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29
Sofie
Huntsville,Alabama
1950
Three weeks had passed since we arrived in America. They were weeks of pure, unexpected bliss, of snuggling on the couch with Jürgen every night, of sleeping in his arms, and of watching him work like crazy to connect with Felix and to support Gisela as she settled in.
Weeks familiarizing myself with a town that seemed wary at best, hostile at worst—of trying to encourage my daughter to be brave, of giving her permission to take her novels to school so she could at least read at recess because none of the German children would speak to her, and none of the American children could.
Weeks of waking up some mornings to find graffiti on our street, sometimes just a day after we painted over the last lot. That black patch of paint on the road was growing so thick, soon we’d feel the bump as we drove over it.
In those weeks, the man in the brown uniform walked past my house several times every day. Since I was checking the mailbox constantly, hoping for mail from Laura, I found myself in the front of the house when he passed sometimes, and I felt the hostility coming off him in waves. Sometimes, he sat under the tree just around the corner from my house and stared into my street, as if he were waiting for something to happen.
And over those weeks, some of the stores added No Germanssigns to their front windows, right alongside the Whites Only signs.
It felt a little like the town was trying to beat down my spirit, but I refused to allow it. I was determined to build bridges in Huntsville. Whenever I met any of the locals who seemed even a little receptive to friendly conversation, I went out of my way to connect.
“My daughter is learning English, but it’s going to take some time,” I told the bookstore owner. I’d gone in to see if he could source us some more German-language novels as a treat for Gisela for persisting with school despite the challenges. “She’s a voracious reader.”
“Well, we can’t have a young lady at a loss for reading material,” the man said, his eyes twinkling. “I’ll make some calls.”
“Thank you so much.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he told me brightly. He scribbled down my name and number on a notepad, then asked, “How are you finding things here?”
“It’s challenging at times,” I admitted. “But we’re very honored to be here.”
“I’ve watched this town wither over the last thirty years, Mrs. Rhodes. All of the jobs dried up, so the young people get to a certain age and move away. The way I see it is that if a bunch of clever scientists happen to come to town to set up a world-class rocket program, jobs are sure to follow. Besides, imagine if it’s a rocket designed at Huntsville that gets man into space? To the moon? We’ll be famous the world over. Seems to me that so long as we don’t run you out of town before you can work your magic,yourpeople might just be the salvation of this town. In time, I reckon everyone else will see that too.”
“Thank you,” I said, overcome with emotion. “I truly hope we can do good things for your town. For your country.”
“It’s plain as day that you must all be normal Germans who had no idea what was reallygoing on over there. Our government would never let Nazis into this country. You’re all about as safe as houses, and I’m telling everyone who asks that they can be sure of that too.”
I smiled quietly and left the store, heart heavy as I went. The bookstore owner had been so kind—and he was right. People like Jürgen and I meant no threat to his town or his country.
But how could I possibly explain how complex our situation back home had been? The deception was necessary. That didn’t mean it was comfortable.
Another bright spark in those first difficult weeks was Avril Walters. She came round for coffee one day and promised she’d get her daughter Patty to look out for Gisela in the playground. Then she came back the next day with a bag of groceries to help me pack a more American-style lunch for Gisela. White bread and peanut butter featured much more heavily than I anticipated. She returned again later in the week with a bag of Patty’s old clothes for Gisela and helped me cut some of the length from Gisela’s hair so she could wear it down at school like the American girls.
Gisela and Patty hadn’t really clicked, but that wasn’t for lack of trying. Patty liked sports and dancing; Gisela preferred reading and drawing. The language barrier was just the final straw. I had a feeling that, but for Avril’s encouragement, Patty would have given up on Gisela right away, and I was grateful that she hadn’t. She seemed Gisela’s best chance for a friend, now that Claudia was still refusing to let Mila play with my daughter.
Avril insisted on taking me for driving lessons to help me learn the differences in road rules. She loaned me her camera, so that I could take some photos of Felix, Gisela, and Jürgen, then drove me to the store so I could get the film developed. When the photos were ready, I wrote a note to Laura, and Avril drove me to the post office. She came around for coffee or cake or lunch several times a week, and even once it became apparent the children had different interests, she still organized playdates with us. She was a godsend—my guide to all things American.
Avril and I were walking through the grocery store together one morning when I noticed Claudia Schmidt at the counter. She looked close to tears, frustrated as she tried to communicate with the clerk, who was visibly annoyed.
“Like I already told you,” the store clerk said, speaking slowly as if that would translate his words. “We won’t have any until next week.”
Claudia drew in a deep breath and held up a card. She pointed to it, nodding hopefully.
“Ma’am,” the clerk said again, drawing the word out even more. “We. Do. Not. Have—”
“Please excuse me a moment,” I said to Avril. Then I walked over and tapped Claudia on the shoulder. She scowled at me, then looked back to the clerk and pointed to the cardboard again.
“Let me help, Claudia,” I said, switching to German. She hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.
“I have no idea what the problem is,” she admitted. “I just want to pick up some confectioners’ sugar.”
