The next photo was of me and Jürgen on our wedding day, young and blissfully in love and so carefree, as if the world had only peace and happiness to offer us. Then there was a photo of Jürgen’s great-aunt Adele, sitting in her courtyard—smiling serenely as she looked past the camera, to the sanctuary she’d built herself over many years.
The final photo was of me with my best friend, Mayim. We were standing arm in arm in the lobby of my family’s mansion in Potsdam, suitcases at our feet, grinning like loons as we stood at the threshold to adulthood—the Star of David on a chain around her neck, stark against her pale skin. My last-ever nanny took that photo when Mayim and I were hours away from embarking on the journey to finishing school in Lausanne.
I knew I’d have nightmares that night—I did most nights since the war, and I expected that Jürgen would too. I kissed each of those photos gently, and then set them on the bedside table to watch over me and Jürgen while we slept. Maybe their presence would bring us peace, because while that pile of photos represented so much loss, they also carried so much love. The sum total of those moments was the woman I had become.
4
Sofie
Berlin, Germany
October 1930
I’ve always loved early autumn. The tree-lined streets around my home in Lichterfelde quickly shifted from a canopy of summer foliage to a ceiling of reds and golds and deep, rich brown. It was still warm enough in October that we didn’t need our coats, but not so warm that it was uncomfortable. I married Jürgen in early autumn 1929. And twelve months later, early in the autumn of 1930, I discovered I was pregnant with my first child.
I told Jürgen and Mayim right away, but weeks later, I was finally ready to share the news with our wider circle of friends—starting with Lydia zu Schiller.
When I arranged lunch with Lydia, I planned to tell her my news as soon as Mayim and I sat down. But everything changed in the interim. Now it seemed that all of Germany was trying to process the results of our most recent election.
“I still can’t quite believe it,” Mayim said, as she stared blankly at a menu. I was so worried for her. I had the impression she was in a state of shock, as if she’d witnessed an accident or injured herself. “Even in these wild times, I didn’t expect this.”
“A hundred and seven seats! They are the second-biggest party in the Reichstag now,” Lydia said. Then she glanced at me. She was referring to the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei—the National Socialist German Workers’ Party, known as the Nazi party. “I know you’re not one for politics, Sofie, but they only held twelve seats last term, and before that, they were a fringe party. No one took them seriously.”
Lydia was right that I wasn’t a political expert. Even so, I bristled at her condescending tone. I wasn’t fascinated with politics the way Jürgen was, or so determined to climb the social rungs in Berlin that I had to keep abreast of the most popular figures and fashions like Lydia and her husband, Karl. That didn’t mean I was ignorant. My best friend was Jewish—of course I noticed when a party founded on a platform of anti-Semitism had a sudden and shocking rise to prominence.
“It is terrible,” I said, squeezing Mayim’s hand. “But we must keep our spirits up. This is not a representation of who we are as a nation. People are scared about political instability, and the rising unemployment isn’t helping.” Mayim raised her gaze to mine, and I squeezed her hand again. “Even wealthy families are struggling.”
Not mine, thankfully. My family estate was flourishing—in fact, at that moment my father was in New York, taking advantage of the aftermath of the Wall Street crash to expand his business. Lydia’s family was fine too. Her father possessed extraordinary wealth, and Karl was a descendant of Prussian kings and German emperors. As the eldest child in his family, he inherited an incredible fortune when his parents passed.
But Mayim’s father, Levi, had taken out extensive loans to shore up his business through the hyperinflation crisis after the Great War. For years, he worked himself ragged to meet his repayments and keep his company afloat. Then came the Wall Street crash in 1929, and as the banks began to struggle, they called in the balance of Levi’s loans, years ahead of schedule.
Just one year earlier, Mayim’s family enjoyed a lifestyle of comfort to rival the wealthiest families in Germany. Over the space of just a few shocking months, they lost everything they owned.
Lydia shifted awkwardly in her chair, then flicked Mayim a hesitant glance.