Summer 1939
Hochland Home
Steinhöring
Allina waddled over to the blue velvet settee in the front parlor and heaved her swollen body onto the soft cushions with as much grace as she could muster.
“Come, Otto, let’s rest for a moment,” she said. God, her back was killing her today. She pressed a hand to the base of her spine.
Otto followed obediently and jumped onto the sofa’s edge before taking her hand. His moist fingers wriggled in her grip. Allina’s throat tightened. They’d been waiting twenty minutes. When would the Schafs arrive?
“Why are you sad?” Otto asked, glancing up at her with wide eyes. He was adorable in his charcoal cotton short suit and crisp white shirt. With freshly scrubbed cheeks and his blond hair parted to the side and slicked back with water, he was the perfect little gentleman.
Allina slid a finger down the center of his nose, sprinkled with freckles from weeks of playing outdoors. “I’m not sad,” she lied, blinking away tears. “I’m happy for you.”
The sound of approaching footfalls made her stomach sink. Allina took a deep breath and managed to force a smile onto her face by the time the door opened. Schwester Ziegler entered, beckoning to the middle-aged couple who stood in the hall. The pair was clad in impeccable silk clothes—she in a red dress and broad-brimmed hat trimmed with onyx feathers, and he in a navy suit.
“Schwester Allina will handle things from here,” she said, with a sweep of her arm. “Hugo, Luisa, I wish you every happiness with your new son.” Ziegler turned and left without another word.
The woman approached Otto and bent forward, one hand pressed to the collar of her dress, the other outstretched. Although he hopped off the sofa at Allina’s urging, Otto turned back and pressed his sturdy body against her legs.
The woman’s eyes narrowed.
“Otto, these are the Schafs, your new parents,” Allina coaxed. “They picked you especially, out of all the children at Hochland Home, to be their son.”
Another lie. It was Marguerite Ziegler who had, in fact, chosen Otto for the Schafs, but only after the couple appealed to the Reichsführer.
Earlier this year, the pair were sorely disappointed when they didn’t receive the child promised to them—one who, unfortunately, was deemed “slow” and sent away from Hochland Home. A child Allina’s program wasn’t destined to save.
Frustrated, the Schafs had written more than a dozen letters to the head nurse, and then to the Reichsführer, demanding help or compensation. As every other Hochland Home child had already been assigned an adopted family, Himmler suggested one of Allina’s special children might do.
Otto was the most advanced—nearly perfect, as Ziegler assured her—and Allina could only pray that he would be enough. That this couple would be gentle and patient and kind.
The Schafs had, after all, demanded a flawless Aryan child.
Otto looked up at Allina with guileless blue eyes. “I’ll miss you, Schwester.”
Allina’s laugh was a little shaky. “And I’ll miss you,” she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “That’s why I’m crying. But I’m happy for you, too.” She pressed her lips to his silky hair, still scented faintly of lemon soap.
“We should leave as soon as possible,” the man said. “We’ve a long drive ahead of us. It took over an hour to get here.” He clapped his hands before holding them up to mimic the steering wheel of a car. “What do you say?” he asked Otto with a grin. “Are you ready to go for a ride?”
Otto perked up, nodding vigorously enough to unsettle his hair. Chuckling, the couple each took Otto by the hand, leaving Allina to follow.
Otto turned to her at the last minute, pulling away from the couple to press his small body against hers before running to the doorway. He jumped down the steps, counting each with excellent diction and landing with a triumphant “Five!” on the front path. “Good-bye, Schwester Allina,” the boy called out over his shoulder.
Allina watched from the doorway as they got into their automobile. After the vehicle disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust, she walked back to the parlor. Her mind was a blank, and her pregnant body for once felt light and empty, like a balloon. She sat down with a sigh.
Perhaps a half hour later, a warm hand on her shoulder stirred her out of her reverie. The head nurse offered a cup of tea. “This is why I told you from the beginning that it’s never a good idea to get too involved with the children.”
She set the saucer on a side table and left without another word.
Late that evening, Karl held her while she cried. “I know it’s difficult for you, letting Otto go,” he murmured into her hair.
“My heart’s breaking,” Allina said. “I’m terrified for him.”
“I know.”
“What sort of person will Otto become, with parents like that?”
“Otto will live. And you’ve done everything you could.” This was the only answer he could offer, Allina knew that. Karl pressed a kiss to her forehead, ran his hand in a soothing caress over her hair. “I have some good news for you, though. We just got word of Ursula and Rabbi Guttmann. Their families made it safely to Switzerland. My Aunt Adele says they’re adjusting well.”
“That’s wonderful.” Allina shifted again, trying to find a comfortable position. Sometimes it felt like the baby was kicking her spine. “Ooof. My back is killing me.”
Karl’s hands moved to the tender space above the base of her spine and began massaging it in slow circles, easing the pain.
“That’s heaven,” she murmured. “I didn’t know I married a magician.” He certainly had the hands of one. “Have I told you how happy I am to have you home, even if only for a week?”
“Hmmmm. There’s the attitude I want to hear.”
A soft flutter in her womb, and then a harder kick, made Allina go still.
Karl’s fingers paused. “What is it?” he whispered.
She reached for his hand and pressed it to her stomach. They waited, barely breathing. When the baby kicked again, he reared back and laughed. “There he is.”
She wriggled up, keeping both their hands pressed to her tummy. “Or she.”
“Or she,” he agreed. Karl cupped hands around his mouth and pressed them to her tummy. “Hello, little one. This is your father.” He laughed again and planted a loud, smacking kiss on her belly. “Do you see, my heart? There’s new life all around us today.”
Allina pressed the emerald gown to her middle and twisted before the mirror, examining her profile with a critical eye.
The dress was nearly as beautiful as the one she’d worn on her wedding day. Its fabric was shot through with gold thread in an abstract pattern, and the dress was cut beautifully with a deep neckline, shoulder-hugging puffed sleeves, and an Empire waist that complimented her expanding figure.
The gown was also a birthday gift from her husband—yet another in a series of gifts he’d given her since their wedding. On the bed, still wrapped in packing tissue, was a second gorgeous frock in indigo silk, along with two sets of ballet slippers that matched the gowns.
“Let me spoil you a little,” he’d coaxed before the modiste arrived. “It’s just a few dresses. We couldn’t have the wedding you deserved.”
She’d relented, in part because it pleased him, but also because she needed the clothes. The rehabilitation program had taken its toll on her work uniforms. Nearly everything she owned was spattered with finger paint no amount of washing could erase, and she’d ruined several of the items she’d gotten on loan from the other mothers. Thanks to her husband, a dozen sturdy aprons and six new outfits—most of them casual, and each featuring clever designs that would take her through the balance of her pregnancy—were scheduled for delivery tomorrow.
Still frowning at her reflection, Allina heard the subtle snick of the front door as it opened. Her husband was home early.
Karl walked into the bedroom and joined her in front of the mirror. “Hello, beautiful,” he said, tugging her gently back against his chest. Their eyes locked in the glass.
“I’m like a balloon.”
He kissed her cheek. “Nonsense,” Karl said, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re lovely.” His hands went to cup her belly. “How’s your stomach today?”
“The same,” she said. “When the nausea hits, there’s nothing I can do but run for the bathroom. I can’t believe I’m getting sick now.” Her morning sickness hadn’t started until the end of her fourth month. It was ridiculous.
“You’re unique even in your pregnancy,” he said, rubbing her tummy. “Why not try on one of your beautiful new dresses?” Karl planted a soft kiss on the side of her neck. “I’ll help you.” Keeping his eyes on hers in the glass, he undid the row of tiny buttons on the front of her shift. Then he cupped her breasts through her brassiere, circling his thumbs lightly over her nipples until she moaned.
“You’re trying to distract me,” she protested.
“A husband’s privilege,” he said with a last nip at her neck. But then he lent himself to the task, helping her out of her cotton dress and into the green velvet gown. The fabric was light and cool against her skin.
When Allina gazed into the mirror again, she was surprised. She looked … elegant. Sensual. Satisfied.
“You’re a goddess,” Karl said. “A modern-day Fricka.”
“The goddess of marriage.”
“And fertility,” he added with a wolf’s smile.
She leaned back against him with a sigh. “I feel pampered and beautiful, thanks to your extravagant gifts. But when will we find time to go to dinner or the theater?”
“Hmm, yes. About that…” The smile in the glass lost some of its heat. “We’re going to the opera. The season at Bayreuth opens soon.”
“The Wagner Festival?”
“Yes. It commences at the end of the month. I go each year. It’s mandatory.”
Allina’s ears began to ring. She should have expected this. Everyone knew Adolf Hitler was a Wagner fanatic. She was the wife of a high-ranking SS officer. Of course she must go.
Karl massaged her shoulders as they stiffened.
“He’ll be there, won’t he?” she asked.
He nodded, kissed her cheek. “Yes. The Führer attends performances every day.”
She was growing light-headed. “How long will we be at Bayreuth?”
“A week.” He squeezed her shoulders gently. “I wouldn’t take you if it was dangerous.”
Of course not. He was protective to a fault. Still, a week in Adolf Hitler’s presence would be torturous. Nerve-wracking.
Allina turned, and Karl’s arms came around her. She pressed her cheek to his chest, inhaling his cool, clean scent. “If you tell me I asked for this, I’ll hit you over the head with one of my new shoes.”
Karl chuckled and pulled her closer. “Try not to worry. The Reichsführer has been singing your praises. As much as the Führer wants to meet you, he never discusses business or politics with women. All the ladies find him charming.”
She snorted. “I’m sure.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead. “All the wives go. You need more practice interacting with them.”
“I know how to behave,” Allina replied, shooting him a sour look. “How hard can it be to play a spoiled Reich wife? Pleasant, empty-headed, uninterested in politics. Hopelessly dull.”
Karl threw his head back and laughed. “My heart, I don’t expect miracles.”