the camp commandant in the corridor as the guards escorted them to the small, bare office. He watched them pass, frowning imperiously, and afterward, he intercepted them as they were being led to the exit. “You are Herr Weitz, the banker, are you not?” he inquired crisply.
Sara’s father clasped his hat in front of his chest and offered a small, formal bow. “I am, Herr Kommandant.”
“You served in the Great War?”
“I did, sir. I was wounded at Verdun.”
The commandant’s eyebrows rose. “That was a bad business.”
“Yes, Herr Kommandant, it was.”
“How does your son know Regierungspräsident Diels?”
Sara’s father shrugged deferentially. “I was not aware they were acquainted.”
“You’re regrettably ignorant where your son is concerned. Even so, perhaps you can tell me why the Americans are so interested in one Jew journalist. What is he to them?”
“Who can say why Americans do anything?”
“Quite right.” The commandant nodded to the guards. “Take these Jews away.”
Sara felt a surge of panic, but when the guards merely led them to the exit, she took a deep, shuddering breath and willed her heart to stop racing. In the backseat of Wilhelm’s car, she and Amalie held hands tightly until the driver left her and her parents at home.
Mildred promised that Martha Dodd would not let her father forget Natan, and that Martha’s contact would see to it that he would be well treated. Sara was sickened to imagine what poor treatment looked like if what Natan received was considered better.
As winter passed, Sara saw Dieter only rarely. Business took him out of the country for weeks at a time, but it was almost a relief to have him gone. In recent weeks, their infrequent, tense, and uncomfortable discussions about what their married life would look like retraced the same circular arguments and resolved nothing. “Perhaps this is a sign that as much as you love each other, this marriage is simply not meant to be,” Amalie had gently suggested after Sara had tearfully confessed her frustration. Perhaps Amalie was right, but Sara did not know what to do. If she broke off the engagement, she would lose Dieter forever, and what if all they needed was a little more time to work things out? For now, postponing the wedding while the family focused on obtaining Natan’s release was the most she could do.
For his part, Dieter assured Sara that he understood the reason for her distance and distraction, but she was guiltily certain that he did not know all that she felt and feared. “Tell me how to help Natan and I’ll do it,” he said, but she had no idea what more he could do aside from providing the imported luxuries they used to bribe the guards. His boss often distributed overstocked items or slightly damaged packages unsuitable for store shelves among his employees, and Dieter had always been generous with his share.
Then, in late February, Sara’s parents received a letter from the SS announcing that Natan would be released early on account of good behavior. Since he never would have confessed which of his colleagues at the Berliner Tageblatt had helped him defy the Editors Law, Sara knew that at last Mildred’s American friends had prevailed.
On the appointed day, she feared it was all a cruel Nazi trick, or a mistake in the paperwork, and they would arrive at the prison camp only to discover that it was just another visit, and afterward Natan would be torn from their arms and led back to his cell. When the guards at the front gate stalled before admitting them despite the usual parcel and bribe, she mentally composed arguments, threats, pleas. Only when they had Natan in their car wrapped in warm blankets and they were speeding away from Oranienburg could she breathe deeply, lightheaded, clutching his hand, murmuring assurances that all would be well. He nodded and managed a grin, unable to speak for the deep, wet coughs racking his thin frame.
They went directly to their longtime physician, a Jew who was no longer permitted to practice medicine, but nonetheless saw Jewish patients in secret at his home. After examining Natan thoroughly, the physician reported that he was severely malnourished and suffering from pneumonia. His left arm had been broken three months earlier and had been set badly, but it would do more harm than good to break it again and reset it. A program of strengthening exercises would help him regain full use of the arm in time. He had also contracted skin infections