step, ended up in the wrong room. Made the wrong accusation, the thought whispered, but she braced herself with a deep breath. “And Ruth?” she asked, fighting to sound level, reasonable. Because Anneliese’s creamy voice was reason itself. “Explain Ruth.”
Anneliese went off into another torrent of tears, hands over her face. Jordan’s dad stood helpless, looking between his wife and his daughter, and something in Jordan squeezed when he reached out and touched Anneliese’s hair. “Sweetheart—” He never could stand to see a woman crying. And Anneliese was gripping his hand, pouring out words—to him, only him, not giving Jordan so much as a glance.
“God gave me Ruth. He gave us to each other in Altaussee. The war was over and I was walking beside the lake—I’d finally gotten my papers, my tickets here. I was thanking God for my good fortune, and I see a little girl crying on a bench. Filthy, thin, her papers pinned to her coat. Only three years old. She couldn’t tell me anything, where her parents were. Who knows what happened to them. I waited hours with her. I didn’t know what to do. That was when a half-crazed woman tried to attack us. Everyone was desperate for boat tickets, for money. I fought for Ruth like she was my own, and that was when I knew she’d been sent to me. I couldn’t leave her.” A long quivering breath. “So I washed the blood off her face where she’d been knocked down and took her with me when I left Altaussee, and by the time we landed in Boston she seemed to think I was her mother. Most of the time, I forget I’m not her mother. She was so young, and it all happened like a terrible dream . . .”
Another choked silence fell. Jordan’s lips parted. She couldn’t think what to say. “I don’t believe that,” she forced out finally. “It all sounds—theatrical.”
“War is theatrical, Jordan. I don’t expect you to understand that; you haven’t lived it.” Anneliese’s voice was drained, lifeless. The cold pit in Jordan’s stomach clenched again. “Those of us who survive are only alive because of some stroke of luck. Ruth’s parents were struck down; she was left behind. My father was struck down; I was left behind. Any survivor’s story is extraordinary. Death is everyday; survival is a theater trick.”
Still Jordan’s father wouldn’t speak. His face was gray and sagging, but his hand lay under Anneliese’s.
“Why did you lie about Ruth?” Jordan clutched after the certainty that had sheathed her like armor. “Why?”
“I thought you might not love her . . .” Looking up at her husband. “She’s almost certainly a Jew. How many men would take a Jew into their homes, give her their name? I was afraid.”
He flinched. “I would never have hesitated to—”
“I deceived you. I’m so sorry.” Anneliese reached out, touching his cheek. “Perhaps you won’t forgive me. But don’t hold it against my poor Ruth.”
“Dad, stop,” Jordan said desperately. “How can we trust her? She has lied about everything, you need to—” Her own thoughts circled in confusion. What do you even think anymore? “Your name isn’t Anneliese Weber, is it?” Rounding on her stepmother. “That’s Ruth’s mother’s name, it’s on her birth certificate, so it can’t be yours. You were lying about that too—”
“I gave up my name for Ruth, so no one could take her from me. I was so terrified she’d be taken away . . .” Anneliese wiped her eyes. “I didn’t want my old name, anyway. My father’s name felt tainted. Weber was easier for Americans to pronounce. The name was something I never lied about.”
“You did—”
“No.” It wasn’t Anneliese who spoke this time; it was Jordan’s father. “She told me the day we met that her name was different now, that she had wanted something easier for Americans to say. Something to give her a fresh start.”
Jordan’s heart knocked. “Dad—”
“Don’t be angry with her,” Anneliese interrupted, touching his cheek again. “She was only trying to protect her father.”
I am still trying to protect him. Jordan clutched after that instinctive shiver of fear that had touched her at the beginning of these accusations, meeting Anneliese’s eyes, but she couldn’t find it, not even a trace. Anneliese didn’t look dangerous. She looked like a broken doll.
“I’m sorry.” Her eyes were swimming. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you.”
Jordan’s lips parted, but she couldn’t speak.
“You should talk.” Anneliese looked from her husband to Jordan. “If you don’t