced herself to “oh” and “ah” at the mittens knitted by Oma and the pink marzipan pigs Mutti had bought before the war. Karl and Heinrich got tops and yo-yos, carved by Opa and Vater, and they didn’t waste any time before sending the toys spiraling across the floor. Despite herself, Christine smiled as she watched them play, her heartache momentarily eased by their shouts and laughter.
    Keeping with tradition, all year long Mutti had set aside sugar, spices, nuts, and seasonings, so they each could have their own plate of gingerbread men, roasted chestnuts, and sugarcoated Pfef-fernüsse cookies, a rare holiday treat to eat between meals. On the woodstove, a kettle of Gluehwein, spiced red wine, simmered, filling the room with the smells of cinnamon and clove. Mutti ladled the steaming liquid into red, etched glasses, then passed them around, along with a kiss planted in the middle of everyone’s forehead. She always saved Vater for last because she knew he’d grab her, swing her onto his lap, and say “ Fröliche Weihnachten und Prost! ” before giving her a big kiss on the lips.
    Everyone sat around the room eating and laughing, and Christine did her best to join in. To her surprise, Mutti left her place beside Vater and sat with her on the couch, putting an arm around her and whispering in her ear.
    “I know you miss him,” Mutti said. “But you’ll see him again when this madness is over. I’m sure of it. There’s a time for everything, you know. A time for work, a time for play, a time for worry, and a time for rest. Right now, enjoy this time with your family. We never know what tomorrow brings.”
    “ Danke, Mutti,” Christine said, smiling and wiping her eyes. Maria came over and sat on the other side.
    “I love you,” Maria said, taking her hand in hers.
    “I love you too,” Christine said. She took her mother’s hand, holding it on her lap with Maria’s. “Both of you. So much.”
    On New Year’s Eve, the traditional midnight church bells were ordered silent, and pubs and restaurants were to be closed by 1 a.m. Christine snuck out of the house at twelve-fifteen and walked to the wine cellar, hoping, by some miracle, that Isaac would be there.
    A full moon cast a luminescent glow over a drift of snow that stretched away from the far edge of the cellar door, like the high, white tail of an ethereal dragon. The expanse of white ground leading up to the entrance was untouched, and she could tell no one had been there. Her heart sank, and she turned to leave, then changed her mind and pulled open the rusty lock. Inside, she sat on the cold floor, rocking back and forth, praying he’d read her mind and show up. Two hours later, so cold she couldn’t stop shaking, she put the heavy padlock in the latch and left. On her way home, the cavernous sky made every star look crystal clear, and she felt like she could see the entire universe. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to imagine other places in the world, where people were allowed to say and do as they pleased. Did they have any idea what was happening here? Would they even care?
     
    Near the end of the long winter of 1940, the rationing of cigarettes and coal was put into effect, and the punishment for any German citizen caught listening to foreign radio transmissions was increased to six years in a maximum-security prison, or death. On the radio, Hitler warned there could be total war because France and England wouldn’t accept his offer of peace. Christine’s father just shook his head and said that Hitler wanted to blame everyone but himself for the war.
    Throughout the rest of winter and into