Page 88 of The Pianist's Wife
She opened the door. ‘Madison! What a lovely surprise. What are you doing here?’ The young woman had never come over without being invited before.
Amira would have embraced her, but Madison’s hands were full.
‘I have something for you, and I couldn’t wait for you to see it.’
She held out a folder that contained printed pages, and Amira’s breath stilled. She wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or thrilled at the prospect of reading the article.
Madison smiled. ‘And although we never usually share work before it goes to print, in this case I wanted you to read it first.’
It was then that Amira looked down and read the title, printed in bold across the top of the first page. Her heart skipped a beat and emotion immediately clogged her throat.
The Greatest Love Story Never Told
In memory of Frederick Schulz
Amira couldn’t stop the tears that welled in her eyes as she held the pages tightly to her chest, and Madison held her close. It was as if someone had truly seen her, had truly seen her marriage and what it had meant, for the very first time.
We did it, Fred. We finally shared our story with the world.
After all this time, we don’t have to be afraid anymore. I promise.
‘Amira, would you read the first few lines before I go,’ Madison said, when she finally released her. ‘It’s one of the reasons I came today, so this wouldn’t come as a surprise when you see it in print.’
Amira looked up, happy to oblige. She waved Madison in and moved through the house to find her glasses, knowing she’d need them for the small print. She could see that the young woman was nervous by the way she kept wringing her hands.
‘You would like me to read the note at the beginning?’ Amira asked. ‘Or—’
‘Yes,’ Madison said, her breath like a whisper. ‘Please.’
‘Dear reader, my name is Madison Anders, and my grandfather was...’ Amira froze, the words catching in her throat. She glanced up at Madison, seeing the tears in her eyes. She forced herself to continue. ‘My name is Madison Anders, and my grandfather was a member of the SS in Nazi Germany. I have felt the guilt of his actions my entire life, and that guilt and a desire to repent is one of the reasons I wanted to write this. I hope that Amira and Frederick’s families understand that I will always feel shame for what my grandfather was part of, but in sharing this story, I acknowledge the strength of an extraordinary man and his even more extraordinary wife, who suffered at the hands of their fellow Germans.’
Amira’s hands were shaking as she lowered the pages. She hadn’t thought anything could shock her anymore, not as an old lady who had survived more than most. But shocked she was.
‘I’m sorry,’ Madison said. ‘I hope you can forgive me for keeping it a secret until now.’
‘Beautiful girl,’ Amira said, placing the article on the coffee table and extending her hands. Madison clasped them and Amira stared into her eyes as she held them. ‘Du brauchst mich nicht um Verzeihung zu bitten.’
Madison blinked back at her.
‘You don’t need to ask me for forgiveness,’ she repeated in English. ‘I don’t blame you for the sins of your grandparents. The burden is not one your generation should bear. It never has been.’
‘You truly mean that?’ Madison asked.
Amira leaned forward, still holding her hands, and kissed her cheek. ‘I do. What happened to me and my family, to Frederick, to Gisele, it was a horror that we wished to forget. It is not a pain we ever wished inflicted upon our children or grandchildren, and certainly not on the grandchildren of those who persecuted us.’
Madison nodded, as tears ran silently down her cheeks.
‘You are forgiven,’ Amira whispered. ‘If they are the words you need to hear, then let me say them again. You are forgiven, my child, for the sins of those who came before you. You are forgiven.’
Amira glanced over at the first page again, content in the knowledge that soon their story would be shared. The story of two people who’d hurt more than a person should ever hurt in one lifetime, but who’d managed to create an unconventional life together, regardless.
Who’d managed to thrive. Who’d managed to live.
And above all else, had managed to love.
Author’s Note
This was a very difficult book to write for a number of reasons. First of all, it was hard because I find it a very fine line to walk, balancing being sympathetic towards Germans during the war versus seeing them as the enemy. But when I wrote my previous novel,The Berlin Sisters, my research opened my eyes to the number of Germans who didn’t agree with the Nazi Party, and who actively helped others in their community or did small things to rebel against what was happening in society. Yes, most of the time they chose their own freedom, their own lives, and their own families over others, but there were pockets of people in Berlin and throughout the rest of Germany who risked everything for others.
