THE STEWARDESS

When Emilie was hired by the Deutsche Zeppelin-Reederei in September of 1936, the company sent out a press release and a number of photographs, one of which showed Emilie bathing a young girl in a child-size tub. At first glance it appears that both Emilie and her young charge are on the Hindenburg and that the picture is a candid snapshot of her work life. Germany was fascinated by the world’s first airship stewardess, after all. And her employment on this ship is a milestone for women. Emilie thinks of that photo at some point during every flight. Not because she accomplished something no other woman ever has, but because she badly wishes there was a bathtub on the Hindenburg. The photo was staged, of course. There is only the one shower, and it’s not the most practical place for bathing children. Yet the Doehner boys have gone from smelling rangy to smelling ripe, and their mother has ordered them to shower. She has brought Emilie along to assist. Once they’re inside the small room, and the boys are shrieking and splashing beneath the spray, Emilie realizes that Matilde is also creating space for them to speak without being heard.

“You have questions, I suppose?” Matilde crosses her arms over her chest—how she does this with such large breasts Emilie can’t fathom—and looks at her expectantly.

“I wouldn’t call them questions.”

“Doubts?”

“Fears.” Emilie collects Walter’s trousers from the floor and folds them neatly. She sets them on the bench and then does the same with Werner’s. “How did you know about my situation?”

She shrugs. “It didn’t take much sleuthing, I’m afraid. We overheard something at dinner last night. They were speaking English at the table next to us. Hermann is better at it than I am, but it comes with the territory. We travel a lot. We speak a number of languages, though not so many as you, I suspect.”

Emilie turns her attention back to the dirty clothes. She folds each item slowly. She doesn’t want to seem too eager. “Who was speaking in English?”

“Captain Lehmann and that strange American fellow.”

“What did they say about me?”

“Lehmann didn’t say much, to be honest. But the American wanted to make an exchange.”

“Of?”

“Names. The name of someone on board the ship for the name of a crew member planning to remain in America.”

“And he gave my name?”

“He did.”

Emilie thinks of the dog tag. “Did Captain Lehmann offer a name as well?”

“No. He did not. The American scribbled something on a napkin and when the captain read it he said he would get back to him with the name.”

Emilie tries to keep her voice from sounding frantic. “Anything else?”

“That was it. But it’s enough. When we got back to the cabin, Hermann suggested we offer you the job. We need a governess, and you want to leave Germany—at least you haven’t denied it.”

“You would offer a job to a woman you barely know?”

“No.” She swats the suggestion away. “We would poach the world’s first airship stewardess from the Nazis. A woman who speaks a number of languages. How many exactly?”

“Seven fluently. I’m passable in three others.”

“Ten languages! Amazing. That’s a rare gift. So you see, our interest is not just in needing help with our children, but in tutoring them as well. We show you the world; you help Irene, Werner, and Walter learn to navigate it. I think that’s a fair trade.”

“It’s not that simple. Captain Lehmann knows I was planning to leave. I’ve been reprimanded. My papers have been confiscated.” She looks at Matilde. “They won’t let me off the ship when we land.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?”

“It’s plenty. I will be under house arrest.”

Matilde waves this off as if they were discussing the difficulties in negotiating a restrictive curfew. “That’s not a problem.” She peeks around the curtain and hands each boy a washcloth and a bar of soap. “Clean all of your parts. Especially the ones you can’t see. You have five minutes.”

“They are wonderful children. And I would love to care for them. But I’m afraid I don’t share your optimism about my situation.”

“So what is your alternative?”

“Return to Germany and continue my work with the Zeppelin-Reederei.” She does not mention Max or his proposal. That is too private, and she will not share it with Matilde Doehner. Not yet, anyway.

Matilde thinks about this for a moment and then changes tactics. “Do you know what my husband does for a living?”

“No.”

Matilde laughs. “Neither do I, if I’m being honest. Not the particulars, at any rate. But what I can tell you is that he is the general manager of Beick, Félix y Compañía, a wholesale drug company based in Mexico City. They dabble in a variety of pharmaceuticals but primarily focus on vaccines. According to his visa, Hermann was just in Germany to organize an affiliate company in Hamburg. Our visas stated that we accompanied him as dependents.”

Emilie squints. “Are you telling me that was not the case?”

“It was a partial truth. One of Hermann’s chemists went missing a number of months ago. The trip was a convenient excuse to find him.”

There are a dozen questions that Emilie could ask at this point, but she gets the impression that Matilde is more interested in completing her story, so she waits silently for her to continue.

“This chemist is a good friend of ours. A kind man. Practically a genius, if you want to know the truth. Generous. Charming.” Matilde pulls two towels from the canvas bag at her feet. “His name is David Rothstein. He is Jewish. And he is an outspoken critic of Adolf Hitler.”

“Oh.” Emilie sees what Frau Doehner is getting at.

“That is the Germany you are returning to. A place where brilliant minds are persecuted because they happen to be of an unpopular race.”

Emilie can’t be sure whether or not Matilde suspects her heritage. But if nothing else the woman does have an uncanny sense of the political situation at home.

“Listen, your offer is tempting. Please don’t get me wrong. I simply don’t see how it can possibly work.”

Again Matilde seems unperturbed. “Have you ever gone out in public with children, Fräulein? Gotten off an ocean liner or an airship?”

Emilie shakes her head.

“Have you ever taken them shopping or walked down the street with three of them in tow? Gone into a bank or a grocery store or a park with a pack of bickering children?”

It’s an interesting question, but Emilie can’t see how it pertains, and she isn’t sure if Matilde is trying to rub salt into what she perceives as an open wound. “No. I haven’t.”

“You really should try it sometime. It’s a fascinating experiment.” Matilde lifts two towels from the bench and shakes them out. “No matter how lovely or striking a woman is, when she goes out in public with children she becomes invisible. I once saw Luise Rainer standing at a bus stop in Düsseldorf—that was her hometown you know, she made it famous—next to a set of twins. They weren’t even hers. And she was dressed like a movie star. Thirteen men got on that bus and seven got off. Not one of them looked in her direction. Why? Because two children sat at her feet. This is a reality for every woman who bears a child. I was put out to pasture the day Irene was born. Children are the perfect camouflage.”

“And you are offering your children as camouflage?”

“Tomorrow when we land, things will be hectic. We will be late. Some passengers will be in a rush, others excited. The crew will be busy. There will be crowds awaiting our arrival. You will wear one of my dresses—”

“I’m a good deal taller than you are.”

“Then you wear your skirt and my blouse. My hat. You walk out on the arm of my husband—”

“I’m taller than he is as well—”

“Then slouch—”

“But—”

“You will have my children at your side, and no one will see you. That is a guarantee.”

“And you?”

“I will wait in the cabin and exit a few moments after you do. I will find a crowd. Place myself in the center. Then I will meet you at the car on the airfield. And then we will be gone. You will come to New York with us. Cuba. Mexico. Before long Germany will be a distant memory.”

Emilie wants this. She does. And yet her heart twists a bit at the idea. She forces Max’s face from her mind. “Someone will see. If not when they bring the luggage, then sooner. It will never work.”

Matilde pushes the curtain aside. She turns off the shower and drapes a towel over each son, then sniffs both little blond heads to make sure they have properly followed her instructions. Matilde does not argue with Emilie as she attempts to dry them off. But the boys are ticklish and squirmy and she abandons the exercise after a few seconds. The boys fling water droplets from their hair and giggle as they try to pull dry clothes onto wet bodies. Matilde checks them carefully before sending them from the bathroom with a pat on their bottoms.

“Do give me more credit than that, Fräulein,” she says. “You wouldn’t be the first person I’ve smuggled out of a country. I am very, very good at it. Just ask David Rothstein.”