The Berlin Wife's Resistance: An utterly heartbreaking and unforgettable WW2 historical novel (German Wives Book 3) by Marion Kummerow

Author:Marion Kummerow [Kummerow, Marion]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2024-01-22T00:00:00+00:00

21

Edith put a hand on her hat to prevent it from flying off, grateful for her long fur coat, which protected her from the biting cold. Her mind wandered to Julius, who had to brave the below-zero temperatures each morning with nothing but his flimsy business jacket, since the Nazis had ruled last winter that Jews didn’t need to stay warm.

At least she’d managed to barter one of his fine three-piece suits for a set of long woolen underwear. She smiled at the memory of his aghast grimace when she’d presented it to him at the beginning of winter.

“I refuse to wear such an inelegant piece of clothing,” had been his answer.

She chuckled. As soon as the temperature had dropped below freezing point, his resistance had endured less than a week.

As she approached the building, she pursed her lips in anger. Again, someone had left the entrance door wide open. The new tenants who’d moved into the lower floors after the original owners had been rounded up in a raid were a constant thorn in her side.

She dutifully closed the door behind her, climbing up the stairs, cursing at the dirty footprints leading up. On the first landing her breath hitched in her throat and her heart was beating like a rataplan. Both doors stood wide open.

Peeking curiously inside, the devastation caused her to jump backwards as if bitten by a snake. Dropping the heavy grocery bag in her hand, she raced up to the fourth floor, praying, hoping, begging to God… There, she was greeted by the same scenario.

The door hung off its hinges, chairs lay toppled over, drawers open, the contents spread across the floor. Panic staggered her. Inching forward, she called out, “Is somebody there?”

No answer.

She called out a second time, louder. Just as she steeled herself to venture inside her apartment, the trapdoor leading into the attic opened and a soft voice said, “The SS came and took everyone away.”

Dark spots blurred Edith’s vision, even as she wondered to whom the voice belonged and whether she ought to trust the owner. Moments later, bare feet dangled down from the attic. Not bothering to extend the ladder, their owner jumped down and landed with a barely audible thud next to Edith, who jumped backwards.

“Old habit. Forgive me for scaring you.” The stranger was a petite young woman with pitch-black hair and bright electric-blue eyes.

The education in manners she’d received from her mother-in-law so many years ago kicked in, giving Edith something to hold on to. “Edith Falkenstein, my husband owns this apartment.”

“I know,” the young woman said.

“And you are?” Edith scrutinized the stranger, who looked surprisingly well-kept, except for her dirty bare feet. Very notably, no yellow star disfigured her jacket, which made Edith think that either she wasn’t a Jew, or she’d gone into hiding. But what on earth was she doing here?

“You can call me Roxi.”

“Well, Roxi. What are you doing in my attic?”

“I’d rather not waste time with my story, you have more important problems to solve.

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