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“Which ancestor? Is it—is it Mayer Rothschild?”
    â€œYou know about him?” Phoebe asked, surprised.
    â€œWell, I read a little online. After I met you yesterday. I was interested in the family founder and the story and all.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œI’m not jealous like Colette,” Mallory said. “I promise. I wanted to know more, that’s all. Your ancestor Mayer Rothschild sounded like a fascinating man. You should be proud of him, by the way. Not ashamed.”
    â€œI am,” said Phoebe, stung.
    â€œGood,” said Mallory smoothly. “So, who is this, then, if it’s not Mayer?” She indicated the portrait again.
    â€œThat’s Nathan Rothschild,” said Phoebe, glad to move on to talking about something factual. “He was Mayer’s third son. The third of five sons, did you read about that? There were five daughters too, by the way, though they hardly ever get mentioned. My mother is descended from Nathan’s branch, which is the English one.”
    â€œIs there a portrait of Mayer himself?”
    â€œNo. There are a couple of historical paintings, scenes that include him, that were done many years after his death. My cousins in Paris have them—or copies of them, I’m not sure which. Anyway, Mayer is represented in them, but it’s really the artist’s imagination at work.”
    â€œOh. I was hoping for something that would show what he really looked like.”
    â€œThere’s nothing like that,” said Phoebe. “There was no photography then. The five sons all sat for portraits, but not Mayer. He was supposedly a very modest and humble man, so it wouldn’t have been like him to commission a portrait, I guess.
    â€œI don’t know how much you read about him, Mallory. It was his sons who, well, who rose in the world. And that was how he wanted it. He stayed in Frankfurt in a small house, with his wife—I’m named for her, my middle name, Gutle. Anyway, he stayed there his whole life, even after becoming rich and powerful.”
    â€œIn the Jewish ghetto?”
    â€œYes. It was a terrible place. There are pictures of that, if you want to see them.”
    â€œI would,” said Mallory. She looked again at the portrait of Nathan Rothschild. “Do you ever wish you could go back in time and meet Mayer?”
    Phoebe had never thought about that before. But after only a second, she shook her head. “Only if I could be really certain of coming back here afterward. Mayer’s time was not a good time to be a Jew in Europe.”
    â€œEven if you were a Rothschild?”
    â€œWell,” Phoebe said awkwardly, shyly, “the name meant nothing until Mayer and his five sons made it mean something. And it wasn’t about building power and money. Those were just the tools. Underneath that, it was all about safety and survival.
    â€œI guess . . .” Phoebe paused. “I guess that’s why what Colette said—about my being a spoiled princess—that’s why it really hurt. She just didn’t understand. But it’s my fault, in a way. I couldn’t explain. I barely can now.” She shrugged. “Well. Anyway. Let’s go see the rest of the house.”
    â€œOkay,” said Mallory. “But Phoebe?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI understand what you’re saying. About survival.”
    â€œWell, it was a long time ago. I don’t mean to be so dramatic. It’s not like I’m personally in any danger. It’s the history, that’s all. Family history and world history and, well, Jewish history.”
    â€œHistory affects the present.” Mallory caught Phoebe’s gaze and held it. “The history of our family and our people affects who we are in the present.”
    â€œYes,” said Phoebe. “It does! Even if you really wish it didn’t.”
    â€œEven if you really wish it didn’t,” echoed