mind. After pulling a mechanic’s coveralls over her clothes and tucking her long dark hair up into a cap, Sara climbed into the driver’s seat and familiarized herself with the controls. Natan took the seat beside her, slouching low, ready to drop to the floor if a military convoy passed. They should be fine if they kept moving, but if they were stopped and questioned, they would say that Annemarie Hannemann was on a call for her father’s repair shop, and Natan was a conscripted Jewish worker ordered to help her with the heavy lifting. Even as she agreed to her brother’s hastily constructed cover story, Sara knew it would never hold up under questioning.
“Just drive carefully,” said Natan as she steered the truck from the garage onto the street. “Don’t give anyone any reason to pull us over.”
She nodded, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. She had not driven her parents’ car in more than two years and had never driven anything like the tow truck. Her heart pounded as they made their way out of the city, but the roads were clear of snow and there was little traffic thanks to gas rationing. Even so, she did not breathe easily until they reached the countryside, the thick forests and rolling hills covered in soft white snow exactly as she remembered from winters past, beautiful and enduring, untouched by the war.
They reached Minden-Lübbecke without incident. As they approached the Riechmann estate and Sara caught sight of the familiar white stone and golden stucco walls through the bare-limbed trees, she was flooded by such an intense feeling of relief and safe homecoming that she almost wept. None of the servants came out to meet the truck as they crossed the stone bridge over the broad, encircling moat, but Sara and Natan were not surprised. No one was expecting them, and the day was sunny but bitterly cold, with a sharp wind that stung the skin and sent snow ghosting across the roads. Wilhelm had closed down the east and west wings and several rooms in the main building to conserve fuel while the house was unoccupied. He and Amalie had retained the core household staff, but other employees had been dismissed, or had been taken in the draft, or had left for more lucrative jobs in the wartime economy. Natan had a key, so if no one glanced out the windows and spotted the very conspicuous tow truck parked in the circular drive, he and Sara might be able to slip in and out of the west wing with food and supplies without anyone knowing.
“What would you like for supper tonight?” Sara asked Natan as they walked through the ankle-deep drifts covering the cobblestone path that led from the driveway around the west wing to the rear entrance.
Natan groaned and clutched his stomach with one hand as he dug the key from his pocket with the other. “Anything. Everything,” he said, unlocking the door. “Roast potatoes swimming in butter. Fresh bread. Canned peaches. Hot tea with honey.”
Sara’s stomach rumbled as she followed him inside. “The bread will take too long to rise for me to bake a loaf tonight, but I promise you’ll have some for your breakfast tomorrow.”
He sighed in anticipation as they carefully locked the door behind them and wiped their shoes on the mat. The stairwell was cold and dark, and when Natan tested the switch, the overhead light failed to come on. “I guess they’ve shut off the power completely. The water too, probably.”
“They’ll turn them back on if we go into hiding, right?”
“Of course,” Natan said as he raced upstairs. Sara hurried after him, her breath emerging as faint white puffs. When she caught up with him, he was fitting a second key in the door of the spare room, which was as dusty and crowded with old furniture as it had been on their last visit. Single file, they climbed the narrow staircase to the attic, where Natan shoved aside the bookcase covering the low, hidden door. Ducking his head, he entered, and she followed quickly after.
“Take as much as you can comfortably carry,” he instructed as he led the way to the large closet they had stocked as a pantry. “We have time for three trips, but then I want to get back on the road.”
Nodding agreement, she stood out of the way as he opened the pantry door—revealing empty shelves, a layer of dust, nothing more.