Sara’s cheeks had burned as she silently withdrew. She had not been thinking about marriage, not with Dieter or anyone else, certainly not anytime soon. She had resolved long before to earn her doctorate, travel abroad, and establish a career before she married and started a family. But as she and Dieter continued to see each other, she began almost unwillingly to mull it over. She wanted to keep things as they were, but Dieter was a few years older and might want to settle down soon. Sometimes they discussed their religious beliefs and traditions, but never the daunting challenges faced by Jews and Christians who intermarried. And although Amalie and Wilhelm had proven that it could be done with understanding and grace, Sara knew from her sister’s shared confidences that their happiness had not been easily won.
For now, she just wanted to enjoy her time with Dieter without worrying about their future. In the years to come, though, if their feelings deepened and they remained as happy together as they were now—that would be a different matter. When it became impossible to imagine living without him, she would marry him, if he asked.
For weeks, the predominant topic of discussion in cafés and in the press had been the upcoming elections. President Hindenburg, eighty-four years old and in poor health, had been persuaded to run for reelection because his party, the Social Democrats, considered him the only man who could defeat Adolf Hitler and persuade rival factions to cooperate for the greater good. On the streets of Berlin, fascists and Communists seemed perpetually embattled, an attack of one group upon the other leading to a retaliatory strike in an escalating spiral of violence. Frau Harnack had once told their study group that the back-and-forth shootings reminded her of Mafia gangs fighting over territory in Chicago.
On the day before the dinner, the National Socialists held a massive campaign rally in the Lustgarten, the vast plaza in front of the palace of the kaiser. Thousands of Communist workers and intellectuals marched upon the Lustgarten to stage a protest, but they found the plaza already packed with ardent National Socialists, most clad in full Nazi regalia. Natan covered the event for the Berliner Tageblatt, and afterward he told the family that judging by the slogans on lofted banners, the triumphant songs, the wild flutter of miniature swastika flags like a vast swarm of furious red, black, and white moths, the Nazis had outnumbered the Communists at least four to one.
Sara listened in disbelief as her brother described the scene. How could so many people have crowded into the Lustgarten to cheer on the Nazis? Did they not understand what fascists believed? The Nazis had always been a fringe party. Where had these enormous crowds of supporters come from?
“The rally is over, but there’s more to come.” Natan caught Sara’s eye, and she knew to brace herself for an apology. “I’m sorry, Sara, but I won’t be able to come to dinner tomorrow.”
“But I want you to meet Dieter,” she protested.
“I’ve met him.”
“I want you to get to know him better. Amalie and Wilhelm already declined. What will Dieter think if you do too?”
Natan shrugged. “He’ll think that important events sometimes occur at inconvenient times and I have to get the story before the competition does. He’s a businessman. Give him my apologies and he’ll understand.”
Of course Dieter would understand, but that wasn’t the point. Sara had been counting on her brother to help with the conversation in case it caught an errant current and drifted into treacherous waters. Natan could talk to anyone, lead them deftly from topic to topic, draw information from them with such amiable ease that they did not realize how much they had divulged until it was too late.
Then again, maybe it would be better if Natan didn’t come.
The following evening, Sara put on her best floral summer dress, helped her mother and the cook with last-minute preparations, and paced in the foyer until the doorbell rang. Her parents were right behind her when she opened the door and welcomed Dieter inside, which, to Sara’s chagrin, meant that their long-awaited reunion was regrettably stilted, a swift clasp of hands and a chaste kiss on the cheek, their eyes promising more if they could find a moment alone.
Dieter had come bearing gifts, a bottle of Tokaji wine for her parents, a fine piece of traditional embroidered lace for her, so lovely that she cried out with delight