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Back The German Wife
Chapters (61)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Praise
  4. Dedication
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. A NOTE FROM KELLY
  58. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  59. The German Wife - Reader's Guide
  60. Discussion Questions
  61. Booklist

I stood on the porch and watched as Jürgen got to work, carefully rolling paint over the words on the street. The events of the previous night, and now this, left me unsettled and confused. I was trying to keep perspective, reminding myself I’d expected a transition period where things might be uncomfortable—but then a man rounded the corner into our street, on the sidewalk opposite our house. I’d seen him before, on that first day as we arrived from the bus station. Maybe he had to pass through our street as he walked to and from work.

The man stopped a dozen or so feet from where Jürgen was painting over the graffiti. Jürgen looked up at him and offered a nod in greeting, which the man did not return. He just stared at the road for a long moment, his face twisted into a smirk. Then the stranger continued casually on his way.

I waited until he was well out of earshot before I walked down the porch stairs and onto the front path. As I approached Jürgen, he turned back to me and shrugged.

“I thought being in a neighborhood with the other German families would be for the best, but it seems there are some downsides to everyone knowing which street we all live on.”

“Yes, I’d say there are some downsides,” I muttered. “I saw that man the first day we arrived and he was no less hostile then.”

“It will get better. This is still new for everyone. The town will adjust to our presence here in time.”

“I hope so,” I said softly, extending my hand. Jürgen took it and squeezed it gently. “And this time, at least we’re together through the struggle.”

26

Lizzie

El Paso, Texas
1937

After two long years in El Paso, I had finally carved out a life for myself. Everything started to turn around when I stopped waiting for a door to open for me and started looking for ways to force one open.

I set my sights on a housekeeping job at the Hilton, and because a sign in the front window assured me they weren’t hiring, I started lingering in the laneway near the staff entrance. From a distance, I noticed staff coming to that back door with their arms loaded with trash, struggling to carry it to the industrial bins a little way down the lane, then having to rest the trash on the ground while they shifted the heavy lids off the bins. A second set of hands made that whole process so much easier, so I turned their problem into an opportunity and appointed myself the Hilton’s unofficial trash assistant.