Chapter Text
Deborah loved months that ended on a Friday. Even better were those that began on a Monday and ended on a Friday. It was oddly comforting. A strange, symmetrical coincidence—as if the month were in harmony with the universe.
Last winter had been cold. The ground was still frozen, and the morning air was heavy with mist. Something had shifted in the past few months. Something big.
But here at home, in the small garden of her parents' house, Deborah's world was still intact.
She cast one last cautious glance back at the dark-bricked house. All the windows were shut. No one was in sight. Quietly, she slipped into her father's workshop. She wasn't allowed in there alone—it was far too dangerous—but Deborah loved it.
Faded sunlight filtered through the dusty old windows, casting everything inside in a soft, golden glow. Dust floated lazily in the air, stirred by the draft from the door, moving as if in slow motion through the cold workshop.
Her father was a carpenter. Every time he finished a new piece, Deborah would stand before it with wide eyes and an open mouth, full of wonder. She truly admired his work. He had to be the best carpenter in town—his craftsmanship was so intricate, so delicate... it was magical.
At the far end of the long room stood a large, dark wardrobe against the wall. She knew her father had been working on it for weeks. It was bigger than any of the pieces he usually made. Deborah wondered if it had been commissioned by a client—or perhaps, just maybe, it was for her.
Her heart skipped at the thought of owning something so beautiful. Her eyes sparkled.
The wardrobe was special. She'd felt it the moment she first saw it. Carefully, she let her slender fingers glide over the smooth wood. It was a masterpiece—deep brown wood adorned with intricate carvings and brass fittings. A treasure.
"Deborah? Debbi, where are you?"
The girl ignored her mother's calls and opened the wardrobe. It felt as if the cold, misty air outside had swallowed the rest of the world—the chill, her mother's voice, everything beyond the workshop. Only she and the wardrobe remained.
The wooden cabinet seemed to draw her in, whispering that she should explore it. Inside, it was made of the same dark wood, smooth and elegant, though simple—no extravagant carvings.
"Debbi, are you in there again, even though you're not supposed to be?!"
Her mother was closer now—almost inside the workshop. Her voice, at first muffled, grew clearer. Deborah panicked. She wasn't supposed to be here.
Quickly, she climbed into the wardrobe and gently closed the door behind her—just in time. The workshop door opened, sending a gust of cold air rushing in, stirring up dust once more.
Goosebumps spread along Deborah's arms as she heard her mother's footsteps draw nearer.
"Come on, I know you're in here, Debbi. Stop hiding!" her mother now called out—in English.
Deborah knew why she was switching languages. For the past five months, her parents and uncle had been teaching her English, and sometimes Debbi insisted they speak only in that language.
Her mother's voice now sounded stern but slightly amused. A giggle escaped Deborah before she could stop it. She clamped her hand over her mouth—but too late. The footsteps approached.
"Well, if there's no little girl hiding in this wardrobe," her mother said teasingly, "I'd better lock it up. Wouldn't want to accidentally sell it with someone still inside."
With a burst of laughter, Deborah jumped out of the wardrobe, her green eyes shining.
"There you are!" her mother laughed, wrapping her arms around her daughter. "You know it's dangerous to be in here alone! You could hurt yourself on the saws and tools."
She gently brushed Deborah's long blonde hair behind her ears.
With her eyes closed, Deborah leaned into the comforting warmth of her mother's embrace. "I know, Mama. But I love it here! I love the smell of wood, the dusty air, the feel of the grain... It's just perfect. Sometimes I think... when I grow up, I want to be just like Papa. A carpenter!"
Her mother cupped the girl's face, a warm smile on her lips. "Whatever you decide to be, Deborah, we'll support you. Always. Now come on, it's freezing in here. I made us some soup."
Gently but firmly, she led her daughter out of the workshop, through the garden, and back into the house—into the warmth of the kitchen. The scent of chicken soup filled the air—the kind her mother always made to warm everyone up. It was her cure for cold weather and for any kind of illness. It took hours to prepare, with chicken, carrots, parsley, egg custard, and sometimes, when available, she served it with fresh rolls or hearty bread.
"Did you listen to the radio this morning?" Deborah asked as she sat down and pulled her bowl closer.
Her mother joined her at the table and did the same. "You mean the Jewish boycott?"
Deborah nodded and sighed. "I'm scared, Mama. At school, they call me horrible names. Jew-whore. Jew-rat. They say I'm worthless."
Tears welled in her eyes, and she tried to blink them away. "I don't understand why people are like this. Why are they so cruel?"
Her mother shrugged slightly. "They're afraid, sweetheart. The Great Depression has ruined many businesses. People fear losing their jobs. Unemployment is worse than anyone admits. And now there's this new party—the National Socialist German Workers' Party, the NSDAP, led by Adolf Hitler. They believe we Jews are taking over their companies and stealing their jobs."
Angrily, Deborah wiped at her tears. "But we're not! Papa has always been a carpenter! There are two other carpenters in Königsbrunn—both Jewish, too. I thought the others didn't want the job."
Her mother gently took her hands. "I can't explain what goes on in their heads, Deborah. I don't understand it either. But you must promise me something. Never—ever—let anyone else define your worth."
The young girl nodded, though she didn't quite understand what her mother meant.
"You are valuable. You are already such a special young woman. You're smart and wise beyond your years. Never let anyone silence you or make you feel small."
Deborah nodded again and let out a sigh.
"We're scared too, Deborah. Your uncle, your father, and I—we've already made a plan. If things get worse, we'll find a way to stay safe. Don't worry—we'll be together. Always."