October 1938
Where is it, Mila?” I screeched as I fumbled around moving the contents of my dressing table for the tenth time.
“Quiet, Fräulein Hanna, or you’ll alert the mistress of the house. Tell me what’s gone missing.”
“My worry stone. It would look like an ordinary piece of rose quartz to you.”
“The pebble on your vanity? I thought it was just something you’d found in your shoe and I tossed it in the bin.”
“Oh, Mila, you couldn’t have,” I said, furious at the tears pricking my eyes. Now was not the time for blubbering. She was apt to tell Aunt Charlotte I was mad for this anyway.
“Why all this fuss over a rock?” she asked. “We have a yard full of them, not to mention a whole countryside at easy distance if you can’t find another to suit.”
“You don’t understand. I’ve had it since I was a girl. It was from my mother.”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, it might be just as well that it’s gone. I hear your aunt and uncle speak of her sometimes at night and it’s not with fond regret. The more you distance yourself from her the better off you’ll be.”
A variation on the same advice Klara had offered when we first met.
“Your mother wasn’t like other mothers. She was different. You need to conform even more to overcome that stigma, or you’ll be cast out like she was.”
“I do mind you saying so,” I countered. “And I expect you to not be so cavalier with my things in the future. If something is meant to be tossed in the bin, I’ll do it myself.”
“But the mistress . . .”
“Is your boss and the head of housekeeping around here, I know. And you don’t want to lose your job. I can’t order you to do anything. I’m not your employer. I’m asking you to let me have the sanctity of one room in this house. It’s not my home, but I need to feel like this corner of it is mine.”
“I understand, Fräulein. But understand that respecting privacy is not something your aunt and uncle are terribly worried about where you’re concerned.”
“What do you mean, Mila?”
“They inspect your room while you’re gone, and they’d be right to dismiss me for telling you that. If you see something out of place by my hand, it’s because I don’t want your aunt and uncle to find anything untoward. I’ve never mentioned to them the kit you have with all the herbs and goodness knows what. I like you and I don’t want them to send you away.”
“Thank you, Mila. I owe you my gratitude,” I said, lowering my head. She was risking everything for my benefit.
“Don’t think on it a moment,” she said. “I’m only sorry I tossed away such an important keepsake. I’ll be more careful in the future.”
“As will I,” I said, thinking of the kit in the back of the armoire. Of course it had seemed like such an out-of-the-way place when I first arrived. But now that the room no longer seemed the size of a gothic cathedral to my provincial eyes, that corner was a painfully obvious place to tuck something away that one didn’t want noticed. I’d have to seek out a better spot and pray that Mila was telling me the truth about keeping my confidences.
But this was the world we lived in, where I couldn’t rely on the solemn promise of a young woman in the service of my nearest relations. The rewards for turning people in to the authorities—for offenses both real and conjured up out of malice—were all too enticing. Informing on other people was a good trade for those who were down on their luck, and a juicy temptation for those of reduced or even middling means.
I wanted to launch myself into the massive waste bin in the kitchen where Mila and the rest of the staff consolidated the contents of the bins from throughout the house, but I couldn’t soil my dress or end up smelling like refuse before the BDM meeting I was to attend with Aunt Charlotte. She’d taken a more active role in the Women’s League—since I came into the house, and they occasionally did joint activities.
Of course, Klara and her mother would be there as well, and she and I would be forced to be friendly. She’d eye my clothes—almost always new—with envy and well-concealed disdain. I’d see her eyes flit to the ring finger on my left hand, looking to see if Friedrich had made his intentions clear. As ardent a suitor as he was, he’d not yet broached the topic of marriage. He was too keen to discuss the war and all of Hitler’s strategies in mind-numbing detail. As painful as it was to listen to, it was preferable to any awkward attempt at romance. Battle plans and troop movements were bad enough but listening to him try to wax on about the shade of my eyes or the curl of my hair would have been downright insufferable.
Aunt Charlotte had sent word that I was to dress in my smartest day dress, an elegant thing made of maroon wool that was a favorite of mine.
She surveyed me with satisfaction when I met up with her in the foyer. Of course, her brown tweed ensemble looked a million times more chic than mine, but I didn’t have the years or the gravitas to pull off most of her looks.
“Good, good,” she said, examining her watch and seeing that I was a few minutes early in joining her. I’d learned quickly that punctuality was a key factor in domestic harmony in this house.
The car took us a few blocks away to a house even grander than Uncle Otto’s. Impressive as it was, the lady of the house lacked Aunt Charlotte’s taste and scrupulous attention to detail. Had my aunt been in charge of the gathering, no one would have had to wait in the foyer to hand their coat to staff, there would have been a maid at the ready—even if she were merely brought in as help for the day. The hostess, whom we’d yet to see, had a plentiful display of finger foods with a few drab flower arrangements to fill the bare surfaces. There was no art or style to either. After a few months in Aunt Charlotte’s shadow, I knew what the event was lacking, and it surprised me that I was calculating how to improve things, despite myself.
Klara nodded to me from across the room, but she did not approach me. Nor did I expect her to unless her mother made the overture first.
The crowd was directed to a room where a lectern stood before ten large round tables encircled by chairs. The ballroom had been converted into stations where we would sort cast-off clothes for the less fortunate, but there was no doubt we’d be enthralled by a lecture while we worked. No matter the purpose of the event, it seemed there was always a lecture. Whether it was a knitting bee or a lavish charity dinner, there always had to be a speech about the Reich, the Führer, the efforts to expand Germany’s borders—usually all three. And they were never brief. If one did not wax poetic about the heroes fighting for the great causes dear to the Fatherland or our noble leader, the depth of one’s devotion might come into question.
Aunt Charlotte led us to one of the tables, calculated carefully to ensure we’d sit with the right people.
“What luck. Frau Schroeder, I’d like you to meet my niece, Hanna. No doubt your Friedrich has spoken of her frequently.”
Friedrich’s mother. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, but tried with some success to keep mastery of myself.
Frau Schroeder was a tall, thin woman who resembled her son more than a little. She was a handsome woman, in her way, but she didn’t have any of Friedrich’s charisma to enhance her looks. “Yes,” she said, looking me over, as if to discern why I’d captured his interest. The answer wasn’t readily apparent, it seemed. “Several times. Quite the most talked about girl in Berlin.”
“I’m not sure if I ought to consider that distinction much of a compliment,” I said.
“I’m not sure I meant it that way, dear,” she retorted. “The old adage that any press is good press doesn’t always hold true, I find.”
She was sharp, I had to admit. I’d have to be careful with her, as it seemed that barbed tongue of hers was quite capable of leaving scars.
“Oh, quite right. No girl wants the stain of notoriety attached to her name,” Aunt Charlotte cooed. “And there’s nothing more tiresome than attention seeking.”
Frau Schroeder nodded her agreement and turned back to focus on me. “You’re rather fortunate that your aunt and uncle have taken a shine to you, it would seem,” she said, taking a sip from the coffee a waiter had just placed before her.
“Indeed, I am,” I agreed. “They’ve been wonderful to me since I arrived.”
“Just a lucky thing for you they’re such generous people. My parents took in a cousin of mine when I was a girl. A proper nightmare that was. It wasn’t six months before my father sent her packing. My mother took to her bedroom for two weeks to recover after she’d gone. I never knew what happened to her, but I can’t say I wish her well after what she put my parents through.”
“And it’s lucky for us, too. Our Hanna is the sweetest girl to ever draw breath,” Aunt Charlotte said, patting my back. “She’s been a joy since the day she crossed the threshold.”
“Well, see that you stay that way, girl. Your aunt and uncle are good people and don’t deserve trouble.”
“Of course,” I said, unsure how else to respond.
“I’m sure Friedrich has told you how sweet our Hanna is. Smart as a whip, too.”
“She’d have to be to interest Friedrich. He took highest honors in mathematics. He was on his way to a brilliant career before he was called to join the cause.”
“No doubt of it,” I said, knowing what a mother would want to hear. “A man would have to be of keen intellect to advance as far as he has at such a young age.”
“Well said,” Frau Schroeder said, setting her coffee cup down with a clink on the table. “You do have some sense, don’t you?”
“That’s for others to judge, ma’am, but I certainly hope so.”
She cocked her head to one side, appraising. “You must come with your aunt to the house before too long. I should like to get better acquainted with you.”
“We’d be delighted,” Aunt Charlotte answered for me. “You’ve only to name the date.”
Frau Schroeder looked satisfied and turned her conversation to a rather stern-looking old woman next to her who seemed keen on discussing various charity efforts for the cause.
Aunt Charlotte squeezed my knee, and I knew it was her silent signal of approval. I’d not only caught the eye of the most eligible bachelor in Berlin, but seemed to be on my way to earning the favor of his mother.
Another bauble would appear in my jewelry box in a day or two, and I’d wear it. I’d muster enthusiasm for the trinket and plaster on a smile.
I was ready to fall into bed when we returned home after nearly two hours of speeches and several hours of rolling bandages and small talk.
But on my vanity, the little pink stone had returned. Mila had scoured the bins to find it for me. I’d have to find some way to repay her, though I wasn’t sure what gesture would be large enough. Beneath it was a note that read “Be careful with your treasures.” Especially when they resemble another man’s trash, I thought.
I turned the stone over between my thumb and forefinger a few times, but then quickly placed it in the corner of a drawer where it wouldn’t run the risk of being taken again. It would have to serve as my talisman from afar, though I missed the weight of it more each day, rather than less.