“We’re all human, Reba. We’re all people.”
“People betray each other.”
The diamond solitaire glinted in the bathwater. Riki hooked his finger through the chain. “It’d look better on your finger, you know.”
She pulled away, and it fell back into the soapy water. “I don’t want to get into this again.”
“I’m just saying—”
“I know what you’re saying.” She washed her legs, the stubble snagging the loofah sponge.
“I think I’ve been pretty understanding, Reba.” He stood. “But there comes a time when we all have to make a choice, like you said.”
She kicked the water. “I made my choice. Look! I’m here. Why do you keep pushing?”
She scrubbed hard until a pink rash bloomed on her kneecaps; her breath came fast.
“It’s been almost four months and we haven’t set a date, haven’t even talked about setting a date. Shoot, I don’t even think you’ve told your family.”
She ignored him and continued. The water splashed up the sides of the tub.
“Talk to me, Reba.”
She stopped. What could she say? She loved him, but this wasn’t the life she wanted. He said not to put up fences, but that was exactly what he’d done to her. He’d anchored her to this border town, trapped her inside his barbed-wire perimeter. From the moment she’d accepted his proposal, she’d felt the urge to leave, to run as fast as she could. She might’ve abandoned the old Reba in Virginia, but this new Reba didn’t feel right either. It was like Jane said: she was stuck between. Her mind bounced from east to west, from who she was to who she wanted to be. The only thing stopping her crossing was Riki and that ring roped round her neck.
“I need a Motrin,” she said instead and rubbed her temples.
Riki sighed. “You need to make a decision. We can’t go on like this.”
Reba counted the popping bubbles on the water surface, feeling as heavy as a stone.
Chapter Fourteen
LEBENSBORN PROGRAM
STEINHÖRING, GERMANY
JANUARY 1, 1945
Dear Elsie,
A proposal from an officer! Of course you’ll accept. Elsie, I am so proud. And jealous, I’ll admit. I know it’s all for the good of the nation, but I don’t think it’s disloyal to wish I’d meet a man (whatever age) looking for a wife. We’re making Germans not love, so they keep reminding me. But I do miss the latter and often wonder how different my life might be if Peter were alive. I would have been like you, an SS bride. Of course, if I had known then that I was pregnant with Julius, I would have insisted we marry before he left for Munich. But that kind of thinking does me no good. He is gone. No use fighting fate’s will. Everything happens for a reason. Isn’t that what the minister used to say?
I haven’t been to church in some time. The Program doesn’t approve of religious sentimentalities, but I stil wear my pewter cross. The ones Papa gave us that Easter when Herr Weiss accidentally threw his mother-in-law’s table in the Osterfeuer bonfire. Though we all know he did it out of spite because she wouldn’t let him smoke his pipe in the house! I laugh still remembering her face.
That’s when I met Peter, too—at the spring festival. He was so handsome in his Hitler Youth uniform and so eager to show all the girls his medal for best class marksman. What a wolf in sheep’s clothing! In Gymnasium, he was the quiet boy who always smelled of his mother’s breakfast oranges. Then he went off to the Hitler Youth and came back… changed. A man, ready to conquer the world. It’s odd how you can be with someone day in and day out and never notice until lightning seems to strike their face. Then you see what you never saw before, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t go back to seeing nothing again. Listen to me. I’m rambling. Yes, I loved Peter, but there’s so much more to it than that. At least that’s been my experience. It’s nice that Josef and Papa are friends. Mutti is right. This is a good match, Elsie.
Today, I bought beautiful fabric for a new dirndl. My friend Ovidia works at the merchant shop, and she says it’s handwoven from Italian lamb’s wool. I’ve sent a portion of it to Mutti to make the skirt. She’s so good at embroidering. I haven’t decided which I’d like, red poppies or white edelweiss. Which do you think? Perhaps Mutti should choose, though she’s always said red is my best color. For my part, I’m sewing a brown bodice to match either. I hope to have it done in time for our spring visit. Mutti may be able to sew a dirndl in a week, but I never had her dexterity or your aptitude in the trades. As well, my body is still swollen from the twins, and I want the dress to fit properly. The Program suggests I begin weaning them early, so hopefully that will help.
The girl is doing wonderfully, rosy and round as a cherub. The boy, however, has not turned out as hoped. He’s physically substandard but good-natured. He never cries or fusses like his sister. The nurses say he lies in his crib all day without a sound, and sometimes they forget he’s there at all. During feedings, the girl gobbles up nearly all I have to give, but the boy only sleeps at my breast. They are such opposites. It’s hard to believe they shared the same womb. The doctors are concerned about the boy. While I know he is not mine but a child of the Fatherland, I can’t help wanting to protect him. I feel every bone in his body when I hold him. I named him Friedhelm until he is well enough for the Program to christen him with a new one.
I’m sorry to hear that a Jew spoiled your Christmas. I wonder why they had him come at all. Why not a German youth? We have many boys here who can sing like larks. But I suppose they didn’t want to risk transportation at such a time.
Word from the Ardennes reached us with more news of lost Program fathers. They have closed down many of the other Lebensborn homes and brought the children here. I now share a room with a mother from Luxembourg named Cata and one from Stuttgart named Brigette. Though Cata is new to Steinhöring, Brigette has been here since the Program’s inception.
Awarded the Silver Mother’s Cross last year for her abundant fertility, she’s a favorite companion for many admired SS officers. She’s had seven perfect children and calls them by number rather than name. I’m uncertain if that is because their christened names pain her or if she is so wholly committed to the nation that the names do not matter. Brigette used to have the largest private room on the compound, but it has since been turned into a nursery for incoming children.
We are not friends. Our relations were strained after Julfest when Major Günther chose my companionship over hers. He was one of her regulars, apparently. So I am making the best of this difficult time. I try to stay out of Brigette’s way and make Cata as comfortable as possible in her new surroundings. She has a skittish personality, speaking her thoughts when she oughtn’t. Brigette says she’s as pestering as a magpie. But if Cata is a magpie, then Brigette is a griffon vulture.
I’m hoping for a swift victory of our fighting men so the New Order of Germany can soon begin. Then maybe I could come home for good, find a respectable officer to marry, and raise our Volk children together. This is what I dream, Elsie.
Give my love to Mutti and Papa and Happy 1945 Silvester to you all.
Heil Hitler.
Hazel
P.S. There is a random inspection of all incoming post to the Program, but none of your letter seals have ever been broken. I mail my letters directly through the Steinhöring Post Office or give them to my friend Ovidia to do so. Our words are safe between us, sister.