“Good. I strongly endorse any plan that involves a long engagement—the longer, the better.”
“If you think I’m making a terrible mistake, I wish you would just tell me.”
He took another bite of sandwich and eyed her thoughtfully as he chewed and swallowed, stalling for time. “Maybe Dieter isn’t the man I would have chosen for you, but as long as you’re happy and he’s good to you, I’m satisfied.”
“Why wouldn’t you have chosen him?”
“You don’t seem to have much in common. I know he’s good-looking, especially if you like Aryan features—”
“I wouldn’t marry someone just because he’s handsome.” Then understanding dawned. “Aryan features. So that is the problem. Dieter isn’t Jewish.”
“It isn’t a problem for me, but it might eventually become a problem for Dieter that you aren’t Christian.”
“Amalie and Wilhelm—”
“Wilhelm is a man of integrity and honor, a rare example of an aristocrat whose wealth and power haven’t corrupted him. Dieter, on the other hand—” Natan gestured as if trying to grasp a handful of smoke. “He seems . . . insubstantial. He’s one of the most amiable, inoffensive men I know, but that’s because he shapes himself to his companions. Who is he, on his own? What does he stand for?”
“Would you rather have him argumentative and disagreeable?”
“If he disagrees with me, yes, I would. I’d rather have a good, honest argument than empty pleasantries any day.” Natan drained the last of his coffee. “But that may just be me. Occupational hazard.”
“Maybe Dieter’s occupation has hazards too. A businessman has to know how to get along pleasantly with all sorts of people, regardless of his personal opinions. When you get to know him better, I’m sure you’ll find many things to argue about.”
“I’d almost welcome that. Listen, if you love him and he’s good to you, I can’t complain.”
“But I want you to like him. I want you to be friends, the way you and Wilhelm are friends.”
“I haven’t ruled it out.”
Sara knew she could not ask more than that. “Do you think Mutti and Papa feel as you do about Dieter?”
“We haven’t discussed it,” said Natan. “Maybe they believe no man is good enough for their daughter. They’d hardly be the first parents in history to feel that way about their daughter’s fiancé.”
Sara managed a wan smile, appreciating his attempt to reassure her, although it fell short.
The next day, Sara’s mother suggested that they invite Dieter and his mother for supper so the parents could become better acquainted. Sara suspected that Natan was behind it; she had not sworn him to secrecy and the timing fit too well to be a coincidence. Even so, she agreed, and after some back-and-forth with Dieter, they settled on the following Sunday.
Sara scarcely knew Frau Koch, having met her only once. One spring afternoon a few months after she and Dieter began dating, Frau Koch had invited Sara to their small flat for Kaffee und Kuchen. She was a quiet, unsmiling woman, thin but with squared shoulders and a ramrod spine, her hands and face aged a decade beyond her forty-some years. Sara knew from Dieter’s stories that his mother had had a difficult life even before his father was killed in the Great War, and that he attributed all his success to her unrelenting devotion.
Sara brought her flowers in a cut-glass vase, did her utmost to be pleasant and polite, and complimented her on the butter cake, which truly was excellent. In return Frau Koch offered faint smiles and courteous murmurs, but aside from a few hard, appraising looks she gave Sara when she thought herself unnoticed, the focus of her attention was Dieter, who carried the burden of conversation as if unaware how uncomfortable his companions seemed.
Now that Sara and Dieter were engaged, she could only hope that her future mother-in-law had a warm, friendly side she had not revealed in their first meeting.
Dieter and his mother arrived promptly at six o’clock, and as Sara’s parents escorted their guests to the parlor, Frau Koch’s gaze darted this way and that, taking in the crystal chandelier in the foyer, the Renoir and the Monet in the gallery, the tastefully elegant furnishings, the warmth of ample light. “You have a lovely home,” she said as she seated herself in the chair Sara’s father offered. “They say your kind is prosperous, and I see that it’s so.”
Sara stiffened, but her mother only raised her eyebrows in polite inquiry.