It was bad enough that our house had been violated—but the objects taken were so personal, and those images had no value to anyone other than me.

I wondered if whoever took them—be it Lizzie Miller’s brother or a stranger—had any idea what they’d really stolen in taking the simple stack of paper that represented my last mementos of Adele and Georg and even Laura, and of course, Mayim.

Jürgen and I destroyed every trace of her from our lives, just as the Gestapo told us to—but that one photo came back to me at the time I needed it most. Was it some kind of penance that even my photo of her kept slipping from my grasp?

41

Lizzie

El Paso, Texas
1943

“That’s it, Ava. Just tie the stalk to the stake there—good girl. And, Brianna—take just a little bit of that mulch and put it around the base of the plant.”

I knew my whole life that I was not cut out to be a mother, but I’d made a startling discovery—I was a fantastic “aunt” to Becca’s two girls, and quite a good gardening teacher. I’d ripped up the roses and the hedges from our yard and converted every square inch of our lot into a Victory Garden, just as the government was encouraging us all to do. Advertisements in magazines gave instructions for growing and preserving our own food to make rations go further, and for the first time in years, my fingernails were black with soil, and I was contributing something.

My garden was the pride of the street and I was coordinating the neighborhood home garden co-op too. The women I’d been so wary of in the early years of my marriage to Calvin were keen to heed the call to do the same, but not one of them had ever even dug out a weed. This moment called for hands-on participation and, suddenly, everyone wanted some of my time.

Calvin was supportive of my new projects—but I knew he didn’t like when they cut into my housekeeping time, and I’d long since come to terms with the fact that I needed to spend more time on my appearance than I preferred. But all that was fine. It turned out I was a woman who was happiest when she crammed a lot into each day.

“You’re a godsend, Lizzie,” Becca said, as she slid a tray of lemonade onto a table near the garden. “Truly. This garden has been just the distraction we needed. Girls, go wash up and come have a snack.”

I slipped my gloves off and took a seat opposite Becca, expressing my thanks as she passed me an icy glass of lemonade.

“Any news on your brother?” she asked, and the pleasure I’d been feeling dimmed.