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If this was true, it was remarkable—a world-changing achievement. I was immediately stung that Jürgen hadn’t so much as called to let me know, but hot on the heels of that hurt came concern, and realization.
Jürgen always sheltered me from the worst of his work. That he didn’t call to let me know about the success of his launch likely indicated there was a dark side to it—something he couldn’t talk about over the phone, or maybe something he wasn’t yet ready to talk about at all.
Jürgen arrived later that afternoon and was immediately co-opted by the children.
“Watch us swim, Papa!” they cried, and he laughed and promised he would as soon as he set his briefcase inside. I was on the jetty, where I’d been watching Georg, Laura, and Gisela run along the wooden platform and strike dramatic poses as they launched themselves into the water. Gisela, now five, was not yet a strong swimmer, so the older two were helping her make her way back to the shore after each dive.
Jürgen walked down the jetty to sit behind me, leaving room on the narrow dock for the children to run alongside us. He wrapped his arms around my waist, and I leaned against him. It was golden hour; the perfect red-tinged rays of the sun over the lake left me lazy and dreamy. All the world looked like a postcard, but especially with Jürgen’s strong torso against my back, and his arms around my waist. We watched the children play in silence for a while, sharing only a chuckle here or there as they performed for us. But Lydia’s news this morning hovered at the edges of my consciousness, demanding attention.
“Is it true? Your rocket made it to space?”
“Maybe. Probably.” Jürgen paused. “No one can be sure yet.”
I twisted awkwardly to stare at him in disbelief.
“Isn’t this what you’ve dreamed of your entire life?”
“Not like this.”
He’d been laughing at the children just a moment before, but his gaze grew troubled. I shifted so that I was facing him, intending to give him my full attention.
“Mama! Watch me!” Gisela protested.
“In a minute,” I sighed. “I’m talking with Papa.”
“I’m still watching, treasure,” Jürgen said, glancing at her over my shoulder. I watched the joy on his face as he watched her run the last few steps toward the end of the dock, and saw the amusement in his eyes when she inevitably froze at the last minute and stopped right at the edge to peer down into the water anxiously. I’d been watching her for hours that day, and each launch went the same way, so I knew what came next. Gisela would turn back to make doubly sure she was being supervised, pinch her nose with her fingers, puff her cheeks out with air, and then squeeze her eyes shut before she turned around and jumped blindly from the peer. I saw Jürgen struggling to suppress a chuckle at this ritual—then heard the squeal as Gisela finally jumped and felt the spatter of water on my back as she hit the water. But once Gisela was paddling back to shore with the other children, the smile on Jürgen’s face faded. He gazed into my eyes, growing serious again.
“Otto has requested a meeting with Hitler. He is desperate—clutching at straws trying to save the program.”
“Save the program?” I repeated, alarmed. “Save it from what?”
“I know the papers say the war is going well, but we are struggling against the Soviets,” Jürgen admitted. I’d heard whispers of the same in Berlin. “The way my program has made such rapid progress has been through constant experimentation—that’s an incredibly expensive approach.We used to have an unlimited budget. Then we had a generous budget... Now we’ve had a series of budget cuts. Otto has become worried that the program might shut down if we don’t deliver something war-ready soon.”
“But...if a rocket reached space—” I said, trying to cheer him up, but he shook his head.
“That’s only part of the picture, my love. We fired several rockets over these past few weeks. Most failed. Onesucceeded. We don’t actually know how to produce these things reliably yet—let alone to mass-produce them, and on a shoestring budget.”
“What are you going to do?” I whispered.
“I fantasize about finding ways to undermine our progress, but I am surrounded by brilliant men. If I attempt sabotage, it will quickly become obvious to them.” His gaze drifted over my shoulder again, to land on the children. “I’m trapped on this path where my work is building to something heinous.”
Otto and Helene threw a party that Christmas at their lavish home in Dresden. He had climbed the ranks of the Nazi party and been invited to join the SS—awarded the prestigious role ofHauptsturmführer.
When we arrived at the party, Otto greeted us in his full SS uniform—the high leather boots, gray jacket and pants, patches on his collar and shoulders that bore his rank. Helene was pregnant yet again. I’d met her a number of times over the years, and every single time I’d seen her, she’d either been pregnant or holding a newborn. That night, she looked exhausted. Her eyes kept drifting to the ceiling, as if she’d rather be upstairs in bed, or anywhere but that bustling holiday party.
“Congratulations,” I said politely, motioning toward her stomach.
“Number eight,” she said, and although this was clearly intended as a boast, her exhausted tone, coupled with the way she sighed as she said it, suggested eight was perhaps a few more children than she’d have preferred.
“Still only the three children?” Otto asked me pointedly. At Lydia’s suggestion, I’d left Georg, Laura, and Gisela back in Berlin with her children and staff of nannies. “No chance of Mother’s Cross for you, then. That must be very disappointing for you both.” The Mother’s Cross was a medal given to encourage fecundity. The gold rank was the most prestigious, reserved for women with more than seven children. Both Helene and Lydia were awarded theirs the previous August. Otto’s gaze slid to Jürgen. “Perhaps we are keeping you away from your bride too much?”
My cheeks heated, and I glanced anxiously at Jürgen, but was surprised to find him nonchalant.
“We have been trying to ensure we have more time together. Given I can’t spare the time to come home much, we have purchased a country house at Tollensesee. The work is important, but obviously, so is Sofie’s duty to the Reich.”
Otto nodded, pleased with this response. I, on the other hand, was startled by it. Jürgen had said everything he should have said in response to this challenge, but there was a superiority to his tone, not toward Otto—towardme. Women in the Reich were expected to be submissive to their husbands, but my marriage had never operated that way. I forced myself to smile politely.
“Are you prepared for our trip in the New Year?” Otto asked Jürgen. He motioned toward the bar, and Jürgen shot me a quietly apologetic glance, then fell into step beside Otto as he made a beeline for the bar on the other side of the room, staffed by men in crisp uniforms.
