nineteen

A week later, in the middle of the afternoon, the Uncle arrived home to find us all asleep, Barbara and Maria in the bedroom, me dozing with my head down on the edge of the sewing machine.

Barbara heard the door close and came out of the bedroom with Maria in her arms. “Lucas,” she said. “You are home.”

He looked from one to the other. Barbara’s eyes were huge in her pale face, her hair in a braid down her back, and she was leaning against the wall for strength. Maria was a mass of thick scabs, and it was already apparent that she’d have several pitted scars on her cheeks from the disease.

Lucky, though; she was alive. Lucky they were both alive.

The Uncle gathered them into his arms; then, carrying the baby, he guided Barbara into the kitchen to help her into a chair. He turned to me. “And you, Dina? Sleeping in the daytime with all your energy? Are you sick, too?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m fine.” How could I say how tired I was! My legs trembled with fatigue at times as I walked endlessly back and forth at night holding Maria, her arms wrapped around me. I hummed the lullaby Mama always sang, that beloved song, with tears in my eyes for Mama, but loving Maria, determined that she be well.

How could I say that my days were spent helping Barbara bathe and cleaning the dust off the chairs, the table, even the beds? I knew now it was a mistake to have opened the window over the air shaft so that every bit of soot and paper flew into the apartment.

I was tired, too, from running up the long seams on the trousers, and my knuckles were bruised from the finishing work on that coarse material. The week had gone by so quickly, I had spent almost no time working on a new hat for Mrs. Koch’s friend.

I was tired, but not sorry!

I went back to the sewing machine and slid in the next two pieces of fabric to be hemmed, half listening to the Uncle as he talked about all he had seen on the way to Lake Placid. “Mountains,” he told Barbara, “not unlike the ones in Breisach. Gentler, though. And I saw a tailor shop, talked to the man who owned it. It wouldn’t take much to do the same thing here. . . .” He broke off. “The window is open.”

“So it is,” Barbara said, noticing it for the first time.

I began to sew, the noise of the machine drowning out what the Uncle had to say next.

It didn’t drown him out for long. In a moment, he was calling in a voice that I could have heard even on the roof. “Dina!”

I didn’t move.

“Where are you?”

I looked up at the ceiling.

“Dina!” he shouted again.

I sighed and got up from the machine to go into the kitchen. “I was suffocating.”

He shook his head. “I thought you were going to take care of everything here.”

I narrowed my eyes at him as Barbara began to talk, to change the subject, while he reached for the hammer to close it again. “I dreamed when I was sick,” she said. “So many dreams.”

“Fever dreams,” he said over his shoulder. “Terrible, I know.”

“Yes.” She ran her fingers along her braid. “I dreamed I was back in my house as a little girl. I dreamed . . .” She smiled at me. “I dreamed of Dina, who washed and dressed me.”

She stretched out her hand. “I know you did that for both of us.”

The Uncle put down the hammer, the window back in place, shut tight; no more grime to come in, and no more air, either. He nodded at me. “I’m grateful for that, Dina.”

I didn’t know what to say, but Maria was holding her arms out to me, so I took her from Barbara and balanced her on my hip, rocking just the slightest bit.

“I dreamed that men were in here,” Barbara said. “Men with beards like the giants from one of the Grimm brothers’ tales.”

I ran my fingers along Maria’s neck, making mouse feet for her. Barbara was right. The men had looked like giants with their black beards.

“I dreamed . . .” Barbara closed her eyes. “Dreamed that I was telling Dina to hide the baby, hide the baby. . . .” She opened her eyes, hesitating. “That was the worst dream of all.”

“Never mind,” the Uncle said, pouring thick hot coffee from the pot on the stove. “It was just a dream.”

I bent my head. “Mousie creeps,” I said to Maria, making her smile again.

17 September 1871

Dear Dina,

Krist and I were married yesterday. It was a beautiful ceremony in St. Stephen’s Cathedral, with Krist smiling at me all the while. The whole town was there, dressed in the finery that we had sewed. I carried the beautiful handkerchief you made. And afterward we had coffee and cake and small candies wrapped in foil.

The only sadness was that you were not there, my dear sister, and at the moment the church bells pealed out with joy I thought of you and how much you mean to us. I wonder if you could feel our love across the waves.

All love,
Katharina

Dina, my child,

You would have loved this wedding. Katharina’s dark hair looked beautiful under her hat. We covered the wide hat frame with the same gray silk as the dress, adding two large plumes of white, which covered the rim. We spent hours on the dress, as well, pleating the entire bodice and finding the perfect piece of lace for her neck. If only you had been there to take those fine stitches of yours!

I love you, Dina.

Mother