“It was all set up by our aunt and uncle,” I said.
Catrin frowned. “The ones who died?”
I pursed my lips and saw understanding dawn in her eyes.
“Ah. They didn’t die, did they.”
“No,” I said quietly. “They faked their deaths. A boat accident in the South of France two years before I left.”
“I remember,” she said. “You were devastated. You were a good actress.”
I ignored the comment and continued.
“A few months later I got the invitation from my pen pal in California to come visit in the summer. She, as you might’ve guessed by now, was not a sixteen-year-old girl but an adult contact through the same organization our aunt and uncle worked for.”
“And Mother’s friend Alina?” Catrin asked.
I nodded. “She was in on it too.” I let that sit with her for a moment before going on. “The plan, as it was explained to me, was to get me out first, then come back for you two years later when you were a little bit older and would understand better—and could keep secrets better. I only agreed to go because I knew you would follow.”
“Why didn’t they just take us both at the same time?”
“I don’t know. I was never privy to the planning. I assume it had to do with opportunities that presented themselves. I just did as I was told.”
“Why did you want to go in the first place?”
I sighed, my eyes wandering the extravagant room, faded by age and war but still beautiful. What I would say next would not sit well between us, but she asked, and so I told her.
“I hated them,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “Hated everything about them. Hated what they were trying to force me to be. I didn’t agree with what they believed in, and I could see what I—what we—would be forced into if we stayed.”
She was quiet for a moment and then: “What happened next? After you left with Alina.”
“We went to California, met up with our contact there, and were given paperwork with our new identities. We stayed a night in a hotel, and then in the morning we boarded a train for New York where we met up with our aunt and uncle, who also had new identities and a whole life set up in Manhattan. I said goodbye to Alina and she left. I never saw her again.”
“And then?”
I exhaled, remembering.
“My and Alina’s deaths were faked and I spent the next many months terrified and sad. I was so worried we’d be found out. Scared I’d be taken away, brought back, punished in ways I couldn’t imagine. And I was bereft at the thought of possibly never seeing you again. Before and during the escape, I’d been sure I was doing the right thing for the both of us. But once I was there and settled, I feared I’d been wrong.” I closed my eyes, thinking back to those first days. “I didn’t leave my room for days. I was afraid of the city, which seemed so big and loud, the people brash and hurried. And while I knew the language, I was tentative to use it, worried everyone who heard it would know where I was from and tell the police or try and harm me.”
My sister looked at me with a frank expression, unmoved by my story and waiting for me to go on.
“It got better, of course,” I continued. “Time passed, I got more comfortable and, while I wasn’t told the plans for getting you to the States, I knew things were underway and I was excited to see you and have you with me.” My eyes filled with tears. “And then we heard the news about the bomb.” I stopped talking and swallowed a sob, the memory of hearing my sister had been killed still painful, no matter that she was now sitting before me. “I was devastated. And for a time, I hated our aunt and uncle, blaming them for things they weren’t responsible for and couldn’t possibly have foreseen. But I was angry regardless. And then again, time passed, the wound still stung but the three of us tried to move forward, until eventually life became a new kind of normal again. I went to school, graduated, became a nurse. And then I got a letter saying you were alive and...you can imagine my shock when I learned you were alive after all this time.”
Catrin’s smile was small and tight. “Yes. I can.”
“I’m sorry, Catrin.” I reached out and wrapped my hand around hers. She let me hold it for a moment, then slid it from mine and picked up her napkin to dab at her mouth.
“Did you...have you had a good life?” I asked, even though I was afraid to hear.
“Well, after the sister my world revolved around died, I was devastated,” she said. “But our parents, as you know, found grieving to be a selfish endeavor, and so I was pushed into activities. I learned to play the piano, took painting classes, and was encouraged to join any number of clubs. After the bomb, I lived in the country for a time with an interesting family. The father took special interest in me, though he didn’t express his interest quite like his eldest son did.”
I inhaled, horrified as she continued.
“Things got a little better, though,” she said. “I joined Bund Deutscher Mädel where I was bullied by the older girls for a time, and then eventually I was one of the older girls. I got top grades in school, was invited to parties, was introduced to the right boys, and eventually got a much sought-after job doing administrative work at an office in Berlin, where I now live. I have a lovely flat, a nice circle of friends, and a boyfriend whose boss does important work for the Führer.”
She watched me closely as she said that last part and it took everything I had not to cringe.
Instead, I smiled and nodded. “It sounds like you’ve built a good life.”
