By the time Max was eighteen months, Lena did something she should have done years earlier. One night in March, 1941, she wrote to Josef. She had no idea if he was still at the Budapest address she had for him, but she told him about Karl, Max, her life in America, and the Physics Department. She apologized for not writing sooner. She didn’t know how to explain. Their love had made sense during the traumatic years in Berlin. He had been her lighthouse; the beacon of her hope. But she had moved on. She didn’t say that in the letter; she simply said she hoped he could forgive her. She didn’t expect him to respond, but she felt better for writing.
To her surprise, a month later she received a reply. Josef was still in Budapest. His mother had passed and his father was frail, but he wanted her to know he understood. “Time releases no one,” he said. “Life always changes.”
In fact, he was seeing a woman himself, and the letter Lena had written he took as a reprieve. He intended to ask this woman to marry him. He wished Lena nothing but the best for her and her family. Lena’s eyes filled as she read the letter. At the same time, her guilt lifted. She felt lighter than she had in years.
As spring advanced into summer, Max was starting to talk, and his conversations, peppered with real words as well as baby talk, were a delight. Lena chatted with him most of the day, and both Lena and Karl were convinced he was an intellectual giant.
One afternoon, on a beautiful summer day that reminded her of the day they were married—it was hard to believe it had been four years already—she wheeled Max in a new-fangled baby stroller to a park adjacent to South Lake Shore Drive. Now that the North and South legs of the Drive were connected, it was busier than ever, and they crossed the street carefully. Lena meandered down to the beach at 59th Street and spread a blanket over the sand. She and Max spent the afternoon building sand castles and dipping their toes in the frigid water.
When it was time for Max’s nap, she put him down on the blanket and lay down beside him. She must have dozed off too, because the next thing Lena remembered, the sun was peeking through the trees from the west. She checked her watch; they had been asleep two hours.
Hurriedly, she roused Max. He wanted to go back to the water. She clutched his hand and made one more trip to the edge of the lake, then settled him in the stroller for the journey back home.
As she made her way from the beach back to 57th Street, Lena had the sense she was being followed. She whipped around but didn’t see anyone. She frowned. Max chattered away; she had to focus on him. She kept going. Once they’d crossed 57th Street to the sidewalk, the feeling intensified. She spun around again. This time she caught the shadow of a figure melting into the narrow space between two buildings. Someone was following them.
But who? Hyde Park was one of the safest neighborhoods in Chicago. She began rolling Max’s stroller so quickly that Max started to fret. She tried to shush him, explaining they had slept so long they were late getting dinner. Max seemed to understand, because he stopped crying.
The feeling faded as she passed the shops of Hyde Park, but she was still wary. She kept looking around; no one seemed interested in her. She forced herself to stop in at the butcher’s for a veal roast. Then she bought small potatoes and fresh green beans at the market two doors down. At the last moment, she added ripe tomatoes.
Back home she locked the door, something she rarely did and turned on the radio. It was filled with war news, none of it good. She started preparing dinner, wondering who had been following her and why. She was certain it was a man; she’d seen a flash of dark pants and a striped shirt.
When Karl got home, she told him.
Karl frowned. “You have no idea who it was?”
She shook her head.
He looked like he was seriously thinking. Then he looked up. “Are you sure?”
She shot him an irritated glance. “Of course. Do you think I would make this up?”
“No. But I cannot believe it was intentional. Perhaps it was a hobo who wanted your money.”
She shook her head. “He did not make a move toward my wallet.”
“In that case, I have no idea, liebchen. Maybe forget it. It might have been…” Karl shrugged… “A prank? A mistake?”
“And if it happens again?”
“We will deal with it,” he said firmly.
She kept her mouth shut.