moment, staring into the pantry. “What the hell,” Natan muttered, closing the door and opening it again. It was still empty, of course, and he muttered a curse at his own foolishness. Backing away, he interlaced his fingers and rested them on top of his head. “Is there another pantry I don’t know of?”
Sara struggled to think. “I—there’s a linen closet next to the bathroom.”
She barely had the words out before Natan hurried past her and down the narrow hall. Trailing behind, she found him staring into the smaller closet, once full of spare linens and sanitary items, empty now except for a small package of toilet paper. “Take this,” Natan said shortly, snatching it up and tossing it to her.
She quickly left the toilet paper by the exit and met him back at the pantry, where he was straining to reach into the depths of the top shelf. He found a small sack of rice, two tins of sardines, and a bottle of olive oil, which he passed to her, and which she left by the exit. They then began a sweep of the entire hiding place, searching every closet, every drawer, beneath the beds, everywhere. There were still sheets on the mattresses and spare clothing in the wardrobes, but they found no more food, no supplies, no money, although they knew their father had left a lockbox of Reichsmarks and gold coins in his bureau. Even the soft pillows and thick comforters Sara and her mother had arranged upon the beds were gone.
Natan stripped a sheet from one of the mattresses and told her to use it as a sack and fill it with her spare clothing. He did the same with his own clothes and some things of their father’s that should fit him. They worked swiftly, without speaking, but Sara felt a rising panic as they gathered all that might be useful and left the hiding place, taking care to replace the bookcase and lock all the doors behind them.
Once outside, they ran to the truck, threw their salvaged belongings inside, and climbed into their seats, expecting any moment for someone to order them to halt. Sara’s heart pounded with alarm as she started the engine. When she threw the truck into gear and pulled away, she thought she saw a curtain in a window twitch, but she did not slow the truck long enough to take a second look.
They sped off, across the bridge and away.
“Who—” Sara began, her voice trembling. “It must have been someone on the staff. No one else knew about our hiding place.”
“Of course. Papa and Mutti would have told us if they had moved our supplies.”
“But Wilhelm and Amalie said most of the servants have been with the family for generations. They trusted them completely.”
“Someone obviously didn’t deserve their trust.” He rubbed at his jaw, glowering out the window. “People change. They become greedy or afraid. They become Nazis, out of convenience or conviction.”
“Maybe whoever it was meant us no harm. Maybe they were hungry and thought we weren’t ever coming back.”
“Maybe,” said Natan. “Maybe if we had knocked on the front door and explained the situation, they would have apologized, fixed us a hot meal, and, while we ate, loaded up the truck with everything they had taken. Or maybe they would have called the Gestapo to report two Jews driving a stolen truck, breaking into Baron von Riechmann’s castle and robbing the place blind.”
Sara pressed her lips together and nodded, a bitter taste in her mouth. Natan was right. They could not trust anyone at Schloss Federle anymore. They had lost not only their supplies but also their hiding place of last resort, and with it the reassurance of knowing that if Berlin became too dangerous, if Jews were banned from every last block in the city, one last sanctuary remained.
Now that too had been taken from them. They could never return, and they had nowhere else to go.
Chapter Fifty-one
February–June 1941
Greta
Air raids upon Berlin diminished in the bleak, icy early months of the year, but in March the Royal Air Force resumed its attacks, jolting Greta and Adam out of bed, sending them racing down the hall to snatch up Ule and descend to the basement shelter, hearts pounding, ears straining for the roar of bombers over the thudding of antiaircraft fire.
By early morning, workers had cordoned off damaged areas and were clearing away debris, quickly and efficiently, as if to maintain the illusion that the capital was