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Sofie

Huntsville,Alabama

1950

Jürgen was sitting in the living room, trying to get Felix to accept a little wooden toy truck. Felix was sitting behind the sofa, peeking out at the truck longingly, but refusing to come out to get it.

There was a knock at the door, and Jürgen sighed and rose to answer it, leaving the truck on the floor. I stayed in the living room with Felix, hiding a laugh as he came out from behind the sofa, scooped the truck up, and immediately took it back into his hiding place.

“He’s your papa,” I said quietly.

“He’s a stranger,” Felix muttered, as he started rolling the truck up and down the back of the sofa.

“Felix, go sit with Gisela, please,” Jürgen murmured from the door, as he returned with another man in tow. I quickly shepherded my son down the hallway to Gisela’s room, then returned to find the guest was sitting opposite Jürgen, his expression solemn. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but something about his stiff posture spoke of authority—maybe even anger or aggression. I felt my heart rate kick up a notch as I carefully took a seat beside Jürgen.

“Can you tell me where you were last night at 2:00 a.m., Mr. Rhodes?” the man said. Jürgen and I shared a bewildered look.

“I was here, of course,” Jürgen said blankly. “Asleep.”

“Does she speak English?” the man asked Jürgen, looking at me.

“I do,” I said abruptly. I cleared my throat, then said, “I’m Sofie Rhodes. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Detective Johnson,” he said. I recognized that name. This was the policeman Jürgen spoke to on the phone the day someone graffitied our street. “Can you confirm that your husband was asleep in your bed last night, Mrs. Rhodes?”

“Of course he was,” I said. A strange, cold chill ran through my body, and a vivid image of a tiny, damp concrete cell flashed before my eyes. I tried to calm myself, reminding myself that American police were not the Gestapo, that Jürgen and I wouldn’t wind up separated and locked up—not ever again. But even if my mind knew the truth, my body did not, and my stomach was churning violently. I could see the terror in Jürgen’s eyes. I knew some part of him was backtheretoo.

“Did you visit the Miller home last night?”

“CalvinMiller?” Jürgen said, confused. “No, sir. I’ve never been to his home, but I was just at work with him all day.”

“Someone broke into their house last night, apparently looking for his wife. Are you telling me that wasn’t you?”

“Of course it wasn’t me!” Jürgen exclaimed. “Why would I break into my boss’s house, then go to work the next day as if nothing happened? That’s insanity.”

“The intruder had a German accent, Mr. Rhodes. And seemed to be looking for Mrs. Miller. I understand you—” his gaze moved to me “—and Mrs. Miller had an altercation last weekend.”

“It wasn’t analtercation,” I said, my voice small as I stared at the carpet, unable to meet the detective’s gaze. “It was a disagreement. I’m very sorry this has happened to them, but it had nothing to do with us.”

The officer folded up his notebook and slipped it into his pocket. He stood, and Jürgen did the same. The two men stared at one another, both standing tall.

“I’m sure you know by now that this town didn’t ask for you to come here.”

“I appreciate that,” Jürgen said calmly. “But your government did. We are committed to being good citizens and to contributing something to your nation. I want no trouble from you or from the Millers, Detective Johnson. You have my word on that.”

“Frankly, Mr. Rhodes, the words of a Nazi don’t mean much to me. That’s what the graffiti in front of your street said, right?” He dropped his voice, his tone dark as he repeated the word.“Nazi?”Jürgen opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it.

“I was not at the Miller household last night, sir,” Jürgen repeated steadily. “I have no problem with Mrs. Miller, nor does my wife. I work very closely with Calvin Miller. His family has had no trouble from me, and they’ll have no trouble from me.”

“You should know, Mr. Rhodes—if there’s one thing the boys at the station agree on, it’s that if there’s a chance to throw one of you in our cell, we’re taking it.”

After the detective left, Jürgen and I sat on the sofa, side by side.

“What on earth is going on?” I asked him uneasily.

“I don’t know. And I don’t know what to do.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I saw Calvin in the lab early this morning. He seemed a bit weary, but he didn’t say anything about this.” Jürgen squeezed his eyes closed. “Things have been a little tense since the party.”