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I lifted my wine to my mouth to take a sip, only to choke as I swallowed. Jürgen gently tapped me on the back—the gesture both comfort and warning. We did hope to have more children—but we were also unconcerned that I hadn’t got pregnant again. I was only twenty-four, after all. There was plenty of time left for us to expand our family.
Just then, Lydia sailed past me on her way to the kitchen. I excused myself, insisting she required my help. I caught up with her in her kitchen, where she was delivering sharp chastisements to her staff about a delay with the starters. When she was done, she turned to me. My gaze dropped to her clothes automatically and she grimaced.
“Yes, I know. I look like I’ve just come in from the fields on some godforsaken farm,” Lydia whispered. “But it’s the newest style, apparently. I picked it up from theDeutsches Modeamttoday.”
TheDeutsches Modeamtwas a fashion department backed by the Nazi government, advocating for German designers and German fabrics. I’d heard they made beautiful clothing, but as I took in Lydia’s outfit, I struggled to hide my confusion.
“I think this was the style some time ago. Didn’t we move on to more modern clothing?”
“And did you notice Helene isn’t wearing makeup?” Lydia murmured, as we walked back toward the party. “I bought a traditional outfit when Karl asked me to, but if he tells me to stop wearing my eyeliner, I’ll throw myself off a cliff.”
“I doubt Karl even knows what eyeliner is.”
She laughed. “Otto says it’sunfemininefor women to wear modern clothes or makeup. But the worst...” She groaned and touched a careful hand to her blond bob. “He says German women should never dye their hair. I can’t go back to mousy brown, Sofie. I just can’t.” Lydia visited the salon so often, I never noticed a shadow at her root line.
“You really needn’t concern yourself with what Otto thinks,” I said quietly. “He’s not your husband.”
“Sofie,” she scolded. “Don’t you realize how important Otto is? Our husbands have the ear of a man who has the ear of the Führer.”
It quickly became clear that what Otto thought about any particular subject was of great concern to the rest of the dinner party, and he monopolized the conversation that night. It didn’t matter who was speaking or what the discussion was about—Otto found a way to interject, often to disagree.
I always loved Lydia and Karl’s dinner parties, in that beautiful dining hall with its high ceilings and elaborate chandeliers. That night had all the makings of a fun evening—dressing up, socializing with clever and important people, beautiful surroundings, excellent food. Jürgen was seated to my right, beside Otto, and on my left was Aldo Radtke, a recent university graduate and the youngest scientist present. As the scent of roasting pork knuckle wafted from the kitchen, I sipped on my wine and turned to Aldo, trying desperately to ignore Otto’s booming voice.
“I’ve only been working at Kummersdorf for about six months, Mrs. von Meyer Rhodes—”
“Please, call me Sofie.”
“Sofie,” the young scientist said, his cheeks turning pink. “I’m an electrical engineer. You see, there are many ways to control—”
But once again, Otto was delivering a sermon. My ears pricked up, and I turned ever so slightly toward him.
“...when a man is sick, you cannot just treat the symptoms. You have to rid him of the underlying cause of the sickness—the germs. It is like this with the Jews, you see. While the Reich is riddled with Jews, society cannot function as it should. That’s why the Party’s highest priority is addressing the scourge.”
I turned fully toward Otto, but I was looking beyond him at the reactions of those at the table. Whenever I’d encountered such hateful comments in the past, I’d noticed a split-second pause after the words—as if the audience held their breath to see how others would respond. Even if no one spoke out, that pause reminded everyone that a line had been crossed.
But there was no pause when Otto spoke. Every single guest seemed enthralled. A chill ran down my spine when my gaze landed on Lydia. She was seated beside Karl. Her cheeks were rosy red, from the fire or the wine or the excitement of the evening, her eyes bright. I wanted so much for her to look at me, even for a second. What would I see in her eyes? We once had a good friendship—a solid friendship—but my respect for Lydia was disappearing by the minute.
“They look human, I know,” Otto continued, louder now, pleased to have the attention of the entire gathering. “It can be confusing to those who do not yet understand, but the science is clear—Jews are truly subhuman creatures. They lack the intellect and the moral purity the Aryans possess. It is such a problem that they have weaseled their way into secret positions of authority, pulling the strings of so many inferior nations. Even our nation in the past.”
“Which is it?” I whispered under my breath to Jürgen. “The Jews are intellectually inferior, or they are smart enough to secretly run the world? Surely both things can’t be true.”
“Sofie?” Karl called on me suddenly. “Did you have something to add?”
All eyes turned to me. I imagined two paths forward—the first, where I repeated my question again, louder. This was surely the moral thing to do. How could I sit idly by?
But how would the room react? Otto would be embarrassed and furious. Even if he didn’t report me to the Gestapo for disloyalty, Dietger surely would.
Who would support me if that happened? Karl was the man who put me on the spot. Lydia looked confused, her gaze flicking between me and Otto. Jürgen turned to face me too. I saw a mix of panic and pleading in the depths of his blue eyes.
My face flamed as I realized I had no choice but to choose the other path—the lesser path. The Nazis had not just made comments like Otto’s acceptable—they’d made them fashionable. That was why there was no pause, no silent acknowledgment of the line that had been crossed. The line had been moved. How on earth had the Nazis flipped things around so quickly?
“I’m embarrassed to admit it,” I said, forcing a weak laugh. “I was just wondering how far away that pork knuckle is. Doesn’t it smell delicious?”
The brittle tinkle of laughter echoed around the table. Jürgen almost slumped with relief, and he fished for my hand under the table, then squeezed it. Hard.
But Otto’s eyes stayed on me a moment too long, as did Dietger’s. Before the main course was served, I was counting down the seconds until we could leave.
Guests were excusing themselves by eleven o’clock. Dietger and Anne were the first to go, rubbing their full bellies and thanking Lydia and Karl as they left. When Aldo rose to leave, he stumbled as he tried to push back his chair. The wine and beer had flowed thick and fast all evening, and many of the men looked disheveled.
