Page 87 of Flight of Dreams

“Oh, thank God!”

“I won’t tell,” she repeats, slower this time, “if you will do me one small favor.”

He may only be fourteen, but he is smart and cautious, and he frowns at her now, suspicious. “What sort of favor?”

“The kind where you do what I tell you, no questions asked.”

“I don’t—”

“The alternative,” she says, “is that I go to Irene Doehner’s father—he’s just around that corner, on the promenade—and tell him that his daughter is kissing cabin boys in the corridors. That she is keeping and pressing flowers that have been given to her. That young boys can’t be trusted, and that he ought to keep a better eye on his daughter so she doesn’t get taken advantage of. What do you think a man like Hermann Doehner would think of such things?”

Werner is quick and shrewd and thinks well on his feet. “So you would have me exchange one trouble for another?”

“If I wanted to get you in trouble I wouldn’t bother trying to negotiate. If you are as clever as I suspect you are, you will find no danger in this task.”

“And if not?”

Gertrud ponders this for a moment. “Then we will both find ourselves in a very difficult predicament. Does that sound fair enough to you?”

“It all depends on the task, I suppose.”

THE STEWARDESS

When Emilie was hired by the Deutsche Zeppelin-Reederei in September of 1936, the company sent out a press release and a number of photographs, one of which showed Emilie bathing a young girl in a child-size tub. At first glance it appears that both Emilie and her young charge are on the Hindenburg and that the picture is a candid snapshot of her work life. Germany was fascinated by the world’s first airship stewardess, after all. And her employment on this ship is a milestone for women. Emilie thinks of that photo at some point during every flight. Not because she accomplished something no other woman ever has, but because she badly wishes there was a bathtub on the Hindenburg. The photo was staged, of course. There is only the one shower, and it’s not the most practical place for bathing children. Yet the Doehner boys have gone from smelling rangy to smelling ripe, and their mother has ordered them to shower. She has brought Emilie along to assist. Once they’re inside the small room, and the boys are shrieking and splashing beneath the spray, Emilie realizes that Matilde is also creating space for them to speak without being heard.

“You have questions, I suppose?” Matilde crosses her arms over her chest—how she does this with such large breasts Emilie can’t fathom—and looks at her expectantly.

“I wouldn’t call them questions.”

“Doubts?”

“Fears.” Emilie collects Walter’s trousers from the floor and folds them neatly. She sets them on the bench and then does the same with Werner’s. “How did you know about my situation?”

She shrugs. “It didn’t take much sleuthing, I’m afraid. We overheard something at dinner last night. They were speaking English at the table next to us. Hermann is better at it than I am, but it comes with the territory. We travel a lot. We speak a number of languages, though not so many as you, I suspect.”

Emilie turns her attention back to the dirty clothes. She folds each item slowly. She doesn’t want to seem too eager. “Who was speaking in English?”

“Captain Lehmann and that strange American fellow.”

“What did they say about me?”

“Lehmann didn’t say much, to be honest. But the American wanted to make an exchange.”

“Of?”

“Names. The name of someone on board the ship for the name of a crew member planning to remain in America.”

“And he gave my name?”

“He did.”

Emilie thinks of the dog tag. “Did Captain Lehmann offer a name as well?”

“No. He did not. The American scribbled something on a napkin and when the captain read it he said he would get back to him with the name.”

Emilie tries to keep her voice from sounding frantic. “Anything else?”

“That was it. But it’s enough. When we got back to the cabin, Hermann suggested we offer you the job. We need a governess, and you want to leave Germany—at least you haven’t denied it.”