Under the Same Stars by Libba Bray(43)
“Any news from the Bridegroom’s Oak?” Jenny asked.
“Not yet,” Frau Hermann called back. “But I remain hopeful.”
In the kitchen, Frau Hermann hummed to herself amid the rattle of dishes and silverware. Her cane leaned against the wall. Jenny wondered when she’d started needing it or if she always had. Her age was as much a mystery as the rest of her. There were no helpful photographs of her when she was younger. In fact, there were no photographs at all except for one of a distinguished-looking older man with gray hair and glasses. She wondered if all Germans of Frau Hermann’s generation were this secretive because of the war. How could you have seen all of that or pretended not to have seen it—perhaps even have participated in it—and not want to hide from that truth? A slip of beautiful, flowered stationery lay in the mess of papers. Jenny recognized the neat flow of Frau Hermann’s handwriting from her letter. There was no salutation or date on this one; it was just the same phrase written over and over: Vergib mir. Jenny didn’t know what that meant. She’d have to look it up later.
“Here we are.” Frau Hermann limped into the room bearing two plates of apple torte. She pushed aside the papers to make room. “Ach. Such a mess. My sister always complained, ‘You leave crumbs of yourself wherever you go!’”
“You have a sister?” It was the first Jenny had heard of Frau Hermann’s family or any part of her life before now.
“She died. During the war.”
“Oh. I’m-I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago,” Frau Hermann said with an air of finality that made it clear there would be no follow-up. Instead, she asked about Jenny’s life in Berlin in such a way that Jenny felt like opening up instead of hiding. She told Frau Hermann about sightseeing with Lena, about life in the squat and the punk band. “Ah! She is a rebel, ja?” Frau Hermann exclaimed. “Part of the underground!” Jenny even told her that Lena had rechristened her Dallas, which she was coming to like more than Jennifer.
“It just feels more … me. You know?”
“Sometimes we need new names to find our true selves.” Frau Hermann poured more tea. “You and Lena have quite the friendship. Like the priestesses, Hanna and Sophie.”
“Will you tell me more about them? Why did they go into the forest that night?”
“They needed to escape.”
“Were they Jewish?”
“No. No. They had come up in the German Girls League. You know what this is? Hitler Youth for girls. Everyone had to join. You could say no but…” She waved a hand in the air. “There were consequences for that.” Frau Hermann toyed with her pastry. “In our village, there was an SS officer. He was … ambitious. Nothing escaped his notice. And he was always looking.”
“For what?”
“Anything…” Frau Hermann blinked at the ceiling as she searched for the right words. “Out of place.”
“Were Sophie and Hanna out of place?”
“Sophie, yes. Her father owned a bookshop. And he was not a member of the party. Hanna’s family was loyal to the Reich. Their friendship gave Sophie some protection. But also, they went to the forest so much. Once the war began, the forest was not so safe. A lot of seditious activity happened in forests and woods. They were meeting places for saboteurs, members of the underground. And it was also a place where war crimes happened as well. Terrible things done out of sight. Hidden.” Frau Hermann put out her left hand. “So. The SS…” She turned over her right. “And the resistance. In the same place. A lot of suspicion to go around. And the girls had a friend who was not from Kleinwald. An artist. From Berlin!” Frau Hermann said as if just remembering, which made Jenny once again doubt whether the story was true. “Ach! What was his name? There were scandalous rumors about him.”
“Like what?” Jenny couldn’t wait to tell Lena this new information.
“That he was a degenerate. That he had gotten one of the girls in town with child. That he was perhaps a spy for the Allies or possibly even for the Gestapo.”
She shook her head. “He was different. When people are different, they are suspect to some.”
Jenny thought of Heather’s letter about Richard. She picked at her pastry. “Do you think he was the reason Sophie and Hanna disappeared?”
Frau Hermann stared out the window at the treetops. “I only know that on the night of the winter solstice, Sophie and Hanna went into the forest. And they never came back.” Frau Hermann kept staring at the trees. “Egon,” she said after a moment. “That was the artist’s name.” She turned back to Jenny as if just remembering she was there. “Tell me, how do you like the pastry?”
“Delicious, thank you.” Jenny wanted to ask more questions about Sophie and Hanna, but she’d learned from her lessons at finishing school not to press when it seemed a topic was off-limits. She wondered if any of this was true, if Frau Hermann had run out of story and needed time to make up more.
“Is that a picture of your husband?” Jenny asked, changing the subject.
“Yes. That is my Ernst.” Frau Hermann limped to the shelf and brought down the silver-framed picture. “I gave him that scarf for a birthday, I think. He always wore it when he took me out.”