Page 59 of The Last Safe Place

“Phew. That’s a relief. Come in.” Birgit stepped aside. “I’ll make us a coffee first.”

As they sat at the table in Birgit’s cozy kitchen, Leonore said, “I may be leaving the country soon.”

“I suspected you might. I’m going to miss you.” Birgit looked as though she might burst into tears.

“Hey, I’m not gone yet. It’ll be a few more weeks. I’m just here to bring you my books.”

“You can never have enough books.” Birgit’s eyes narrowed. “They aren’t on the list of banned books, are they?”

“You know me.” Leonore raised her hands in defense.

“That’s precisely why I’m asking,” Birgit laughed. “You know how nosy my parents are. And they’ve long suspected you’re not quite kosher.”

It was ironic that the very people who detested the Jews so strongly would use Yiddish expressions without even being aware of it. Sometimes Leonore wondered how Birgit could have grown up with such parents, and yet still be the enlightened person she was.

“No, you’re safe. I had my personal book-burning last winter when I used the banned books to heat my room.”

“You didn’t really…?” Birgit’s eyes were round as saucers.

“Unfortunately, yes. Desperate times require desperate measures.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“About what? Would you have wanted to attend the ceremony?” Leonore teased her. “I have to disappoint you, it was completely unspectacular.”

Birgit poked her in the ribs. “I’d have given you some coal, you know that.”

“You do so much for me already.” Birgit’s family wasn’t rich by any standards, yet she was always putting groceries aside to give to Leonore. She’d been in trouble more than once with her parents for it.

“Not enough.” Birgit’s guilty expression touched Leonore’s heart.

Bravely, she fought against the lump in her throat. She’d been so looking forward to emigrating, why the hell was she now on the verge of crying at every moment, whether opportune or not?

29

SEPTEMBER 4, 1942

Leonore found two postcards in her mailbox. The first was from Eberhard Lange, informing her that their passports were ready and that she should present herself the following morning at Gestapo headquarters in Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse. The mere mention was enough to make goosebumps break out on her arms.

Next, she eyed the second postcard. It showed an image of an idyllic landscape with fields, forests, hills and a cottage at the leftmost edge. Wondering who was writing to her, she turned the card in her hands. She recognized the delicate handwriting as her cousin Maria’s, even before she deciphered the signature. Then she read:

Dear Leonore,

We have arrived safely at our destination. It’s beautiful. A truly idyllic landscape (see picture). Of course, there’s plenty of hard agricultural work to be done, but I’m out in the fresh air a lot and enjoying the sun.

Pensively, Leonore lowered the postcard and sat down on the bed. She hadn’t heard from Maria in months. The last news had been that her cousin, along with her parents, husband and four children, had been deported to the East. However, these enthusiastic lines did nothing to still Leonore’s fears. On the contrary: Maria hated the countryside, and especially the sun, because she wanted to maintain her aristocratic pale complexion.

Leonore read the sentence again, wondering whether Maria had completely lost her mind, or if there was something else behind her odd words. Then she read on:

The food is good, and I’m sleeping so soundly.

If you have the opportunity to be evacuated, please be sure to join us. Berenike is here too.

Your cousin Maria.

A violent tremor shook Leonore. The postcard fluttered to the ground, landing with the illustrated side up, as if to mock her with its idyllic scene.

“Berenike is here too,” Leonore muttered, tears gathering in her eyes and running down her cheeks. “My Berenike.”