When We Flew Away: A Novel of Anne Frank Before the Diary

by Alice Hoffman

Her grandmother leaned down and stroked Anne’s hair. She had always had a special fondness for her younger granddaughter. Although some people felt Anne was too full of herself, Oma knew she was deeply sensitive, possessing a huge compassionate heart that was easily wounded, not that Anne showed her hurt to anyone, especially not to her mother, whom she often felt she could never please. Sometimes, when Anne was in her mother’s presence, she would retreat into a world of her own. “Wake up,” Edith would say then. “We’re not here to dream.” I am, Anne would whisper under her breath. I can dream whatever I want to. It was true Anne often forgot her chores, and everyday life didn’t always interest her. Her imagination ran wild as she read novels in the fading light in the bedroom that she shared with Margot, so engrossed that the rest of the world slipped away. Her mother would knock on the door late at night, calling for Anne to turn out the light. But even after she’d done as she was told, Anne often couldn’t sleep; she would look out her window to gaze at the stars, which seemed so close she sometimes felt as if she could reach out and touch them.