Upstairs, they gathered in the kitchen where Norbie made a pot of substitute coffee. Max covered Nia, wriggling on her back like she was scratching an itch, in a thick wool blanket.
Norbie poured each of them a cup of the steaming brew, and as Anna was taking her first sip he said, “A letter for you arrived from Bruno. I put it in your room.”
Anna’s heart rate quickened. She lowered her cup to the table.
“Go read your letter,” Max said. “Norbie and I will prepare dinner. Okay, Norbie?”
“Of course.” Norbie looked at Anna. “Take your coffee to your room so you can drink it while its hot. It’ll taste like tar if it’s cold.”
Anna nodded, and then went to her room where a letter was neatly propped against her pillow. She placed her cup on a bedstand, removed her boots, and sat on the bed. She opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.
Anna leaned against her headboard and covered her legs with layers of blankets. It felt like ages since she’d tasted black war bread, let alone fried potatoes. For the past several days, they’d eaten little more than turnips, thanks to Fleck’s generosity, and winter leeks that Max had dug up from the dormant garden. She wondered if Bruno’s family in Frankfurt, whom she was anxious to someday meet, was having the same difficulty with acquiring rations.
Anna squeezed the paper between her fingers. Despite her eagerness to visit Frankfurt and meet Bruno’s family, she couldn’t abandon Max, Nia, and her responsibilities at the guide dog school.I can’t leave. Not now. Maybe not ever.She took a deep breath, dispelling the thought from her mind.
A memory of her conversation with Max flashed in her head.I was embarrassed that I didn’t know what type of music Bruno liked. At least I now know that he likes marches.
Oh, poor Bruno.Anna, her chest aching, folded the letter and placed it in the envelope.I wish I could do something to ease his pain.She clasped her hands and said a silent prayer for him, and then curled under her blankets like a child seeking comfort, until a growing scent of cooked turnip prompted her to return to the kitchen.
“Anna,” Norbie said. “I thought we could have an early dinner to create more time to listen to Max play the piano.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Anna said, attempting to set aside her worry about Bruno. She looked at Max, standing by the stove and flipping what looked to be a pancake in a hot iron skillet. “What are you making?”
“Turnip latkes,” Max said. “I had some help; Norbie grated the turnip and leek. I don’t know how they’ll taste without egg, spice, and oil to fry them in, but I thought it would be something different for you to eat.” He turned the remaining latkes over by locating them with a finger and flipping with a spatula. “How’s Bruno?”
Her breath turned shallow. “He’s safe, but his spirits are low,” she said, deciding to leave out the details.
Max turned toward her. “He’ll be all right.”
“Harbor your heart,” Norbie said, hugging her. “I have faith that Bruno will return home safely from the war.”
I needed that.Anna released him. “He’ll be here on leave beginning the last week in January.”
“That’s splendid news,” Norbie said. “Max, you’ll get to meet Bruno, assuming your graduation is delayed.”
“I hope so,” Max said. “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”
Anna, an uneasiness running through her legs, sat at the table while Max and Norbie, both of whom insisted that Anna relax, served dinner. She buried her worries as Norbie said grace, including a special prayer for food to be bountiful, an end to war, and for Bruno to arrive home safely.
“I hope you don’t mind me making a latke for Nia,” Max said, placing a small plate on the floor. “I thought it would be all right, considering most of our meal came from the shepherds’ food supply.”
“Not at all,” Anna said.
Nia sniffed her latke, and then gobbled it in one bite.
Max stroked Nia’s back. “I hope everyone likes it as much as Nia.”
Anna nibbled her food. “It’s excellent.”
Norbie ate a forkful of turnip. “You’re a first-rate cook, Max.”
Max smiled.
They ate their meal while Norbie told stories about Anna and his deceased wife, which he narrated with much fondness and enthusiasm.His love for Mutter has never faded,Anna thought, eating crumbs from her plate. Although she was a bit embarrassed about a variation of a tale—in which Norbie claimed that Anna had won a lead role in a secondary school play, when in actuality she’d only be given a few lines to speak—she loved to hear her father talk of the past and, most of all, witness his seemingly limitless ardor for his family.
After dinner, Anna and Max washed and dried the dishes, and then everyone retired to the living room. For nearly two hours, Max played piano pieces. It was clear, to Anna, that Max had found a way to re-create the missing tones within his head. His fingers glided over the keyboard, filling the room with music. Anna’s disquietude about Bruno, war, and starvation disappeared and, for the moment, she was lost in a tranquil sea of song. And when Max played Prelude in E Minor by Frédéric Chopin, she was overcome with emotion, her eyes filling with tears.
“Bravo!” Norbie said, standing from his seat as Max finished. He clapped his hands. “Take a bow, Max!”
