Free Eve's Daughters by Lynn Austin Page B

control, and now even my body had turned traitor. It seemed to function without my help, possessing some instinctual knowledge of what to do, wrenching my child from me—I was simply along for the ride. But what a terrible ride it was. I vowed never to have another child if it meant going through this agony again, but Mama smiled and assured me that each baby got a little easier. When I screamed that I was being ripped in half, Oma told me that I was close to the end.
    Then they laid my daughter in my arms and my joy overflowed. Her tiny, wrinkled face looked so much like Oma’s that I decided then and there to name her after my beloved grandmother. The bitterness I felt toward Friedrich was so strong, it never occurred to me to ask his opinion.
    “I’ll name you Sophie,” I whispered. “My little Sophie.”

SIX
    ----
    Friedrich’s draft notice lay on his dresser, unopened, for more than a month. He didn’t need to read it to know he would have to leave us soon. School reopened in September without him. He had told the headmaster that he’d been summoned for military service, but not that he was fleeing to America. The school authorities were kind enough to allow us to stay in the cottage until Fritz left, and they promised him a job when he returned from the army in two years. I still didn’t understand why Friedrich couldn’t sacrifice two years in the army for my sake, instead of making me sacrifice the rest of my life for his.
    As my resentment festered, I started to pull away from Friedrich the way people pull away from a loved one who is dying, distancing themselves from the pain. I lavished all of my love on Sophie, who grew stronger and prettier every day. But the more I withdrew, the more Friedrich seemed to cling to me, desperate to preserve the fragile bonds that had grown between us during our brief year of marriage. As far as I was concerned, his decision had already severed them.
    He was seated at the table beneath the barren bookshelf one evening, writing yet another letter to his cousin in America, when the notion came to me. “Fritz, why don’t you just leave now,” I said, “instead of prolonging this for two more months? You’ll go crazy sitting around the house for that long with nothing to do, and I’ll go crazy watching you.”
    He carefully laid down his fountain pen and blotted the page before answering. “I promised you I’d stay as long as possible.”
    “I never asked you to make that promise.”
    “I know . . . but I thought that you would want me here.”
    Tears stung my eyes. I rocked Sophie in my arms, even though she was sound asleep. “What I want doesn’t really matter, does it?”
    “It matters a great deal.”
    I waited until I could look up at him, dry-eyed. “Then I want you to leave.You’re ready to go, I know you are. Why drag it out any longer?”
    He didn’t answer. I had been nurturing the hope that when the time came to leave, Friedrich wouldn’t be able to desert us after all; that the reason he hadn’t already left was because he was having second thoughts. But when he returned from posting his letter to America, he spread the map of his escape route into Switzerland on the table. I laid Sophie in her basket and peered over his shoulder at the map, wondering what he planned to do. Be ready with a cover story when you travel , Rolf had warned. I pointed to one of the towns circled in red.
    “My aunt Marta lives in this village. You could tell the authorities you’re going to visit her.”
    Friedrich exhaled. “I already told you, I’m not going to lie.”
    “Then why not plan a real visit? It only takes a day to get there by steam ferry. Sophie and I could come too.”
    “I won’t involve you and the baby.”
    “I think it’s a bit late to worry about that,” I said curtly. “We’re already involved. Wouldn’t the authorities be less suspicious if you had your wife and child along?”
    “Louise . . .”
    “I’ll write to Aunt Marta.