Daughter of the Reich by Louise Fein

Author:Louise Fein
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-03-02T16:00:00+00:00

Thirty-One

October 12, 1938

The more people who arrive here, the lonelier I become. The more family who gather, the more obvious is Karl’s absence. He was the beating heart of every party. He breathed life into the dullest room. Everyone creeps around, talking in hushed tones as though speaking loudly or smiling will somehow offend the dead. It makes me mad. I remember how it used to be, long ago, when we were children. When all three of us—Walter, Karl, and I—could play and laugh together without a care. Before we knew about death and anguish and forbidden love. If only we could go back to that time.

I snap my journal shut and hide it in its usual spot. It’s midafternoon and Mutti and Vati are napping. The last few days have been a blur of unwanted visitors and funeral preparations and we are all exhausted. The house is full of extended family. Like Christmas, but without the cheer. This week is the autumn holidays, but I’ve been excused from school for next week, too.

I leave my room and pad through the hushed house to the kitchen where Bertha is stuffing a chicken for the evening meal.

“Dear Fräulein Hetty,” she says when I come in, “I’ve barely seen you these last two days. How are you bearing it all?”

“Not great.”

“Come, have a seat. I made cookies and an apfelkuchen. You must eat. Keep up your strength.” She clicks her tongue. “What a dreadful business.”

She washes her hands and puts the big cake on the table, cutting us both a slice. She sits down heavily and sighs.

“I’m not complaining, but goodness, with all these extra people in the house . . . Ingrid and I are rushed off our feet.”

“They’ll all be gone after the funeral,” I say, picking a few crumbs from my slice. The cake is both sweet and tangy. “Then the house will be deathly quiet again.”

“Such a terrible waste of a young life.” Bertha shakes her head. “And there’ll be plenty more casualties like him. Should’ve learned our lesson in the last war. And here we are, sending our young men off to Spain, and goodness knows where else.” She clucks again.

“Did you lose anyone close in the war, Bertha?”

“Did I just.” She gives a snort. “I lost my two brothers and my intended.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“That’s all right. Why would you? I suppose I’m telling you because I know how you must be feeling.”

“Your intended?”

“Yes. I wasn’t much older than you in 1915 when we got engaged. Twenty-one—farmer’s son. He was kind and had a wicked twinkle in his eye. I know you might find it hard to believe, but I was pretty enough back then.” She smiles at the memory. “He never came back. Missing, lost in action, they said. I kept hoping, thinking one day he’d just walk through my door. Wouldn’t have cared if he was deaf or blind or missing his limbs. Or all three. Just so long as he came back.

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