The Girl from Berlin: An utterly heart-wrenching and gripping World War Two historical novel by Kate Hewitt

Author:Kate Hewitt [Hewitt, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781838887995
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2021-02-24T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Berlin, June 1940

They came at night, just a few days after the letter, while her father was still in Schkopau. It was a sultry summer’s evening, the humid air making everything feel sticky and damp, when Liesel opened the door to two strangers—a kindly-looking nurse who introduced herself as Frau West, and a serious-eyed but smiling doctor called Menzler. She thought they were there for yet another collection, perhaps for wounded soldiers, when Dr. Menzler spoke in a kindly but firm tone.

“You should have received a letter.”

Liesel froze at the simply stated words. She knew what letter he meant, of course; it was right there on the hall table, still stuffed inside its crumpled envelope. She’d done her best to forget about it, at least until her father came home, but she hadn’t. It had pulsed malevolently all the while, reminding her of her own ignorance, taunting her with its unknown threat. Now she stared at the Herr Doktor with his firm smile and hard eyes and felt an unknown terror seize her, turn her speechless.

Finally, her voice close to a croak, she managed, “Yes, but it must be a mistake. There’s no one like that here.”

“May we come in?” Menzler spoke as if she had not; he was already stepping across the threshold with firm purpose. Liesel had moved out of his way before she realized what she was doing.

“My father isn’t home,” she said, her voice sounding high and thin. “He manages a factory in Schkopau that is very important to the Reich. He is there on business.”

Menzler gave her a tolerant smile, brushing aside her words like a fly that was not worth his notice. “Where is Friedrich Scholz?”

Liesel hid her shaking hands in her skirt. “What do you want with him? He’s not ill.”

“He is a very lucky boy, Fraulein,” Frau West told her warmly. Her face was as round as an apple, with eyes like buttons. She looked kind, but Liesel knew not to trust her. “He has been selected for participation in a course of specialized treatment for children with hereditary conditions.”

“But he doesn’t have a hereditary condition,” Liesel answered numbly. She hated how weak she sounded. Already she could feel the conversation slipping away from her, as desperate as she was to hold onto it. “He only has a twisted foot, from a difficult birth. That’s all. It’s not hereditary. It’s barely noticeable.” She thought of mentioning Goebbels’ own twisted foot, but decided it would be better not to.

There was a hard knife’s edge to Menzler’s smile as he repeated, “Where is Friedrich?”

“I’m here.” Friedy stood at the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister as he gazed down at them all. His shirt collar was crumpled, his shorts creased. He looked pitifully thin, hiding his twisted foot behind him, a look of wary confusion on his face at the sight of two strangers in their hall.

Menzler looked up, his shrewd gaze appraising Friedy in every last damaging detail—the foot, the thin chest, the myopic gaze.

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