“Ready?” Marianne asked. “The children are waiting in the foyer.”

“Ready,” Benita repeated. “What a pretty necklace!” she added, noticing for the first time.

“This?” Marianne glanced down. “Here—” She lifted it over her head, a silver fleur-de-lis with a tiny amethyst inset. “You wear it. It will suit you better than me. And”—she turned back almost slyly—“Helmut Kressing and his sister will be there. He always asks after you.”

“Oh no—” Benita began, but Marianne shushed her protests. Dutifully, Benita put on the pendant. She did not attempt to explain that Helmut Kressing would never be more than an acquaintance. Or that the necklace did not match her dress. When it came to defying Marianne’s wishes, it was better to keep a low profile.

For the trip to Herr Kellerman’s farm, Marianne splurged and hired a car and driver. The bus to Ehrenheim was slow and unreliable—another strike against the town—and it was a long walk from the bus stop to the farm for women wearing their Sunday shoes. Besides, it was not every day they went to a wedding! At the smallest extravagance, Marianne put herself through these rounds of justification. It was admirable, but tiresome. If Benita had Marianne’s resources, she would enjoy them without such hand-wringing. And a car would be her first purchase. There was a new Volkswagen dealership on the edge of town with a park full of beautiful, rounded “bugs,” as they were called—row after row, gleaming in the sun, pleasing in their sameness. These were the cars Hitler had once promised everyone. Benita felt a personal spite toward the man. He had duped them all with his promises of cars and jobs and self-respect. Connie had been right to hate him from the start.

Connie had become confusing in her mind. She was not angry anymore. She was embarrassed, actually, by how angry she had been. He had been unfaithful, this was true, but she had been a difficult wife. The last time she had seen him, she had not even looked up. He had come to say good-bye, she now understood. It was the night before the assassination attempt. And she had been sitting at the window of their flat with Martin asleep behind her in the bed. Connie knelt and tried to take her hand. I’m sorry, he said. I’m sorry I have left you alone so much. But she had pulled her hand away. I love you, Connie said. And she had never even turned to look at him.

In the hired car, Elisabeth, now in her last year of school, argued with her mother about politics. Adenauer, their new chancellor, was right to end denazification, Elisabeth insisted; the denazification process was merely turning Germans back into angry nationalists. No, he was wrong, Marianne maintained: expedience could not take precedence over the pursuit of justice.

Benita did not participate. Neither did she play the guessing game with Martin and Katarina and Fritz. She stared out the window at the green fields, the cows, the red-roofed villages, and the jagged mountains rising behind this like a row of teeth.