13. Emilie

THIRTEEN

Dachau, Germany

Over the last five months, I’ve become the silent housewife, the one waiting at home with a warm meal for whenever Otto decides to walk in through the door. Though he leaves his belongings scattered about in every room, he eyeballs every item if I don’t tidy up fast enough. He must think his work clothes iron themselves because he always just walks up to the closet and pulls out what he wants to wear. The thank yous have stopped, not that I need one for keeping a clean house or cooking the meals, but I thank him for earning a paycheck to keep us afloat. It’s the same difference in my mind.

The job he’s doing has changed him over the course of the five months we’ve been here. It’s been a slow progression, but a noticeable one. The frown lines along his cheeks have deepened and his brow sits low all the time, not just with certain expressions. His smiles are rare, and when I ask what I can do to cheer him up, he only shrugs.

As much as I don’t have a desire for the role of a housewife, I should be able to look forward to my husband coming home at the end of a long day, happy to see me, happy to have a clean house, and a meal on the table. That was my only reward for putting my endeavors aside in favor of his.

Today, I didn’t prepare dinner, or pick up his laundry, the newspapers scattered along the coffee table, his dirty bourbon glass on the side table, the envelopes from the mail he tore through last night, ashes from his cigarettes that didn’t make it into the ashtray. There are dishes in the sink from breakfast this morning. Even the washroom is as he left it—toothpaste stuck to the drain cover, the cap left off the top of the tube, clippings from his shaven face peppered along the sink basin, spattered spit marks on the mirror, and a wash towel crumpled up on the ground.

My stocking covered feet are up on the coffee table. I have a magazine spread open on my lap and the gramophone is playing much louder than usual. If only it could drown out my anger.Anyone would call my behavior unusual, unconventional, and absurd, but something needs to change. We need to find our way back to where we were a few months ago when everything was still fresh and new.

While there’s no definitive routine in which I can depend on him to walk through the front door every night, the time has narrowed down to between seven and eight.I’ve been reading and rereading a letter I received from Gerty, my one link to home aside from Mama and Papa. Or she was my link to home, before receiving this letter. She sent me a photograph too.

My Dearest Friend, Emi,

I should have written to you sooner but I’ve hardly had a minute to catch a wink of sleep. I’ve received all your letters and I hope you’re aware of how much they’ve meant to me since I’ve written last.

I’ve included a photo of the most beautiful little boy in the entire world. Theodore Calvin Distler was born with a full head of curly honey-brown hair, and eyes the color of the South Pacific Ocean. He’s healthy and perfect and I’m dying for you to meet him, but as your mom told you, Calvin and I decided to move south, away from the city. The moment Theo was born, I couldn’t bear the thought of keeping him there with all the protests, riots, and fights breaking out. I’m sure once the war is over, we’ll move back home. I suppose this is where I tell you, you’re smart for waiting on bringing a baby into the world. Babies in general are scary enough, never mind the state of Germany.

I tell Theo stories about you every day so even though we aren’t physically together right now, he will always know who his Auntie Emi is.

He’s taking a nap right now, which is a rare occurrence even though I was told babies are supposed to sleep most of the day. That’s the reason I haven’t been able to write sooner.

I hope you’re doing well and happy, loving married life, and I hope Otto is the same. I miss you so much and I can’t wait until we can see each other again. Calvin sends you his best too.

With all my love,

Gerty

My eyes well as I stare at the beautiful little boy—not girl, as she predicted—in the photograph. He looks like a little doll, a perfect combination of Gerty and Calvin.

My heart aches and I’m not sure if it’s because I feel terrible that I’m not with Gerty and wasn’t with her when Theo was born, or if it’s for selfish reasons. I could be sitting here with a baby in my belly, but nothing seems right, and that’s enough of a reason to be sitting here holding a grudge instead.

The squeal of the Volkswagen’s brakes alerts my attention, confirming Otto is home. My throat tightens and fists clench, preparing for his reaction. After the last few weeks, I don’t expect him to be in a good mood, but learning I’ve done nothing all day will only dampen his mood more.

The front door in the foyer opens but I don’t hear the click of his shoes move past the welcome mat. The scuff from the coarse texture of his trench coat is the only thing I can hear until the coat rack tilts off its three feet onto two, just by a hair, then falls back into place after recoiling from Otto’s tossed coat and hat, which then slip off the rack and fall to the ground as he walks away.

Maybe he noticed the wet umbrella upside down, still dripping with water from where he left it this morning after stepping outside to put an envelope in the mailbox. He took a different, dry umbrella to work with him when he left a half hour later.

“Emilie?” He sounds unsure by the way he says my name, almost as if he’s questioning if I’m even home.

The clicks and clacks from his heels commence, growing louder as he crosses the few steps toward the opening to the living room.Before another word comes out of his mouth, he scans the room, taking note of everything out of place. He swallows a lump in his throat and I might have heard it if my thumping pulse wasn’t so loud.

“How—how was your day?” he asks. I was sure he’d ask me if I’m feeling okay or if something happened while he was gone.

“Wonderful. I’ve been sitting right here, reading for most of the day. How was your day?” I close the magazine and place it next to me on the sofa.

“Terrible,” we say at the same time. I knew that’s what he would say.

“Every day is terrible now.” I grimace. “Otto, I’m not sure what to say about your job, but I want to finish taking my classes to become a certified nurse. I can’t just sit around all day like this.”

Otto takes in a deep breath and releases the air slowly through pursed lips. “Okay, I understand.”

I don’t think he does.

“There’s a bus station down near the grocery store. I can switch buses at Rangierbahnhof and take the city center bus from there to Munich. It will take me over an hour to get to and from the university, so I won’t be home until late, but it’s what I want to do.”

Otto’s chest expands and he holds the air in his lungs for as long as it takes him to think of his next thought. “What will we eat for dinner? Who will do the shopping? Take care of the house?” I’d like to tell him to hire someone, but we can’t afford to do that. “In fact, I was going to tell you tonight that we’re having guests over tomorrow night, and I need everything to?—”

“You need everything to what? Look perfect?” I finish the statement.

“My parents and uncle will be joining us, as well as the Schmitts, Deckers, and Fishers.”

“A party of eleven with no warning?” I add. “What for? What are you celebrating, Otto? Your misery?”

“I just found out about the gathering today.”

I drop my feet off the coffee table and jump up, trying to take a breath before steam comes out of my ears.

“No, no, you didn’t,” I snap, turning to find Otto just a footstep behind me. “Ingrid told me a week ago, and if you repeat that to Karl?—”

“Emilie, threats aren’t necessary, please.”

“Can you not see that you’re treating me like an unpaid maid. Otto, I’m your wife, and you seem to have forgotten that minor detail.”

Otto cups his hands around my shoulders and cranes his neck to lower his gaze to mine. “I would never think of you as—you’re my wife, and I love you dearly. I didn’t realize you were fed up with our lifestyle, and I’m sorry for not noticing it sooner.”

I shove the tip of my thumbnail between my teeth, an old habit I had left behind long ago. I’m not sure how else to convince myself this is all much worse than I’m making it out to be. However, the questions keep percolating in my head and I can’t stop them from spilling out. “Whose idea was this? I would think you would have at least spoken to me first if it had been yours, no?”

“My father insisted we boost morale within the research team since we don’t work side-by-side most days. The work has been tedious and he said casual socializing would be great for all of us.”

His father. Of course. I should have known. His father has been controlling our lives since the day we got engaged and I was too oblivious to notice it before. Otto’s cheeks burn red, and he drops his hands from my shoulders, pressing them against his hips. He peers up at the ceiling in thought—a thought I would like to hear out loud. After a long moment, he takes my hand and leads us around the coffee table to the sofa and gestures for me to sit down. I do, and he sits beside me, retaking my hand in his.

“At what point will decisions be made between the two of us rather than you and your father?” I ask, keeping my voice quiet and somewhat calm.

“You’re right. I was wrong to agree to a dinner without speaking to you first. I won’t let that happen again. I can assure you.”

“Thank you,” I mumble.

“Emi,” he says with a sigh. “I thought we were settling down and finding our way in the new life we’re living together. I’ve kept telling myself that you will eventually find happiness here, but I can see how much you despise being stuck at home all day. It was never my intention to make you unhappy, I hope you know that.”

He’s said this all before. “Understanding what is making me unhappy won’t fix the problem.”

“I know, darling. I have considered finding a way to get you back down to the city to take those classes, but I’m terrified of sending you there alone, knowing an air raid could strike at any time, a street fight could break out, a riot, an act of resistance. The risks are great and to not know if you’re okay all day would leave me feeling sick, constantly. This might sound selfish, but I’m comfortable knowing you’re safe in this house while I’m at work. I just didn’t think that was the foundation of being a terrible husband to you.”

“I would rather be home with my parents. It’s the truth, and I’m sorry if you don’t want to hear it, but you must understand what kind of life you’re creating for me. I’m alone from early in the morning until late at night, worrying about you too, despite your desperate attempts to ease my concerns about you working in a camp.”

Otto lets his head fall back against the top edge of the sofa as he lets out a long sigh. “Will you give me a day to think of options?”

It’s the first time he’s offered to consider finding a resolution to the way I feel. “Do you mean it?” I ask, a flicker of hope warming my insides.

“Yes, yes, of course. I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t. In the meantime, I’ll clean up tonight. I realize I’ve been a bit of a slob lately.”

“I didn’t make dinner either,” I add.

“That’s okay. I’ll find something to make for dinner tonight. You can stay right here with your feet up. I want you to. Then, tomorrow, I’ll come home early, go to the grocery store, then prepare for our company.” I’m not sure he understands how much work that will all entail. It wouldn’t be fair of me to watch him do all the work, but to have help is a start—it’s something.

“I’ll do whatever I can to make tomorrow night successful. If you’re truly going to try to find a resolution to what’s making us both unhappy, I’ll do my part until we can make changes.”

“You mean it?” he asks, twisting his body to face me.

I stare at him from the corner of my eye. “Yes, but you need to clean up after yourself and stop expecting me to take care of everything aside from your job.”

“Emi,” he says, endearingly, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger so I’m looking at him. “I love you dearly. I’ve only been trying to do what I promised your parents I would—take care of you. I didn’t mean for you to become upset. I’ll do whatever I can to fix this.”

I bob my head, just enough for him to feel the movement against his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me about the dinner party a week ago?”

“Because…” he hesitates, “because there was something I needed to work out with my father—a disagreement of sorts. But I think we’ve come to an understanding now.”

“An understanding about what? What was the issue?” I ask.

Otto lowers his head. “I can’t get into it right now. I hope you understand.”

But how could I?