Tildy had wanted to try on the white dress in the worst way. Lili was the second oldest after Ferenc, who was seventeen, and then came the four younger ones, ranging in age from fourteen years to eight months.
The dress came wrapped in exotic frosted tissue paper, which itself felt as rich as cloth. Tucked inside the dress was a blue silk shawl to bring out Lili’s eyes and complement her buttery hair. When Lili opened the precious package, her father had already been called away by the regional authorities under the new provisional government and asked to present papers verifying his Hungarian nationality and that of his family. Hungary was allied with Germany.
“It’s a formality, for sure,” David had said as he put on his shoes that morning. “How can it be anything more? I was an officer in the Hungarian army. The Germans will see the papers, and they’ll send us on our way. The Germans live by papers and documents.”
“And what about the Hungarians?” Helen asked. “If it’s a formality, I can’t understand why they would summon you.”
“Because they want us to know who’s in charge.” David held up the papers. “We’re Hungarian. That’s all they’re asking us to prove. They’re asking everybody, I’m sure. They have to. It’s probably in their rule book.” He was grinning now as he spoke.
Ferenc insisted on going along. But the other children stayed home with their mother and cackled as Lili sashayed around the kitchen, wearing the shawl over her shoulders and holding the beautiful dress up over her faded beige one.
Lili’s fourteen-year-old sister, Tildy, took a spin with the dress pinned to her front, the blue shawl gracing her head. She was batting her eyes like a temptress, letting the dress sail, then flow, over her younger brother Mendi’s head.
The telephone rang. Its shrill novelty stopped everyone. The baby was the least startled. Of course, to her, everything was novel. Sometimes the Bandels stared at the telephone the way people looked at a radio, waiting for it to say something. The Bandels were one of only seven Tolgy households to own a telephone. Their phone number was 4. The one whose number was 1, of course, was the mayor. Number 2 was Rabbi Lichtman. Number 3 belonged to the Appels, Tolgy’s most upstanding family, owners of the mill, the bakery and the small distillery just outside of town. The final three belonged to Colonel Sam Bilko, one-time officer in the Great War, now the town’s police officer; the veterinarian, Samuel Katz; and the last one went to the temple itself, where people could stop (except on Sabbath) to call the other six numbers if they urgently needed to.
The call this morning came from this last phone. It was Frieda Weisz. Lili noticed the strained smile on her mother’s face. Tildy stopped dancing with the dress. To amuse the children, Lili retrieved the dress and shawl, ran up to the girls’ bedroom, pulled on the dress in a flash and returned to dance in the kitchen.
It was eerily quiet. Even the geese were still, as was Tzipi’s mule next door. Helen listened with one ear to the phone, the other to the door, the window, the street. Several shots rang out, popping. It sounded like the beginnings of a hailstorm. Lili turned toward the door, too.
“What’s going on?” Helen asked into the phone. “Frieda, what’s going on? Are you there?” Her mouth hung open as she waited, looked at the receiver. A flurry of voices outside excited the animals. She hung up. Lili embraced her mother, but her mother’s body was stiff and unyielding. She was holding back panic.
“Mendi,” Helen said calmly, “you head out to the almond trees and see how they’re doing. Take a rest there. Tend to the trees. Don’t come back until nightfall, even if you have to duck into the woods. I’ll come after you with Hanna, but stay put, no matter what. Do you understand?” He nodded. His eyes were blue like his mother’s, but his blond curls had already begun to darken.
“Tildy,” Helen said. She spoke without hesitation. “Take your brother Benjamin out toward the pond and spend the day there.”
“May we swim?” Benjamin asked.
“No, the water’s too cold. But if you can gather berries, I’ll bake a cake.”
“They’re not out yet,” Tildy said. She pulled the rays of her hair back so that she could bind them behind. Her eyes were even lighter than Mendi’s. She was a perfect child of the