“It only bothers me when I really stop to think about it. Most of the time I stay busy. And it’s not so different from any of the ocean liners or hotels I’ve worked in. Ships sink. Hotels burn. This is a bit more confined, perhaps. And there’s not much in the way of fresh air. But the clientele is the same. The same demands on my time.”
“I am quite impressed. You are the first woman ever to work aboard an airship. You should be quite proud.” Gertrud winks when Emilie raises a questioning eyebrow. “I read the papers.”
Emilie is proud. “First and only. So far, at least. I do forget that sometimes.”
“You’ve worked on the Hindenburg the entire time?”
“Since it was completed. I am one of the original crew.”
“Very altruistic of them, hiring a woman for their ‘ship of dreams.’?”
“No. Just shrewd. Easier to get wealthy men to book passage for their families if a woman is present to help bathe their children and dress their wives.”
“I’d hope there isn’t too much dressing involved.”
Emilie laughs. “There is an occasional corset to be dealt with.”
Gertrud draws on the end of her cigarette, then pinches it between two fingers so the lit end points directly at Emilie. “I won’t wear them. I’m convinced those things are a form of subjugation. Only men care about hip-to-waist ratio.”
She laughs. “I’d have to quit if it became part of my uniform requirements.”
“You must have a rather impressive résumé to land such a position.”
“I’m fairly sure it’s the gaps in my file that interest them more.”
“How so?”
“No husband. No children.” She gives Gertrud a long, stoic glance. “No distractions.”
There is kindness in the gaze that Gertrud returns but no pity, and Emilie is grateful. If there is one thing she cannot stand, it is being pitied. She may end up liking the journalist after all.
“Ah. I see.” Gertrud shifts her gaze to the window and some distant point beyond. “I will be the first to admit that children do create something of a weak spot.”
“How many do you have?”
“Just one. But he’s more than enough to leave me feeling vulnerable on this flight. That’s why I was so terrible to you yesterday, you see. We’d just left him behind.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
Schulze pushes through the air-lock door carrying a tray filled with various paraphernalia. Two fine china cups and saucers. A silver carafe of steaming coffee. Spoons. Sugar cubes. A small jug of cream.
“I know you prefer your coffee black, Fr?ulein Imhof. But I thought Frau Adelt might like some coffee as well, and I wasn’t sure how she takes it.”
They thank him and Gertrud spends a few moments in silence preparing her drink. As it turns out Frau Adelt isn’t quite so bold with her coffee as she seems to be in other areas of her life. Before long the journalist’s coffee is the color of ivory and loaded with four cubes of sugar.
“I know,” Gertrud says, “it’s ungodly. Not to mention a little embarrassing. But I’ve always taken it this way. And from what I can gather, I may as well enjoy it while I can because the whispers have already begun. Rationing. Damn these men and their idiotic wars. I hate rationing.”
Gertrud doesn’t know the half of it. There are parts of Frankfurt where people can no longer buy milk, much less sugar. Coffee itself will soon be a luxury available only to the elite. The stewardess is reminded of this every time she indulges in this comfort.
Emilie’s coffee is boiling and bitter and stings the roof of her mouth when she takes her first sip. It’s like consuming motor oil right out of the car. She takes another sip. Sighs. She stretches her legs beneath the table—they are too long to cross. Then she makes a mental note to return to her cabin and brush her teeth before resuming her shift. Schulze was a bit enthusiastic when he measured out the coffee.
“I am curious about one thing,” Gertrud says. She takes a sip and looks at Emilie over the rim of her cup. Her expression is too pleasant. Contrived.
“What’s that?”
“Do you know all the crew members who work aboard this airship?”
Emilie is aware that there is a smooth tone to Gertrud’s question. A change in intensity that hasn’t been present until now. She’s up to something.
“Many of them. Why?”
Gertrud pulls a military identification tag from her pocket and lays it faceup on the table. She scoots it toward Emilie with her finger. “Is there any way you can help me figure out who this belongs to?”
Emilie lifts the chain and dangles it from one finger. She studies the tag. “What makes you think this belongs to one of the crew?”