7. Emilie

SEVEN

Dachau, Germany

I gaze at the kitchen clock’s mahogany frame with its golden rings centered around the Roman numerals and scrollwork on the minute and hour hands. The pendulum’s sway hypnotizes me, accentuating the depths of my thoughts. I’ve exhausted myself with house chores, and boredom creeps in. The house is clean, clothes ironed, and meals prepared.

As if the world knows I need an interruption, a startling thunk thunk rattles the front door, jolting me from my seat. I’ve met some of the neighbors but aside from Ingrid, I wouldn’t imagine the others just popping by.

I adjust my apron on the way to the door, and through the rippled glass spot two figures. Alone in this house, would anyone hear me if I needed help?

I shake my head and take in a breath before opening the door a crack to peek outside.

“Mama! Gerty! What are you doing here?” I thrust open the door and jump into their arms, feeling as though I haven’t seen or spoken to them in months. It’s been just over a week.

“Well,” Mama speaks first. “You sent us both letters on the first day you were living here, confessing your homesickness. So, we thought we should pay you a visit.”

“I was going to visit sooner, but your mother told me newlyweds need a bit of space,” Gerty says, tapping her thumb and fingers together in mockery of Mama.

“Your husband agreed with me as well,” Mama defends herself to Gerty.

“Calvin did say I wouldn’t want to walk into anything… There’s nothing quite like being a newlywed.” Gerty sighs and stares up at the ceiling.

I blush at the topic, and in front of my mother of all people. “Oh, goodness. Otto is at work all day. I’ve been doing a lot of cooking, cleaning, and studying my books. You certainly aren’t interrupting much. Come in!”

I wave them both into the house, thrilled to have familiar company, especially Mama and my Gerty.

“I smell dumplings and stewed apples,” Mama says, donning a proud smile and placing her hand over her heart. “I’m so proud.”

I hold on to the smile from the excitement of seeing them, but I’d much rather Mama be proud of me for something more complicated than making dinner and keeping a house clean.

“Have you met any of the neighbors? Are they nice?” Gerty says, making herself at home as she removes her shoes and coat.

“Yes, they’re all lovely, but not like my friends from home,” I say, clearing my throat.

“Do they have children?” Mama asks.

“Next door does.”

“Good, good. Maybe someday your kids will become friends.”

“Mama,” I interrupt, taking her coat that’s sliding down to her elbows. “I’m in no rush.”

“You’re right to wait with the dreadful state of our country. I couldn’t imagine raising babies at a time like this. However, it doesn’t make me any less eager to be a grandma so just put up with my comments and roll your eyes when I turn away, okay?”

Gerty chokes out a fake cough, pulling in our attention. She’s grinning from ear to ear. “I won’t take offense to anything you just said, Frau Marx, but it just so happens?—”

“Oh my…no…yes? You are?” I shout, throwing my arms around Gerty.

“Yes! We’re expecting. The doctor presumes I’m five months along.” As she speaks, I feel the hard bulge of her stomach press up against me through our embrace.

“I’m ecstatic for you,” I say, ignoring the twinge of unexpected jealousy. The thought of having children hasn’t been on mind and what Mama said is true, but it doesn’t mean I’m not sour about waiting out the war. My days of being lonely have only just begun and I can see how a baby would fix that.

Mama wraps her arms around the both of us. “Oh gosh, I can’t wait to meet him or her,” she says.

“It’s a she. I can feel it.”

“How?” I ask through a chuckle.

She smirks and holds her hands out to the sides. “I can see the future. Did you forget?”

“Oh, you girls and your fortune telling days…” Mama says.

“Come sit down. I’ll put on some tea, and we can catch up.”

I lead them into the family room and scoot the coffee table closer to the sofa so Gerty can put her feet up if she’d like.

“The house is beautiful, Emi. I adore the red floral décor wallpaper with the navy blue accents. It’s modern and chic, but cozy in here too.” The house came with some of the décor, including the wallpaper, but I added the drapes and artwork to offset the red hues.

I return with the tea set, waiting on the water to boil. “Thank you. I can’t take all the credit, but it’s beginning to feel more familiar, I suppose.”

“Are you still homesick, dear?” Mama asks, taking a teacup and saucer for Gerty and then one for herself.

I lift my shoulders, knowing I’ll always be a bit homesick. I’ve never lived anywhere but the city and it’s quiet here. Very quiet, most of the time. “I miss you and Papa.”

“He sends his love, sweetheart. His boss has him working extra hours at the factory. They have a worker shortage and he’s picking up the slack.”

“Poor Papa. He never seems to catch a break.”

“He’s better off being busy. I always say men are best on their feet, working so they stay out of trouble.”

“I happen to agree,” Gerty says, caressing her small baby belly.

The teapot whistles from the kitchen and I hop up from Otto’s smoking chair to take the kettle off the stovetop.

“How’s Munich?” The question aches in my throat, thinking about the familiar smells, sounds, and faces I miss. Although I must remember that many of those familiarities have been disappearing over the last few years too. Change is upon us regardless of whether we want it or not.

“It’s only been a week,” Gerty says with a giggle as I pour the tea water into the cups. “Not much has changed. There are still resistance leafless littering the streets and angry Gestapo eyeballing all the people passing by. You’re not missing much.”

“Is Otto enjoying his new job?”

“It seems so,” I say, leaving my answer short and her question basically unanswered since I’m not sure I know myself with how tight-lipped he’s been about his days.

“Good!” Gerty says, louder than necessary. “You must keep sending letters. I never get much mail these days and I was so excited to receive the last two you sent.”

“Yes, same,” Mama says with a raised brow, likely because she only received one letter.

“I promise to keep you updated on my riveting life here.” I’m not sure if the sarcasm is only extra loud in my mind or if they pick up on it too, but I don’t think I’ve been shy about my slow progression to becoming a housewife.

I stare out the narrow side window, long after Gerty and Mama pull away from the house, wishing they could stay forever. Just as I take a step back from the window, a faint cry, or a whistle, grows in the distance. I press my ear to the window for a better sense of what I’m hearing. Another cry follows the last.

Without another thought, I whip open the front door, looking in every direction to see where the heart-wrenching sound is coming from.It isn’t until I reach the curb that I spot a bike in the middle of the road and a child lying beside it. Another loud cry rolls down the hill as I charge toward him, reaching him just as Ingrid from next door runs outside too.

“Gunther,” she shouts. “Mama is coming.”

The little boy with ashy hair and pink cheeks has a gash across his forehead from where he must have hit the road after falling off his bicycle. He’s conscious, but I don’t want to move him until I check for any other injuries.

Ingrid falls to her knees by my side and lunges forward to scoop him up. “Thank you for coming down here,” she tells me.

“Of course, but—you shouldn’t move him just yet,” I say.

“What do you mean? I need to get him out of the street,” she says, breathlessly.

“Yes, but if he hit his head, it’s critical to make sure we don’t move him too fast.”

“How are you so sure?” she asks, her question accusatory rather than curious.

“I was studying to become a nurse alongside Otto, but?—”

“I wasn’t aware,” she says. “What should I do to help? I’m sorry for snapping. He’s my baby.”

Gunther stops crying. He’s still whimpering, but he’s making direct eye contact with Ingrid. “Gunther is your name?” I ask, gently.

He nods and his lip quivers.

“Where are you hurt? Can you show me?”

Ingrid stands up, holding her hand to her chest. “I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

“Yes, ice, and whatever else you have,” I tell her.

I run my fingers through his hair. “You’re okay. Just show me what hurts.”

He reaches for his forehead, but I take his hand before he puts gravel in the wound. “Just your forehead?”

He nods again. I reach beneath his neck and feel around his spine to see if he flinches, but nothing seems to bother him, so I elevate his head enough to rest on my lap while we wait for Ingrid to return.

“I was riding my bicycle. Then a bird flew out of the tree and came right after me. I thought it was going to bite me right on the nose.”

“I’ve heard that happens to a lot of kids, but it looks like the bird left you alone.”

“The bird wanted to scare me,” he says.

“After we put a bandage on your forehead, I can have a chat with that mean bird. How does that sound?”

“I think he flew away,” Gunther says.

“The loud crash of your bicycle might have scared him off for good.”

“Hopefully,” he says, a tear rolling out of the corner of his eye.

Ingrid returns with a cloth-filled bag of ice and a small first aid kit. “Thank you for taking care of him. I guess I’m not helpful when it comes to injuries,” she says.

“If he was my son, I would react the same way. You can’t always think straight when you’re worried.”

“That explains why I can never think straight,” Ingrid says with a chuckle. I wouldn’t have pegged her as someone who worries often, not with the forward welcome she greeted us with.

“Do you worry about your husband a lot while he’s at work?” Through my hours of first-hand training in the nursing program, I was taught to keep the patient and whoever is with them occupied with casual conversation. I’m not sure I’d consider this conversation casual chit-chat, but I can tell her thoughts have shifted direction.

“Oh, we all worry about our husbands while they’re at work. It doesn’t quite matter where they work these days. With so much uncertainty in our country, it’s hard to avoid it, right?”

I suppose she has a point, but our husbands are putting themselves in more unnecessary danger than most.

“Can I sit up?” Gunther asks. “I don’t want to lie here anymore.”

“Just about done,” I tell him, securing the bandage with one last piece of tape. “Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” I hold three fingers up over his face.

“Three,” he says as if it’s a race. I put one finger down without asking how many he can see. “Two.” And then I put the third one back up. “Three! You can’t trick me.”

“I guess not. You’re pretty fast. I want you to sit up nice and slow for me.”

I slip my hands firmly behind his neck and back and let him do the rest. “You’re wonderful with children,” Ingrid says, crossing her hands over her chest. “It’s a good thing we have such a lovely new neighbor living next door. Isn’t that right, Gunther?”

He effortlessly pushes himself up to his feet and nods his head. “Thank you, Fr?ulein,” he says.

“My pleasure, sweetheart.”

I clean up the small mess of supplies and stand up beside Ingrid. “Could I convince you to come over for tea? It’s the least I can do to thank you for helping Gunther.”

She scoops the rubbish out of my hands and reaches down for the first aid kit and ice wrap while waiting for me to respond.

“I’d like that,” I say. “The house gets a bit too quiet for my liking sometimes.”

“You’re welcome to borrow my children whenever you’d like. You will never experience quiet again,” she says with laughter.

“I’m happy to watch them for you if you ever need a break,” I offer. “I would enjoy the company.”

“I’ll ask you again after you’ve been inside my house for an hour.” Her smirk makes me wonder if her children misbehave often or if she’s just venting as a tired mother.

I follow Ingrid and Gunther down the street and up her walkway that leads to the front door. They walk inside first, and I follow, finding her entryway lovely and much more lived in than mine. “How long have you and Karl been married?”

“About fifteen years, if you can believe it. We were young when we got married, like you and Otto.”

We’re only twenty-two—also young, but in a time of war, age is just a number. Or so everyone says.

Following Ingrid into her formal living room, I watch as she quickly turns a picture frame face down on the sideboard and then sweeps something off the tea table, but she moves so quickly I don’t have a chance to see what either are.

“You don’t need to tidy up on my behalf,” I say, staring at the downward facing picture frame.

“Oh nonsense, take a seat. How do you take your tea?”

I’m trying to break my stare from the picture frame, but my eyes are like a magnet to that side table. “Honey, if you have it, would be wonderful. Thank you so much.”

“Of course. Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to put the water on. Gunther, why don’t you show Frau Berger your favorite book?” Gunther has made a full recovery as he storms around in circles like a jet with accompanying rumbling noises. He reminds me of David when he was little, always trying to get in between Danner and me.

I watch him entertain himself while Ingrid is in the kitchen. If the side table wasn’t so close to the arched entry of the kitchen, she might not have noticed if I meandered over for peek. I would never invade someone’s privacy like that, but why would one feel the need to hide a framed photo of all things?

Ingrid returns with a tray of teacups and saucers. “So, have you met any of the other wives on the street?”

“No, I haven’t. Is the street always so quiet?”

“Not always. None of the other ladies have young children, so they’re out and about more than me. I have my hands full with three.”

“My goodness. I can only imagine. Three children…” I say in wonder.

Ingrid chuckles following a sigh. “They certainly keep me busy. Gunther is seven, Ada is nine, and Marie is fourteen going on thirty.”

The thought of taking care of just one child makes me dizzy. “It must be lovely to have a big family.”

Ingrid grins, an expression I can’t completely decipher.

A moment of awkward silence makes me brush my fingernails against the side of my neck as I try to control my focus from returning to the picture frame. “I’m sorry. I apologize if I’m being too forward, but I noticed you turned down a picture frame when we walked in. I can’t stop myself from wondering about it. Is there a special story behind it?”

Ingrid’s shoulders square and she tilts her chin upward, allowing me to see her struggle to swallow. She clears her throat and reaches up to fiddle with her pearl earring. “I wasn’t expecting company,” she says, her throat sounding dry. “The photo is something of a family secret, but the picture contains a memory of someone dear.”

I shouldn’t have been so nosy. I’ve been so consumed with everyone keeping secrets from me that it’s the first thought I have when anyone does anything out of the ordinary. “How lovely. Memories are the greatest gift, aren’t they?”

“Most of the time, yes,” she says, curtly.

She’s still staring at the ceiling, and the sunlight filtering in between the linen drapes twinkles across her eyes. Tears form. “I treasure my memories, especially from when I was a young girl, back when I could believe this world wasn’t so scary.”

Ingrid lowers her chin and presses the knuckle of her index finger beneath her eye. “Exactly. The photo is of my closest friend when I was a child. We were like sisters. Unfortunately, she passed away three years ago. I regret not keeping in touch with her like we promised to always do.” She releases a heavy breath. “Anyhow, it’s not a conversation starter, so I tend to put the photograph away when expecting company.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss. Life only gives us the best of people for a short amount of time.” Like Danner.

“That’s what I think to myself all the time.” Ingrid smiles and takes in a deep breath. “I suppose we must think alike.”

“We must,” I agree. “I’m happy to lend an ear whenever you’d like to talk.”

As if I set off an alarm, a ferocious scream bellows from upstairs.

“Mama, my drawings are missing. Marie took them from me. Tell her to give them back!”

“Girls, we have a guest over. Please don’t start a commotion. Marie, give your sister her drawings back if you took them,” Ingrid says, keeping her voice chipper rather than replying with haste like I might do if I was embarrassed by my children.

A rumble grows from upstairs, and Ingrid lowers her head into her hand. “I apologize, Emilie.” Gunther looks up toward the stairwell and smiles before running up the steps as quickly as he can. Before long, the three children are screaming at each other.

“They don’t act like this when their father is here. It’s only for my benefit,” she says.

“How about I go pour the water into the teapot and you take a break for a moment?” I ask, standing from my seat.

“No, no, no. Please, sit back down. I’ll take care of the water.” She lunges from her chair, not so eloquently, and ambles into the kitchen.

Again, I stare at the upside-down picture frame and then peer down at the tea table, curious as to what she removed as we walked inside. I scan the room, finding landscape portraits hanging from the walls, a piano in the far corner, and a magazine rack by the piano bench.

I squint at the newspaper folded over the top, wondering if my eyes are deceiving me as I spot a copy of Das Reich, a paper that features Nazi propaganda and daily updates supporting the Führer’s agenda.