The Perfumer

Chapter 3-2

4 September, 1939 - Poland

Gasping for breath, Sofia’s eyes fell on the silver-framed family photographs on her desk. She remembered how hard Max had worked to restore the crystal and glass factory he had inherited from his father, her Karl—that handsome, lovable rascal.

She and Karl were married in Germany, and it wasn’t long before she discovered Karl’s gambling debts. All that remained was Sofia’s family estate in Klukowski, Poland, in the village named after her ancestors. Several generations of her family had lived on this land, descendants of a valiant Polish knight and his striking wife, a Silesian countess. Years later, after Karl’s heart finally gave out, Max inherited the floundering firm.

Sofia touched a wedding photograph of Max and Danielle. Max had been lucky to meet Danielle at a perfume conference in Paris.

She shook her head, the furrow between her brow deepening as she wondered if news of the invasion had reached Max and Danielle aboard the ship. If it has, how worried they must be. She removed the cherished photographs from their frames and stashed the pictures in her bag, then checked her watch pin. Five-thirty. Threads of light crept into the room. Jacob should be here.

She woke Nicky to dress him.

The little boy rubbed his eyes. “Where are we going?”

“We’re taking a short trip.” Sofia pulled a warm sweater over his head.

“Will Maman and Papa be there?”

“As soon as they return from New York.” She kissed his cheek. “Until then, we must carry on and have courage.”

He hugged his favorite stuffed animal, a red-striped monkey. “I want to take him.”

“As long as you promise to carry him.” Danielle had made it for him.

At last, they were ready. Sofia held Nicky’s hand and waited in the rear doorway for Jacob to return. A distant church bell chimed seven times. What was keeping Jacob?

“Look over there,” Nicky said. The light summer breeze ruffled his fine, golden hair as he pointed to the west. Smudges of gray smoke drifted on the horizon.

Sofia sniffed. A faint burning odor permeated the morning air. She hugged Nicky to her breast, but he grew restless.

“Let’s walk through the garden.” Sofia took his hand and he tried to run, but she refused to let go. “My, you’re energetic this morning.”

They knelt on the carpet of grass, damp with dew. Sofia glanced around, taking solace in her garden. Realizing she might never see it again, she closed her eyes and inhaled the delicate aromas of her luscious red roses, the creamy white honeysuckle, and her favorite, mounds of lilac bushes that blazed purple every spring.

She heard her car turn into their lane. Nicky scrambled from her lap. She smoothed her chignon and straightened, bone thin but regal, and strode to meet the car.

Jacob’s wife, Irma, and three small children were crowded in with Jacob’s brother, Oscar.

Sofia walked to the front of the chateau, removed a large skeleton key from her pocket, and locked the pair of intricately carved entry doors. She hesitated on the stone steps.

Her family had endured much; they would weather this, too. She gazed up at the great house and hoped it, too, would survive. For her son, Max, for Danielle, and for Nicky, the next generation.

Jacob appeared at her side. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone soft and respectful. “It’s time to go.”

Sofia rested her hand in the crook of his elbow, grateful for his support. She walked to the car, trying to appear stronger than she felt, and slid into the front seat. She took Nicky in her arms.

As they drove away, she turned to watch her grand home disappear behind the hill. Silent tears slipped from her eyes, splashing onto Nicky’s fine hair.

A high thin whistle sounded overhead. Sofia clutched Jacob’s arm. “What’s that?” Before he could answer, a thundering roar shook the car.

Sofia craned her neck to see. Black smoke billowed behind them. A silvery glint in the sky caught her eye, then another, and another. “Airplanes. Good Lord, they’re dropping bombs.”

Jacob pressed the accelerator to the floor.