2. Emilie

TWO

Dachau, Germany

We turn off the main road into a thickly wooded area with snow dusting the tree branches that reach up through the low-bearing clouds.With another sharp turn, the smooth terrain turns into a rubble covered road. Pebbles ping the undercarriage of the car and pop against the tires as we pass a shallow building peeking out from between the trees. The cream-colored concrete fa?ade, crowned by a tall wooden watchtower, contrasts with its sharply sloped terracotta roof. The two-storied structure encases a stone arched opening secured by a Gothic iron gate. Dark windows line the top floor of the building above another row on both sides of the arch. The rest—whatever else there is to see—lurks behind tall shrubbery.

“What is this place?” I ask Otto.

“Well, that’s the entrance to Dachau,” he says, continuing past the building.

Tall oak trees line the road far into the distance, but there are sporadic gaps, exposing the continuation of the stone wall, barbed wire coiled along the top.

Otto releases my hand and presses on the brake to slow down before taking the next turn. “Almost there.”

I wish we weren’t, I think to myself as we continue down the road.

As if Otto senses my unease, he takes my hand from my lap and holds it tightly within his again. His hair feathers over his forehead, the pomade slick from this morning drying out. The imperfect sight distracts me, reminding me that I enjoy the unpolished moments only I get to see. “Everything is changing, but as long as we have each other?—”

“We have everything,” I complete his sentence, words we’ve comforted each other with since the start of our relationship. It’s best we aren’t living in the city, but my parents and friends are, which means I’ll have to worry from afar—and worse, feel guilty that I’m somewhere safer than them.

“As I mentioned, the house is in a lovely neighborhood, surrounded by other couples and families. You’ll make more friends.”

It’s hard to imagine anything past this moment, anything after driving past the mysterious building within the woods.

“I promise you’ll be happy. I do.”

“You don’t have to remind me of that,” I tell him, brushing the hair off his forehead.

“I know, but I can hear your thoughts, Emi…every single one.” He gives me a quick smirk.

“Well, that’s impossible because I haven’t said a word,” I squeak.

He taps his thumb repeatedly against the steering wheel. “Your silence is quite loud.”

Otto pulls up in front of a charming two-story classic style house with a beige fa?ade, dark trim and opulent style windows. A beautiful landscape of greenery with blooming flowers frames the house, except for a cobblestone walkway stretching out to the road. The terracotta roof is almost identical to the odd building we just passed and mirroring houses in alternating pastels surround us, giving off an overall quaint appeal.

With the car parked, Otto can’t contain his excitement and practically leaps out of the car, rushing around the front to open my door. He’s as eager as a child in front of a sweet shop.

“Oh my word, you’re here!”

I spin around toward the sound of a woman’s voice, my eyes growing wider as I spot her step out the front door of the house next to ours.She charges toward us, a blue polka-dotted apron looped around her neck and waist. Her hair is fiery red, and her personality already seems to radiate with a warm welcoming. She might be a bit older than us but maybe by only a few years or so.

She arrives breathless, having raced over to reach us. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m terrible. I’m sure you want to go gallivant through your gorgeous new home, but I had to come over and introduce myself. Everyone deserves a nice neighborly hello.”

I extend my hand to shake hers but she cups her hand around my shoulder instead, offering me a sense of an immediate kinship. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, feeling the weight of nerves roll off my shoulders with her cheerful presence.

“I’m Ingrid, Ingrid Schmitt,” she says. “You must be Emilie. My goodness, you’re cute as a button. And that dress, it’s stunning. I can already tell you’re going to be my new shopping friend.” Most people weren’t doing much luxury shopping in Munich. I can’t imagine it’s much different here, but it’s as if this street isn’t living on the outskirts of a war.

“Thank you so much. That sounds lovely.”

“And, Otto, it’s delightful to meet you. My husband was telling me all about you two. He’s excited to work alongside you. As he says: It’s hard to find good men who don’t want to spend their days focused on politics.”

Otto must have already met her husband. I can’t stop myself from looking between the two of them, wondering if there’s something I don’t know. Although, aside from the concentration camp part, which he took his time to reveal, Otto has been up front with me about everything as it’s unraveled.

“I’d rather focus on medical research than politics,” Otto responds before turning to face me. “Darling, I’ll be working with Herr Schmitt. We’ll be in different labs, but in the same building, working beneath Dietrich,” Otto tells me, filling in one blank.

“Oh,” Ingrid says, flapping her hand at Otto. “You can call him Karl when he’s home. Leave work at work. That’s what I always say.” She doesn’t blink as she stares between the two of us, keeping her extra bright smile intact even though her chin trembles slightly.

“Okay then,” Otto says. “It was lovely to meet you. We’ll see each other again soon.”

“Yes, soon,” I echo Otto.

She smiles and presses her hands to her chest. “If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask. Congratulations, again.” Without skipping a beat, she spins around and prances back toward her house.

“She seems so pleasant,” I tell Otto, pressing my hand to my chest as a smile touches my lips. “We’re off to a better start than I expected.”

“See, I told you,” Otto says with a wink. “You two will become great friends.”

“I’m sure we will,” I say with a sigh of relief.

“Are you ready for the grand tour?” He’s beaming as he reaches into his pocket and retrieves a single gold key. Before I can blink, the door swings open into a beautiful foyer, adorned with ornate molding, oak trim, and sea-green wallpaper.

Each room flows into the next, all simply decorated and ready for a personal touch.

“Oh my. It’s beautiful,” I say, stopping at the base of the stairwell.

“You haven’t seen all of it yet,” Otto says, a smile lighting his words.

We continue through the maze of stunning rooms, free of dust, with shining walnut colored oak floors and new wallpaper. It’s all quite perfect.

With the word “perfect” floating through my head, I recall what Mama used to tell me every time I became excited about something I knew too little about. She would say, “When a big picture appears perfect, take a closer look, because it’s the little details that create the masterpiece of perfection.”

I hang the last of Otto’s dress shirts in the chestnut wardrobe that stills smells of sawdust inside. Then I move over to my travel trunk to remove the last of our bedroom items.It squeals open, releasing the scent of home—my old home. Lemon and vanilla. Mama always adds lemon zest and petals of lilacs to the bottle of house cleaner.

I wrapped my picture frames in newspaper print, just two or three to display on top of the bureau and nightstands. I place those down beside me and reach in for the folded linen to make up the beds and hang the drapes.

A cloud floats by the windowpane, revealing strong rays from the sun that bleed into the bedroom. A glistening orb catches my eye from within the trunk, drawing my attention to a gold-plated picture frame. I forgot I tossed this in. I haven’t looked at it in so long, but I take in the nostalgia from the sepia-colored image of Danner and I smiling in front of the first bottle of honey I ever poured from his father’s bee farm. I guess I packed this away in the trunk when Danner had to leave Germany. The reminder of his absence hurt too much. It’s been four years since he was forced out of his home and ordered to live in Poland—where Polish-blooded Jews were sent. According to Hitler, they needed to return to where they came from. It’s unfair. Everything in this war is unfair. Despite how long it’s been since I last saw Danner, my memories are still sharp and clear. A smile touches my lips at the recollection of the day this photograph was taken.

“I hope wherever you are, you’re okay, Danner.” I kiss the tips of my fingers and press them to his face in the photograph.