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  PRAISE FOR MELANIE DOBSON

  The Curator’s Daughter

  “Melanie Dobson is a master. With great insight into racism in the past and in the present, the novel brings up deep questions about what risks we would take to stand up for what’s right. Exceptional research shines on each page, but the intertwined stories of Hanna, Lilly, and Ember are what kept me flipping those pages. A gem of a novel.”

  SARAH SUNDIN, bestselling and Carol Award–winning author of When Twilight Breaks and the Sunrise at Normandy series

  “Set in a world coming apart at the seams, this story will sweep you up in life-and-death struggles but ultimately fill you with love and hope. A haunting, totally immersive novel.”

  CHRIS FABRY, bestselling author of Under a Cloudless Sky

  “Intriguing, multilayered, and suspenseful, The Curator’s Daughter winds through generations like the labyrinth it portrays. . . . I started this book late one morning and could not put it down. Melanie Dobson’s historical research alone is astounding, but the story is also brilliant and masterfully told. Readers of time-split fiction will love this.”

  CATHY GOHLKE, Christy Award–winning author of Night Bird Calling and The Medallion

  “[A]n unforgettable saga. With her vivid description, well-crafted characters, and rich historical detail, Melanie Dobson transports readers to Nuremberg, Germany, during World War II, telling what might seem at first a familiar tale of the Nazi regime, yet leaving us with a new, deeper understanding of the legacy of evil left in its wake decades later. The history at the heart of this story should never be forgotten.”

  MICHELLE SHOCKLEE, author of Under the Tulip Tree

  Memories of Glass

  “Memories of Glass is a remarkable, multilayered novel that weaves stories of friendship and faith in wartime Holland together with a modern-day orphanage in Africa. Memorable characters portray the complexity of human relationships and reveal the lasting consequences of our choices, whether cowardly or courageous, and the mysteries kept me turning pages, leaving me with much to ponder.”

  LYNN AUSTIN, bestselling author of If I Were You and Legacy of Mercy

  “Like colored shards in sunlight, Melanie Dobson once again shines her light of truth in this elegantly complex and gripping tale of the hidden terrors of the Netherlands during WWII. Memories of Glass is a remarkable story and one that will linger in the hearts of readers long after the last page.”

  KATE BRESLIN, bestselling author of For Such a Time

  “Heart-wrenching history combines with gripping characters and Melanie Dobson’s signature gorgeous writing to create a tale you won’t be able to put down—and won’t want to. Memories of Glass is an amazing, intricately woven story of finding light in the least likely of places.”

  ROSEANNA M. WHITE, bestselling author of the Shadows over England series

  “Breathtaking, heartbreaking, and ultimately uplifting, Memories of Glass shows the beauty of helping others, the ugliness of people helping only themselves, and the destructive power of secrets through the generations. . . . This novel will stay with you.”

  SARAH SUNDIN, bestselling and Carol Award–winning author of When Twilight Breaks and the Sunrise at Normandy seriess

  “I couldn’t stop turning the pages of Melanie Dobson’s Memories of Glass. . . . Peopled with characters heroic, flawed, and unforgettable, Memories of Glass is sure to please longtime fans of Melanie Dobson’s books as well as readers new to her novels.”

  LORI BENTON, author of Mountain Laurel and The King’s Mercy

  Hidden Among the Stars

  “This exciting tale will please fans of time-jump inspirational fiction.”

  Publishers Weekly

  “A romantic tale of castles, lost dreams, and hidden treasures wrapped inside a captivating and suspenseful mystery complete with an unpredictable, unforeseen, and unexpected ending. Not a book to miss!”

  Midwest Book Reviews

  “Star-crossed, forbidden love and the disappearance of family members and hidden treasure make a compelling WWII story and set the stage for modern-day detective work in Dobson’s latest time-slip novel. . . . Hidden Among the Stars is Dobson at her best.”

  CATHY GOHLKE, Christy Award–winning author of Night Bird Calling and The Medallion

  “Hidden Among the Stars is a glorious treasure hunt, uniting past and present with each delightful revelation. It’s must-read historical fiction that left me pondering well-crafted twists for days.”

  MESU ANDREWS, award-winning author of Isaiah’s Daughter

  Catching the Wind

  “Dobson creates a labyrinth of intrigue, expertly weaving a World War II drama with a present-day mystery to create an unforgettable story. This is a must-read for fans of historical time-slip fiction.”

  Publishers Weekly, starred review

  “Dobson skillfully interweaves three separate lives as she joins the past and present in an uplifting tale of courage, love, and enduring hope.”

  Library Journal

  “A beautiful and captivating novel with compelling characters, intriguing mystery, and true friendship..”

  Romantic Times

  “Readers will delight in this story that illustrates how the past can change the present.”

  LISA WINGATE, national bestselling author of Before We Were Yours

  Visit Tyndale online at tyndale.com.

  Visit Melanie Dobson’s website at melaniedobson.com.

  TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Ministries.

  The Curator’s Daughter

  Copyright © 2021 by Melanie Dobson. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of Nuremberg copyright © sakchai vongsasiripat/Getty Images. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of woman copyright © Richard Jenkins Photography. All rights reserved.

  Interior photographs from the personal collection of the author, and used with permission.

  Interior illustration of map drawn by Jen Phelps. Copyright © Tyndale House Ministries. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Jennifer Phelps

  Edited by Kathryn S. Olson

  Published in association with the literary agency of Natasha Kern Literary Agency, Inc., P.O. Box 1069, White Salmon, WA 98672.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  The Curator’s Daughter is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Tyndale House Publishers at [email protected], or call 1-855-277-9400.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Dobson, Melanie, author.

  Title: The curator’s daughter / Melanie Dobson.

  Description: Carol Stream, Illinois : Tyndale House Publishers, [2021]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2020037007 (print) | LCCN 2020037008 (ebook) | ISBN

  9781496444165 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781496444172 (trade paperback) | ISBN

  9781496444189 (kindle edition) | ISBN 9781496444196 (epub) | ISBN

  9781496444202 (epub)

  Subjects: LCSH: World War, 1939-1945--Fiction. | GSAFD: Historical fiction.

  | Christian fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3604.O25 C87 2021 (print) | LCC PS3604.O25 (ebook)

  | DDC 813/.6--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020037007

  LC ebook record available
at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020037008

  Build: 2021-02-09 10:05:33 EPUB 3.0

  AUNT JANET WACKER

  MARCH 29, 1946–JUNE 13, 2018

  I’m forever grateful that you shared your stories,

  Wacker-strength, love of people, and friendships formed

  while teaching in a segregated all-black school.

  KIKI

  My beautiful explorer and encourager.

  Thank you for partnering with your mama

  on every book.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part One Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Part Two Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Part Three Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Preview of Memories of Glass

  Author’s Note

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  EAGLE LAKE, IDAHO

  WINTER 1999

  The moon gazed across Eagle Lake through a veil of mist, watching over this valley of lofty white pines and locked gates that welcomed only those with the purest of blood. Those who fought boldly for the strength of their humanity.

  Fresh snowmelt lapped against the muddy bank, its sting icing Sarah’s toes, blasting up her ivory skin like the storms that thundered through these rocky canyons each spring. In this early morning hour, dressed in a cotton nightie, she didn’t feel the noble strength of her Aryan blood. Didn’t feel it at any hour really. Her blood seemed to fail her whenever she needed it most.

  These nights alone on the lakeshore, she wasn’t even certain what she believed, but Lukas stockpiled enough passion in his heart for both her and their baby. Before they’d married, Lukas had assured her that he would erase any doubts lingering in her mind, but she was fifteen now and the doubts only swelled with age.

  The bright eye of the moon blinked—or had it winked at her? Perhaps it was mocking her like those who didn’t want them in this valley.

  Town was just twenty minutes away. She’d attended public school in Coeur d’Alene for a short time until Father found out she was required to pledge that every citizen in their nation was under God. He pulled her out of second grade but not before a classmate—a black friend—told her that God was love and He had the audacity to love everyone, no matter the color of their skin. Her school friend told her about this love and so did her brother, before Father banned her from speaking with both of them.

  The glazed surface disappeared for a moment, black and then a white sheen frosting the lake. Two colors that haunted her both day and night.

  As the black and white melded into gray before her, it seemed, in the strangest sense, that they needed each other.

  If God created mankind and a world full of color, why would He love only those with the lightest of skin? Why were those who reflected the variety of nature’s palette seemingly less in His eyes?

  These questions burned like the icy water on her toes, but she didn’t dare ask them. The Aryan Council, led by her father, didn’t appreciate questions. Their nation was supposed to be of one mind. Always. The lesser races, Father had explained, were spawn of Satan’s alliance with Eve, after she’d been banned from the Garden.

  Sarah was supposed to believe that anyone stained brown was marked as an enemy of God, but out here her mind could go rogue. She could be who God created her to be, far beneath her layers of skin. Ask the questions churning inside her. Out here all the colors of night, the sweet smell of pine, replenished her soul.

  Lukas and their sweet daughter, three months on this earth, were asleep in the cabin behind her. Fifty other members of their esteemed council, including her parents, were also sleeping in the cluster of cabins.

  She’d found no peace in this remote enclave, its chapel rumbling with hatred, the armory stocked with enough weapons to take out the entire town and a good chunk of Idaho along with it.

  But a different God seemed to reign along the shores of Eagle Lake. One that embraced peace instead.

  Lukas and Father had tried to erase her doubts, but neither had succeeded. When her soul cried out in desperation, she could find a glimpse of God here and feel, for the briefest of moments, as if she were truly alive. On nights like this, when her heart longed for answers, she desperately needed this glimpse.

  A smooth stone glimmered by her foot, and she plucked it from the mud, tossing it back into the water. Then she listened to its gentle splash before it disappeared.

  What would it be like to untie one of the boats along the dock and drift away? Or wander into the cold water, let it swallow her up in depths that dropped hundreds of feet, mirroring the height of snow-swept mountains around them?

  What would it feel like to just be gone?

  A coyote howled in the distance, mimicking a baby’s cry. And the cry brought her back. No matter how much she wanted to leave this compound, this life, she couldn’t leave Elsie behind.

  The mist shivered as if it knew the sunlight would chase it away soon. That everything was about to change.

  She should return to bed before Lukas awakened, but she couldn’t think inside their cabin—couldn’t worry or even wonder what would happen if she tried to step outside the gates, the barbed wire, alone. Inside the cabin, she tried not to feel at all.

  All she did was hold her daughter and wish they could steal away together in the night. A wish she could never tell another soul, not even whisper to Elsie. Others in the Aryan Council had longed for an escape, but they never ran far. Her father wouldn’t allow it.

  Often they never ran at all—those people simply disappeared like the sinking stone.

  The lake lapped over her toes again, delivering its chill from a long journey down the mountains. Then a light flickered through the fog, a tiny spark on the water. A lone star in this galaxy of night.

  She stared at the spark until a flame, as sharp as her husband’s sword, dipped and curled itself in the black space, piercing the edge of the veil, its glow burning through her mind.

  A nightmare, she thought, of fire and screaming and people trying to scale the barbs and spikes on their property’s fence. She must still be asleep in the cottage above the lake, Lukas at her side, Elsie rocking in her cradle beside them.

  Only a dream—

  A siren shattered the silence, rippling across her skin, slicing through the mist in her mind.

  This was no dream. Nor was it a drill. Her father wouldn’t allow the guards in their gatehouse to train without warning. A siren meant the men must fight. The women and children run.

  She knew exactly what she was supposed to do if the enemy attacked. Father had boats waiting to transport the women and children and eventually the men to
the opposite shore. Deep in the mountains, far from town, was another compound called Eagle’s Nest, a fortress stockpiled with weapons and enough food to last a decade if necessary.

  A hiding place their enemy would never find.

  She was supposed to run, but her feet froze in the mud.

  The flames lapped against her parents’ cottage, like the water across her feet, and in a blink, the fire devoured the pine.

  People poured out of their homes now, screaming with the blare of sirens.

  Was Lukas still in their cottage? He’d been asleep when she crept down to the shore, but sometimes he left during the night as well.

  Had he—had they—left Elsie alone?

  Fear swept through her, igniting her feet. Instead of climbing into a boat, Sarah raced up the hill until another young woman—Aimee—grabbed her arm, tried to pull her toward the water. “You can’t go back, Sarah.”

  A second cottage succumbed to the blaze, then one beside it. Her cabin was next.

  “Elsie!” she cried out, shaking off the woman’s hold.

  Not that her daughter could respond, but she must know her mom was coming. That she would never leave her baby alone to face this fire.

  She coughed as she ran, the smoke burning its way into her lungs, stinging her eyes.

  “Sarah—” Lukas’s voice roared over the chaos. “I’ve got her.”

  The fire licked against the cottage as she squinted through the haze, searching for her husband and the girl in his arms.

  A glimpse was all she needed. Then she would know.

  “We’ll meet at Eagle’s Nest,” he shouted.

  Sarah pushed through the crowd, her arms outstretched as she pressed toward his voice. “Give her to me.”

  “No.” The sound was fainter now, as if the fire was swallowing him. “I’ll carry her to the mountain.”

  Aimee took her arm again, tugging toward the dock. “We have to go.”

  “Get into the boat,” Lukas commanded from behind, his face lost in the blur of smoke and haze. Others climbed into the old pontoon, but her wet toes hung on the edge of the slippery dock, refusing to move.