“What do you know, Metta?” I whispered back. “I can help. I can try.”
“This is bigger than us. The boulder is already rolling down the mountain, and there’s no stopping it. You can either get out of the way or be crushed by it. There is nothing else for any of us.”
Metta’s wedding took place a week later. A gentle snow fell on the steps that led to the grand hall that Ansel had rented for the occasion. I’d expected rather a spartan affair, but every surface was decorated with lush fir boughs. Ansel stood at the front of the room just as he would have done in a church, but rather than a priest beside him, a colonel from the SS waited to join the couple in marriage. Oskar, his face glowing with pride, stood beside Ansel. Next to them was a charcoal brazier, which I supposed had some sort of ceremonial significance. I was astounded at the number of people in attendance—a sea of uniformed men, many accompanied by smartly dressed young women. Newly married couples, or those who soon would be, I suspected. All were there to celebrate another union enthusiastically endorsed by the Reich that would no doubt lead to more healthy German children and a solid future for Hitler’s Germany.
A sweet-faced girl from Metta’s bride course, designated as her bridesmaid, walked gracefully down the aisle. Eight children appeared; four girls lit the way with torches, while the boys sounded the arrival of the bride with a jubilant trumpet fanfare. The trumpets gave way to the hired string quintet, who played Metta down the aisle with strains of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus.” She was the very picture of German beauty. Each step she made matched the crisp notes played ardently by the skilled hands of the musicians. She did not fight back tears, nor did she smile like a giddy schoolgirl. She was as demure and composed as any high-ranking official could hope for in a young bride. The oyster satin gave her skin a healthy glow. Her blond hair shone even more brilliantly than the satin of her gown under the warm flickering light from the numerous candelabras.
Though the men’s ranks were evident from their uniforms, one could have easily parsed the hierarchy from the seating arrangement and the way underlings deferred to their superiors. The women all fell into the same ranks as their men, so Metta would soon take her place near the top of the social order gathered in the room, though she had to be among the youngest women there. Mama and I were the only exceptions, with two seats reserved for us at the front left-hand side of the aisle. I was certain Ansel would much rather have ceded those places to his comrades in arms but knew that slighting the few members of his bride’s family would reflect badly on him.
I’d met Ansel only twice before, and my impression of him wasn’t improved the longer I was in his company. He was a tall man and cut a fine figure in his uniform, to be sure, but he was too lean by half and had a long, humorless face. His piercing blue eyes enveloped everything in his gaze with the warmth of an arctic glacier. His neutral expression looked truculent, his lips permanently twisted in a disapproving scowl. I hoped my view of him was colored by my general dislike for his presence in Metta’s life, but I couldn’t imagine finding him pleasant even if he weren’t marrying my only sister.
The ceremony went on for quite some time, talking far more about the plight of the Reich than the union of the couple, but the entire assembly sat transfixed by the readings. They spoke endlessly of fire. The fire from which the struggle emerged, the fire that would purify Germany so that the Aryan race would be free to rule overall. Metta kept her eyes on the colonel and the readers as they spoke, and she looked appropriately solemn. I clasped my hands in my lap, hoping I looked attentive rather than petrified.
Rather than a traditional recessional, the entire assembly sang the national anthem. We gathered in a separate room where a feast awaited us. There was roast chicken, glazed duck, spiced hams, and any number of delicacies along with fine wines and an endless supply of beer. How Ansel had managed to procure all this while rationing was so strictly enforced, I didn’t know, and I suspected I was better off in my ignorance.
As at the ceremony, Mama and I were seated near the bride and groom at the front of the dining hall. I picked at the succulent pheasant, crisp fried potatoes, and perfectly braised brussels sprouts, but could not find the stomach to enjoy them.
“We’re so glad to have you in the family,” Mama said to Ansel, attempting to make conversation. “I feared your duties might have taken your attentions away from our Metta.”
If only they had. I fiddled with my napkin to release some of the nervous energy that coursed through me like voltage through wires.
“You assume correctly that my duties increase each and every day, Mutter Hoffmann, and that is precisely why I wished to have the wedding as soon after Margarethe had finished her bridal course as could be arranged.”
“Margarethe,” I said. “My goodness, for a moment I wasn’t sure of whom you were speaking. She’s always been Metta to us.”
“I have a dislike for nicknames,” Ansel said. “I believe in calling things by their proper names.”
“You were never Ani as a boy?” Mama asked.
“No,” he replied without further elaboration.
What a pleasant father he’d make. He’d have them marching in lines instead of playing ball.
“Ansel has done very well for himself,” Oskar interjected. “He’s been given a command in France.”
“Oh, how unfortunate you’ll have to leave Metta—Margarethe—so soon after the wedding,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere. “She’ll be sad to be parted from you so quickly.”
“I could not marry her just to leave her behind,” Ansel said with a nod in my direction. “Margarethe will accompany me on my assignments. I’ve secured her a post with Frauen Warte; she will be able to write articles about our successes in France and elsewhere to keep up women’s morale here at home.”
The expression on Metta’s face betrayed that this was new information to her, but she did an admirable job of keeping any displeasure from showing. Mama and I had begun to receive the magazine at home, and I suspected Oskar was responsible for our subscriptions to the biweekly magazine for women in the party. It contained not only such innocuous things as recipes and sewing patterns, but also parenting advice for raising children who would be prepared to defend Germany to the death and other such cheerful content.
“I didn’t think the party approved of married women working,” I said, not meeting Metta’s eyes.
“Her contribution to the war effort will be invaluable, not unlike your own,” he said. Of course, Ansel knew about my work for DVL. He would have researched every detail about Metta’s background before extending her an offer of marriage. Thank God Papa’s father’s records had been “conveniently lost,” or Metta’s fate might have been even worse than what had already befallen her.
“I look forward to it,” Metta chimed in. “It will be good to be of service.”
Ansel’s dour face broke into a smile, and the effect was even more chilling than his scowl. “You will be a credit to us all, my dear. I am sure of it.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
STARTING A SEARCH
BETH
May 5, 2007
Encinitas, California