Author's Note: The Jewish Sabbath takes place from sundown Friday to the appearance of three stars in the sky on Saturday and is a day of rest in which many activities classified as work are prohibited.

August 7, 1943

This morning, I awoke and went through the motions of the Shabbat, accompanying my father to synagogue, as I always do. I confess that my mind was split between the reading of Scripture and my plans for the evening. Papa always says that God understands our preoccupations. During prayer, I took time to thank Him for Edwin, surely a gift I could never have anticipated. I also prayed that I would have courage to tell my father about the party. It was one thing for him to give his blessing to his daughter's friendship with an English officer, another for him to be comfortable with her attending a party with the man. I am not a child, and my father is not authoritarian, but I dreaded disappointing the man I love so very much.

We ate our noon meal at the home of the Fehers, who talked politics with my father and tried to talk them with me, though my mind was elsewhere. "My daughter is preoccupied these days," said Papa, by way of explanation of my failure to attend to the conversation.

"We all are," Mrs. Feher agreed, patting my hand kindly, "and Anna is out in the world, with her job and her education. You must be very proud, Benjamin." Few people call my father, the rabbi, by his given name, but the Fehers are our oldest and dearest friends.

"Certainly I am," he answered smoothly, but he fixed me with a pointed look from across the table, and I could tell he perceived that something was on my mind.

We were shooed home by our hostess soon after lunch, because she observed the signs that my father was weary after his morning work. I planned to give him a few hours to sleep (and myself a few hours to gather my courage) before I told him about my plans. Instead, as I turned to leave our front room for my bedroom, his voice accosted me. "Anna." I turned back and found him smiling. "Come and unburden yourself of whatever secret had you preoccupied during synagogue and nearly unresponsive during the meal."

"I'm sorry, Papa," I said.

"That is an inauspicious beginning," he answered drily, but he opened his arms and held me for a moment.

"Mr. Jarvis—the man I told you about—has invited me to a party this evening." I let out the information rather breathlessly once my father had let me go.

"Is that all?" he asked mildly and with some amusement.

I punched his chest lightly with my right fist. "Abba, I have not been out with a man in years, let alone an English officer you haven't met. My apprehension was hardly unreasonable."

"I told you I knew it would be this way," he answered. "And I expect that when he comes to fetch you tonight, the problem of me not knowing him can easily be remedied." I blanched a little bit. In my surprise at being asked out, I hadn't thought of this, and consequently, I hadn't warned Edwin.

My Papa, always frighteningly good at reading me, understood my thoughts. "You may be twenty-eight," he said, "but I do wish to meet the man. You can hardly blame me for that."

"I don't," I answered, kissing his cheek. "Now go to sleep, or you won't be in fit condition to meet anyone." His arm lingered around me for a moment longer before he went to his room.

I, too, went to my room and tried to sleep, but the sun seemed to take longer than usual to fall lower in the sky, the signal that Shabbat would soon end, and I would be free to ready myself for the evening. I'd prepared everything I would need the night before, and my deep blue dress hung on my closet door, while my lipstick and face powder sat expectantly on my dresser. In the mean time, I read the poetry of Keats, one of the volumes Edwin had given me.

Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art—

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—

No—yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,

Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

Beautiful, like the happy days when I'd been a university student, and the war hadn't yet come to us.

Finally, the sun set, and I knew Edwin would be watching so that he could come for me as quickly as possible. I gazed out the window and breathed a prayer of thanks that three stars appeared quickly, twinkling above me as if to offer their approval.

As fast as I've ever done anything, I put on the dress, which cinched my waist and made my legs look a little longer than they are—not that there's much to be done there—and painted my lips with crimson. I was pinning my dark hair atop my head when I heard the sound of a car approaching, followed by a knock at the door. I'd wanted to be the first to greet Edwin, but I had a mouth full of hairpins and a head of tousled curls.

Our house is not a large one, and I heard the door open and the exchange that followed. "Good evening." Edwin's voice was quiet and deferential, as usual.

"Good evening," said my father. "My name is Benjamin, but I suppose my status as Anna's father is the only salient point at the moment."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Sir." I blushed crimson at my father's words, but Mr. Jarvis's answer sounded good humored, even amused.

"My daughter will be ready presently," Papa continued. "I would tell you to take care of her, but she's well able to do that. You had, however, better show her a good time. She doesn't get out often enough since the troubles."

"I intend to," said Edwin. Just then, I emerged, hoping my hair was firmly affixed to my head. I'd rushed quite a bit in an effort to cut short the awkwardness.

"Anna," said Papa, "your officer has arrived."

"Father!" I said, blushing again.

Edwin stood beside him, grinning his face off. "Here," he said, holding out his arm. "I've been sternly instructed to make you enjoy yourself, and I plan to do so."

I curled my hand around his proffered limb and rolled my eyes at my father. "Good night, Papa."

"Good night," he answered calmly, "and I'm glad to have met you," he said to Edwin, who nodded before shepherding me out the door.

"I'm sorry," I said, as soon as the door closed behind us.

"I'm afraid I'm driving us," said Edwin apologetically, leading me to a black car. "All the usual drivers were busy. Would you prefer to sit in the back or the front?"

"Certainly the front, with you," I said. He opened the door, and I sat down inside, marveling at the beautiful upholstery and luxurious comfort.

Edwin took his place in the driver's seat and turned to me. "No need to apologize," he said sweetly. "I'd hoped to meet your father tonight. If I had a daughter who was going out with a man for the first time, I'd want to size him up."

He drove through the dark streets, and I tried to enjoy the ride into the expensive part of the city, but I kept finding my gaze drawn to my companion, who wore his dress uniform, with its impeccable tailoring and glittering accents. I'd seen plenty of well-dressed soldiers. None of them had ever made me feel the way Edwin did.

"You look beautiful," he said after a while, sounding nervous, his eyes firmly on the road.

"Thank you," I answered. I suppose a lady should have left it there, to take her compliment demurely and lapse into blushing silence, but I didn't. "You look more handsome than any man I've ever seen."

He coughed, but recovered presently and answered playfully, "You may live to regret that. We're attending a party full of men in uniform."

"I doubt it," I replied.

I would have been happy to spend the entire evening in Edwin's singular company, but we arrived at the hotel soon enough, and he helped me out of the car and left it with a smiling valet. This time, I took his arm out of more than companionship. I was anxious, I confess. I'd never been to a party full of sophisticated foreign soldiers. I would have voyaged to the end of the world with Mr. Jarvis by my side, but I couldn't completely shake my nerves.

I'd only ever been to the hotel's grand ballroom during the day, when it was plain and empty, the shell of festive potential. As we entered, however, it was a blaze of light and sound and movement, filled with men in uniform and women in dresses worth more than a month of my wages.

"Jarvis! You made it!" The voice was loud, and my companion and I turned to find ourselves face-to-face with a short man who had a drink in his hand.

"General," said my companion politely, as several people around stopped and watched. The man who'd accosted us was important, I could tell, and I surmised that he was the general Edwin served. "This is Miss—"

Edwin was cut off in the middle of my name by the general's drunken voice. "I know who she is. She's that Jewish whore from the shop downstairs."

Instantly, I felt my stomach clench and my cheeks flush, but I kept my head high. I was mortified but determined not to show it. Amid the laughter of some around us and the surprised expressions of others, I let go of Edwin's arm and walked through the sea of people and toward the balcony that I knew was just off the ballroom. I was deeply relieved to find that the double doors to it were closed but unlocked, and I slipped through and closed them behind me.

Tears came then, and I couldn't stop them. I leaned against the railing and let the cool evening breeze brush over my heated face. I was ashamed and angry and hurt all at one time. Anna, I reproached myself, you should have known this night wasn't for you. Within five minutes, I heard a light tapping at the door, followed by someone joining me on the balcony. I didn't turn around.

"Anna." The voice was Edwin's. "I'm so terribly sorry."

"It's not your fault," I said between tears, with my back to him. "I'm sorry I shamed you in front of your superior. I should have known."

"Nonsense." His voice was firmer than I'd ever heard it. "He's the one who should be ashamed."

"You say that," I continued, "but I'm not ignorant. I know how most of the world views my people."

Edwin came closer, and in an instant, he'd put his arm around my waist and pulled me around forcefully to face him. The gesture wasn't a harsh one, but I could feel how much stronger he was than I am.

He cupped my face with both hands. "I wish you'd stayed around a moment longer—to hear me tell him—tell them all—how proud I am to be here with you."

"You don't mean that," I said miserably. "You're trying to be nice."

"Stop being so stubborn," he answered, pulling me into his embrace and cradling my head against his chest (it didn't reach very high; as I've mentioned, he's quite tall).

"I like being stubborn," I pouted, very nearly comforted back into good humor.

"So I've observed," he answered drily, tenderly stroking my hair and causing part of it to come unpinned and fall down my back.

"You'll have to take me home," I said. "You've ruined me."

"I have a much better idea." The mischief in his tone caused me to look up into his face, where I found a twinkle in his eyes. "Do you trust me, Anna?" I nodded. With that, he took my hand and led me back off the balcony and into the edge of the ballroom where, thankfully, the party had moved on without us.

Walking so quickly I could barely keep up, Edwin took me the shortest way out of the room and into the corridors of the hotel. The route was one I didn't recognize, but it eventually ended at an unassuming little door that led into a tiny courtyard. He pushed it open for me and ushered me outside. The courtyard was empty, save for grass and a few wildflowers, but the moon shone down on it cheerfully, and the stars above cast silver light.

Edwin took off his jacket and sat down on the ground, pulling off his shiny black shoes and socks. Following his example, I sat down next to him and unpinned the remainder of my hair and took off my pumps, relishing the feeling of grass against my bare feet.

"Come," he said, putting his arm around me.

I snuggled into his side and rested my head against him. "Thank you for defending me."

He sighed. "In a perfect world, you wouldn't need defending."

"In a perfect world," I retorted, "there would be no soldiers in Budapest, and I'd never have met you."

"Arguing already," he murmured, putting his head on top of mine. We sat in silence for a long time, watching the stars and enjoying the low sound of the wind whistling around us.

"What are you thinking of?" Edwin finally asked.

"Keats," I answered. I lifted my head to look into his face. "Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art."

"Nobody—"he began, as if he wasn't quite sure how to say what he meant, "Nobody could be as steadfast as you were walking out of that ballroom tonight, as grand and imperious as a queen."

"Thank you," I answered. "I've practiced that look many times on customers who slagged off Mr. Jonas's prices." He threw back his head and laughed.

In the end, I didn't dance today, and I didn't really attend my first officers' party. Instead, I spent an hour in a courtyard with bare feet and a man's arm around me. He hasn't kissed me, but I wouldn't mind if he did.