Winter 1938
Allina checked the clock in the nursery for the tenth time in as many minutes. Time was standing still tonight. It was 9:30 and she wouldn’t be relieved until midnight.
She reached back to adjust the pins in her nurse’s cap, but her hands shook too much to make a good job of it. She yanked the pins out instead, allowing the cap to fall to the floor. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, each heavy lock a distinct, tender ache tugging at her skull, and she raked her fingers through the mess to rub out the pain. The perfect rows of cribs cast a crisscross of shadows against the floor in the dim light. Eighteen identical cradles. Eighteen sleeping babies. Every file was in pristine order, and the furniture, floors, and countertops were spotless. No one could fault this room, at least, for uncleanness. She’d made sure of it.
Her heart rate spiked for no apparent reason, as it had done many times since the mixer, and Allina’s breath hitched while she paced down the rows of cradles. More memories of Badensburg and that black, violent night had come back this week, but even without those images she often found herself in blind, animal panic. Tonight, the need to flee was overwhelming. I want to run somewhere, anywhere, but there’s no place to run.
Albert’s warm eyes and gentle smile flashed in her mind as the maddening questions circled in her brain: Had Albert heard about Badensburg? Did he think she was dead, or was he trying to find her? Could she sneak a letter to him? Should she try to escape to join him in Berlin?
Stop it! Stop thinking. Covering her eyes, Allina forced Albert’s face from her mind. There was no way to contact him without risking his safety. As for escaping this hellish place … her papers were fakes and it was too dangerous to live in Berlin, assuming Albert was still there. His efforts might have taken him to other cities by now.
No, Allina was trapped here until she could secure a means of escape. And nearly every minute of her day was planned out at Hochland Home.
Damn the head nurse for switching her to the late shift. Days in the nursery passed quickly enough, but the nights—filled with thundering silence, suffocating darkness, and her tortured, circular thinking—had her running off the rails. Allina went to the window and pressed her forehead to the cold glass. Trees shuddered in the wind, creating shadows that bobbed and weaved like restless ghosts, and the December snow floated in thick, chaotic swirls in the air. Closing her eyes and taking deep, measured breaths, she willed her racing heart to slow. She had to get rid of the tightness binding her chest.
She walked to one of the cradles and peered inside. Neils Schneider. Berta’s son. Awake but mute, the baby pumped his legs and blew spit bubbles as his pale blue gaze drifted across the ceiling. He was a beautiful child, golden-haired and pink-faced. Innocent. The head nurse would say her touch wasn’t warranted, but Allina reached in and caressed the curve of his cheek. Neils flinched and turned away, but she persisted, running a finger down his forehead and along the length of his button nose. The little one sneezed, scrunched up his face, and let out a whimper.
They get so little love, not from their mothers or us. It was just days before Christmas, but there was no tenderness or joy at Hochland Home.
To hell with house rules. To hell with them all. Defying instructions, she picked him up and walked the length of the room, joggling her arms until he favored her with wet gurgles and a sweet pucker of pink lips. She pressed her nose to his neck, inhaling the milkiness and talcum powder clinging to his skin. “You’re such a handsome boy,” she whispered, setting her hand on his tummy. Neils’s gaze zeroed in on her face, and he wrapped a moist, chubby fist around her thumb.
A warm ache filled Allina’s chest. She smiled into his perfect little face and began to sing.
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright …
Neils was asleep before she finished, which was just as well, since her voice was cracked and hoarse by the end. Allina set him down in his cradle and retreated to a chair closer to the nursery’s entrance, shuddering as she grabbed a pillow and sat down.
Help me.
But God wasn’t listening.
Helpmehelpmehelpme—
Burying her face in the pillow, Allina rocked and stomped her feet until her heels stung, forgetting herself and blind to the needs of the children, their mothers, and everyone else at Hochland Home. At first her tears were silent, but when she let go, the screams began. She wailed into the pillow, choking on the burning, hard ball of ugliness in the pit of her stomach.
When no tears were left, Allina continued to rock with her head cradled in the down. She felt better, weak but oddly light with exhaustion. Her mind was a perfect blank. Her heart was still beating. And she could breathe without feeling the air was out to choke her.
It was then that she felt the man’s gaze. A curious sensation that stirred the hairs at her nape made her stop rocking and lift her head.
An officer stood in the doorway. He was tall and slim and his uniform bore the insignia associated with the rank of Gruppenführer. Like Gud. This one was younger, however, and broad shouldered. His blond hair glinted with pomade. He had an arrogant face, with a square jaw, a straight, high-bridged nose, and sharp cheekbones. His gaze was dark and penetrating. In the dim light she couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but she couldn’t look away.
He hesitated and rocked back slightly on his heels, with hands linked behind his back. “Forgive me for intruding, Schwester,” he murmured. “I was passing by the room and heard you.” He bowed in deference, waiting for her response.
Allina lowered her head long enough to wipe the tears from her face. When she glanced back up, she saw concern in his eyes. A spark of anger ignited in her belly. She suddenly had a desire to slap the gentlemanly manners off his face.
When Allina spoke, her voice was as smooth as ice. “I apologize, Gruppenführer, for my weakness. It won’t happen again.”
The officer’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Strictly speaking, the words were acceptable, but Allina knew her tone was not. He remained silent for a few seconds while she continued to stare at him, too rudely to be misinterpreted, and too angry to be afraid.
He cleared his throat before speaking again. “You were singing to the children before, and your voice … it’s quite beautiful. ‘Silent Night’ has always been my favorite at Christmas.”
Allina stood, clasping her hands at the waist. “Again, my apologies. Religious songs aren’t allowed here, as we both know,” she said, fighting to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Schwester Ziegler prefers the Führer to God. Clearly, God is nowhere to be found at Hochland Home.”
The officer opened his mouth, then closed it and cocked his head, as if listening to an internal voice. He remained absolutely still as he searched her face.
After a half minute of charged silence, the officer gave a slow nod. “God is here, Schwester,” he replied gravely. “He may seem very far from both of us right now, but he’s here. We can’t lose faith.”
She had no response to his statement, and that seemed to satisfy him. His mouth relaxed in a grin. The transformation was instant and unsettling. He was handsome when he smiled. She looked down at her shoes.
“I’ve intruded on your duties long enough. Perhaps we’ll be fortunate enough to continue this conversation another day,” he said. “I hope you feel better, Schwester. Happy Christmas.”
She peeked up in time to watch him click his heels, bow, and withdraw from the room.
Allina fell back into her seat, limp with relief, and too dazed to do anything but stare out the window. As the storm howled, she became mesmerized by the patterns of whirling snow floating like puffs of smoke in the inky night.
The officer’s intense, probing gaze flashed in Allina’s mind and she shivered, regretting her temper. Weeping, singing, and speaking of God to a Gruppenführer. What was wrong with her? And what would he do if they met again?