My father was the first cellist in Hitler’s orchestra. I wonder if he ever got back around to playing. Mutti was an incredible cook and mother to us. I wonder how she’s moved on without me. My sister, well, she’s probably just as painful to be around as she ever was.
I received a letter yesterday, with news of everything but what I needed to know.
Your sister and her husband conceived four months ago. She lost her baby. You father misses you. How are you? How is the baby? Have you learned any new recipes?
Hot tears grace my cheeks when I read it. How I miss my mother! And yet, upon receiving her letter, I am dreadfully disappointed to find nothing of substance. Why does she break my heart like this?
Henry insists I must do more. He sends me to art classes. I drag Rachel along.
Rachel is my best friend. I met her on the boat from Europe. She is a Jew, and she spent many years in hiding. Now, she has been reunited with her family. Her olive skin and dark hair is a stark contrast to my pale skin and blonde hair. I like contrast. It reminds me to appreciate what I have when it is only half good.
It is a lesson I must remember quite often in this new life.