She recalled the stories she’d read in newspapers in America about how the Nazis were determined to kill all Jews in Europe, how people in several countries were pushed into certain areas of the city where they were left to starvation and disease.
“There’s so many,” she murmured.
“Getting here early won’t mean you avoid them.” Mr. Sims nudged apart the line, leading her from the crowd and through a gate. “They’re here at all hours.”
No doubt they were attempting to flee Europe and get to America where they knew they would be safe. “That’s so terribly sad.”
Mr. Sims gave a hum of acknowledgment. “That’s why we have the US Legation and Consulate General to handle all that. And why you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about it.”
Ava bit back her sharp reply lest she come across as pugnacious on her first day. It was strange how women could now attend most colleges and embark on jobs once reserved only for men. Yet in some ways, males were determined to hold “the fairer sex” in the limited and confining roles belonging to the last century.
A woman whose sandy curls were pulled back into a roll pinned with a blue flower smiled broadly as they entered. “You must be our new IDC agent. I’m Peggy, the secretary for the ambassador. You just let me know if you need anything at all, Miss Harper.”
Peggy’s left brow quirked upright as she stressed the “Miss” in her statement and slid a triumphant smirk toward Mr. Sims.
Ava nodded, relieved to have at least one person in her corner.
The US Embassy was surprisingly like any other office space Ava had seen. Desks were laid out in a grid-like pattern and framed art adorned the otherwise bland, neutral-colored walls.
A tall man in a navy suit stopped midstride, his arm and leg going forward with an exaggerated momentum-pulled motion as he stared at her. “Who’s the dish?” He flashed a smile that revealed a chipped canine. Given his slightly crooked nose and stockier build, he seemed like the sort to have barreled his way through college as a linebacker on the football team.
Based on his baby face, that might have been only a year ago.
“You mean Petri dish?” she amended with what she hoped was a good-natured chuckle. “I only just flew in and am looking forward to cleaning up later.”
“I bet your arms are tired.” He grinned expectantly.
Peggy pushed at him. “Aw, c’mon and leave her be. The poor girl is probably going on about twenty hours without sleep, am I right?”
It was closer to twenty-four, but who was counting at this point?
Ava gave Peggy a grateful smile.
“That’s what I thought. I can’t believe you were even brought in.” Peggy folded her arms and directed her razor-sharp focus toward Mr. Sims.
“I wanted to,” Ava admitted. “I confess I’m a little unsure what I’m even supposed to do.”
They laughed, a joke everyone knew the punch line to but her.
She lightly joined in with a chuckle, so she didn’t appear as left out as she suddenly felt.
“None of us had an idea what we were doing when we got here,” the linebacker said. “I’ll help you get the swing of things. I’m Michael Driscoll, by the way.”
Mr. Sims turned and disappeared into an office with his name on the closing door.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Driscoll.” Ava’s smile stretched across her dry lips. She learned a long time ago that she said the wrong things at the wrong times, only thinking of the right reply several hours later. Usually around three in the morning when there was nothing but the isolating darkness of her room to appreciate her belated wit.