Adam. The streetlights illuminated the way ahead, and other couples and groups of friends were strolling the sidewalks, their quiet conversations and occasional bursts of laughter reminding her that there was much to cherish in life even in those uncertain times. Only when she reached the boathouse and saw a shadow shift near the front entrance did she halt, instantly wary, and wish that she were not alone.
Then the figure stepped into the light, and she recognized Adam, his hat pushed back, hands thrust into his pockets, mouth set determinedly. “You told me to come when I was certain,” he said, drawing closer. “I told Gertrud I want a divorce. She swore that she would never consent.”
Her hopes plummeted just as they had begun to rise. “I see.”
“I’ll keep trying. Maybe someday she’ll fall in love with someone and release me.” He took her hands. “You deserve better, but if you can accept this wretched situation, and accept me with all my imperfections, you’ll be the only woman I’ll ever love for the rest of my life. I promise.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. She wanted more, but in such ugly, uncertain times, she would be a fool to let any chance of happiness with the man she loved slip through her fingers.
“I believe you,” she said, and she kissed him.
Chapter Sixteen
June 1933
Sara
Sara offered to accompany Dieter when he asked her parents for their blessing, but he preferred to speak to them alone. She waited in the garden while they met in the parlor, imagining their joyful surprise, her father’s proud smiles, her mother’s happy tears. But as the minutes dragged by, she become increasingly nervous, pacing beneath the linden trees, absently chewing on a thumbnail, a childhood habit that unfortunately reappeared at particularly anxious moments. Exasperated with herself, she thrust her hands into the pockets of her dress and kept them there until she heard the sunroom door open and voices murmur. She hurried back to the house, her heart racing with anticipation, but her parents’ expressions brought her to an abrupt halt. Dieter beamed happily, but her father’s face was curiously stoic, her mother’s in constant motion as it shifted between distress and a tearful smile.
They congratulated her, kissed her, and wished her and Dieter every happiness. And yet in the days that followed, they did not ask when she and Dieter planned to marry, nor did they announce the engagement to their friends. Sara tried not to take offense. Several years before, although her parents had been very fond of Wilhelm, Amalie’s engagement had rendered them more regretful than happy. Their reluctance had eased after Amalie convinced them that she would not convert, Wilhelm would respect their traditions, and their children would be raised in the Jewish faith. Even so, the gossip provoked by the unusual intermarriage had annoyed them greatly, and sometimes Sara’s mother had wept alone, unaware that afterward her red eyes and pale face betrayed her secret grief.
Several years had passed. The gossip had faded, the blissfully happy newlyweds had become devoted parents, and Wilhelm had become part of the family. Sara had assumed that her sister’s happiness would make it easier for her parents to accept her own marriage to a Christian. Instead, they seemed to have greater misgivings about her engagement than they had ever shown for Amalie’s.
Could something else be troubling them, something that had nothing to do with religion or their dismay at the prospect of becoming the subjects of pity and gossip again?
One day in mid-June, Sara packed a basket with sandwiches, fruit, and a large flask of strong coffee and went to see her brother at the Berliner Tageblatt. He could not spare the time for a picnic in the Tiergarten, so they shared lunch in his office instead, clearing a space on his cluttered desk for a table, closing the door to keep harried copy clerks from rushing in and out.
Natan sat back, propped his feet up on a stack of books, took a bite of sandwich, and raised his eyebrows at her in a silent, good-humored inquiry.
“I don’t think Mama and Papa want me to marry Dieter,” Sara began, recognizing her cue. “I don’t know if they object because Dieter isn’t Jewish or some other reason.” She sighed and picked a bit of bread crust from her sandwich. “Do you like Dieter?”
“I don’t dislike him. How old are you, nineteen? Amalie didn’t get married until she was twenty-four. What’s your rush?”