Free The Plum Tree by Ellen Marie Wiseman Page B

missed you.” The world had changed by leaps and bounds in a matter of weeks, and it seemed pointless to talk about everyday things. The only thing that made sense, the only thing they understood, was what they were feeling for each other. And for that, they needed few words. Each time they met, they felt more at ease. It wasn’t long before conversation became easier, silences became more comfortable, embraces more familiar, and kisses more urgent.
    “It seems almost too easy to walk the streets at night without being seen,” she said at their fourth meeting. “They’re always deserted.” They were holding hands, side-by-side on the café steps, hunched together against the cool nighttime breeze.
    “People are keeping to themselves,” Isaac said. “They only leave home to do important errands and shopping. Everyone’s afraid of being stopped and questioned. I’ve been thinking we should meet closer to your house. I don’t mind walking a little farther.”
    “But why?” she said. “I’m not worried about getting caught. I could just let my eyes water and tell them that I was out letting off steam because I had a fight with my parents.”
    “Because it’s less suspicious for a man to be out late. It’s too dangerous for a woman. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
    “But what about you? Once they check your papers . . .”
    “If the Gestapo comes into the village at night,” he interrupted, “I’ll hear their vehicles. I’ll have time to run and hide.”
    “Oh,” she said, teasing him. “So you think I can’t run?”
    “Not as fast as I can.”
    “Would you care to prove it?” She stood and let go of his hand.
    “Nein,” he said. “Sit back down.”
    “Ach nein,” she said. “You can’t get away with saying something like that and not have the courage to prove it.”
    He stood and wrapped his arms around her waist, squeezing tight. “Go ahead and run,” he said. “I’m right behind you.”
    She tried to pry his arms open, but it was no use. He was too strong. “That’s not fair.”
    “See how helpless you are?”
    “It’s your fault.”
    And then they were kissing, any worries about running and hiding melting away.
    A week later, Christine’s confidence in her ability to fool the Gestapo received a crushing blow when she overheard Vater telling Mutti about a friend he used to work with, a Catholic man married to a Jewish woman.
    “I was in the hall,” Christine told Isaac. “I don’t know why I didn’t just go into the kitchen. It wasn’t as if they were trying not to be heard. I guess I just felt . . .”
    “Guilty?” he said.
    “I was going to say scared.”
    “What did he say?”
    “Vater’s friend had taken the train to Stuttgart to visit his sister on her birthday. When he arrived on the platform, a man stopped him and said he was with the Geheime Staatspolizei, Secret State Police. But he was in plainclothes. He asked Vater’s friend where he was from and where he was going. The friend showed his papers, and the policeman said to follow him to the Gestapo building opposite the train station. Inside, a second officer took the presents Vater’s friend had brought for his sister, mint tea from his wife’s garden and a tin of goat cheese. They accused him of stealing these things and told him he couldn’t ride the train anymore. They said if they saw him at the station again, he and his Jewish wife would be sent to a work camp.”
    “What are you saying?” Isaac said. “Do you want to stop seeing me?”
    “That’s not it at all. I’m not saying anything. I just wanted to tell you. Vater said the Gestapo know everything.”
    “Did you hear the announcement on the radio?” he asked. “It’s the law now. Everyone has to use the official greeting ‘ Heil Hitler.’ ”
    “I heard it,” she said. “Everyone raises their arms and does what they’re told.”
    “And you? Are you doing what you’re told?”
    She looked at him,