by Sarah McCoy
Papa remained stern and indignant throughout the invasion. “I hope it rots their stomachs,” he mumbled under his breath. It was his cake, his bread, his domain, being stolen by enemy soldiers. Mutti buried her wedding band in the window dill plant for fear of confiscation. However, besides the cake, the men left with relatively no damage done or family goods seized. On his way out the door, the soldier who first discovered the cake nodded and said, “Danke schön.” Elsie had naturally replied, “Bitte schön.”
Papa gave her an earful once they’d gone. These were foreigners who would as soon as rape and murder as share a sweet taste or smile, he said. But she’d already seen her countrymen do such things. She’d stood at death’s doorway with wickedness at her back. She’d experienced what her papa could never have imagined and would never have believed. The stranger’s smile held little malice in comparison. Papa was of an old and withering generation. Hitler was gone, the Nazi government was in ruins, and Germany was under Allied control. If they were to survive, Elsie understood that they’d have to befriend these new faces—these foreigners. And she’d be the only one in their family to do it.
Today, the bäckerei was empty and quiet. Papa had enough nut meal and powdered rations to make brötchen, but no one came. The townspeople remained locked in their homes, afraid of the tanks and men and the uncertainty of their futures.
“What will they do with us?” Mutti asked everyone and no one in particular.
The four of them assembled together in the empty bakery, staring out the storefront window at the unrecognizable streets littered with building debris and trash and alien faces. It reminded Elsie of ancient Fasching carnivals, a pageantry of merriment. Only now, they were inhibited observers, not participants.
“Max?” Mutti sought an answer.
Papa read Möller’s Das brüderliche Jahr. “I don’t think they know.” He didn’t lift his attention from the page.
Mutti murmured a prayer and sipped cold chamomile tea. Julius hid behind the dill plant and marked each head that passed with finger pistols. Elsie stood by the door, unable to look away from the chaotic street scene.
American soldiers gathered by the small public fountain pump. They threw a pack of cigarettes around. Their voices siphoned through the beveled glass windows, bubbly and buoyant. A raven-haired soldier tapped the pack against his wrist, then flipped a cigarette to his lips in a single motion. His stature reminded Elsie of William Powell, and that’s exactly how it felt—like watching actors on film. Completely captivating.
The soldier caught her glance and held it. A fever swelled up from her chest and swirled into her cheeks. She turned her back to him. That never happened with Powell.
Outside, the soldier laughed. “We got ourselves an audience!”
Elsie kept her eyes to the ground so Mutti and Papa wouldn’t see her blush. At her feet, shuffled under the front door frame, was a small, white paper, dirty and unnoticeable except for its shape; the edges were too purposefully square to be litter. She picked it up and unfolded it, immediately recognizing Josef’s handwriting.
“What’s that?” asked Mutti.
“Nothing. Street trash blown under the door.” Elsie crumbled the paper in her palm. “If no one else is going to eat our bread, I might as well have a bite. Papa?”
He grunted over his book as she passed to the kitchen.
In the back corner by the oven, she smoothed the note open.
Elsie,
We have friends who welcome us to warmer climates. Do not fear. We’ll make a new life together. I know it will be hard to leave your family, but they have no connections to the party. They will be safe. As for us, we must leave Germany as soon as possible. I wait for you at the bahnhof, six o’clock. Bring only what you must. We have a long journey ahead.
Your husband, Josef
Your husband? She clenched her left hand. Indeed. She hardly knew him. Lieutenant Colonel Josef Hub working at the Dachau camp. How many men had he killed? How many women and children? Elsie wondered if he ordered the Gestapo search for Tobias on Christmas Eve, if he sanctioned Kremer’s brutal tactics. A sour taste crept up her throat. She tore the note to bits and threw them in the oven ashes. No, she would not meet Josef at the bahnhof. She would stay. Despite everything her parents had seen and not done, despite her nephew’s callused upbringing and her sister’s sacrifice, they were her family. Josef was not. Though she had worn his ring, her heart had never committed to him. She hung her head, ashamed of all the lies, big and small, she’d fostered. She was tired of pretending to believe what she didn’t and be what she wasn’t.
On the rack, half a dozen crusts cooled nutty brown and shiny. Elsie split one open and ate the sweet, steaming center. Tomorrow, she’d help her papa find real milk, flour, and eggs. Then they’d light the oven and bake bread.
3168 FRANKLIN RIDGE DRIVE
EL PASO, TEXAS
JANUARY 7, 2008
Reba was surprised to see JANE MERIWETHER flash across her cell phone display. She’d given Jane her number months before, but this was the first time she’d ever called.
Reba muted the television. It was 8:15 p.m. Anthony Bourdain was about to eat roasted pig rectum in Namibia. She’d been watching various reality TV shows all night in an attempt to keep her mind preoccupied. She’d spoken to Leigh that morning in a forty-five-minute interview. It went well, Reba thought, until Leigh said she was considering one other candidate. The unknown competitor made Reba paranoid. Leigh promised to e-mail within twenty-four hours with her final decision. The anticipation had Reba as twitchy as a puppy begging for a Milk-Bone.
“Jane!” she answered, grateful for a new distraction.
“Reba, I’m sorry to bother you so late.” Jane’s voice pulled tight. “There’s trouble. I thought you might be able to help.”
Reba sat up on the couch. “Is it Elsie?” Her heart sped up.
“No, Mom’s fine. I don’t want her to know about this. It’s Sergio.” Her voice cracked. “They’ve arrested him.”
“Arrested? For what?” Reba couldn’t imagine Sergio doing anything to upset anybody, except perhaps buttering his buns too slow.
“He’s an illegal. He had a visa, but it expired years ago and he never got it renewed—didn’t have the money. They’re shipping him over the border, and he won’t be allowed back for ten years!”
The line went silent. Reba wondered if they’d lost the connection, but just as she was about to speak, Jane continued: “He’s the one I told you about. The man I’ve been with. He loves me and could’ve asked me to marry him anytime to make himself a citizen, but he didn’t. He knew how it’d come off—so many people marrying for green cards. He respected that I was happy like we were. But I was a dang old fool. I should’ve done it for him,” her voice broke. “Reba, I can’t live without Sergio.”
Reba bit at her cuticles, unsure of what to say or do. “Where is he?”
“That’s the thing—they got him detained at the station.”
Reba bit too deep. Her nail bed welled a pinprick of blood.
“I remembered you said your ex was a Border Patrol guy. I thought, maybe …”
“I can try.” Reba sucked the blood and swallowed the taste of iron. “You just hold tight.”
She hung up. On the television screen, Anthony Bourdain’s face puckered with nausea. Reba felt similarly. She dialed Riki’s number.
He answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
His voice took her breath away.
“Hello?” he repeated. “Reba?”
“Yeah. It’s me. Hi—sorry.” She pulled herself together. Right now, she had to forget about her feelings and give him the facts. “Riki, I have a friend who’s in trouble. His name is Sergio Rodriguez. He got picked up by the CBP. He’s an illegal, but he’s been here for decades.”
There was a long pause. Reba tucked the phone close to her chin, listening to his breath whisper over the line. God, she missed him.
“We have him in de
tainment,” Riki finally said.
“Is there any way to release him? He just needs a new visa.” Her fingers shook, so she knit them together. “We can’t let them throw him out of the country for good.”
“Reba, we have a process, and you know better than anyone that I can’t bend the law. Not even for you. I—” he began, but faltered. He cleared his throat.
As hard as it was for Reba to hear his voice, she realized it was equally hard for him to hear hers.
“Riki, I wouldn’t have called, but you’re the only one I trust. I hoped you could help.”
“What’s so special about this guy? What makes him different from all the rest?”
His bitter tone grated her bones, and her confidence floundered. “My friend Jane loves him.” Again, she sucked the blood from her finger. It stung.
“I could get in a real mess of trouble for this.” He sighed. “But we’ve had paperwork oversights in the past. It’ll only buy him a few days.”
“Anything,” said Reba.
“Give me an hour. He’ll be in front of the station.”
Reba leaned her cheek into the heat of the phone, willing him close to her through the wires and signals. “Thank you.”
Another empty silence.
“Well, I better—” Riki began.
“I miss you.” Reba didn’t know where it came from. She covered her mouth and listened to the snaps of static.
“Yeah,” he said curtly.
“I was wrong.” Reba gulped. “About a lot of things. I was … scared.”
Something clicked in the background. A pen, she guessed.
“I was wrong too.” Riki exhaled. “I was asking for things I wasn’t offering. I need to change.”
Reba’s chest seemed to draw in all the air it could hold, then burst with joy and relief and love.
A tourism commercial flickered across the television: California. Find yourself there.
Early the next morning, Reba stood beside Jane, Sergio, and Riki in the El Paso County Clerk’s Office. They needed two eyewitnesses. Reba was an obvious choice, but the second was hard to come by on such short notice. Jane refused to call Elsie. Explaining all this at sunrise was not a good introduction to her new son-in-law. Reba agreed, so she dialed Riki once more. He consented to come, saying it would serve to verify Sergio’s status. Reba hoped it was more than that.
Jane wore a gauzy, white shirt and a flowing skirt dotted with blue-bonnets. Her hair was pulled back in a neat twist that accentuated her blond and minimized her gray. She glowed and bore a striking resemblance to the young Elsie in the black-and-white photograph.
For forty-two dollars, the county clerk conducted a concise but earnest ceremony and handed them a certificate. “I pronounce you man and wife.”
Reba swallowed hard. Beside her, heated tension rose palpably from Riki.
“Well, I never thought the day would come.” Jane kissed Sergio.
“Congratulations,” said Reba.
“I want to thank you very, very much for everything you’ve done.” Sergio shook her hand and then Riki’s with such sincerity that Reba blushed. All she’d done was make a phone call. Riki, alone, warranted the thanks.
“Time for the reception!” proclaimed Jane. “I’m going to cut me off a fat wedge of cake and lick up every last chocolate crumb.” She stopped suddenly and rubbed her forehead. “That is, after I tell Mom. Lord help us.”
Sergio put an arm round her shoulder.
“She’s just going to have to face the facts.” Jane leaned into him. “Reba, Riki, you’re coming, right?”
“I best get back to the station. Otherwise, Bert’s going to kill somebody for letting Sergio slip. Need to straighten things up,” said Riki.
Reba shifted uneasily. It’d been so long since she’d seen him, and it felt so nice standing that close. She didn’t want him to leave.
“Please,” Jane interceded. “Come have some Black Forest cake on the house. I insist. I got to thank you for all you did for us. You know, I keep reminding myself that we’ve just met, but it sure does feel like I’ve known you awhile—probably because Reba’s talked about you so much.”
Reba caught Riki’s eye.
“I guess I can spare a few.” He rubbed his stomach. “I haven’t had breakfast, and I hear you make the best pastries in town.”
Jane winked. “Sure shootin’, I do.”
Pulling into the bakery parking lot, they knew there was trouble. At quarter after nine, the Closed sign still hung over the door though the lights inside were on.
A patron battled the wind back to his car. “Not open today,” he yelled to them.
Jane jingled her keys in the front lock and entered. “Mom!”
“Where have you been?” Elsie’s voice came from behind the curtained kitchen.
All four gave a collective sigh.
“I am not young anymore. I cannot be mixing, baking, icing, and helping customers. At one point in my life, ja, but not now.” A pan banged. “I wake this morning and you are disappeared. I think you have come early for the pretzels, so I drive over myself, but in the kitchen is no one. The dough is bloomed to hell!” Another bang. “Customers knocking on the door all morning. I hurry but … Damn old hands! Damn new ovens! Gas does not cook like a good wood fire.” She emerged from the kitchen carrying two loaves, her face as pale as her floured palms. “Oh, you have been out with friends. How considerate.” She tossed the loaves on the shelf and pushed thin, white strands behind her ears.
“Mom, it was an emergency,” explained Jane.
“An emergency? Uh-huh. So emergent you could not wake your mutti to let her know?” Suddenly her face twisted up, and she covered her mouth.
“Mom, I’m sorry.” Jane went to her side and pulled her close. “I’m here now.”
For the first time since Reba had met her, Elsie looked her age, worn hard by days and nights, weeks and years. Reba had to look away, down at the floor, at her shoes, at Riki’s. She thought of her own mother and all she had been through.
Elsie recovered fast, shook off angry ghosts, and lifted her chin. “Excuse me. This morning has been difficult. You will explain later.” She cleared her throat and proceeded with business. “Mach schnell! Reba, please would you flip the sign. We are open. Jane, bring Sergio his usual and …” She turned to Riki. “I don’t believe we have met.”
“Riki Chavez.” He extended his hand.
Elsie raised an eyebrow. “Reba’s Riki?”
Riki adjusted his stance.
“Yes,” said Reba.
He looked to her, as though he was about to ask a question, but then returned to Elsie and nodded.
“A pleasure to finally meet. Excuse my hands. I’ve been in the dough rolling.” Elsie wiped her palms on her apron and smoothed back her hair. “Your first time here, you need something special—how about a lebkuchen? This is gingerbread. Baked this morning.”
Riki nodded. “Sounds delicious, but Jane mentioned something about celebration cake.”
“Celebration cake? It is your birthday?”
Reba winced.
“No, uh …” Riki looked to Reba, then Jane.
“It has to do with what I was talking about,” said Jane. “The emergency, Mom.” She balled her fists and stood tall. “Sergio and I were married this morning. He got picked up yesterday for not renewing his visa, and Reba and Riki helped get him out. We’ve been seeing each other—romantically—for years, and I figured it was high time I stopped taking things for granted. I’m a forty-five-year-old woman, after all.” She reached a hand out to Sergio and inhaled deep, her breath spent.
Elsie stood completely still. Reba worried for her health.
“Missus Meriwether.” Sergio caught them all off guard. He stepped forward. “I know I am not what you hoped for your daughter, but I respect you very much. You have been kind to me since my first piece of bread, and I would be honored to call you my family. I love Jane. Please, we ask for your blessing.”
Jane bit her bottom lip. Reba gulped. There was an awkward pause that nobody dared interrupt. They waited for Elsie. Slowly, she lowered her head to her chest and sniffled.
“Mom,” Jane whispered.
Elsie looked up with a wide smile. “Thank Jesus! I thought you were lesbian.”
“What!” Jane put her fists on her hips.
Elsie dabbed away tears of joy. “Like you said, you are a forty-five-year-old, unmarried woman, always playing with the boys. Never took to the feminine side and then Miss Reba came.”
“Huh?” said Reba. “Me?”
Elsie continued, “She is so strong-minded and not deciding about … well, you know. I’m no dummkopf—that kind of thing has been going on for years. Look at Marlene Dietrich.” She put her hands on either side of Sergio’s face. “Bless you, bless you.” She kissed his cheeks.
“Ha!” Riki popped.
Jane frowned. “Mom, are you serious? All these years, I’ve been looking for the perfect man for you.”
“He is dead and gone.” She shrugged and threw up her hands. “If you were into women, it was none of my business as long as you were happy. But you did not seem happy—and I would like grandchildren!”
“Oh, Lord-dee-day.” Jane’s complexion broke out splotchy red.
“Don’t worry about your age, either. On the computer, I read about a woman having a baby at sixty years old. You are—what do they call it—a spring chicken compared to her.” Elsie bent down and pulled a tall black-and-white cake from the display case. “Ack ja, a celebration!” With a serrated knife, she cut through the vanilla icing swirls and chocolate shavings, perfectly partitioning each slice with its own cherry. “Come eat.” She placed the wedges on a stack of nearby tea saucers.
“A lesbian—really, Mom, you need to get off the Internet,” huffed Jane.
“And you have needed to get your head out of the dirt for years, but did I say anything?”
“Sand, Mom,” corrected Jane.