The Pieces We Keep(18)

Quiet returned to their street lined with virtually matching houses. They stood narrow and three storied, like soldiers at attention. The uniformity of the area was well suited, as many of the residents were employed at the diplomatic hub of Grosvenor Square. When the U.S. embassy moved there a year ago, Vivian had been grateful her family didn’t relocate to an apartment in the pillared building. She had barely unpacked from their initial move.

Now she realized the benefits of the alternative. Discarded documents and whispered secrets would have lurked in every corner.

At the closed door of the den, she gripped the ornate knob. She twisted it to the right with painstaking care and glanced cautiously over her shoulder. She pushed the door open, and her heart leapt to her throat.

“Vivian.” Her father sat at his desk, working by lamplight. “What are you doing up?”

“I—couldn’t sleep.”

The last two years had thinned and silvered his hair to the point of translucence. A set of bags puffed beneath his eyes.

“Is there something you need?” he asked.

Insomnia didn’t explain why she had intruded into his study.

She feigned a yawn, stalling, and averted her eyes from the file cabinet beside the bookshelves. The coffee mug on his desk spurred a plausible excuse. “I was going to warm up a little milk. Thought you might like some too.”

He traced her gaze to the ceramic mug, then peered back at her and shook his head. Did he see straight through her words? Empty as a promise from a crooked politician?

“I’m all right,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Well, then. I’ll leave you to your work.” She started to back away, her hand still on the knob.

“Vivian.” His tone was unreadable, same for his expression.

“Yes?”

“Your mother and I—we’ve had a discussion.” He reclined in his chair and pressed at his temple, as if to subdue the motion of his thoughts. He still wore his button-down shirt, but with tie removed and collar open.

That’s when she spied the couch. Sheets and a large blanket covered the furnishing in the corner, punctuated by a pillow. Something in the bedding, such a neat and tidy arrangement, indicated regular use.

“How would you feel,” he said, “about moving back home?”

She stared at him, thrown off. “Back home? To DC?”

He nodded.

“It’s ... what I’ve always wanted.”

“Yes,” he said. Then silence.

She reviewed his inquiry, its very phrasing so far from the norm. His role had always been that of a quiet judge, stoic but fair-minded. He was sensible and practical long before the Depression. He didn’t bother with excess, even in conversation. And he certainly didn’t consult over major family decisions, particularly based on feelings.

“When were you thinking?”

“I’m not certain. More than likely, rather soon.”

For the embassy to transfer him with little notice meant a significant change had occurred. She thought of Isaak, yet couldn’t allow herself to dwell on their separation. Not now. She needed to consider the welfare of his family.

“Is something happening with Hitler?” Cautious of raising suspicion, she added, “I’ve seen the newsreels. Has there been a development that would affect England?”

He leaned forward, laying his forearms on the desk. Consciously or not, he covered the splayed file of documents. “Nothing to concern you at the moment.”

The room was too dim and the print too small for Vivian to read anything from a distance.

“We can discuss the matter later,” he said. “Go on and enjoy your milk.” He returned to his work pile. An end to their talk.

What if she simply came out and asked? He had fought the Germans, yes, but on the sea, not in the trenches, and before she was born. His current occupation, in fact, promoted relations among countries. At one time, even Great Britain and America were dogged foes.

“Father?”

He hummed a reply, already consumed by the page in his hands.

“I was wondering ... ,” she began. “Do you think all of these worries over Hitler will eventually die out? Surely there won’t be another war.”

Still reading, he murmured, “One would hope.”

“But-if it does happen?”

Another absent hum.

She pressed on, more daringly.

“What do you think will become of the Germans? Those who aren’t Nazis, that is? I imagine a good number of innocent people are there. Just as in any country. They should be allowed to leave, shouldn’t they?” She waited for his agreement, any sign that he might help. “Father?”

Finally, he set the paper down. He raised his eyes with weary annoyance. “If the Reich persists in its hostilities, there’s no telling how great a catastrophe will result. Hitler will keep every citizen he can at his disposal. All of Germany would be declared an enemy. And I guarantee, they’ll suffer for it, in every way imaginable.”