MANHATTAN
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1938
Notes from Libby’s flute danced to the high Gothic arches of the church on Fifth Avenue. Evelyn pressed to Peter’s side in the pew, their entwined hands resting in the valley between his black tuxedo trousers and her red velvet gown.
Peter had been discharged from the hospital the day before, and the Christmas Eve concert just barely managed to entice them out of their suite at the Plaza.
Evelyn closed her eyes and soaked in the final song. A chorale sang “Silent Night” while Libby’s flute wafted above, embellishing and enlightening.
A German song, and her head dragged low. But she had to remember people like the Schreibers and General Gerlach and “Frau Engel” were doing what they could under the threat of death. Evelyn prayed for their continued strength and courage.
The conductor lowered his baton, Libby and the chorale bowed, and Evelyn applauded.
She glanced at Peter, and he grinned, the gorgeous blue of his eyes framed by glasses again.
Only nine months earlier, she’d sat beside him at Libby’s concert, admiring his eyes and his crooked nose and contemplating two, three, four dates. Now she contemplated twenty, thirty, forty years, or more.
They filed out of the sanctuary with the festively clad crowd. Peter fetched their coats from the cloakroom, and she helped him arrange his coat over his sling.
Outside, the previous day’s dusting of snow had evaporated, but frostiness tingled Evelyn’s face.
She tucked her hand in the crook of Peter’s good arm and strolled by his side. Christmas lights and displays decorated the tall buildings, and Salvation Army bells rang on the other side of the street.
Peter tilted his head, the top hat making him look especially dapper. “On a night like tonight, with music like that in your ears, it’s almost possible to believe in peace on earth. If only . . .” He sighed. “Well, at least Herr and Frau Gold are finding peace on earth.”
“I’m so glad.” Hans-Jürgen Schreiber had called. Herr Gold had written from Lisbon, where he and his wife were about to board a steamer bound for South America.
“If only it were possible for all the others.” A frown dug into Evelyn’s cheeks. Hundreds of thousands of Jews remained in the Greater Reich, and still more antisemitic laws had been passed. “It gets worse and worse over there. It’s horrible.”
“It is.” Peter nudged her. “But let’s think of happier things tonight. It’s Christmas, and we’re on our honeymoon.”
Evelyn’s parents had treated them to a week at the Plaza for a Christmas present. After that, they’d go to Albany, where Peter’s mother was throwing a wedding reception. Then to Boston.
“You’re still frowning,” Peter said.
They passed Feldman’s Menswear, the plate-glass window shiny and intact, and Evelyn sighed. “The glass won’t stop shattering.”
A traffic cop waved them across the street with a Merry Christmas—a policeman enforcing order and freedom, not trampling them.
“The thing about glass . . .” Peter’s eyes narrowed in the thoughtful way she adored. “It may shatter, but you can melt it down and create something new and good.”
“Yes, but that requires high heat. Just how hot will this world have to get?”
The Plaza stood tall and majestic on the corner of Fifth Avenue, but Peter passed by the door.
Evelyn gave him a curious look. Considering how difficult it had been to get him clothed and out of their suite, she assumed he’d be eager to reverse the process.
Instead, he led her across the street and into Central Park, where a gilded statue of William Tecumseh Sherman guarded the park entrance, with Nike, goddess of victory, leading the general’s horse.
“Where are we going?” Evelyn asked.
“To find clarity.” He stopped in the square just past the statue, came behind Evelyn, and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Come here.”
She relaxed back against his solid chest, mindful of his healing arm in its sling.
“The night is coming, isn’t it?” His voice rumbled low in her ear.
Evelyn hugged his arm to her stomach. “It is.” Her voice caught.
“Look up, my love. What do you see?”
“Buildings, lights . . .”
“Past that.” He pressed his cheek to hers. “What do you see in the sky?”
Evelyn peered into the inkiness. “Stars. I can barely see them with the city lights though.”
“But they’re there. They’re always there. Clouds may conceal them, but they’re still there. Even in the darkest night, the stars always shine.”
Light in the darkness, peace in the chaos, and a smile rose. No matter how dark the world became, there would always be some light, some music, some hope. She had to seek it and coax it out.
Evelyn leaned against the man she loved. They’d help each other seek the hope and speak the truth.
“You’re a star, you know.” Peter kissed her cheek. “Use those beautiful points of yours to prick people’s consciences, to poke holes in their preconceived notions and their complacency. Then flood them with brilliant light.”
Why had she taken so long to fall in love with this man? He didn’t want to silence her voice but to magnify it. And she wanted to magnify his voice as well.
Evelyn twisted to face him, and she kissed his chin. “You’re a star too. You’re going to share truth with your students and the faculty and in those lectures everyone wants you to give.”
Peter leaned his forehead against hers. “Well then, let’s shine together.”