“Let me help, Claudia,” I said, switching to German. She hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

“I have no idea what the problem is,” she admitted. “I just want to pick up some confectioners’ sugar.”

“He’s saying that they’ve run out and won’t have any in until next week.”

“Oh,” she said, her expression clearing. “Oh good. I thought he was telling me which aisle to look in.” She smiled at the clerk and nodded as she said in heavily accented English, “Please.”

“Thank you,” I corrected her. Claudia sighed miserably.

“I’m never going to learn this language.”

“You’ll get there,” I told her gently. “You just need time and practice.”

She turned as if she was going to leave but paused at the last minute and looked at me hesitantly. “Could you ask him which day I should come back?”

“I have some at home,” I said. “I’ll bring it over this afternoon.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Please,” I said. “I want to.”

After she was gone, I went back to Avril, and we continued walking through the aisles, Todd and Felix walking ahead of us. At least the little boys didn’t mind too much that they couldn’t converse. They found other ways to amuse themselves, like giggling together and running ahead when Todd dropped an apple and it rolled down the aisle.

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn,” Avril said quietly, “but I get the distinct impression those other German women are not especially kind to you. And Patty says that the German kids all play together, the girls all in their braids and those dresses and the boys wearing those odd little shorts—”

“Lederhosen,” I said. I wasn’t the only German mother struggling to figure out how to help her children adjust to American school.

“I understand that the local kids are a bit wary, but the German kids all seem to be looking after each other…except poor Gisela. Patty says she sits by herself to read her books. Do you know why that is?”

“I have my suspicions,” I muttered, picking up a box of flour and adding it to my cart. Avril cleared her throat, and I looked back to find her gaze troubled.

“I’ve told everyone it couldn’t possibly be true,” she blurted. “But people are talking about you and Jürgen. Lizzie Miller said that you and Jürgen were members of the Nazi party. I only hope that the German women haven’t heard such vicious lies, but being married to Calvin, her words do carry some extra weight.” I was so shocked, I found myself momentarily lost for words. “There was more, but it’s too terrible to say.”

“Please tell me,” I said weakly. “I’d rather just know.”

“She said that Jürgen may have been in the SS—that he even ran some kind of terrible camp.”