Allina slept in on her wedding day. She came awake with a luxurious stretch, squinting as the morning light streamed through her window. The breeze wafting into the room was scented with rosemary and lavender. It was heaven.
Five quick, crisp knocks dragged her out of her reverie before a pink-cheeked Rilla all but kicked the door open. “Happy wedding day,” Rilla sang, carrying in an oak tray, although her eyes went wide when she saw Allina’s state. “Why aren’t you out of bed? We need to get you ready,” she exclaimed, setting the tray down on the nightstand. The tray was laden with a stupendous amount of food—scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, decadent French toast, bowls of fruit and porridge, a basket of soft rolls, and a pitcher of orange juice and pot of coffee.
Allina rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “How did you manage to get up the stairs?” she asked, pointing at the tray. “If I eat all that I won’t fit into my dress.”
“I’ll help you eat it,” Rilla said with bug-eyed exasperation, “if you’ll just get up.” She sat down and began bouncing on the mattress.
Allina sat up with a sharp jerk that made her a little dizzy. “Wait, how can you be here? Have the children not eaten yet?”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Rilla said, covering Allina’s mouth. “There will be no worrying about children this morning. Alexander’s in charge for the next hour, and then Schwester Wendeline will take over. But you need to get up. If you don’t hurry, you’ll be late to your own wedding.”
Allina eased back against the pillows. “I took a bath late last night,” she said, waving Rilla’s cares away. “My hair takes forever to dry. And you promised to do my hair today, so you can repair any damage,” she added, lifting a pillow-crimped lock. She reached for the plate of French toast, adding extra syrup before taking a large bite.
It was scrumptious. The morning was gorgeous. Today would be perfect.
“My God,” Rilla said, hands on hips. “You’re not nervous at all. Not one smidge. Are you?” Her question sounded more like an accusation.
“Not one smidge,” Allina said over a mouthful of French toast. “After the week we’ve had, nothing will bother me today.”
It had been a frantic seven days. Marrying an SS officer on a week’s notice was a task worthy of Solomon, even with Karl’s connections. Allina would have lost her marbles without Rilla and Alexander, who assumed most of her Hochland Home duties last week.
It took the better part of three days to push their marriage application through Munich’s Race and Settlement Office. The paperwork was exhausting. Karl had arranged for a forged Aryan certificate for Allina, along with a cornucopia of fake birth certificates and baptismal cards on nonexistent parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. Unfortunately, the web of lies in the forged paperwork meant she needed to memorize her ancestral story. She had to be able to talk about these people as if she’d known them all her life. Karl spent the entire day after his proposal quizzing her about her fictional family to prepare for their interview. Then they endured nearly eight teeth-grinding hours at the Munich RuSHA office, filling out forms and posing for photographs of themselves in bathing costumes, of all things, to satisfy the Reich’s strict guidelines.
By the time they met with the registrar—a wiry, beady-eyed little man who kept a bust of the Führer on the corner of his desk, like a faithful watchdog—Allina’s eyelids were twitching. But after all their preparation and the endless hours of quizzing, the registrar examined her paperwork with a bland smile and without a single question. She’d studied for ten hours. They’d waited in lines for four. The registrar stamped and issued their marriage certificate in less than fifteen minutes.
Unfortunately, the registrar hadn’t been understanding about Allina’s request to skip the Reich Bride School. No, it took another day trip to Munich, and some not-so-subtle persuasion in the form of a memorandum from the Reichsführer, to exempt Allina from the six-week program. For once, she’d been grateful to Hochland Home’s character training courses, as they satisfied most of the school’s curriculum. As for the two special courses on the particular duties SS officers’ wives were expected to perform—as Karl explained to the registrar: I’m capable of teaching my new wife how to care for my uniform and polish my boots and daggers.
Then there was the matter of her dress. There was no time to design a real wedding gown, and Allina swore she didn’t need one as the ceremony would take place at the registrar’s office. Yet Karl insisted she get a new dress. She’d spent the better part of two days in Munich, submitting to a self-conscious French modiste—a tall, angular woman with eyes like blueberries and a nose like an eggplant stem. The designer had grated on her nerves, but Karl’s stunned expression when she modeled the creation made the hours of pinning and tucking worthwhile.
“Hello? Allina?” Rilla rapped on the breakfast tray, clinking the silverware and bringing Allina out of her reverie. “We’ve got two hours to get ready,” she said. “Let’s start with that unruly nest of yours. Then we’ll get you into that heavenly dress.”
Laughing, Allina jumped out of bed and headed to the bathroom to scrub her face.
It took nearly an hour to do her hair. Rilla brushed her thick locks a full two hundred strokes until they shone, and with the tender care of a mother that made Allina blink away tears. Rilla fashioned a high, tight circle of shining gold braids around her head and nestled tiny white rosebuds between them to form a crown of flowers framing Allina’s face.
“Perfect,” Rilla breathed as she nestled one last bud into place. Allina looked up and their eyes met in the glass. She was too overcome to speak.
“Now stand up and turn around,” Rilla ordered.
Allina obeyed, glancing away from the mirror as Rilla slipped the dress over her head. The silky fabric settled over her skin like a sigh. The dress was the most sumptuous she’d seen in her life, and a more elegant one than she’d ever thought to own. It was fashioned of silk velvet—very dear, although Karl had waved away the cost—and in a shade of lavender so pale the dress shimmered lilac in some angles and heather gray in others. The cut was modest and nearly down to the ankle, with ruched puff sleeves, a shirred bodice, and a gently fitted waist that made her swelling middle look sweet. Its neckline was high, and the oversize Peter Pan collar and cuffs were covered with delicate snow-white lace—an elegant frame for the gold locket she wore every day.
Rilla fastened the last of the tiny buttons up Allina’s back. “All right,” she said after dabbing Allina’s lips with the faintest bit of rosy lipstick, “you can turn around now.”
When Allina faced the mirror, she couldn’t curb a stunned gasp. The woman in the glass was pretty and pink-cheeked, and her eyes were soft with happiness. The velvet whispered against her skin. Just for today, I’ll be a woman on her wedding day. A girl in a beautiful dress. Nothing more.
Rilla squeezed her shoulders and stood on tiptoe to kiss her cheek. “Perfect.”
A light knock at the door made them both turn around.
The head nurse bustled in with a white cardboard box, but she stopped when she saw Allina. Her gray gaze misted over. “Aren’t you lovely. Your eyes look so green in that color.” She held up the box. “I’m sure the dressmaker created a hat and gloves to go with your new dress, but I thought you might make use of these.” She set the box on Allina’s bed and unpacked it. Nestled inside a dozen sheets of tissue were a pair of lace gloves and a wedding veil, which she pressed into Allina’s hands.
The lace on both items, done in a simple rose pattern, was silky against Allina’s fingers. The veil was modest, just a single waterfall tier, and there was a row of three pearl buttons along the edge of each glove.
“These are exquisite,” Allina murmured.
“They were mine,” Schwester Ziegler said with a tiny smile.
For a moment Allina didn’t speak.
“I didn’t know you were married,” Rilla said.
The older woman lifted a shoulder in a sad shrug. “My Hubertus died two years after we wed. Nearly twenty years ago now.”
“Oh, but I can’t take them, then,” Allina said, lifting her hands in protest.
“Please,” the head nurse said, pressing them again into Allina’s hands. “I’d love you to have them, unless you think they’re too old-fashioned. I’ve no children, other than the ones here. It would make me happy to see them used.”
Allina donned the gloves carefully; the lace was strong, despite its intricacy. Rilla took a minute to pin the veil to her hair before Allina turned around to model them.
“Yes,” Schwester Ziegler said in a soft voice, “they look exactly as I thought they would on you.” Then she took a step back and cleared her throat. “After all, you’re entitled to as many pretty things as you desire. In a few hours, you’ll be the wife of a Gruppenführer.”
Allina bowed her head. “Thank you.”
“Consider it a wedding gift.” The head nurse held up a finger. “Now, then. Wendeline and I will take care of your children for the rest of the day,” she said, voice crisp and back to business, “and Rilla and Alexander can make do tomorrow. There’s no need to return to work until Saturday.” She walked to the door, then turned back. “Enjoy your wedding. You’re very lucky, Allina. I wish you every happiness.”
She turned quickly and left the room without another word.
“That woman,” Rilla said, plopping back down onto the bed with a sigh, “will always be a mystery to me.”
Karl arrived at Hochland Home thirty minutes early, but Allina only kept him waiting for ten. When she and Rilla entered the guest parlor, he stood with a stunned smile. He held up a bouquet of white roses, bound in lilac ribbon a shade darker than her dress. His hands were shaking. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
A long, low whistle shot out.
Allina jumped. Alex was lounging in a chair, a meter from Karl. “Oh. I didn’t see you there, Alex.”
He winked. “Obviously, Madame, which makes my superior officer an exceptionally lucky groom.”
“I am,” Karl muttered as he walked quickly to her. Karl’s hair was dark with pomade and his eyes were very blue. His face, however, was chalky.
“You’re not nervous, are you, sir?” Alexander asked a little too innocently, earning a giggle from Rilla.
Karl lifted Allina’s lace-gloved fingers to his lips. “Not anymore.”
The ride to Munich was quiet. They kept the automobile’s top up in deference to her hair, but rode in easy, pleasant silence for the most part. Alexander told an occasional joke, and Rilla laughed in response from the back seat.
Karl’s silence suited Allina. With the hum of the automobile beneath her body and anticipation tickling her skin, she lost count of the number of times their eyes met. She was content to hold his hand, although his fingers were cold and required warming up. Alex was right. Karl von Strassberg was nervous. Somehow it made her less so.
He asked her only one question on the drive: “It’s not the wedding most women dream about, is it?”
Her heart cramped with love. Allina knew exactly what he was asking.
There would be no wedding in a church with family today, nor a larger civil service with friends. That was just as well. A simple wedding at the Munich RuSHA office was preferable to the ritual-laden SS ceremony Himmler normally required of his officers. Since Karl was due back in Prague the day after tomorrow, the Reichsführer had made an exception, and thank heaven for that. She couldn’t stand the thought of another reading from Mein Kampf or more advice on how to be a good Reich wife.
“The wedding ceremony doesn’t matter,” she said, squeezing his hand. “It’s the man I’m marrying that’s important.”
Even the beady-eyed little registrar, who sniffled during the five-minute ceremony and recited his script with little charm, didn’t matter. In the end, all that mattered was that she spoke the words and made her promises to him, and he to her. Time stretched out during those five minutes, and she became aware of the beauty in simple things—of the buoyant warmth that spread from her chest into her arms and fingers, and how Karl’s face was haloed in the light streaming through the office window. His indigo eyes held hers throughout their vows, and his fingers trembled when he slipped the plain gold band around her finger.
Karl kissed her knuckles when the ceremony was over, then her cheeks, and finally her mouth.
“W-well, now.” The registrar patted his stomach. Could it be that this little unromantic man was moved? “If you’ll be so kind as to sign,” he said, pointing to the registrar’s book.
So they signed, with Rilla and Alexander as witnesses, and there were hugs and kisses all around before they left the registrar to his next task and went home to the Sunflower House for their wedding dinner.