toward her, his face scarlet. “Sssh!” he hissed. “Young lady, you must learn to be seen and not heard. You mustn’t say so much and ask so many questions. This isn’t America and you can’t say all the things you think!”
Astonished, Martha pressed her lips together, glared indignantly, and turned back to the window. She would have expected more courtesy from a diplomat. Perhaps she had been a bit overly enthusiastic, but he clearly was in the wrong line of work if he could not handle a few questions from the new ambassador’s daughter on her first visit to Berlin.
It was a frosty ride the rest of the way to the Esplanade, the luxurious hotel on Bellevuestrasse where the embassy had arranged for the Dodds to stay. As soon as the car was parked and the driver opened her door, Martha bounded out and rejoined her parents without a single parting word for the insolent Protokol secretary. While bellhops sorted their luggage, Messersmith and Gordon escorted the family through the glamorous lobby and past the Palm Courtyard—an elegant restaurant, Martha surmised from the quick glance she managed in passing, a stone courtyard enclosed by a high glass ceiling, with crystal chandeliers, spotless white linen tablecloths, and gleaming silver and china. An elevator carried them to the Imperial Suite, where their escorts insisted upon showing them around to be sure everything was satisfactory.
“It’ll do nicely,” Martha managed to say, hoping that no one had seen her jaw drop when she crossed the threshold. University professors’ families were not accustomed to such magnificence. The Imperial Suite was bigger than their home in Hyde Park—three bedrooms with baths, a drawing room, a conference room, and two reception rooms with high ceilings, walls lined with satin brocades, tapestried furniture, and marble tables. Every room overflowed with the loveliest flowers. So many well-wishers had sent floral arrangements—orchids, rare scented lilies, blooms of every imaginable variety—that there was scarcely space to move in.
Martha’s mother took in the size of the rooms, the opulent decor, and the breathtaking views through the floor-to-ceiling windows, stifling gasps as she discovered new splendors everywhere she turned. “We’ll have to mortgage our souls to pay for all this,” she murmured, somewhat dazed.
Before Martha could reply, she overheard her father speaking in an adjacent room. “I’m sorry you went to so much trouble, Messersmith,” he said sternly, “but before we left the United States, I told the State Department that I wanted modest quarters in a modest hotel. This is certainly not that.”
“The Germans would find that very strange, even offensive,” replied Messersmith. “An ambassador is expected to meet a certain standard of extravagance.”
“Even in the midst of a depression? When we landed in Hamburg, the manager of the Adlon hotel wired to offer us a suite free of charge. I’m inclined to accept.”
“You mustn’t, sir,” Gordon broke in. “State Department officials and American diplomats always stay at the Esplanade. If we leave, it will be an atrocious breach of protocol.”
“If you’re going to break precedent, I’d advise you not to choose a competing hotel,” said Messersmith.
Martha’s father sighed, considering. “I can’t abide spending taxpayer dollars on opulence when people back home are going hungry. We’ll find a private home to rent, but we won’t stay here.”
Messersmith acquiesced, Gordon too, though far less readily. With that sorted, the embassy officials bade the Dodds good evening and left them on their own. Martha’s father retired to his room with a book to rest before dinner, while Martha and her mother tried to make themselves at home in the grand drawing room, overawed by their glamorous surroundings.
“I don’t think we need to rush into house hunting,” said Martha, kicking off her shoes and stretching out luxuriously on a tapestried sofa. “Can’t we enjoy being spoiled for a while? Haven’t we earned it after all those days and nights in a tiny cabin aboard ship?”
Her mother raised her eyebrows, but before she could chide Martha for embracing extravagance, she was interrupted by a knock on the door—a bellhop with another delivery of flowers and cards welcoming the family to Germany. Martha had no sooner found a place for them when another knock on the door sounded, and two more bouquets were presented. Again and again the bellhop returned, until at last the flow of deliveries ceased just in time for them to dress for dinner. Bill himself brought in the last bouquet.
Martha’s father was in excellent spirits as they went downstairs to the hotel dining