Tears coursed down Deedee’s cheeks, but Reba couldn’t cry. The burning inside was too great.
“We never talked about any of it,” Reba went on. “It scares me still because I feel so much of Daddy inside me.”
“Oh, Reba.” Deedee took both of Reba’s hands in hers. “I’m sorry.”
Sister to sister, their gazes met. Reba’s pulse steadied from a boil to a simmer.
“I didn’t want to leave you.” Deedee bit her bottom lip. “But I had to get out of there. I wanted to be free of all that sadness. I was so scared and hopeless.”
Comprehension fluttered in Reba’s chest. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”
“You were a little girl.” Deedee sniffed. “I thought I was helping by keeping it from you. Whenever Daddy went on and on about his fears, his demons, it upset you so. I didn’t want you to worry any more than you already did. I wanted you to think everything was okay, but then, it all got to be too much. I had to get away—for my own sanity. I wanted to protect you from my pain, too.”
“What about Momma? He was hurting her.”
“Momma understood Daddy far better than either of us.” Deedee cleaned away her runny mascara, smudging it between her fingers. “The law has taught me that despite all the facts we think we know, the truth can be an awfully hard thing to get a hold on. It’s muddled by time and humanity and how each of us experiences those.”
“Truth is truth,” Reba whispered.
“It is and it isn’t,” said Deedee. “Every day, I walk into the courtroom with my truth in hand and it never ceases to amaze me that the other attorney is doing the same. Who’s right?” She shrugged. “I’m thankful I’m not a judge.”
“So are you saying we accept anarchy? We throw up our hands and live in delusions, never facing reality? Look how much good that did Daddy.”
“No,” said Deedee. “It means we let God be the judge. It’s too big a job for you or me. We have to stop being afraid of the shadows and realize that the world is made up of shades of gray, light and darkness. Can’t have one without the other.” She squeezed Reba’s hands. “Daddy went wrong by judging his own past with an iron fist and allowing those judgments to condemn his present. There was nothing any of us could’ve done for him except love him as best we knew how. You can’t make someone else believe your truth, nor can you force forgiveness. We can only be responsible for ourselves.” Deedee pulled Reba against her shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. I’m sorry it’s taken us so long to talk about Daddy’s death.”
Reba leaned into her. “I’m sorry too.” And for the first time in what seemed like forever, there were no pretenses between them. With that came a peace Reba had longed for all her life.
“Deedee.” She let the weight of her head rest wholly against her sister. “I don’t want to be like Daddy.”
Deedee leaned her own heavy head atop Reba’s. “His biggest mistake was he couldn’t see how big our love was for him.”
Reba thought of Riki, and the center of her chest began to ache. “Riki’s the most genuine man I’ve ever met … and I do love cheesecake.”
“Ah,” Deedee whispered. “Cheesecake.” She nodded. “Well, maybe he’s not cheesecake. Maybe he’s the milkman.”
They quietly giggled in each other’s embrace.
“I never understood your whole dairy-free phase. It just didn’t fit you.” Deedee kissed Reba’s forehead.
“I was trying to be what I wasn’t,” said Reba, and she smiled, feeling the lie lift. The truth as buoyant as air.
Chapter Twenty-seven
SCHMIDT BÄCKEREI
56 LUDWIGSTRASSE
GARMISCH, GERMANY
MARCH 23, 1945
The sunlight was as weak as the dandelion tea Mutti made from the premature blooms she picked that morning. A storm at dawn had left their heads limp and bowed over like dejected schoolchildren. Now, the breeze was raw and wet and carried with it the scent of earthworms writhing beneath the hibernating strawberry vines. The mineral chill stuck to the back of Elsie’s neck no matter how many scarves she wore or how quickly she worked. The usual crowd had already formed a line, their stomachs and voices grumbling at the workday ahead, the smell of bread, and the whispers of German defeat.
Elsie tossed stale rolls and loaves into cloth sacks and paper wraps, trading trinkets, coins, and promissory words alike. They were already running low. The brötchen bin was near empty, and Frau Rattelmüller hadn’t come for her customary purchase.
“I paid for three,” said a man in a stiff fedora. “You gave me two.” He pointed a hard finger at the rolls in brown paper.
“I’m sorry.” Elsie handed him another, and he left in a huff, mumbling under his breath and wrapping his scarf tight around his throat.
The next customer ordered, but Elsie failed to hear. Frau Rattelmüller’s absence had unsettled her routine. She was uneasy; her mind drifted past the carousel of morning customers and down the lane to the frau’s door. She wondered what had kept her.
A shifting of seasons was in the air, and it was more than spring. The Gestapo patrolled the streets night and day with rifles slung over their shoulders; news trickled in that Allied forces were at the Rhine and certain to cross over any day; the Volksempfänger said the Americans, Brits, and Russians were coming to rape and murder them, but Elsie wondered how much worse they could be than their own soldiers. Since Achim Thalberg’s murder many more people had been quarantined, arrested, or simply shot. Having Tobias under her roof was grounds for immediate termination, for herself and her family; and with Julius constantly underfoot, keeping Tobias’s presence a secret had become a daily labor.
Initially, Mutti proposed that Julius share a room with Elsie. The mere suggestion had precipitated the first of Julius’s fits, which they soon learned were habitual. He refused to sleep anywhere near the opposite sex and bristled at all displays of affection between Mutti and Papa, be it a held hand or a kiss to the cheek. It was baffling considering Hazel’s loving nature. Mutti made excuses, saying, “He’s been raised with the highest morals of the Reich. Perhaps we all need a lesson in propriety.” Papa had nodded but frowned.