I touched the ring on my finger. I just hoped William would one day understand when I finally told him the truth of who I was and where I came from.
22
I didn’t headstraight home after my meeting with Lee. Instead, I rode my bike to William’s and my tree, smiling at an ewe and her lamb sleeping nearby, and calling softly to them as I sat in the grass, resting my back against the trunk.
With a sigh, I pulled the letter and box from my handbag, setting both on my lap and running my hand over the lid before lifting it and taking in what lay inside.
Nestled between sheets of delicate tissue paper was a large sum of money, in both francs and reichsmarks, and the documents I’d need to return to my home country. Another new name, Lena Klein, a forged signature I’d need to practice to perfect, and a recent picture of me, stamped with what were most likely stolen but official stamps and another forged signature or two.
Blowing a breath out, I put the lid back and picked up the envelope.
The first page was filled with Aunt Vic’s humor. An anecdote about Uncle Frank, a story from the corner grocer, something silly she saw in the newspaper. The second and third pages were a plea, as well as information.
I understand why you want to go. For her. To save her like we were unable to do eight years ago. But it wasn’t your fault. It was no one’s fault, my dear girl. It is war. And there are hard truths to be told in war. Such as, the sister you seek may not be the same sister you knew. We don’t know what she has seen, nor what she has been told. Perhaps what didn’t work on you did on her. It is something worth considering, because what you are thinking is not only dangerous, but mad. And yet.
I know you carry in you a deep-seated and justified anger for the treatment you and she were subjected to. I know there are things you wish to say. I bear the same need, and have for even longer than you. But I also know of the guilt you’ve carried for years. A guilt that needn’t exist. You had no choice in the matter, my love. No choice. No means. It was not your fault, it was your uncle’s and my failure. And for that, I will never forgive myself.
Should you choose to go, I cannot stop you. And so I will do what I can to help keep you, my most precious treasure, as safe as I can.
As you’ve always closely followed the news of the war, I’m sure you’re aware of a great many things. But per our sources, here’s what you should know in case you don’t already. Hamburg is not the same city you once knew. Not just because of the Nazi forces keeping guard over it, but because of Operation Gomorrah, an air strike by the Allies that left the city in ruins. We now know that your parents’ home is still standing and your mother returned there before the strike with her loyal servant, Paulina.
We do not know where Catrin currently resides. After she was reported dead, we think she was hidden away under a different name with a family who has since moved. She does not seem to be living with them, and we are uncertain if she has contact with them. The name we discovered she’d been using while in their care has led to dead ends, making us think they, or she...or even your mother, changed it again at some point.
It is through our diminished network that she has been spotted making visits to your parents’ home. They are positive it’s her, despite the fact she wears a wig and doesn’t stay long. When they asked around, they learned she visits every couple of months. Our people have not tried to follow her when she leaves your mother’s house, as she is not their mission.
Kate, I do not know what you will encounter. Please, take to heart, she could be just as dangerous as your parents were. Keep your guard up.
Now, getting into the country could prove tricky, and that’s why we’ve asked Lee to assist. He knows a great many people and has the resources to keep you safe and get you where you are going. Trust him. If he says something, it is to be believed. If he asks you to do something, do it. No questions asked.
I turned to the last page.
I can’t send this letter without imploring you. The thought of you there, in that country being run by a lunatic, is the worst thing I can imagine. I am terrified and want to plead with you. But should you decide to go, know that we love you beyond all else, and will keep you in our thoughts every day and every night, and pray for your safe return to us.
I read the rest through eyes blurred with tears, sniffling quietly as I pulled my knees up and rested my chin on them while staring out at the valley below, tracing the distant hills with my eyes. So many hours I’d sat here with William, dreaming of our future in Seattle.
“Or maybe somewhere else?” he’d asked once. “Is there anywhere you’ve always dreamed of living?”
An image of blue-green waters and sunny seaside homes had flashed in my mind.
“The South of France,” I’d said, and his eyes had widened, a curious grin on his handsome face.
“I’ve never been,” he’d said. “But I think I’d quite like it. With you.”
I’d told him the things I loved about the area, and he spoke in a terrible French accent that made us both laugh, staring into one another’s eyes until I was breathless, my heart pounding in my chest as he pulled me to him.
I wondered what he would think of the decision I was making now. If he’d try to stop me. Or if he would understand why I had to go. She was my sister. I had to save her. There was no other choice. She was alive and I had to get her out of there.
Except, William didn’t know my real story. I had told him the lies so many others had been told. The lie that kept me safe. The lie that caused me incredible amounts of guilt, because I’d gotten out.
“Tell me about your family,” he’d asked the first morning we found this tree. “You didn’t say much back at the hospital. Just that your sister passed away.”
I’d told him my parents died when I was younger and I had lived with my aunt and uncle in Manhattan until being sent overseas the year before. I’d glossed over the details, turning the conversation back to him and the exploits he and his younger brother had engaged in as kids, which he’d enjoyed telling me about at length as we laughed quietly.
But on this day, his attention was entirely on me and he wasn’t easily dissuaded from getting information, my tactics of changing the subject not working quite as well.
“There’s not much to tell,” I’d said.
“Tell me how your parents died,” he’d said quietly. Carefully.
