“I can’t just abandon my work,” she insisted.
“I’m not asking you to abandon your service altogether,” I insisted. “You can still help the war effort. You’re smart. You could be trained up as a nurse’s aide in no time. You’d be providing an invaluable service to the war wounded.”
“What I do is too important. Every man we convince to lay down his arms is another gun that isn’t pointed at your head, Max.”
“It is important,” I agreed. “And therefore, too dangerous for the woman I love. I beg you, Margarethe. Don’t leave me to wonder again if you’re alive or dead. I can’t bear it. I’m not asking you to go sit in my mother’s living room and knit socks. I know that isn’t who you are. For God’s sake, think of our baby. There have to be others who can take over your work for you.”
“I will think about it,” she said. “But unless I can find someone I trust to continue my work, I cannot leave. I may be risking two lives, but it’s for the chance to save thousands.”
I inhaled and counted to ten. I wanted to argue. I wanted to put her in the first truck headed west with instructions to keep her safe, even if it meant locking her in a prison cell until the last bullet was fired. “That seems reasonable.” I nearly choked on the words, but there was no use in trying to keep her from doing what she felt was right. What I knew was right.
“I should go, my love,” she whispered. “I will be missed if I am not back by sunset. I am expected home tonight.”
“Your husband,” I said, remembering Heide’s last words to me. I swallowed back bile at the thought of Margarethe in another man’s arms.
She nodded. “And I better not hear of you trying to seek him out. He’s not worth getting killed for.”
I wasn’t sure her assertion was true, but I let it pass. “Before you go, I have a small favor to ask of you.”
“Anything, if I can manage it,” she said.
I took her to the edge of the camp and dashed to my barracks, where my Kodak was wrapped in a spare shirt. I disentangled it and returned to where she waited.
“Miller,” I called to a young medic who looked in need of a reprieve. “I need you for three minutes.”
He set his clipboard aside and joined us. He assessed Margarethe, who was clearly German, but had the good sense not to ask questions of a senior officer.
I handed him the camera with a brief tutorial, then looked for a small chunk of the world that wasn’t littered with the paraphernalia of war and that sat in good light. I positioned Margarethe against a plain house that was now being used for convalescent care. The sun bounced off her curls and made her already radiant glow look all the more resplendent. What I wouldn’t have given for color film to capture it properly. I wrapped my arm around her, gave Miller the order to snap the photo, and smiled.
“There, now when I find someplace to develop my pictures, I can send my mother proof that I’m in love with the most beautiful woman in the world and am in good health all at once.”
“She will be grateful for the latter at least,” she assured me.
“I have no idea how long I’ll be here,” I warned her. “Likely a few weeks, but I can’t be sure. You need to find your replacement fast. I can pull whatever strings I have to get you sent to France, but it will need to be soon, or we risk losing contact again.”
“I’ll work as fast as I can, my love. I swear it. Now kiss me before I go so I have something to keep in my heart until we see each other again.”
I obliged, drinking in a long, sweet kiss before I reluctantly let her go back into the weak late-afternoon sunshine. My arms felt empty as I watched her walk away, always cautious to look over her shoulder for those who wished her ill. She should never have known such fear, and I swore then, I would never allow her to know it again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LION IN THE DEN
JOHANNA
June 13, 1943
Berlin, Germany
“Liebling, you mustn’t try to do too much,” I chided, seeing Harald working to sit up in bed as I entered with his morning meal. He’d been home for only one week, and while he was much improved, he was not in good enough health to risk overexerting himself. I placed the tray with his supper on the bedside table and rushed to help him finish getting into position.
“I can manage,” he said, his tone dry and humorless. He winced as he adjusted his position so he could sit closer to upright.
“Please let me help,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing my hand on his thigh.
“It’s maddening,” he said, leaning his head back against the headboard. “I feel useless. I hate having you wait on me hand and foot like a housemaid.”
“It’s what a loving wife does for her husband in his hour of need. And if the situation were reversed, I know you’d do the same for me.”
He didn’t reply, but his expression relaxed into one of resignation. “How are things at work?” he asked, steering the conversation away from himself.
“Strained,” I said. I had all but stitched my Aryan equivalency papers to my forehead per Harald’s instructions. I always kept them on my person, in a breast pocket rather than a handbag whenever possible. It wasn’t the question of my status that created the tension, though, but the war itself. The lines on the commanders’ faces grew deeper each week, their conversations more curt. Though I was told little, I sensed the war wasn’t going well for us now that the Americans were truly in the fray to bolster the beleaguered British and French troops.
“To be expected,” he said. “I only saw one small slice of the war, but if it was representative of what’s going on elsewhere, we’re in trouble. We’ll need to dominate the skies if we have any prayer of saving our skins.”
“The papers don’t make things out to be so dire,” Mama said, coming in to place a helping of cake on his tray. Rations were getting sparser and sparser, but Mama still managed to make miracles from flour, eggs, and sugar and iced them with hope.
“Well, the papers aren’t interested in reporting the truth, are they?” Harald retorted. “They have to report what the party says, or they’ll be shuttered in a heartbeat and half the staff never to be heard from again. They only exist to serve the party now, and never think otherwise.”
“You’ve got to keep comments like that to yourself this afternoon,” I warned. “Metta may be bringing Ansel with her.”
Harald rolled his eyes at the mention of the visit we’d all been equal parts thrilled for and terrified about. “I’ll have to watch my mouth even if he doesn’t come. Metta can’t be trusted any more than he can. He’ll pump her for information about us and our beliefs the minute he sees her.”
“That doesn’t mean she’ll tell him anything,” I said loyally. She was my darling sister, after all. I could sooner imagine a spotted tiger or a striped leopard than her betraying us.
“You must assume that she will,” Harald said, employing the stern voice he used for university students who had failed to meet his expectations. “Our lives may depend on it.”
I pursed my lips but said nothing. What he was saying was unthinkable. But also the most prudent course of action.