she was still uncomfortable with it. She tried to imagine Dr. Blum meeting her father. She was sure Papa would like him, this steady, reliable, generous man. She imagined them shaking hands for the first time, Dr. Blum’s respectful bow, Papa’s gesture to stop the formalities. They were family, and these were new times, he would say. A chance for a new life.
Doctor Blum. Herr Doctor Adolf Blum. His first name still made her squirm, but maybe she could call him . . . Adi. In every other way, he was perfect. A quiet man leading a quiet life in this little corner of Germany. He had no family or close friends. He avoided social engagements, as she did. He never read the papers, which had seemed strange at first, but then, hadn’t they all had enough of politics? When the radio announced news, he turned the dial to music. Polkas were his favorite. She had nothing to fear from a man who loved the polka.
She looked at the water stain on the ceiling, the cracked paint on the windowsill. She had never been in the rooms upstairs but could imagine them, dark and low and narrow. This house wasn’t much, but she began to imagine it with a fresh coat of paint, better furniture, a little care. She could fix it up, make it a place her father could stand to live in after he was released. A peaceful, comfortable place for him to recover out of the public eye. He was going to need that. It would be especially useful to have a doctor in the family. She imagined Papa moving in, having to hold his arm as he limped up the stairs, and she blinked at Dr. Blum to make the image go away.
“May I set a condition?” she asked.
Dr. Blum took off his spectacles. His eyes were watercolor blue. “Really?”
“Really.”
His kiss tasted like a warm sweet in her mouth. It was hard to pull away. “I don’t want any fuss about the wedding,” she said. “No announcements in the papers. A small ceremony, only witnesses.”
“Of course, whatever you like.”
Only one witness mattered, and that was Elisa. Clara wasn’t about to marry without her oldest friend there to weave her a bridal crown out of chewing gum wrappers, or give her advice about men. Two months ago, Clara had finally judged it was safe enough to send her a letter, but had heard nothing in return. It was likely the post was being as unreliable as everything these days. Or perhaps Elisa hadn’t wanted to write back, a real possibility considering Clara had left Essen at the end of the war without saying good-bye. At the time, she had thought it best if no one knew her plans. Elisa would not have had to lie under questioning, if it had come to that. But the silence over the past months was awful. Clara had begun to stock up on food and check almost daily on the train-line repairs that would allow her to get back to Essen. Just for a short trip. To see how Elisa and her son were doing, to apologize for leaving them so abruptly. Once she explained, Clara was sure Elisa would forgive her. And she could deliver her wedding invitation in person.
She turned the ring in her palm. When she married, she would make her home here in Hamelin, not in Essen. The thought felt strange. So final. But perhaps it was safer in the long run. “Oh, darling, there’s one other thing. There should be a photograph only for us. Nothing for friends or acquaintances.”
She expected Dr. Blum to demand an explanation. Instead he slid the ring onto her finger. Slowly. Pregnant with suggestion. “That suits me perfectly.”
They hugged, Clara not quite believing she was to be married. She hadn’t slept last night, and she feared she wasn’t thinking as clearly as she should. But it was warm in his arms, and she wanted the warmth to last a little longer. She hooked a finger in the waistband of his trousers. The shock on his face passed quickly, and then he pressed her hard against the table, urgent, almost desperate. She responded in kind, wanting him just as intensely. It had been years since she was with a man, and how dull that time had been. But then he ripped her stockings, a long tear she felt as a cold draft down her leg. She bit back a cry of surprise