“Yeah,” I say. I glance into the backseat, where Jacob is sleeping soundly. I’m suddenly overwhelmed, and there are tears streaming down my cheeks. “It’s real,” I say. “All of it.” I don’t expect him to understand me, but somehow, he does.
“I know,” he murmurs. He pulls me into an embrace, and as I rest my head against his chest and wrap my arms around him, I can feel myself letting go. I cry as he holds me, and I’m not quite sure whether I’m crying for Jacob and Mamie, or for myself.
We stand there for a very long time without speaking, for no words are needed. I know now that the prince is real, and that the people who love you the most can save you, and that fate might have a bigger plan for all of us than we understand. I know now that fairy tales can come true after all, if only you have the courage to keep believing.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Star Pie
INGREDIENTS
3 cups flour
1 tsp. salt
3 Tbsp. granulated sugar
1 cup shortening
1 egg, beaten
1 tsp. white vinegar
1 cup plus 4 Tbsp. water, divided
1 cup dried figs, chopped
1 cup dried prunes, chopped
1 cup red or green seedless grapes, sliced and divided
6 Tbsp. brown sugar
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 cup slivered almonds
1 Tbsp. poppy seeds
Cinnamon sugar for sprinkling （3 parts sugar mixed with 1 part cinnamon）
DIRECTIONS
1. Prepare crust by sifting flour, salt, and granulated sugar together. Using two knives or a food processor, cut in shortening until mixture has the consistency of thick crumbs. Add egg, vinegar, and 4 tablespoons water to dry mixture and mix with a fork, then with floured hands, until dough forms a ball.
2. Cool dough in refrigerator for 10 minutes, then divide into two halves. Roll one half into a circle and press into a 9-inch pie pan. Put other half aside.
3. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
4. Mix figs, prunes, 1/2 cup sliced grapes, brown sugar, cinnamon, and 1 cup water in heavy medium saucepan. Stir over medium-high heat until sugar dissolves and mixture boils. Reduce heat to medium low, cover, and cook for 20 minutes. Remove cover and cook, stirring constantly, 3–5 minutes more until most of the liquid has evaporated and mixture is the consistency of thick jam. Remove from heat.
5. While filling cools, spread almonds in a thin layer on a baking sheet and toast in oven for 7–9 minutes, until slightly browned.
6. Remove toasted almonds from oven and mix into fruit mixture. Add poppy seeds and remaining 1/2 cup sliced grapes. Stir well to incorporate.
7. Pour fruit mixture into prepared bottom piecrust. Roll remaining dough into 10-inch-by-10-inch square. Cut into 1/2-inch-wide strips and arrange them in a star pattern, crisscrossing across top of crust. Sprinkle liberally with cinnamon sugar.
8. Bake for 30 minutes, or until top crust is golden brown. Remove from oven and cool completely. Keeps in the refrigerator for up to 5 days. Serve cold or at room temperature.
Rose
The water Rose was swimming in had begun to turn colors now—muted, milky colors that reminded Rose of the paintings by Claude Monet that she’d loved so much as a girl. There were water lilies and weeping willows in the murky deep, and sometimes poplars casting shadows across the surface, far above her too.
When she was a girl, Rose had always longed to go to Giverny, the place where Monet had painted many of his famous works; she had believed it must be the most beautiful place in the world. It was only when she was older that she’d understood the place itself wasn’t more beautiful than anything she’d seen; it was the way Monet had captured it with his paints and his canvases. Once, she and Jacob had gone to Argenteuil, just outside Paris, where Monet had lived and painted for a time, and Rose had been disappointed to realize that the town, while beautiful, was not as extraordinary as Monet had made it seem.
Beauty, she had realized then, was all in the perception. After the war, she’d found, with a bit of shock, that she was no longer able to perceive that sort of beauty in anything. Although she was dimly aware that the world was still beautiful, it was as if the edges were suddenly blurred, and all the light was gone.
And now, as the silken colors swirled around her in these mysterious depths that she couldn’t seem to escape from, she floated and listened. There were voices again, far away, above the surface of this great and gentle sea. She tried to will herself toward the surface; it suddenly felt very important to know who was there. Had she heard something different this time?
As she floated slowly up, closer to the surface, cradled by the soft waters, the colors suddenly reminded her of the dress she’d made for her secret wedding day. April 14, 1942. A Tuesday, a date she would never forget. She’d gotten the fabrics from her friend Jacqueline, the only one who knew what she and Jacob were planning. But Jacqueline had been taken away the first week in March, arrested for daring to be foreign and Jewish. It was just a sign of the horrors to come, but Rose hadn’t known that yet. Not on the beautiful day of her marriage.