Fall 1938
Carefully keeping her mind blank, Allina scrubbed down the kitchen table. Her fingers were red and chafed to the point of bleeding and the muscles in her arms ached, but cleaning calmed her like nothing else. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she paused long enough to watch Karin dice vegetables for Auntie’s famous chicken soup.
“Stop flicking soap on my onions,” Karin said. She looked up from the one she was peeling long enough to send Allina a squinty look. “You’re going to drop if you don’t rest. Please stop. I’ll help clean in a minute.”
Allina dragged a chair over to Karin’s and sat down. “You’re doing too much as it is, especially in your condition,” she said, although Karin had never looked healthier. Pregnancy had made her more beautiful. Her oval face was fuller, her peach complexion glowed, and platinum hair fell in thick waves down her back.
“Making chicken soup isn’t hard labor,” Karin answered with a roll of her eyes. “Besides, I mean to steal all your aunt’s recipes. I love Claudia’s food better than my mother’s.” She rubbed her belly. “This baby gives me an appetite for cooking.”
Allina laughed. Karin reminded her of a puppy in the kitchen—full of energy and always making messes. She’d come to their house every day for the past two weeks.
“Thank God for your help. We couldn’t manage otherwise,” Allina said, letting her head fall into her hands. The bookstore, the garden, the house, the ever-present ache in the center of her chest … exhaustion had her light-headed. “I don’t know what day it is anymore.”
“You know I’ll do anything for you.” Karin grimaced as she peeled another onion. “It’s just bad luck Albert’s stuck in Berlin.”
Allina traced the veins in the wood tabletop as her eyes began to burn. She’d written him with the details of Uncle’s condition weeks ago and all but begged him to come back.
“I can’t understand him,” she whispered. Albert knew how sick Uncle was. Why couldn’t he come home?
“Dieter looked fit at church last Sunday,” Karin said in a cheery voice, obviously meaning to change the subject. “His cough seemed a bit better.”
“You think so?” Allina couldn’t tell if Karin was being truthful or kind. “He didn’t come down to dinner last night.” She dragged herself out of the chair, grabbed a broom, and attacked the onion peels around Karin’s feet.
Karin kicked the broom. “Go get your journal. The leaves are turning, but it’s warm enough in the sun. Take an hour outside—”
A loud, ominous thump shook the ceiling, followed by Aunt Claudia’s panicked cry.
“Girls, come quickly!”
Allina and Karin pounded up the stairs. Uncle was lying in a heap on the second-floor landing with his head in Auntie’s lap. Yet he was smiling—smiling sweetly and patting Auntie’s face, as if to calm her.
Allina dropped to her knees.
“We were coming down to lunch,” Auntie murmured, her eyes wide and frightened like a child’s. “He said he felt strong enough.”
Uncle tried to get up but collapsed again with a groan.
Allina waited on the floor with her aunt and uncle while Karin ran into town to fetch Dr. Weiss. There was a grim set to the doctor’s mouth when he arrived, but he took charge immediately, calling out instructions with calm efficiency and portioning out enough work to keep everyone’s hands busy. There was water to boil for tea, then towels to fetch, and a basin of warm, soapy water to prepare. Uncle had sweated through his clothes and needed to be changed.
Once there were no more errands to perform, panic bloomed again in Allina’s chest. All she could do was stand in silence while Dr. Weiss conducted his examination.
When the doctor pushed up Uncle’s shirt, the sight of ribs in sharp relief against pale skin made Allina gasp. He’d worn warm, layered clothing for weeks, and the sweaters had masked the weight he’d lost. Or perhaps she hadn’t wanted to see the truth.
Dr. Weiss moved the stethoscope to different spots on Uncle’s back, listening to his labored breathing. “How’s the pain?”
“Worse,” Uncle Dieter grumbled with a shake of his head. “It’s getting harder to—”
“To lie?” Auntie’s shout was shrill enough to make Dr. Weiss jump back. “When were you going to tell me? After you fell into a coma?” She let out a keening cry before hugging him close. Planting soft kisses on his forehead, she murmured endearments until he broke down.
Allina covered her eyes, but there was nothing she could do to muffle the sound of her uncle’s sobs.
Dr. Weiss took her by the arm. “Let’s speak in private,” he said, easing her into the hall. “We’ll bring a bed downstairs into the parlor. Dieter will be easier to tend to during the day that way. At night, you and Claudia can take turns.” His eyes were stark with pity. “We need to make your uncle as comfortable as possible. Do you understand what’s happening?”
Closing her eyes, Allina nodded. It was the end.
Hours later, Karin found her on the second-floor landing, scrubbing down the wall.
“Allina. What are you doing?”
The urgency in Karin’s voice made her stop long enough to look up. “It’s ruined,” she said, pointing to three ugly gray scratches in the plaster. The marks made her want to bash the wall in. “We damaged the wall when we moved the damn bed frame downstairs.”
Karin tried pulling Allina to her feet. “Come to lunch. Your aunt has soup ready.”
Allina shook her head and kept cleaning. “I have to fix the wall.” Her knees were aching and her fingers raw, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting the wall clean.
Karin sank down next to her. “Allina, please. Come downstairs.”
“Don’t you understand?” Allina threw her brush against the plaster, adding another mark. “It’ll never be the same.”
Dr. Weiss told them Uncle would have good days and bad days. Plow through the bad ones, he’d said, and enjoy Dieter when he rallies. Allina was elated when Uncle stopped in the middle of breakfast and stretched his arms overhead. Letting out a loud yawn, his bushy eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“Not too much pain today?” Auntie murmured. She straightened the red-and-white-patterned wedding quilt over his stomach and leaned down to kiss his cheek.
Uncle took the kiss and another bite of pumpernickel. “I haven’t felt so good in weeks.” He turned to Allina with eyes that shone bright. “Nothing on earth is as wonderful as your aunt’s cooking. I don’t know what it is, child, but everything tastes delicious this morning.”
“You ate every bit on your plate.” Allina ran a hand down his arm, heart skittering at the feel of his bones beneath the thick navy robe. Even Uncle’s smiles looked painful. His teeth seemed too big for his face.
Aunt Claudia topped off his coffee. “There are more eggs on the stove. Would you like them?”
Uncle grabbed her hand and kissed it, earning two loud pecks on the cheek before Auntie hurried back into the kitchen.
Allina plucked the worn copy of Crime and Punishment from the bookshelf and tapped it against her palm. “Shall I read to you?”
“Not this morning,” he said, patting the side of the bed. He winked at Auntie when she came back with a plate of scrambled eggs. “We have something more important to discuss.”
Aunt Claudia hurried out of the room.
A warning circled in Allina’s mind, but she perched on the edge of the bed. Uncle probably wanted to talk about Albert, and she’d endure that conversation if necessary, but she was furious. Allina hadn’t received a letter from him in more than a week.
Uncle took a long, measured breath, as if preparing for an argument. “Let me finish my breakfast first,” he said, handing Allina a slice of pumpernickel. “Here. You’re skinnier than I am.” She spread on a thick layer of gooseberry jam to please him before taking a huge bite. They ate in companionable silence until Uncle spoke again.
“It’s time for us to talk about your parents.”
Allina sputtered, spraying crumbs across the quilt, and dropped the last bit of bread onto her lap. “Now?”
“Yes, now.” Uncle Dieter chuckled and shook his head. “Unless you want to go to battle about that, too?”
But of course. It had to be now. The urgency was there, in her uncle’s pained smiles and in the way his hand shook as he scooped her uneaten bread onto the plate and set it aside. Allina had wished for this her entire life. Yet, now that the moment was here, a part of her wanted to delay.
“I have letters from your father and … other items.” Uncle pointed to the oak hutch. “There, in the bottom drawer. The old cigar box. Your aunt brought it up from the cellar this morning.”
Allina found the worn H. Upmann box and brought it back to her uncle. It was filled with newspaper clippings, a manila envelope, and a thin packet of letters bound in red ribbon.
Clearing his throat, Uncle shuffled through the pile of correspondence before handing her an envelope. “Read this one first. Aloud, please.” He closed his eyes and eased back against the pillow with a sigh. “It’s been too long since I heard your father’s words.”
Allina’s fingers shook as she pulled a single sheet of paper from the envelope. The page was brittle and crammed with bold, even handwriting. She lifted the paper to her nose. It smelled like old books, grassy and musty with hints of almond and vanilla.
With her heart drumming in her ears, she began to read.
7 May 1919
To my favorite sister and her husband,
I write with miraculous news. At last, I have found gainful employment.
Last week, I was on an omnibus when a great ape of a man took the seat next to mine. He had a look of one used to giving orders, like Father, Claudia.
I was eating grapes and offered them up. The man thanked me and took three. “I’ve had a horrible day,” he said. “One of my best men quit without notice.”
“I’ve had my share of bad days,” I replied, “but aren’t we lucky to live in the most exciting city in Germany?”
The man laughed, said he liked my attitude, and asked what I did for a living. I told him I had a job as a busboy, but I’d moved to Berlin to find work as a writer.
The man gave me a shrewd look, then reached into his coat pocket and handed over a calling card. He told me his name was Wolff, and that he was chief editor of the Tageblatt. Herr Wolff said he had a special position in mind, one that would teach me about the newspaper business. He invited me to call on him for an interview, which I did the next day.
My new boss is often rude and forever in motion. He barks orders and demands everything. I work long hours running errands, fetching coffee and meals, and checking facts for articles. I even clean the toilets!
Each morning, I beg Wolff to give me a chance, any small piece to write for the paper. His answer has been “No!” seven days in a row. But today I heard him laugh after I shut the door to his office. One day, he’ll say yes.
Herr Schultz celebrated with me when I gave him the news and asked me to stay on at the café on the weekends. So I maintain my room above the restaurant and eat like a king when I come home.
Although I miss seeing your faces (and your strudel, Claudia) I was always meant to be a Berliner. My only regret is Father. He hasn’t acknowledged my letters. I forgive him and hope he’ll do the same for me, in time. I pray for you all.
Yours, Tomas
Allina pressed the letter over her heart as a sweet warmth filled her chest. “My father was a writer.”
“Yes. Tomas had a special talent for writing, like you.” He nodded toward the box. “Those articles are all his, published in the Tageblatt. You should read them later.”
Uncle shifted over in bed, inviting her to sit closer. She curled up next to him and pressed her cheek to his. It was cool and damp and smelled faintly of shaving soap. “I want to know everything about him,” she said.
“You’re like your father in many ways,” Uncle said. He ran fingers through her hair, working gently from crown to nape in the same way he’d done since she was a child. “Always full of questions, and with too much energy for your own good. Tomas had an enormous wanderlust.” Uncle pronounced the last word with gusto. “He left us the week after his eighteenth birthday.”
Uncle cleared his throat and paused, as if the next words were painful to speak. “When the riots broke out in Berlin, we were terrified. The country was starving, and Berlin had been ravaged by the Great War. We begged Tomas to come home, but he refused. Your grandfather never quite forgave him for that.”
Uncle began coughing, hard enough to shake the bed. He accepted the water Allina poured and downed half a glass before settling back against the pillow with a sigh. “Give me a minute, child,” he said, patting her hand.
Allina couldn’t understand why her aunt and uncle had kept such precious details from her. Desperate to hear more, she waited until his wheezing calmed and the color returned to his cheeks.
“What about my mother?” she asked. “How did they meet?”
Uncle’s lips turned down in regret. “Your parents found each other that summer, but we never knew her. There was no money to spare for a visit.” He went through the packet of letters and withdrew another. “This will tell you more about Irene. Read it next.”
The fear in his eyes raised the hairs on the backs of her arms, but Allina shook off her unease and began.
15 July 1920
To my Allina’s beloved aunt and uncle,
A proud papa writes you today, with so much joy my pen shakes on the page. Irene and I have made a wondrous thing, a perfect baby girl. Allina is such a tiny bit. I can hold her whole body in my hands.
When I gaze into my daughter’s face, I’m filled with equal amounts of love and terror. Love because I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. Terror because Germany is going mad. You warned me before my marriage, and perhaps the consequences are inevitable. But I had no choice. Irene is my heart.
If we followed my wife’s custom, we’d raise Allina in the Jewish faith.
Allina’s mouth went dry. “My mother was Jewish?” she whispered.
Uncle nodded. “Keep reading.”
Irene insists we raise her as a Lutheran. She makes her choice out of fear, but I can’t fault her feelings any more than I can deny what is happening to our country. Last week, two men followed Irene’s brother home and kicked his cane out from under his feet. David, who earned the Iron Cross and served with the men who left him sprawled in the street.
These men are thugs. They glorify violence and call it strength. Yet, the Berliners are sympathetic. Too many men are without work and unable to feed their children. I have seen their despair. They make the Jews their scapegoat. Now Adolf Hitler with his 25-Point Plan claims my family are aliens in their own country.
Although Irene will miss her family, we are in agreement. It’s time to come home. I hope reading this will bring a smile to your lips, even if our reason does not.
My new family will return to Badensburg by Christmas. I need you to see this miracle we’ve made. I want you to know my wife.
Yours, Tomas
Allina struggled to breathe through the ache in her chest. As a child, she’d fantasized about her parents, giving them glamorous jobs and exciting lives. But in all her wild imaginings, she’d never conjured this.
“Tomas and Irene died three months later in an omnibus crash.” Uncle’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away, and she was barely aware of the hand he placed on her arm. “My greatest regret is not meeting your mother. My greatest joy came when Irene’s parents brought you to live with us. We agreed it would be safer.”
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. For years, Allina’s aunt and uncle had avoided all questions about her parents, even when she’d begged. Now here was the reason. They’d hidden the truth about her birth mother to protect her, and with her Jewish grandparents’ blessing—grandparents she’d never know now. Aunt Claudia and Uncle Dieter had kept Allina safe but at a hideous cost, and even as her friends had disappeared.
Her tongue was thick and heavy in her mouth. “So my papers—”
He took her hand, squeezed it when she tried to pull away. “Your papers are based on a forged birth certificate, but your real one is still filed in Berlin. You cannot move to the city, child. Not while Hitler is Führer. Irene was Jewish. That makes you Mischling.” Uncle’s voice cracked. “You know what this means. Hitler has already pushed Mischling out of polite society. He’s taken away jobs, deprived them of schooling. We don’t know what more he will do.”
The panic hit, high in her belly, and it nearly bent her over.
Uncle tried to wipe the tears from Allina’s cheeks, but she sprang up to pace the room. It wasn’t the truth about her mother that devastated her. It was the lie. Her aunt and uncle loved her, she’d always believed that. They’d raised Allina as their own. But they hadn’t trusted her with the truth—a truth so dangerous it could destroy them all.
The need to run was strong—out of the room, out of this house, anywhere as long as it was away from him. But there was nowhere for Allina to go now, nowhere safe, not in all of Germany.
Uncle withdrew the manila envelope from the box and slapped it against the side of the bed. “Come here. Please, Allina. There’s more you must know.”
More. How much more could there be? She marched back to his bedside, took the envelope from his hand, and emptied the contents onto the mattress—a birth certificate and papers, all in the name of Allina Gottlieb.
“These offer you a new identity.” Uncle pushed the papers into her hands. “If you’re compelled to flee, you must destroy your papers and use these.”
Allina traced the edges of the documents, which were dog-eared and distressed. “They look real.” It was strange how calm her voice was, despite the wild drumming in her throat, the high-pitched ringing in her ears.
Uncle held her gaze, watching her closely. “They’re excellent forgeries, good enough to buy you time. One of Albert’s contacts created them last year.”
For a moment the room seemed to spin. “Albert?”
He nodded again and watched her with glistening eyes.
The truth hit again, like a physical blow. Albert had known—and he, too, had kept the truth from her. The thought was unbearable.
“Albert doesn’t work as a bank clerk, does he?” she asked, sinking down onto the bed.
“Actually, he does,” Uncle said. “But the important work is done after hours.”
Allina balled her fists to keep from crying out. “Why hasn’t Albert come home?”
Uncle extracted the documents from her fists and laid them down on his lap, smoothing out the wrinkles with care. “Hitler will expel thousands of Polish Jews from Germany by the end of this month. These men and women have lost their Polish citizenship. They have nowhere to go. Albert is helping who he can.”
Allina bent over at the waist to fend off a growing dizziness, the need to throw up. It was too much, too fast to make sense of.
“In your heart, you know he’s a good man,” Uncle said. “Good men do what they must.”
“Do good men lie to the people they love?”
Her barb struck home. Dieter winced. “Sometimes, yes, if they’re afraid the truth will hurt those they love.”
When she shook her head, he sighed. “We’ve saved dozens of families these past two years. I know you’ll be happy about that, even if you’re angry with me.”
Allina swayed a little as another realization hit.
“The Neumanns,” she whispered. I have been such a fool.
Uncle’s smile was beatific. “They’re in Dragør, safe for the moment.”
Allina stared at her uncle. I would have helped them—helped you, and Albert. But you didn’t want my help. All you wanted was my silence. Perhaps he was finally happy, now that he’d gotten it. She had nothing more to say.
Uncle coughed again, gasped for a breath. He sipped from the glass of water, then took her hands in his. Allina didn’t have it in her to pull away.
“You’re the child of my heart,” Uncle said. “We kept our secrets to keep you safe. Albert loves you. He’ll protect you.” He pointed at the forged documents. “Those papers offer you a way out of Badensburg if things fall apart.” Uncle’s voice grew faint as his eyes fluttered closed. “I’m too tired to continue. We’ll finish later. Tomorrow.” He roused enough to push the box into her hands. “Read the letters and your father’s articles. They’re your inheritance.” He gripped her arm again. “I love you, child.”
Allina kissed him on the cheek before she ran out of the room, holding all that was left of her parents in an old cigar box clutched to her chest.