Shortly thereafter, the Bund Deutscher Mädel was made mandatory, and Elsie and Hazel participated in replacing all the beautiful theater posters of Jean Harlow and William Powell with stark images of the führer. It was their local BDM’s community service project, and Elsie had loathed doing it. In fact, she hated most everything about the BDM. She failed at all the “wife, mother, homemaker” training activities except baking, and she detested that her Saturdays were spent in group calisthenics. While Hazel thrived and grew more popular, Elsie felt oppressed and stifled by the uniforms and strict codes of conduct. So at the tender age of eleven, she begged Mutti to work in the bakery. She’d overheard her papa discussing a new assistant to work the front of the shop, taking orders and helping customers. She’d eagerly jockeyed for the job. It would mean a reprieve from the BDM for her and save their family from paying out their earnings. While Papa agreed, he championed the national agenda and made Elsie promise to learn the Hitler Youth’s Belief & Beauty doctrine from her older sister. She had, to some extent, but then Hazel became engaged and the BDM forbade participation of girls who were married. When her pregnancy was revealed, she moved to Steinhöring. The BDM didn’t admit mothers, either. Thus, by the time Elsie reached the proper age to practice the principles, there was no one to teach her, and the war had made her participation in the bakery paramount. She didn’t see the value in the BDM’s “harmonic cultivation of mind, body, and spirit” if her family was struggling to make ends meet.
Now, a few hours before an official Nazi party, she wished she’d paid more attention to the BDM lessons of her childhood. It was like trying to conjure the taste of a fruit you’ve seen in paintings but have never eaten. She wished Hazel could give her solid advice. Elsie’s only instruction on the art of glamour came from those faraway memories of a starlet sashaying about the silver screen. Tonight was the first time she had ever been escorted by a man, and she couldn’t afford to make a mistake.
“You dance divinely,” she whispered in English to the mirror and visualized William dancing with Jean, the image all silver-tipped and shimmering.
“Elsie!” Papa called.
Elsie quickly pulled her burgundy cape over her shoulders and took one last look in the mirror, liking the sophisticated woman she saw, then she proceeded downstairs.
At the base, Mutti, dressed in her best edelweiss-embroidered dirndl, swept crumbs out of sight. The rough broom bristled the burnished floor.
“I doubt Josef’s attention will be on the doppelback crumbs. Leave the mice a Christmas present.”
Mutti stopped sweeping when she saw her and put a fist to her hip. “Ach ja, you’ll stand up well with all those fine girls this evening.”
“Freilich!” Papa came from the kitchen. “You’ll make Josef proud.” He put an arm around Mutti’s shoulder, and she eased into his side.
“I promised Hazel I’d send a photograph,” explained Elsie.
Papa went to find the Bosley camera.
Mutti adjusted the folds of her hooded cape. “Be sure to laugh at his jokes,” she said. “Men always like that. And try—try to be temperate. The führer praises this in women.”
Elsie groaned. “I know, I know. Now stop fussing at me, Mutti.”
“Please, dear, try.”
Elsie yanked away. “Papa, did you find it?” she called out.
Mutti kept on, “Don’t act like a gypsy or Jewess—unpredictable spirits. Remember your sister in the Program. Remember the bäckerei. Herr Hub has been so generous.” She cleared her throat. “We’d be as bad off as the rest if it wasn’t for his kindness. Look at Herr Kaufmann. The Gestapo came in the middle of the day and packed him off to one of those camps. And all he did was refuse to have his son join the Deutsches Jungvolk. One cross word—that’s all it takes, Elsie.”
Papa returned with the Bosley. “I’m not sure the film is good.” He opened the shutter and wound the knob.
“Kein Thema.” Elsie sighed.
Mutti worried too much. Like most women in Germany, she wanted her children to be proper, her marriage to be superlative, and her household to be a paragon of decorum. But try as she may, Elsie had never been proficient in the set standards.
“He’ll be here any minute. Papa, hurry.” Elsie arranged herself beside Mutti and prayed to God she wouldn’t let them all down this night. She wanted them to be proud.
“Look,” said Papa. “Two of the three finest women in Germany. You’ll be a good wife, Elsie. As the führer says”—he paused and lifted a stiff palm to the air—“ ‘Your world is your husband, your family, your children, and your home.’ Mutti and Hazel are excellent examples.”
Within the last six months, Papa had begun perpetually referring to her as wife material and quoting the führer with every reference. It wore on Elsie’s nerves. She’d never understood why people quoted others. She tried never to quote anyone. She had ideas of her own.
“Gut. I understand. I’ll be on my best behavior. Now take the picture.”
Papa looked through the back of the camera lens. “Luana, get closer to your daughter.”
Mutti scooted in, smelling of dillweed and boiled rye berries. Elsie worried the scent would stick, so she squared her shoulders hard to keep a margin between them.
“Ready?” Papa lifted his finger over the button.
Elsie smiled for the camera and prayed Josef would come soon. She was anxious to have her first glass of champagne. He’d promised.
“It’s so beautiful,” said Elsie as the driver pulled up to the Nazi banquet hall on Gernackerstrasse.
The timbered lodge was ornamented with heart-carved balconies and colorful frescoes depicting shepherds in lederhosen, jeweled baronesses, and angels with widespread wings. From each window, red-and-black swastika flags joined their flight, fluttering in the alpine breeze. Cascading lights had been masterfully strung over the snow, illuminating icicles and casting a stunning corona about the structure. Its frosted eaves looked like piped sugar on a lebkuchen. A fairy-tale gingerbread house. Right off the pages of the Brothers Grimm.
“You are beautiful.” Josef laid his palm on Elsie’s knee. His warmth emanated through the wool cape and chiffon dress.
The driver opened the door. A burgundy carpet had been placed over the snow to keep the attendees from slipping or ruining the shine of their boots. Josef took Elsie’s hand and helped her from the cab. She hurried to step out and let the swathe of ivory and crystal gems hide her feet. Although Josef had purchased her dress, she had no shoes to match. Reluctantly, she’d borrowed Mutti’s nicest pair of black T-straps, which still looked worn after an hour of buffing.
Josef took her gloved hand and threaded it through the crook of his arm. “You shouldn’t be nervous,” he consoled. “Not with such a pretty German face. They will love you the moment they see you.” He touched her cheek with a leather-gloved finger. Her stomach jumped—the same lurch she felt when the pretzels were a minute from baking to brick. She knew exactly what to do then, rush to pull them from the fire and cool by the window. But here, dressed like a film star, she hadn’t a clue. So she took a deep breath. The smell of burning pine air stung her nose. Her eyes watered. The lights ran together, and she gripped Josef’s arm to keep steady.