“What is that?” Eliška pointed to Magda’s face.
“The map of Siberia,” Magda had replied quietly.
Eliška had then reached up on tiptoe and gestured for Magda to bend down. She went to Magda’s left cheek and kissed it. “There,” she had said. “Papa always does that when something of mine hurts.”
When she opened the bedroom door and as Magda had suspected, Eliška’s lamp was burning again and Eliška herself was sitting up beneath the sheets.
“What are you doing under there, little finch?” Magda lifted the covers off the girl.
Eliška giggled and threw herself back down on the pillows. Out popped her two dolls next to her. “We were having a dinner party.”
“Did the guests and your parents wake you? They were laughing a lot.”
Eliška shook her head into the pillow. “You didn’t finish reading the story.”
“You fell asleep, silly.” Magda pulled the sheet up to the girl’s chin, making sure to tuck the two dolls in as well.
“I still know when you don’t finish the story. Will you do it now?”
Magda smiled. “No, it’s very late. Very, very late. Go back to sleep.”
“It’s loud outside.”
Crickets chirped down in the garden, and Magda rose to close the window. She returned to Eliška, stroked the blond curls away from her forehead, and kissed it. “Go to sleep now. Tomorrow we’ll see whether we can go to the lake.”
Eliška’s eyes widened, and she made a big O with her mouth before flashing a wide, toothy smile. “And have ice cream?”
Magda chuckled. “We’ll see. Light on or off?” She reached to turn off the lamp.
“On.”
“What’s the word?”
“Please.”
“Only for a little while longer. I’ll come turn it off before I go to bed. Good night, my darling finch.”
Eliška giggled. It was her nickname, but they had made a game of it. Each night the little girl tried to come up with a different species for Magda. She looked up at the ceiling and then at Magda with those wide blue eyes. “Good night, my darling barn owl.”
Magda laughed, made big eyes in return, and hooted before putting a finger to her lips and shutting her eyes tight. When she opened them, Eliška squeezed her own shut.
Downstairs, Magda retrieved the tray of dessert plates and cups, her heart skipping when she bumped the glass flower vase. When it stopped wobbling, she breathed a sigh of relief and thanked the heavens above. Made of handblown Venetian glass, it was one of Frau Tauber’s favorites.
The first time Magda had seen the house, she knew the kind of people who lived here. Renata had brought her in through the kitchen and into this foyer with its black-and-white marble floor, the limestone staircase with the iron banister, and the eclectic collection of vases and artifacts on the foyer tables. They were open people, curious people, and well traveled. She later learned that Frau Tauber had made it a habit to shop for something special wherever she performed. It was far from an even exchange, Magda thought. Ruth Tauber played piano beautifully, made people cry and smile, so the souvenirs she collected were worth only a fraction of the impressions she must have left behind.
Magda returned to the kitchen, where Renata and Jana were drying the dishes. As she helped put them away, the back door opened and Aleš walked in with a young man.
“My goodness.” Jana had her hands on her hips. “Is that really you, Walter? You’ve lost all that baby fat.”
Renata chucked the young man under the chin. “Walter Fenkart, aren’t you just handsome?”
Magda took him in within a second—a bit taller than Renata, sandy-brown hair, deep-set eyes, and a thin, straight mouth—then went back to furiously wiping a serving platter.
Aleš moved to the soup bowl on the table. “Walter’s back for a few weeks to help me. Jana, you got an extra bowl for him?”
The cook nodded. Aleš took his place at the table and served himself out of the tureen, but Walter hurried past Jana.
“I’ll get it,” he said. “I still know where they are.” And then he was standing next to Magda, reaching into the open cupboard.
“You’re new,” he said intently. “I’m Walter Fenkart.”
Magda stared at the bowl in his hand. There was a small chip on the underside of the rim. When she dared to glance at him, she could put the picture together from the moment he walked through the door to where he stood next to her. He had nice ears, perfectly shaped.
“Normally,” he said, “that’s when you tell me your name.”
Magda stood with the dish towel hanging limply at her side. “Yes…”
He chuckled abruptly, a thin smile. Magda backed away behind the open cupboard door, the glass pane between them.
“Get on over here, Walter, and eat,” Aleš called. “Your parents will be wondering where you are.”
“Magda, are you flirting over there?” Renata teased. “I say, Aleš, I think our Magda’s flirting.”
Aleš steered Renata’s chin to look his way.
Walter cocked his head at Magda through the glass. “All right then. Magda it is.”
As soon as he turned away, Magda fled the kitchen.
2
June 1941
In summer, the deer roamed the surrounding forests and fields, so after removing the fencing, Aleš had erected an outdoor play area for Eliška. She had a little house shaped like a Swiss chalet and an outdoor table made of a tree stump on which Aleš had painted a flowered tablecloth and trinkets. He had painted four smaller stumps into toadstools and put them around the table to sit on. The Taubers had been delighted and decided to hold a grand ceremony with a ribbon cutting and everything. Eliška dressed in her finest outfit and invited everyone
