Her mother had never given up, and her father had never come home. Emil’s mother had given up on ever seeing her husband again, and he’d shown up on her doorstep, alive but broken.

Walking to the front porch of the farmhouse, she wondered what her life would be like if that was Emil’s fate as well and sensed an almost crushing burden on her shoulders. She shook it off immediately. It did her no good to think like that. She had to keep faith that he’d come back whole. In the meantime, she had to live for her boys, keeping their father’s memory alive in their hearts. But if I have trouble remembering his face, how can they?

Adeline was about to knock, when she heard piano music playing. She ducked down and looked beneath the shade to see the farmer and his wife sitting side by side at the piano. Frau Schmidt was playing, and her husband was watching her with such deep, undying love that Adeline was moved to smiling through tears. They’d been married for nearly forty years. They’d been through terrible tragedy, and yet their love hadn’t just survived; it had deepened and flourished. Isn’t that a cause for hope?

She considered not knocking and leaving the couple alone. But then the music stopped, and she could hear Herr Schmidt clapping inside.

Frau Schmidt was thrilled when Adeline did knock on her door, greeting her like a long-lost daughter and kissing her on the cheek when she gave her the chocolate. Herr Schmidt said he was calling it a night and went upstairs. Captain Kharkov and his men were thankfully on leave in Berlin.

Adeline said that she couldn’t stay long, that she had to get back in case one of the boys woke up, but she ended up spending an hour with her friend. She listened to the older woman’s fears about her husband’s health and shared some of her own.

“I sometimes wonder who I will be without Emil,” Adeline said.

“You will be you,” Frau Schmidt said softly.

“What?”

“You are already without him, Adeline. So you will be you without him in the future, and from what I’ve seen, being Adeline Martel is more than enough for anything life wants to throw at her.”

She hugged the older woman and thanked her for her kindness and support.

“I thank you,” Frau Schmidt said, hugging her back. “You are a good friend.”

Adeline felt better as she left the house. Knowing the Soviets were in Berlin, she decided to take the lane back to the village. Dogs barked in the distance. The snow creaked beneath her boots, but there was a nice smell in the air. Spring was coming.

She heard Frau Schmidt say, Being Adeline Martel is more than enough for anything life wants to throw at her.

Is that true? Adeline wondered. So far, yes, but—

A car engine turned over. Headlights came on ahead of her on the lane, blinding her. She threw up her sleeve to block it, hearing a car door open.

“Frau Martel?” a woman’s pleasant voice said.

“Yes?” Adeline said uncertainly, and stopped. “Who are you?”

“Lieutenant Eloise Gerhardt with Kommissariat 5 of the Deutsche Volkspolizei, the People’s Police,” she said. “I’d like a few words with you, please. Come, I can drive you home while we talk.”

Adeline hesitated.

Lieutenant Gerhardt’s voice grew sterner. “Frau Martel, do as you are told. You do not have a choice in this matter.”

Adeline resigned herself and walked through the headlights’ glare to see the party officer was a big stocky woman in a gray-green woolen long coat. She had short dark hair, a square chin, a prominent nose, and hard eyes.

“Please,” Lieutenant Gerhardt said, gesturing to the open rear door. “You first.”

Adeline reluctantly climbed into the sedan, seeing a man was driving the car. The policewoman got in beside her, saying, “Keep the interior light on, and drive Frau Martel home the slow, long way, please. We have much to discuss.”

The driver grunted and put the car in gear. The overhead light went on.

Lieutenant Gerhardt smiled. “You will answer my questions truthfully, yes? It will be bad for you otherwise.”

It was only then that Adeline realized that Kommissariat 5 of the People’s Police meant she was talking with a secret police officer of some sort, like the one who’d taken away her father so long ago.

“Yes?” Lieutenant Gerhardt said, her tone now colder.

“Yes,” Adeline stammered. “If I can.”

“Good. You cook for Colonel Vasiliev?”

“Yes. And for several of his ranking officers.”

“You often go to Berlin to the special commissary there at the colonel’s request?”

Frowning, wondering why she was being asked that, Adeline said, “Yes. He gives me a list and the money. I go and come back. There is always a receipt.”

“You admit you are a frequent visitor of the commissary on Colonel Vasiliev’s behalf. More frequent than almost any other customer. Did you know that?”

Adeline shook her head. “No.”

“It is true. The party keeps track. You see, your colonel is a glutton. He sees himself as better than the others who shop there, and he takes advantage of his position to fatten himself.”

Adeline said nothing.

Lieutenant Gerhardt smiled. “And you take advantage of your position as well, don’t you, Frau Martel?”

She didn’t know what to say.

“You always seem to forget something after you have paid for the colonel’s needs,” the secret police officer went on. “Then you buy what you want and give the sentry a bribe on your way out. Or you buy something for someone like Frau Schmidt or Frau Holtz and then bribe the sentry on your way out. Yes?”

Adeline swallowed hard and then nodded. “Yes. I . . .”

“You are a black marketeer, Frau Martel. That is a crime against the party and the state. You could be sent to prison like your husband and have your children made wards.”

“No, please,” Adeline said, panic-stricken. “They were small things. Treats for my young sons. Some things Frau Schmidt needed. She’s old and—”

“The party does not care about Frau Schmidt’s age or her needs,” Lieutenant Gerhardt said sharply. Then her face softened. “But it does care about you, Adeline. So you are going to stop your black-market activities, and you are going to tell me what Colonel Vasiliev buys on a weekly basis, or does out of the ordinary, or says when he is drunk and full of your food. Do you understand?”

Adeline did understand. She’d grown up under Stalin. She knew how Communists turned neighbor against neighbor, worker against boss, husband against wife, sowing fear into the culture in a way that stifled all thought. And when they had enough on you, for crimes you did not even commit, you were sent away, never to return.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Adeline said, bowing her head. “I understand.”

“Good,” Lieutenant Gerhardt said. “Isn’t this where you live coming up ahead?”

Adeline felt so disoriented, she had to look twice before nodding. “Yes, there, with the big gates and the barn.”

The driver pulled over. Adeline reached for the door handle, only to feel the secret police officer’s hand like a claw on her shoulder.

“Another question before you go,” Lieutenant Gerhardt said, and smiled in that knowing way Adeline had already learned to fear. “In Berlin, you put your name and Frau Schmidt’s address on a list with the International Red Cross.”

How does she know that?

“Yes,” Adeline said, nervous again. “The list is for refugees, families trying to find one another. I put Frau Schmidt’s address because I didn’t know how long I’d be at my present place.”

The secret police officer said, “Why would you do such a thing?”

“I put it there, hoping Emil might see it someday.”

“In Berlin? When he is in the East?”

“I . . .”

For several long moments, Lieutenant Gerhardt said nothing.

Feeling her throat close, Adeline quivered with emotion, forcing herself to look the woman right in the eye. “I want my husband back. Is that so wrong, Lieutenant?”

“No, but if I were you, I’d stop thinking about him ever coming back. From what I understand, the prison camp where he was sent is riddled with disease. Men dying every day.”

“Emil?” she said, hearing her voice shake.

“I don’t know. All the party has been told is that there’s hardly anyone left alive there. I’m sorry, Frau Martel. But the sooner you deal with the fact that he’s dead or soon will be, the quicker you can get on with a new life. You can get out of the car now, Frau Martel, but we will meet next Friday after you leave work, yes?”

Adeline felt dazed by the news of Emil’s fate—a prison camp riddled with disease . . . men dying every day . . . hardly any prisoners left. She nodded dully and opened the door. When she went inside, she did not answer Frau Holtz, who called from the kitchen, asking why she’d been gone so long. She just hung up her coat and scarf, took off her boots, and went into the bedroom.