THE STEWARDESS

3:45 p.m.—three hours and forty minutes until the explosion

The Doehner boys are on their hands and knees in the middle of the lounge chasing their small motorized truck around the floor. Margaret Mather has emptied her coin purse onto the table and divided it between them. They are using this unexpected source of funds to make bets on whether the truck will drive in a straight line and whether they will have to wind it a second time before it reaches the far wall. Little Werner, ever optimistic, has wagered in favor of both, and it looks like he will be out two marks as a result. The car jerks and sputters, and it veers off-center toward a table leg. Emilie can hear the small gears grinding, and three bright sparks shoot out from the wheel wells and dissipate immediately. The boys are delighted. They cheer and collapse onto the carpet in laughter. For her part, Margaret Mather sits to the side, hands folded in her lap, looking the part of a generous benefactor.

Matilde Doehner watches her sons with resignation. “Men will bet on anything,” she says. “Even the miniature ones. Horse races. Car races. Games. Politics. How far they can pee. It’s why this world is going to hell—men and their stupid wagers.”

Walter wins the bet when the truck stops with a sudden jolt. They set new terms, up the ante—there are three marks on the line this time—and he winds up the truck again. This time the sparks begin immediately.

“Stop that! Give it here!”

Heinrich Kubis strides toward the boys and all eyes in the lounge turn to him. Walter and Werner freeze immediately. They know authority when they hear it. Matilde sits straight in her chair, gaze swiveling between her children and the chief steward. She isn’t sure whether they have done something wrong and therefore need to be punished or whether they are being threatened and therefore need to be protected.

Kubis scoops the car off the floor and stops the motor. He shakes it at the children and then turns to Emilie, furious. “Sparks! How could you let them play with something that sparks? Have you forgotten where we are?” He sticks the little tin truck in her face.

Emilie has been so distracted by her situation, by Max’s proposal and Matilde’s offer, that she never stopped to think what the sparks could mean in an airship lifted by combustible hydrogen.

“You’re right. It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention,” she says.

Already Matilde feels she needs to defend Emilie. She doesn’t stand. She doesn’t apologize. Or speak at all, for that matter. She simply holds out her hand, palm up, with a question in her eyes. Will Kubis return the car? The choice is his, and she intends to let him make it publicly. Frau Doehner is quite aware that she has an audience.

Kubis stiffens in anger. He moves his hand, effectively hiding the car behind his back. He sniffs. “I will return this when we land. Not a moment before. The risk is too great.”

Matilde watches him leave, the corners of her mouth twisted in triumph. When the lounge occupants have returned to their business she leans close to Emilie and whispers, “We fly on a Nazi airship, but our greatest threat comes from a child’s toy?”

“It depends on how you define a threat,” Emilie says.

Margaret Mather, bored with the game, moves to the observation windows to stand beside Irene. The girl is wearing a blue dress with pleats and a scoop neck. It is quite pretty. It brings out the cornflower in her eyes and accents the slight curves on her slender body. The dress makes her look older than fourteen. Emilie suspects Irene has chosen this dress to catch the cabin boy’s eye—not that she needs to try hard for that. He can hardly keep his eyes off her as it is. Of the three Doehner children, Emilie fears that Irene will be the most difficult to look after.

The stewardess likes the girl. She sees much of her former self in that sly, pretty face. Emilie can’t help but find Irene rather entertaining. And the idea of watching her continue to grow and mature and become her own woman is appealing.

“Do you see that?” Margaret Mather taps the window with one neatly rounded fingernail, then points at something beneath them. She speaks in German for Irene’s benefit.

“Yes,” the girl says, “what is it?”

“Princeton University.”

“It looks lovely.”

“Oh, it is! You should see it from the ground. All the ivy and the stonework and the gardens.”

“Did you go to school there?”

Margaret laughs at this. “Me? No. You forget that young ladies are not permitted to attend Princeton.”

“At all?” Irene asks.

“No.”

Emilie is humored by the look of consternation on Irene’s face. The girl takes in Margaret’s polished form. “But…”

“What?”

“You’re rich.”

The assumption is simple. Naïve. Entitled. And from the corner of her eye Emilie sees Matilde shake her head. Irene is quite intelligent, but clearly her education has been lacking.

“There are things that money cannot buy, young lady. A forward-thinking father is one of them.” Margaret sets a gentle hand on Irene’s shoulder. “Having one is a privilege you should not take for granted.”

“How do you know so much about Princeton if you didn’t go there?”

“My brother is one of their art and architecture professors.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ve come home to visit him for the summer.”

Emilie watches Irene’s face change. She sees the resolve drop like a curtain falling across a window. “I will go to university,” she declares, then turns to her mother. “Can I go, Mama?”

There is humor in Matilde’s voice. But there is also pride. “It’s a bit early for that, don’t you think?”

Irene shifts those imperious blue eyes back to Margaret Mather. “How do I get into university?”

Margaret stifles a grin. “Learning English would be a good place to start. As a matter of fact, learn as many languages as you can. Study. Observe. Learn to communicate intelligently—both with your voice and in print.”

Matilde gives Emilie a pointed look as if to say: See, my daughter’s dreams depend on you.

Emilie sighs. Irene is pointing at things on the ground below and having Margaret tell her the English names. She repeats the words carefully, her mind already set on learning this strange new language. It seems possible, this life she’s being offered. Appealing even. There is no threat to her life and very little to her heart. Why shouldn’t she leave? Why shouldn’t she build a life for herself apart from ghosts and dictators? Emilie watches Irene Doehner make her first stubborn attempts to learn a new language, and she pushes the thought of Max from her mind.

Emilie looks at Matilde and nods. “Very well, then.”