Across the Winding River by Aimie K. Runyan

Author:Aimie K. Runyan [Runyan, Aimie K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781542004756
Published: 2020-07-31T22:00:00+00:00

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.

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