The problem was, I still couldn’t quite figure out how to avoid being a mother. Henry would inherit the farm, so it seemed the only way to get my own farm was to get married. Marriage meant children, and children would mean less time for farming. More time for diapers and feeding, more time for keeping the house. Less of what I knew I loved.
“Two years later, Henry was born, and eventually you joined us too,” Mother said, her gaze softening. She waved a hand vaguely as she added, “For that first year after we lost that baby, everything felt hopeless. We were all alone in this tiny little house with that great big sadness.” She smiled, then nodded, as if she’d convinced herself too. “This moment feels just like that one. I don’t know how things will work out, but in my heart, I am certain that everything will be okay. All you and I have to do is to have faith and keep our chins up.”
7
Sofie
Huntsville, Alabama
1950
A crowd was assembled beneath the shade of a cluster of oak trees that day. I was heartened to see that after just a few minutes, the American and German children were all mingling freely. Language didn’t make much difference when it came to climbing trees and playing tag.
The formalities began when a man clapped his hands and called us all to order, then took a microphone and stepped up onto a box. He introduced himself as Christopher Newsome, and a young man beside him translated his words into perfect German. Newsome pointed to a tall, bearded gentleman with thick glasses that magnified his eyes.
“I’m sure you all know Calvin Miller—he’s the general manager of this program.” More translation, and then a smattering of applause. “First of all to our new German friends, welcome to America!” Translation. Applause. “Now, to all of you American ladies—I want you to listen carefully. These women have come all the way round the world to start a new life here, and we need to support them. Make a new friend today. Make plans to meet up for coffee or for dinner or to get the children together to play, okay?” Translation. Much weaker applause. The popping of champagne bottles.
The Germans had been working alongside the American scientists at Fort Bliss for some time before they all transferred to Huntsville, and their rapport was obvious. Jürgen was soon surrounded by men listening intently to his every word. At least one thing hadn’t changed in my husband—that obsessively focused look in his eyes when he talked about rockets was as familiar as the back of my own hand.
I took a glass of champagne and walked lazily around, observing the crowd. The women quickly formed two distinct groups. The American women were the louder group—their voices and laughter rang across the lawn. On the other side of the table, the German women were standing clumped together as if they were all trying to hide, their voices low and their eyes downcast. I helped myself to a plate of food and then approached the German side.
Claudia’s eyes lit up. “Everyone, meet my new neighbor, Sofie,” she said.
“Hello,” I said, waving vaguely. I recognized several faces as women I’d met once or twice over the years in Germany. “Oh, hello there, Greta. Margarethe, how are you? It’s been so long. Elsa, nice to see you too.” And to the rest of them, I waved and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you all.”
“Sofie is Jürgen Rhodes’ wife,” Claudia added cheerfully.
Was I imagining the tension? It was as though the smiles on those women’s faces intensified just a little when I approached, shifting from genuine to forced. I looked back to Claudia, who seemed bewildered.
I was not bewildered. This was exactly why I’d hoped none of Jürgen’s former workers had come to America.
“I really need some more of that chicken,” Greta said.
“I’ll go with you,” Margarethe added.
“Oh, I need to find a restroom,” one of the other women said.
“I know where it is,” Elsa interjected. “I’ll show you.”
The group dispersed quickly.
“That was strange,” Claudia said slowly. “It’s probably just that some of those women have been here in the United States for a few months already, and maybe a little clique has formed…”
“Gu-ten tag,” an American voice said, and we turned to see a short blonde woman had joined us. She spoke very slowly but butchered the pronunciation badly.
“Hello. I speak English,” I said, then motioned toward Claudia. “But my friend here doesn’t.”
“Oh!” the American woman said, surprised but visibly relieved. “I’m trying to be friendly, but it’s awfully hard when we’re speaking different languages.”