Mary sat beside Ania and took her mother’s hand in her own. “I think it would be wonderful to make this trip together—to go back and see these people and that place. I can leave the kids with their dad. You could tell me more about that time of your life.”

Ania leaned back in her chair. The idea was preposterous, really. There would be too much to explain, too many questions to address.

But her sweet daughter was looking at her, asking for answers. Not simply half the story this time, but the whole truth.

“Maybe,” she said. “Let me think about it first.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

BURG LINGENFELS, OCTOBER 1991

Burg Lingenfels is now home to the Falkenberg Institute of Moral and Ethical Inquiry. From the start, Marianne has been a great supporter of the institute. The founder is a distant cousin, and the son of a fellow member of the resistance. The gift of Burg Lingenfels was a boon for the institute. Now academics and intellectuals from all over the world apply for its cushy fellowships: a six-month stay in a German castle, access to the significant library, a gourmet chef. What better conditions for contemplating the moral and ethical challenges of civilized life?

Claire Weiss, the author of the biography, was a fellow at the institute some years ago, and the castle was, in fact, where she “discovered” Marianne, as she says, as if Marianne were a starlet, or some sort of rare mineral. Claire is a force of nature—a modern lipstick-and-high-heel-wearing feminist. She was drawn especially to the story of Marianne as a woman in a man’s world, though Marianne herself never felt particularly constrained by this. After all, as she has pointed out to Claire, if she were a man, she would be dead.

In the last five years, the castle has been “redesigned” by a notable architect. Marianne has seen the brochures and pictures, but it is still shocking to stand before it. When she climbs out of the airport shuttle, her knees feel weak. The old bridge remains, thank God, and the moat is filled with remarkably clean-looking water, but the battered, metal-reinforced door has been replaced by a glossy, heavily grained slab of wood. To Marianne, it looks like a marbled cut of meat. Plate glass windows have been cut into the crumbling limestone where the small, deep-set openings used to be, and the grand stone hall features an enormous chandelier of modern Chihuly glass.

“Different, I am sure,” the director says with a nervous laugh. “Shall we allow you some time to rest before I give you the full tour?”

Behind her, Alice clutches her purse to her chest. She did not want to come—Marianne had to wheedle and plead and even promise a church tour: Alice is suspicious of Germans and also very devout.

“Let’s go now,” Marianne says, despite her light-headedness.

“Are you sure?” Martin asks. He has flown with them from Boston, and for the umpteenth time Marianne is grateful for his company. He was meant to come along. Her own children would be too skeptical and full of judgment. And, anyway, Katarina hates to travel and Elisabeth is busy with important prior engagements. Fritz will arrive on Sunday in time to hear Marianne’s speech.