Under the Same Stars by Libba Bray(55)

She sat in a cozy spot beneath the tree and began to read.

Dear Sophie,

There are some people who, despite everything, manage to see the good in this world. You are such a person. Always there with a kind word or gesture. You have faith where others do not. That is what makes you truly beautiful. I do not know if you will ever read this letter or if you will grant me a reply. I only know that I needed to tell you this.

Warm regards,

Nobody

That night, she sat at her bedroom window looking out at the evening’s first stars. She couldn’t stop thinking about the letter. Who could have written it? It didn’t seem like a joke, not like the last time. It wasn’t romantic and it asked nothing of her in return. It was sort of sweet, actually. She could find no reason not to write back to this Nobody. She wouldn’t make the same mistakes she’d made last summer. She’d guard her heart. Keep things polite but aloof.

Dear Nobody, she wrote. Thank you kindly for your letter. Your compliments were well received. I try to have faith in others even when that faith is abused.

No. That sounded bitter.

She started over.

Dear Nobody,

I try to have faith in others even when it’s hard. My father says that’s why it’s called faith. If it were certainty, it would be found at an undertaker’s office. I wish you good health.

Sincerely,

Sophie Muller

The next day, she rode out to the forest and posted her reply inside the tree. Several days passed, and when she returned to the forest, she found, to her delight, a new letter written on the back of her own.

Dear Somebody,

I see that you are also witty. The undertaker joke was a good one. I’ll have to remember it. It’s good to remember that there are reasons to laugh at such a serious time as this. I hope you do not mind if I address you as Somebody, for I feel certain—or should I say that I have faith—that you will prove to be Somebody in time.

Warm regards,

Nobody

Sophie couldn’t stop smiling. It was ridiculous to feel so giddy about someone she’d never met but who seemed to be familiar with her in some way. The handwriting looked a bit masculine to her, though she couldn’t be sure. All the same, she was excited to have a secret pen pal. For the first time in ages, she had something to look forward to, something beyond the dreariness of ration cards and her parents’ serious faces every time they listened to the radio late at night when they thought Sophie wasn’t watching them.

May ripened into June and the letters, always written on the back of her own pages, continued, becoming more intimate and romantic:

Dear Somebody,

Which flower is your favorite?

Dear Nobody,

Daisies. Because you can find them anywhere and so you can always be made happy.

When are you happiest?

My Dearest Somebody,

When I am fixing something that is broken and, at first glance, seems unfixable. There is something very satisfying about solving a problem that others have deemed beyond hope.

The other day, I heard a bit of violin drifting from an open window somewhere. I recognized it. Mahler’s Second Symphony, the one called Resurrection. Do you know it?

“Die shall I in order to live / Rise again, yes, rise again.” I know that Mahler’s music is forbidden now, but how can anything so beautiful be denied? I believe that your heart is like Mahler’s music, beautiful and undeniable.

With deep affection,

Nobody

Dearest Nobody,

I have never received such a gift as your last letter. I wish that I had a photograph of you so that I might keep it on my dresser and see it first thing every morning, and if anyone were to ask, “Who is that man in the silver picture frame?” I could answer, truthfully, “Oh, that’s Nobody.”

Then again, it’s probably best that I don’t have your picture near. That way, I can imagine that any stranger I pass could be you. This thought makes me quite happy.

Your Somebody

Dearest Somebody,

You might find the sight of me disappointing at present. I am no prince. I feel like one who has been banished from his own soul. Only when I read your letters do I remain hopeful of regaining myself. They sustain me. Remind me that there is good in this fraught world. I thank you for them. I thank the universe for you, dear Sophie.

Yours,

Nobody

Sophie collected eggs, then nearly forgot to latch the coop. She daydreamed and hummed. She giggled at odd times and for no apparent reason, giving the town yet more reasons to think of her as eccentric and, perhaps, not altogether there. “Miss Lonelyhearts,” they’d say knowingly to one another.

Lieselotte had started at the Jungm?del along with Klara’s sister, Lotte, where they were referred to as “Lotte and Lotte.” Liesl complained that Lotte always wanted attention and that she liked showing off the acorn Sophie had brought her and saying she was one of the Norn, so Sophie promised that the next time she went to the forest, she would bring home an acorn just like Lotte’s for her sister.

On her happiest days, when she received a letter from Nobody, she would sit with her back against the aged bark of the old oak and read it over and over until she could practically recite it by heart. She no longer even cared that she was still giggled about in the streets.

Sophie was working in the shop alone and daydreaming again when the bell above the door made the slightest sound as Herr Jaeger entered, his uniform the color of a thundercloud.