The empty streets sighed in relief. Silently, the snow fell. Fluffs of cotton huddled on the front porch. Agatha closed the shutters against the wind and turned. Inside it was warm and cheery. The coal stove emitted warm comfort. John clung to her leg, then let go, chasing the cat, and laughing. Andres would be home from the brewery soon. The beef stew was almost done. Its fragrance filled their home. All of this bounty. Agatha was grateful and yet…. guilt racked her.
Mutti’s last letter was thin. Mutti literally wrote to Agatha nothing but that she loved and missed her, and that she knew they would be reunited soon. Mutti said nothing about the political situation, the economy, their day-to-day life. The American papers painted a grim picture of Jews in Nazi Germany. Agatha could only imagine that Mutti was no longer thin, but gaunt and that Herr Finkham no longer leaned forward when he walked but stooped. When had they last eaten beef? She wondered.
Bella was missing. Sarah’s husband, Hans– also missing. Agatha could only imagine that Sarah as a Jewish doctor was working herself to the bone. Her children would be eight and nine now. Did they even have enough food to grow?