Summer 1941
Sonnenblumen Haus
Starnberg
Katrine galloped into the kitchen with a squeal so loud it should have rattled every cup and saucer in the cupboard. Running to Allina, she buried her face in her mother’s skirts.
“Mama!” The muffled cry was exuberant. Katrine clutched Allina’s apron with grubby hands and pressed her sturdy little body close. The girl’s mop of honey-colored hair trembled with excitement.
Laughing, Allina set down the apple she was peeling and hoisted up the giggling child. She set her daughter down on a clean corner of the worktable and took Katrine’s face in her hands, examining every beloved detail. The little one’s hair was a tangled mess and each pink cheek was streaked with dirt and freckled from the sun. Her dark blue eyes shone.
Allina’s heart cramped with love. This child, named after Karl’s grandmother, Ekaterina, brought the sunshine wherever she went. If the dried mud on her face and blue gingham dress were any indication, she’d been running amok in the garden.
“Where have you been, kitten? Where’s Papa?”
With another giggle, the little girl pointed at the kitchen door.
As if on cue, Karl walked in, smiling and holding an armful of sunflowers. It was the largest, most beautiful bouquet she’d ever seen.
“Surprise!” Katrine yelled.
Allina held back tears of relief. In rolled-up shirtsleeves and with his hair devoid of pomade, Karl seemed ten years younger this morning. His hands and face were as streaked with dirt as his daughter’s. Home for less than a day, he already looked more gentleman farmer than officer. It was nearly enough to make Allina forget about the damn war.
When Karl had arrived from Prague last night at sunset, he’d been exhausted, with sunken eyes and a face far too pale for summer. The bitter lines around his mouth had made Allina’s stomach tumble, but instead of asking questions, she’d fed Karl while he gently reacquainted himself with his daughter. Allina had welcomed him into her body later, and his gentleness made her weep.
Afterward, Karl’s dreams were violent enough to shake the bed. His moans had woken her three times. She’d ordered him out of the house after breakfast, hoping time outdoors with their daughter might revive him and help him to relax. The plan had worked.
“There’s my husband,” she said, letting her glance roam the length of his body. “You look yourself again.”
“A husband bearing gifts.” His grin widened and turned hungry. “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful wife.” He strode to the table and kissed her soundly, sending the familiar rush of heat down her spine and all the way to the tips of her toes.
Katrine wouldn’t have any of their nonsense. She bounced on the table until its legs squeaked against the tiles.
Karl’s lips were warm and insistent, and Allina laughed against them before drawing reluctantly away. “Your daughter is accustomed to being the center of attention.”
“I picked, Mama, I picked!” the little one shouted, proving the point. She made a mad grab for the bouquet, now slightly crushed between them.
Allina fussed over the sunflowers and pulled them neatly from Karl’s arms. Each bloom was magnificent, with vibrant, lemon-colored petals and a tawny face that smelled of sunshine, the greenness of the field, and growing things. They’d sprouted up a foot in the last month, until they reached the windows on the first floor. The garden was as fully a part of the Sunflower House as the home’s windows and walls and a constant reminder to Allina that there was still so much to hope for.
Karl leaned down to plant a kiss on his daughter’s nose. “Our baby girl did an excellent job of picking them, didn’t she?”
The little nose wrinkled in disgust. “Not a baby.”
“No,” Karl agreed gravely, brushing the dirt gently from his daughter’s cheeks, “you’re nearly grown, aren’t you?” A flash of pain crossed his face, tightening his jaw, but it was gone so quickly Allina couldn’t be certain she’d seen it.
She went to the sink to tend to the bouquet. Allina angled the thick, green shoots against the basin and filled the sink with a few inches of water to give the flowers a good soak.
Once that was done, she turned back to Karl, who was all smiles again. “She has your freckles, my heart. And your beautiful hair.”
“That may be,” she said, walking to the table, “but she has your everything else.”
This was true. Hair and freckles aside, Katrine was wholly her father’s—tall for her age and with Karl’s proud cheekbones, deep blue eyes, and a pert nose that showed the promise of elegance. This similarity didn’t end with her physical appearance. The child was as stubborn as a goat, and when she was angry or belligerent that soft, rounded jaw firmed to her father’s marble one. Their daughter was so like Karl that Allina’s breath sometimes caught in her throat. She found herself watching Katrine, amazed by the way her gaze always seemed to take in every detail, and how it would turn inward when she was thinking hard, in an exact echo of her father’s. Allina loved her daughter to distraction, and the weight of that love was a sweet, ever-present heat against her heart.
“Outside! Outside!” Katrine demanded. She bounced on the table again, making her impatience clear.
“Yes, my little kitten, we must go outside and play in the garden.” Laughing, Karl plucked her wriggling body off the table and swung her overhead, prompting shrieks of terror-joy. Pulling his daughter into his arms, he held her close, raining kisses on her cheeks.
There. There it was again, that flash of pain across his proud features, although Allina wasn’t sure of the reason. He was holding the child too tightly. She was straining away from him, trying to squirm out of his arms.
“Down, Papa!”
Karl complied with a self-conscious chuckle, and called out for her to stay close when she scampered into the dining room. He walked back to the table, wrapping arms around Allina’s middle and molding his body to the curve of her back.
“We’ve made a mess of your newly polished kitchen,” Karl said, pointing out the pattern of muddy footprints on the floor.
“Make all the messes you like.” All Allina cared about was having him home. She’d seen her husband less than twenty days this year.
Karl kissed the sweet spot below her ear, raising goose bumps on her neck. He’d not shaved this morning, and the rasp of whiskers against her skin was as comforting as it was enticing.
“I wish I could give you more than three days,” he murmured against her throat.
Allina pulled away and squared her shoulders, hoping to mask disappointment. “We’ll make do. I don’t have to work, thanks to Rilla. She’ll handle the children until Friday.”
Karl brought her hand to his mouth. She gripped his fingers and added, “And you’ll tell me what’s bothering you, won’t you, sometime over these next three days.” Her words were a statement, not a question. “You’re torturing yourself. I can’t stand it. I won’t have you bearing your pain alone.”
He closed his eyes but kept his lips pressed tightly to her palm. When their gazes met again, there was such loss in his that Allina’s throat began to burn.
“I will, but not today. Let me enjoy a perfect day with my wife and daughter.”
Afraid to say more, she nodded.
Karl’s body jerked as he looked over her shoulder. His eyes popped wide.
“You’re making strudel,” he whispered reverently, gaze riveted on the apples, still half-peeled on the table. The pleasure on his face was intense, and his attention so rapt that Allina burst into laughter.
This man could make her find her humor, despite everything.
“It was meant to be a surprise,” she said. “We harvested some of the early apples last week.”
“You’ve been busy.”
The pride in Karl’s eyes made Allina flush. Running the Sunflower House while working at Hochland Home had been an adjustment. Nannies were in short supply, but Katrine seemed content enough accompanying her to work, despite Allina’s misgivings. She kept her daughter close during the day—and away from the soulless schedules, thanks to her work on the third floor. Days off were precious, and spent with her daughter at home—cooking, gardening, and, sometimes, harvesting apples.
“Busy and grateful,” Allina answered. “For our home. And for you, my love.”
Hauling her against him, Karl gave her a last, hard kiss before he raced into the dining room with a whoop. A minute later, father and daughter galloped back into the kitchen.
“Oh yes,” he yelled, lifting Katrine up onto his shoulders, “we will feast on Mama’s strudel tonight.” The kitchen door slammed with a sharp bang as the two people Allina loved most in the world ran into the yard.
The rest of the day was carefree. Karl seemed gratified to spend time with his daughter and managed to polish off most of the strudel. He roamed the small woods behind the house with Katrine until sunset, and spent hours making love to Allina after they put their daughter to bed.
The next day, Karl began fixing small items around the property, tackling each with a combination of efficiency and gusto. The wobbly boards over the back steps got sanded smooth and nailed down tight, the creaky root cellar door was oiled and reset, and a length of fence that had needed repair for more than a year was finally replaced.
Karl hummed while he worked, happy to do these minor projects. Allina watched him closely for a sign of the despair and bitterness he’d shown when he first arrived, but none appeared. Either her husband was better able to hide his emotions, or he’d come to a decision of some kind. Perhaps things weren’t as dire as she’d thought.
But the coil of unease in Allina’s belly told her otherwise.
She woke in the middle of the night to the light of the full moon streaming through the window and the comforting sounds of crickets and her husband’s even breathing. Each inhale and exhale was deep and complete.
Allina wasn’t fooled.
“You must tell me,” she whispered, and reached for his hand. He gave no response except to wrap his large, warm palm around her smaller one.
Allina rolled onto her side to face him. In profile, Karl’s face was a tight mask of pain. Wanting desperately to turn on the light, she hesitated. Some conversations were better had in the dark.
“I must find the strength to let you go,” he said in a voice hoarse with grief. A lone tear slid down his cheek, silver in the moonlight.
Allina went still. No, not yet. It’s too soon.
At the start of the war, he’d extracted a promise from her. She would take Katrine and flee Germany if it became too dangerous to remain. But as the months had passed, and as her life brimmed to overflowing with work and motherhood and worry for her husband, Allina forgot that pledge, conveniently stuffing it into a small, hopeful corner of her mind.
Now the time had come.
“Why?” she whispered, once she set panic aside. The single word was all Allina could manage. Her voice was shaking too much to say more.
Karl turned and settled into the pillow until they were nose to nose. He didn’t answer at first, so Allina waited, breathing in the warm, yeasty scent of him while he ran fingers through her hair.
“I won’t be able to protect you for much longer,” he finally whispered. His eyes were black and hollow in the dim light.
Goose bumps raised on the backs of her arms. Allina looked over his shoulder and out the window to focus on the glowing moon. “Of course not. You’re in Prague,” she reasoned, with deliberate misunderstanding. “And the world is on fire. Still, I’m safer here than most other places.”
On that point, she was right. When news of the air raids began circulating last summer, there were rumors, and then more than rumors, that many of the larger cities were constructing safety bunkers. Steinhöring was a quiet village with few resources. Like a faithful hound, Schwester Ziegler had sprung into action, enlisting the soldiers’ help to reinforce the roof and create a shelter in the building’s cavernous basement. Scores of schedules, protocols, and drills had ensued, increasing each time news reports came in of new attacks. Berlin. Heilbronn. Essen. Mannheim. Cologne. Bremen. Duisburg. And then last month, an attack on the ports at Wilhelmshaven in broad daylight …
A shudder ran through her. She’d never grow accustomed to it. Still, the odds were better here. The British had little interest in Hochland Home or Steinhöring.
“My reasoning has nothing to do with the war,” Karl said, reading her mind. “Not directly.”
What, then, had she missed? He was trying to ease some terrible blow by portioning out the truth in small bites, just as he’d done from the beginning. It was as maddening a character trait as it was endearing. Allina accepted her husband’s need to protect her, yet she was blindsided. Had she grown soft because of her love for Karl von Strassberg?
“Why now?” When he didn’t respond, she gripped his arm and shook it. “If you send us away, I must know. Why now?”
A long minute passed as he stared at her with a bleak smile. “You said it best, just weeks after we met, my heart,” Karl said. He wrapped a tendril of her hair around his finger, tugging it gently before placing it with care onto the pillow. “The madness cannot end while he lives.”
Allina’s heart began thudding loudly in her ears. Perhaps it would stop altogether. Or maybe it wasn’t that her heart would stop, but that time itself would cease to flow.
Time seemed to run backward as Allina relived the trajectory of their lives. She saw Karl on the night they’d met in the nursery, and his compassion for her tears. She relived the moment—the terror and the hope—on that cold winter afternoon when he’d met Otto and the other children, and then persuaded her to steal files for his secret project. She saw Karl on their wedding day, and on the morning after she’d given birth. Her logical, sophisticated husband had taken their baby into his arms, dropped into a chair, and quietly fallen apart.
Allina wished desperately they could slip back to any of those times, or to stroll again through the gardens at Bayreuth. Anything to pull him away from the precipice he seemed hell-bent on launching himself over. The resolve in his eyes told her there was nothing she could do to change his mind.
“Why must it be you?” she whispered as he gathered her in his arms.
For the next hour, and while Katrine slept blissfully unaware, Karl explained to Allina why it had to be him. He spoke about the conditions at Theresienstadt, about the hundreds who had died already and the thousands more who likely would, about the lice and the rats, and the men and women crammed ten to a room trying desperately to keep clean without soap or running water. He talked about Jockel, the newly appointed Obergruppenführer, who’d sneered as he’d denied all attempts at securing extra food and blankets for the coming winter. Everyone at Theresienstadt was slowly starving. Last week, a brawl had broken out in the middle of the street. A dozen women had fought over potato peelings unearthed from the garbage pile.
“I looked into the faces of these women and realized any one of them could have been you,” Karl murmured against her hair in a creaking voice that made her stomach twist. “Had my grandmother made a different choice, I might have been destined for Theresienstadt.”
By the time he finished, Allina’s throat burned with guilt. Here she was, tucked away in Hochland Home, turning a blind eye to what happened around her. While Karl had not offered to share the more brutal details of his work, she’d never pushed him. She hadn’t wanted to know. How lonely her husband’s existence must have been these past two years.
Allina reminded him of the children he’d smuggled out of the country, but he rejected that small comfort. Instead, he insisted on telling her about the hundreds he had allowed to die, and all those who would follow, at camps like Dachau and Buchenwald. And now, he and Markus were in charge of turning Theresienstadt over, into an internment camp. The horrors they’d seen were only the beginning. When they’d begun their work, Karl thought he could help, but the situation was beyond that now.
As devastating as those details were, the self-loathing in his voice was worse. Karl was wrecked with guilt. It was destroying him.
“Listen to me,” Allina urged, cupping his face in her hands. “We could escape together. No, don’t shake your head. We can leave, the three of us.”
Karl turned away. “No.”
She grabbed his arm, shook him roughly, as if the pressure of her hands could force some sense into him. “You’ve made arrangements for hundreds of others—”
“No, Allina.”
“You’ve done enough,” she pleaded. “More than most. There must be someone else—”
“Damn it, I said no!” He pulled away so abruptly that Allina tumbled onto the floor. By the time she’d scrambled to her feet, Karl was at the window, bracing himself against the ledge with arms that trembled. Head bowed, his breathing was rough and low, like a wounded dog’s.
She walked up behind him, laid a hand on the center of his back. His nightshirt was soaked. There was more he hadn’t told her, and, God help her, perhaps it was better not to know. But she couldn’t leave him like this.
“Tell me.”
Karl shook his head, hesitating. He only conceded after she begged, and then he spoke to the window and not her, in the high, broken voice of a much younger man.
“We were out on patrol in the neighborhoods last week,” he said, “at the direction of Obergruppenführer Jockel. We’d clear out apartment buildings one day, then go back the next to make sure no one was missed.”
Shaking, Allina rubbed his back, encouraging him to continue.
“One of my men found a little boy, tucked away in a cupboard,” Karl said, looking down at his bare feet. “Hiding. He was Katrine’s age, maybe a bit older. No more than three. And pale. Sickly. Jockel was with us when we found him. He looked the boy over with those cold, dead eyes of his and told me to take care of it.”
No. The sour tang of copper rose at the back of her throat. She closed her eyes, trying to fend off the prickly dizziness.
“I pretended to misunderstand him,” Karl said with a sharp laugh. “I picked up the boy and headed for the door, thinking I might sneak him to a family I’d met on the next street, or … I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking. There was nowhere to take him.”
Karl turned to face her. His face was destroyed, eyes swollen with grief.
“Jockel called me back. I could see it in his eyes—the desire to test me. The need to make an example. He gave me his gun. Joked that mine was obviously not working properly.”
“What did you do?” Allina whispered, although she already knew.
“I turned him toward the window,” Karl said. He closed his eyes. “I told him to look outside, at the trees and the sky. I wanted the last thing he saw…”
Breaking down, Karl dropped to the floor. He curled into a ball and rocked, like a child or a madman. The force of his sobs seemed to shake the walls of their bedroom.
Allina remained frozen only inches from her husband, too sick with shock to offer comfort. She’d been a fool, naïve and willfully blind. Given all that had happened, everything she’d experienced, she should have known it would come to this. He’d warned her countless times in his own way, hinting at the horrors, giving everything but the words.
Karl von Strassberg’s course had been set, much as Allina’s had, years ago. All the wishing in the world wouldn’t change things.
After a few seconds marked by his wrenching sobs, Karl held out a hand. Allina recoiled. It was instinct, and only a second’s pause, but he caught it. She saw her horror reflected in the pain in his face.
Karl’s smile was awful, a garish parody. “Yes,” he choked out. “Exactly. You see it now, don’t you? I’ve become what we hate.” He held both hands out to her, palms facing upward, beseeching.
“How can I be your husband? How can I be a father to our child?”
Allina ran to Karl and embraced him. She wasn’t strong enough to pull him off the ground. He refused to return to their bed. She remained on the floor with her arms and legs wrapped around her husband, as if doing so might keep him safe. They did not speak for the rest of the night, but Karl allowed Allina to hold him as he grieved for the life he’d taken, and for the man he’d become.
Morning came too soon. As the first feeble rays of heather light peeked through the curtains, they dragged themselves off the floor and into bed. Despite her exhaustion, Allina was unable to sleep. Grief was present in a bone-deep weariness and the burning heaviness in the center of her chest. She saw it in the dark bruises beneath her husband’s eyes. His face was softer this morning, though, and more at peace, now that he’d bared his soul.
“There’s nothing I can do to atone” were the first words he whispered when he turned to her.
Allina’s heart was breaking. She had no reply to this, nothing that would mitigate his actions, and no way to convince him otherwise.
“Markus agrees with me,” he said. “We must act now, before we fall completely out of favor.” Karl explained that Jockel was convinced he and Markus had gone soft. Requests for food and blankets had tested the commander’s patience. Even Karl’s most recent actions had not sufficiently proved his loyalty. Jockel was watching every move.
“How will you do it?” Allina asked.
Karl shook his head. “That’s not important. All that matters is your safety. If we fail, I must know you and our child will survive. Grant me that. Please.”
He ran a hand very slowly down her side, from her shoulder to the curve of her hip. It was a tentative touch, a butterfly caress that made her shiver, but so measured and deliberate that Allina realized he was trying to memorize her.
The tears came then, and they rolled down her cheeks. There was nothing else to do but give her husband the gift of acceptance. “When?”
“Not long,” he answered. “Six weeks on the outside. Likely less.”
“Where will you send us?”
“To my aunt, in Switzerland.” Those broad shoulders sagged. “I’ve already contacted Adele. Everything’s arranged.”
He told her, also, of one final goal: an attempt to smuggle another group of fifty Jewish children out of the country. If all went according to plan, they would be transported to Basel within days of Allina’s arrival.
“Adele will need your help,” he said. “She won’t be able to manage without you.”
Allina could tell from his wheedling that he meant to lighten their conversation. She gave in because it was what he needed, but Allina knew the truth. Her husband was trying to give her a purpose, and to share in it. It would be his parting gift.
Their third and last day was filled with simple pleasures, ones that slipped away as swiftly as the clouds that passed overhead. They spent most of it outdoors and shared a picnic lunch at the edge of the sunflower field, stemming back sadness for Katrine’s sake. While his daughter napped, Karl explained the tasks Allina had to complete before her escape. Ever efficient, he’d drawn up a list. She was grateful for that; Allina found she couldn’t concentrate on a thing he said, so intent she was on listening to the sound of his voice. He seemed to understand, but drilled the basics into her head nonetheless, repeating them at least a dozen times: My office will make an emergency call about Adele’s recent illness, with a request that you visit. Once Schwester Ziegler receives the call, you must arrange to be in Basel within forty-eight hours. And the most crucial, albeit difficult directive: Until then, you must go about your work as you normally do. No one can suspect.
Late in the afternoon, after putting Katrine to bed, they spent their final minutes together strolling through the garden. Lacing his fingers with hers, Allina watched the sun set in a glorious burst of flame.
If only they could have another day. “Will I see you again, before?” she asked.
“Only if it’s safe.” He’d come to her if there was no possibility of repercussions afterward, Karl explained, and no obvious link between a visit and his mission. Every item of correspondence, every move he made, was now under Jockel’s scrutiny. The commander might not be the smartest of men, but he had a rat’s cunning nose.
“Our plan is dangerous, but there’s a good chance we’ll succeed.” His lips were warm against her palm when he drew it to his mouth. “When we do, once things settle down, I’ll send for you. Maybe then…” He shrugged and looked away.
Maybe then you’ll be able to forgive yourself.
Allina pushed the thought aside, pushed everything aside except the need to hold him close before she let him go. She stood on tiptoe and pulled his face to hers, putting all her hope and terror into the hard kiss.
“I love you.”
“I know,” he said, and shook his head in wonder. He drew her into his arms, holding on so tightly her ribs creaked. Allina buried her nose in his shirt and filled her lungs with his scent.
“If I fail, tell her what you will about me,” he choked out against her hair.
Allina clung to him and cried. The ache in her chest was so intense it felt as if she would fly apart, that only the pressure from his body kept her intact. She nodded when Karl whispered that he loved her and kissed her again. He wiped her tears and pushed her gently away before driving off into the night.
When Allina went back to work the next day, she escaped into the office, finding solace in paperwork and a welcome respite from the children. After a week of relative peace, however, she realized the truth behind her intense need for solitude. She was grieving alone, for her husband, all their lies and duplicity, and for every Hochland Home child she’d never be able to help. Worse, by separating herself from the children and Rilla, she was also pushing away any small moments of joy or friendship she’d found here.
From that moment on, Allina forced herself to take up her duties, to spend more time in the classroom and with her friend. She thought she masked her unease well, but Rilla seemed to pick up on it almost immediately. Her friend watched Allina closely, although she asked no questions. Still, when the awkward uncertainty swirled between them, Allina took her friend’s hand and told another lie: “I’m only a little tired. Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
On her afternoons off, Allina kept busy with the tasks on Karl’s instruction sheet. She sneaked out memorandums and work lists and photographs from Hochland Home, storing them in the wood box he’d given her, alongside the letters from her father that held the truth about her family. Karl had suggested she burn anything linking Allina von Strassberg to Allina Gottlieb or Allina Strauss, but she couldn’t bear to do so. On this one request, she rebelled.
She packed a large suitcase, selecting clothes she could alter or layer for use across the seasons. She took a box of items Karl had set aside—heavy silver candlesticks and old gold coins and a good amount of his mother’s jewelry—and drove to Munich to sell them at the list of shops he’d provided. As he’d directed, Allina divided up the reichsmarks into small packets, sewing several into the pockets of her coat, stuffing others into the lining of her purse, and mailing the bulk to his aunt Adele, nestled in wax paper at the bottom of a fruitcake tin.
Allina made an appointment at a beauty salon for mid-October, and one later in the month with her husband’s solicitor, taking care to note the details of each in both the journal she maintained at Hochland Home and the personal diary she kept at home. She purchased tickets to a November performance of Strauss’s Friedenstag at Munich’s National Theater and affixed the tickets to the mirror above her dressing table. Allina knew she wouldn’t make any of these events or appointments. That was the point. The events helped project a smoke screen of normalcy and forward thinking. If Karl failed and the SS came to the Sunflower House or Hochland Home to search for clues about her whereabouts, they’d find nothing incriminating. Instead, they’d see small bits of evidence that might be enough to give them pause. It could buy her an extra day or two, ones Adele might need to put an escape plan in place.
The only sources of joy during her first weeks of waiting were Katrine, and Karl’s letters, which continued to arrive faithfully each afternoon. Allina would pull their daughter into her lap every night and read the letters aloud, since he always included a message for Katrine from her devoted papa. She’d pore over each letter well into the night for a hidden message, but never found anything that stood out. Karl’s letters were loving and full of humor, childhood stories, and memories of their courtship. They were emotional and passionate, but nothing more than letters from a man who missed his family and wanted to remember better times.
So she waited.
By the beginning of the fourth week, the uncertainty began to frazzle her nerves. Allina woke each morning with a swirling emptiness in her stomach. Her first conscious thought was always: Will the call come today?
Her Hochland Home duties provided less and less contentment. She found herself snapping at the staff for no reason. Poor Wendeline dissolved in a puddle of tears one morning when Allina dumped a folded basket of laundry onto the floor, demanding that the simple, unassuming Schwester refold it.
Worse, Allina found it hard to continue the ruse with the children. As the days passed, she became increasingly short-tempered, and that irritation weighed on her conscience. They deserved better. Ever sensitive, the class responded with a series of small misbehaviors that escalated quickly. By the end of the month, her brood was an unwieldy circus of shouting, crying, and skinned knees and elbows.
Rilla picked up on her distress and, in her kind, typical way, took on extra shifts and wrangled paperwork off Allina’s tottering pile. At first, she seemed gratified that Allina trusted her enough with the extra duties, but as Allina surrendered more without argument, Rilla began shooting long, assessing looks over the breakfast table.
“Are you pregnant?” Rilla asked one morning in the break room over tea and biscuits.
The shock made Allina drop her teacup.
“Wh-why would you say that?” she asked, and hurried to the sideboard to get a cloth to clean up the mess.
“You’ve seemed so far away for weeks,” Rilla said. “I wondered.”
Allina was certain she wasn’t pregnant. Her courses had come a week ago. Still, Rilla didn’t need to know that. She took her time to mop up the table before answering. It was the perfect explanation, so she let a tiny smile escape as she sat back down.
“It’s too soon to know for sure.”
Rilla chuckled and patted her hand.
By the next morning, word had gotten around. As it served her purpose, Allina nodded at the murmurs of congratulations from mothers and Schwestern alike. She even managed to laugh at Berta, who was recovering from the difficult delivery of her fourth child but managed a catty comment about the efficiency of Karl’s pistol over breakfast.
Berta never missed a chance to go for the throat.
“Your husband’s been busy,” she said later that evening, over dinner. “I received a letter from my sweet Tedrick this afternoon. It sounds like Gruppenführer von Strassberg is out at all hours of the night in Prague.” Arching one eyebrow, Berta slanted Allina a knowing, blue glance. “It’s a wonder he has enough energy to perform his daytime duties.”
A soft chorus of gasps rose from the table.
“Every officer must do his best to ensure the future of the Reich, of course, but your husband certainly seems … committed to his nighttime activities,” Berta added with a smirk. “I warned you, didn’t I? He’s grown tired of you, just as I predicted.”
Rilla—sweet, loyal Rilla—jumped to her feet. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’ve worked through half the regiment single-handedly.”
Allina clamped a hand on her friend’s arm, begging Rilla to sit down. The shocked titters at the table were the least of her concerns. If Karl’s men were paying attention to his movements in Prague, then it’s likely his superiors had noticed as well.
“You’re awfully quiet, Schwester von Strassberg,” Berta added, drawling out her last name in a lilting voice that made Allina go still. “Have you nothing to say? No, of course not.” She slanted Allina a shrewd, assessing stare. “What secretive creatures you two have always been, slipping away into the gardens when he visits, even while on duty. We’ve all seen you whispering in the corners.”
There were confused looks at the table now, and raised eyebrows.
Allina stood so swiftly the chair legs squeaked on the floor tiles. “We’ll discuss this outside,” she said, with a saccharine smile. “I’m sure our table mates have had enough of your nonsense.” She walked for the door without a backward glance, relieved at the swift click-clack of Berta’s heels behind her.
When Berta followed her into the hallway, Allina grabbed her arm, and advanced until they stood nose to nose, swiftly enough that the blonde hit the wall behind her and gasped.
“I’ve no intention of discussing my husband or my marriage with you,” Allina snapped.
Berta’s eyes went wide before she offered a cold, calculating smile—one that sent a shiver of dread down Allina’s spine.
“There’s been talk amongst the men,” she hissed as the flush rose in her cheeks. “About what you two have been doing. The men talk to me, you see. They tell me everything. You’re not who you say you are. I’m sure of it.”
Had the men suspected Karl’s clandestine activities? Or was it his bloodline, or hers, that was suddenly under suspicion? There were too many secrets to keep track of. Berta’s piercing blue eyes pinned Allina, waiting for her to crack, and making it nearly impossible to breathe. But then Berta’s eyelid twitched. The catty smile faltered. Berta was fishing—she had a knack for sensing weakness, then using innuendo to make her victims reveal more than they should.
“You know nothing about me, my husband, or our marriage,” Allina answered, willing the quiver out of her voice. “But you and I—we both know what you are, don’t we?”
Berta’s head snapped back.
“I pity you, Berta,” Allina said. “Your jealousy has been obvious for years. How lonely you must be.”
Berta’s eyes filled, but this was no time for sympathy—she recovered quickly, yanking her arm from Allina’s tight grip.
“You’re not who you say you are,” she repeated in a trembling voice. “I’ll prove it soon enough.”
Berta broke away and hurried down the hall.
Allina exhaled a shuddering breath. Karl was risking so much to save the children at Theresienstadt. Berta was onto them both. If she was right, and his men suspected something, they were doomed. Time was running out, the walls were closing in, and Allina had no way to get a message to Karl without risking their safety. Despite her fear for her husband, Allina hoped his call would come sooner, rather than later.