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Dietger’s remarkable ability to keep track of the neighborhood’s business was deeply unnerving. In the beginning, I dared to mention this to some of the neighbors, and we all agreed we were feeling more than a little paranoid. But over time, as none of us could figure out howhe knew so much about our private lives, we realized it wasn’t even safe to speculate. A call from aBlockleiterto the Gestapo guaranteed trouble, usually starting with a knock at your front door in the middle of the night.
Our second-story bedroom window opened to the street, and I’d heard some of those overnight visits. First came the roar of an engine, then the sound of hard-soled boots on the pavement and men scurrying like rats. Even if I didn’t hear the thumping on the door and the cries of protest as people were dragged from their homes, I often heard the car speeding away. Dietger was always there, seemingly delighted at the cascading fallout from his phone calls.
“What should I expect tonight?” I asked Jürgen, as he drove us to the party in his new Daimler 15. I pressed my hands over my stomach, trying to quell the nervous butterflies. Jürgen’s entire life had changed with that new job—he now worked from sunup to sunset, six or even seven days a week, out at Kummersdorf, a forty-minute drive from Berlin. But while I’d been a firsthand witness to the changes in wider Berlin society, I felt so removed from Jürgen’s work life.
“The staff are all scientists—just ask them about their work and you can let your mind wander while they ramble on. You’re good at that after all of these years with me.”
“Very funny.” I swallowed a lump in my throat and prompted hesitantly, “And Otto and Helene?”
“I’ve never met Helene. Otto takes some getting used to.”
“In what way?”
“He reminds me of your brother, actually.” Jürgen paused, then clarified, “Which one is the pastor? Is it Alwin?”
“Alwin married that peasant girl,” I corrected him. I didn’t blame him for confusing my brothers—they all looked similar, and he’d only met them three times: at our wedding, and then at each of my parents’ funerals. “Edwald is the pastor. So Otto is very religious?”
“He’s a zealot, but not for the Christian faith,” Jürgen said heavily. “He’s a Party man—very much all about his ideology. It’s hard, Sofie—I won’t lie to you. You’ll hear things you don’t like. But for God’s sake, don’t argue with him—it would do me no favors at Kummersdorf, and from time to time I get the impression he only tolerates me because he needs me.”
“I hoped that the program was so focused on the rockets, you weren’t dealing with any ofthat.”
Jürgen parked the car, then turned the ignition off. He sat for a moment, pondering this. Then he turned toward me.
“My work—my team’s work—isabout the rockets, that’s true. But there’s no escaping ‘that,’ not even at Kummersdorf. I bite my tongue every day. Every hour, on the worst days.”
“You never talk about that side of it.”
“Of course I don’t,” he said. “I’m your husband. It’s my job to shelter you, not burden you.”
“But...I want to support you. To help.”
His expression softened, and Jürgen reached for my hand.
“My love,” he said quietly. “As you’ll see tonight, there’s really not anything you cando to help with this. We just have to keep our heads down and not draw attention to ourselves.”
I nodded silently, but there was a rock in the pit of my stomach. Whenever I asked Jürgen about work, he always spoke only about the science—and never in much detail, because the program was becoming increasingly secretive.
We mingled in Lydia’s sitting room—a space so expansive it may as well have been a banquet hall. Every new scientist I met said some variation on the same thing. Jürgen is a genius. Jürgen is my hero. Jürgen is a visionary.As he often did at parties, Jürgen followed me around like a lost puppy. He waved away these compliments and occasionally blushed in a way I found so endearing.
But while I found the scientists exactly as I expected, Lydia surprised me. We’d gone to such lengths to plan our new outfits and I’d expected Lydia to dazzle in her new plum frock—inspired by the height of the season’s fashion. Instead, she was dressed inTrachtenkleidung—a traditional folk outfit. She wore a long, full brown skirt with a thick black band encircling the hem, paired with a white blouse with gathered sleeves and a crocheted collar, and over the top, a black bodice.
I’d known Lydia since my first day at finishing school, and I’d never seen her dress in such an old-fashioned way. I tried to ask her about it, but when she wasn’t busy with guests, she was busy with her staff. After a while, I decided I would talk to her when things were a little quieter. While I waited, Jürgen and I made obligatory small talk with Dietger and Anne.
“And how are things at the Rhodes household?” Dietger asked. I smiled politely and rested my head against Jürgen’s arm, stifling my irritation. He knew how things were in our household. He spent a good portion of his life staring out his front windows, watching us.
“I hear you are doing great work for the Reich these days, Jürgen,” Anne said quietly.
“I am fortunate to have the opportunity to work with such exciting science,” Jürgen said carefully. Just then, Otto and Helene approached, exchanging warm and familiar greetings with the Schneiders.
“And you must be Sofie,” Otto said, finally glancing my way. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His tone conveyed a different feeling. His brow furrowed as his gaze roamed over my face and then quickly down my body, before he pursed his lips. I flushed self-consciously, then glanced at Helene. Otto was older than I’d imagined he would be—at least in his fifties, maybe older. He was a portly man with thinning silver hair. Helene was decades younger than Otto and she was pregnant, her small belly jutting out.
Like Lydia, Helene was dressed inTrachtenkleidung. Unlike Lydia, Helene did not wear a scrap of makeup, and her light hair was clumsily braided. Was my modern style the reason for Otto’s displeasure?
“Do you have children?” she asked me quietly.
“Two,” I told her, smiling. “Georg has just turned five, and Laura is three.”
“Your husband is a gifted man, Sofie,” Otto said. “I hope you realize how lucky you are to bear his children for the Führer. The Reich needs Aryan families to be productive.”
