I step away from them, not wanting Lizzie to overhear our conversation. “My real name is Iris,” I tell Oskar and Margrit, keeping my voice low. “Angelique was the name I used while I was with the resistance.” I’m not allowed to talk about the real reason I was in France, but they knew me from that time, and they know my role in helping them escape to England. There’s no reason to pretend I don’t know who they’re talking about. “That is my daughter—but she has grown up believing I’m her aunt and not her mother, even though I am the one who has loved and raised her. It was simpler that way.”
This is the first time I have spoken the truth to anyone. Even the SOE was more than happy to pretend I hadn’t given birth in France. The truth tastes both bitter and sweet on my tongue.
I keep telling myself one day I’ll be honest with Lizzie, but when is a good time for that? I lied to her to protect her. I’m still protecting her by not revealing the one person she has trusted all this time has lied to her about her parentage. But the fact is, the British Official Secrets Act I signed still prohibits me from telling her the truth I want her to hear. The truth about her father. The truth about my time in France.
A timeless silence stretches around us as they digest my words. It’s Oskar who is the first to state what they both have pieced together. “She’s Johann’s daughter, isn’t she?”
I nod, my heart aching at the sound of his name on someone else’s lips.
It must show on my face because Margrit’s expression turns to one of sadness and grief. “You loved him.”
It’s not a question, but I nod again all the same. “Very much. He died while fighting with the French maquis. He lived long enough to meet his daughter, Anna, whom he loved very much. She and I escaped to England soon after.”
I check that Lizzie is still preoccupied with the dress. “My sister, like me, was English. She and her baby were killed when the Germans bombed their home a short time before Anna and I returned to England. And since my brother-in-law was also dead…I took my niece’s birth certificate and let the world believe that Anna is my niece…”
The sorrow in Oskar’s and Margrit’s eyes tells me they understand my reason for doing what I did, although they don’t know the full extent of why I had to lie about Lizzie’s parentage. They escaped Austria and France and Hitler’s assault on the Jewish population, but the anti-Semitic attitudes didn’t stop on the southern side of the English Channel. Even now, it’s rampant in America. The negative stigmas that disabled people face and the racism against people of color both remain strong in this country.
Hitler and his National Socialist Party might be dead, but the hatred and ignorance he fanned the flames for are very much alive twenty years later.
Perhaps Lizzie wouldn’t face the same level of condemnation now about her father being a German soldier as she would have when the post-war wounds were still fresh, but I’m not sorry for the choice I made. If I hadn’t signed the Official Secrets Act, my decision to pretend she was my niece would still have been the right choice at the time. She was an innocent child, the one thing right with the world.
She was proof that out of so much anger and hate, something beautiful could bloom.
“We always wondered what happened to Johann.” Pain, sadness, and relief play tug-of-war on Oskar’s face. “We tried to locate him after the war, but we found no records of what happened to him. We were able to learn that his sister and mother died, but nothing beyond that.” He looks at Lizzie. Hope blossoms alongside the pain. “Are you living in New York City?”
“No, we live in Maple Ridge, Oregon.”
Oskar’s mouth shifts into a wide smile, and an unmistakable amusement gleams in his eyes. “Is it as beautiful as he dreamed it would be?”
“Very much so. He would have loved it.”
“There is so much about America he would have loved.” Oskar’s smile falters. “We owe you so much, Iris. If not for you, we probably would never have survived. I hope we can stay in touch this time. I would love to get to know my best friend’s daughter. She might never find out about my true link to her, but I would still love to be there for her. Just like you and Johann were there for my family and me.”
“I would love that,” I say, fighting back the tears I haven’t shed in so many years. “I would love that so much. Thank you.”
Oskar and I hug. And then I hug Margrit. Hug the remaining links to the man I loved, the links to the world we have since left behind.
60
JESSICA
October, Present Day
Maple Ridge
A cop caris sitting in front of my house when I turn onto my street. My chest tightens, and my breath comes in fast and shallow. No one is sitting in the cruiser. There’s no cop on my front porch. Where the heck did they go?
A moment later, I have my answer. My wooden gate creaks open. Noah and Officer Hunt, both in uniform, step out of my yard with another man, his arms pulled back behind him. His short dark hair is peppered with gray, and his skin is tanned. There’s something familiar about him, with his thin lips and well-shaped nose.
“What’s going on?” I ask Noah.
“Your neighbor phoned in that they saw a man they didn’t recognize snooping around the outside of your garage and go into your backyard. They knew you weren’t home and became suspicious. Do you know him?”
“No.”I might have seen him before but I can’t be sure.
“It looks like he tried to break into the garage. The side door is damaged. He also had this on him.” Noah holds out a plastic evidence bag with a white envelope inside. My name is written on the front in the same handwriting that was on the two envelopes left outside Troy’s office.
“He’s the one who’s been leaving me death threats?”
