“I need new trousers,” Ephraim piped up. “Look! They’re inches too short now.”
“I cannot believe how fast you’re growing,” Ruth said from her spot on the couch. “You’ll be as tall as your father soon. But I can mail-order trousers for you. Audrey needn’t bother with that.”
“I really don’t mind—”
“We should all go,” Ira said, eyes still on the chessboard.
Ilse set her book in her lap. “What?”
Ruth gave Ira a piercing look.
“We can go out?” Ilse pressed. “To the shops?”
Ira nodded. “I think so. It would be good for us all.”
“Ira—” Ruth began, but he pressed on.
“We’ll go to Hertie’s,” he said. “It’ll be busy enough there. We won’t linger, and we’ll keep a close eye, as always.”
“I’d love to go,” Ilse said, and grinned at Audrey.
“If we all hide like criminals,” Ira directed at Ruth, “what message does that send? We have already altered our very way of life. If we reduce ourselves even further, then they have already won.”
Ruth returned her gaze to her embroidery, her lips a fine line. “It isn’t a game, Ira,” she said.
“No, my love, it is not a game. But it will almost certainly be a war. And one must stand for what is right in war.”
After lunch, the Kaplans and Audrey set out for Hertie’s on the Liepzigerstrasse. It was one of the two remaining Jewish-owned department stores.
The day was bright, and not too cold, which lifted everyone’s spirits a notch as they made their way from the bus stop to the store one block down. Audrey had only been to Hertie’s once. It was an enormous five-storey building that took up nearly an entire square city block. She glanced at the triangular red flags emblazoned with the store name as they snapped in the wind atop the roof, and an unpleasant image flashed through her mind of them replaced with the swastikas that had overtaken the rest of the city. A frightening sense of inevitability came over her. In front of her, Ira was staring resolutely ahead, chatting to his wife, who was constantly looking over her shoulders, Ephraim’s gloved hand clutched tightly in her own. He was too old to be holding his mother’s hand in the street, but he didn’t protest, and Audrey wondered whether he felt trepidation at being out in public after his ordeal. She reached for Ilse’s hand, who laced her fingers with Audrey’s the way she used to when they were little and were forced to pass the nasty boys as they walked down the street to the main road. They called Ilse names Audrey didn’t understand at the time and tried to stick chewing gum in the ponytail they would eventually cut off.
At Hertie’s, there was a distinct strain about the customers, who were shopping with a harried determination rather than enjoyment. After half an hour of searching in the ladies’ formal wear section, Audrey hadn’t found anything suitable for her recital. Frowning, she turned to Ilse.
“Do you think we could pop across the street? There’s that dress shop not a block down. It might have more selection.” She was eager to get this sorted, and wasn’t sure if Ilse would be able to come back out with her some other time.
Ilse nodded, wiping her dewy brow. “I’m over-warm in here anyway. We’ve been so cooped up, I’m not used to any sort of crowd anymore.” She breathed an uncomfortable chuckle. “I could do with some air. Let’s ask Papa.”
They wove their way through racks of men’s garments until they located the others. Ephraim was in a dressing room, and Ruth stood nearby with several sets of trousers slung over her arm. Ilse pled their case as Ruth’s brow knit tighter and tighter.
“I don’t think it wise to separate,” she said. “It’s already—”
“Ruth, they’re only going over the street,” Ira said. “We’ll be a few more minutes here with Ephraim, and then we’ll join them. Perhaps we could all get a cup of hot chocolate from the cart on the corner, as a treat for the way home.”
“Yes!” Ephraim called from the dressing room.
Audrey suppressed a laugh. Ruth’s face softened.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s difficult to feel at ease right now.”
“I know, my dear,” Ira said. “Have fun,” he added, pulling Ilse’s head toward him and planting a kiss on her hair.
He was an affectionate man, generally. He didn’t shy away from embracing his children, which had always made Audrey a little jealous. She couldn’t recall the last time her father kissed her. A surprising lump formed in her throat, and she was gripped with a homesickness for him that she hadn’t felt in the three years since she’d seen him.
Outside, the sky was clouded over and the temperature had dropped. Audrey and Ilse crossed the busy road to the dress shop, the bell above the door jingling when they entered. It was a small store, nice and quiet. There was only one other patron poking through dresses, which were organized in a rainbow of colours on crisscrossed racks throughout the shop. It gave Audrey the feeling of being trapped inside a kaleidoscope.
“Guten Tag, ladies,” a light voice called from within.
“Hello,” Audrey and Ilse said together, searching for the speaker.
A slight woman with light brown hair and a long neck emerged from behind the cash desk. “Heil Hitler. How may I help you?”
She smiled at them both. Her eyes loitered for a moment longer on Ilse, taking in her features from hair to collarbone in an instant, but her expression remained pleasant. Still, it left Audrey with a lingering disquiet, that they had both been analyzed and Ilse had clearly been noted—or suspected—in some way. It shifted something in the interaction.
Audrey forced a smile. “I have a piano recital coming up, my graduation. I was thinking something like this,” she said, withdrawing the folded magazine page from her pocketbook. “But I need something with tighter sleeves than that.”
The other patron left, and over the next five minutes, the woman pulled a series of gowns from the racks, holding them up for Audrey and Ilse to assess. Ilse sighed wistfully at a navy piece that Audrey didn’t care for, but that was more Ilse’s style.
“I wish I had somewhere to wear something like this,” she said.
The familiar twinge of guilt struck Audrey. “You will. Someday soon,” she said, hoping that was the truth.
With a flourish, the saleswoman plucked a floor-length crimson gown from a nearby rack. It had a plunging neckline, but the slim sleeves Audrey was looking for.
“What about this?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. “It is daring, but I see you have the lipstick to match,” she added, nodding at Audrey’s mouth.
Audrey pictured Herr Fogel’s face if she were to turn up in something as flashy as this dress, and nearly laughed. The wrong outfit threatened just as much of an impact as the right one.
“I don’t think it’s quite what I’m looking for,” Audrey said. “I don’t want it to detract attention from my playing, you see. I think I’d prefer something more subdued. Pastel. A soft blue, or yellow perhaps?”
