Frau Rattelmüller left with the parcel.
“Mutti,” Elsie called. “Would you mind taking the front for a minute? I forgot to get firewood.” It wasn’t entirely untrue. The pile was low.
Mutti came from the back and nodded to the next customer. “Grüs Gott, Herr Baumhauer.”
Elsie retreated to the kitchen, past Papa kneading dark schwartzbrot and Julius lazily munching his bewitched and brittle lebkuchen on the stool. She stepped into her boots, threw a shawl round her shoulders, and went out into the drizzly March day.
Frau Rattelmüller waited on the far side of the pile. Elsie had to keep her legs steady, her gait unencumbered, in case she was being watched. If the frau was finally turning her in, she wanted to at least appear innocent; maybe they’d allow a poor baker’s daughter reprieve. But if it was Frau Rattelmüller who had been discovered, then this very meeting indicted her as an accomplice. She slowed to a stop on the opposite side of the neatly crosshatched wood.
“Ja?” she asked, colder than was her nature. “What do you wish to speak to me about?”
Frau Rattelmüller sensed the hostility. “I come alone and with no ill intentions,” she promised. “I would not be here if I had any alternative.” She leaned heavily on her cane. “I know some people on the inside of the Dachau camp. They say that the Nazis are planning a Jewish expulsion. The Russians and Americans are close. Soon, they plan to move the Jews to Tegernsee on foot.”
“Now?” The March rain had turned to sharp ice needles, pelting her forehead and nose. “They’ll freeze to death.”
“I’m sure that’s part of the plan. Save the bullets for the soldiers in Berlin.”
“But Josef”—Elsie’s heart beat fast—“he’s at Dachau.”
“Ja.” Frau Rattelmüller’s face turned away under the veil. “He’s one of the officers in charge.”
“In charge of this death march?”
Josef had never discussed his business with her. She always assumed it had something to do with the mountain brigade, not Jewish camps. The rumors of Dachau’s violence and mass graves had circulated for years. Too horrific, most chose not to believe. These were their countrymen. Elsie was not prepared to imagine Josef leading such brutality. The piercing rain stung her cheeks.
Frau Rattelmüller leaned in closer. “I know a man who can bribe the guard to turn a blind eye while the Jewish women move between the workhouses and the sleeping quarters. There are two girls—family members of my …” A tree cracked. She turned quickly. A sparrow fledgling flew from a branch. She continued in a whisper, “Once I have them, they will leave at once for Switzerland where trusted friends wait.”
“Are you leaving too?”
“I am too old. I’d only slow them down.” The frau swallowed hard. “I’ve come because I need your help—with the bribe. I’ve given all I can, but it isn’t enough.”
Elsie stepped back. Here was the crux of it. The old woman wanted money. Was this how she bought her daily bread—with coins stolen under the premise of charity? Elsie took a good look at Frau Rattelmüller. Her veil was tattered about the edges; the hem of her dress hung round her heels; her feet were stockingless despite the weather; and her hands, bone thin, were chafed an angry red. This wasn’t a woman who gorged on rolls and sweets.
But Elsie had nothing to give. The bäckerei till held a meager amount, enough to be noticed if missing. She rubbed her forehead, trying to heat her skin against the throbbing frost, and then she saw it: red glints beneath the melted ice. How easily she’d forgotten her promise to Josef, gone with no written word as he had promised.
“Here.” She slipped it from her finger. “This should be enough.”
“Your engagement ring?” Frau Rattelmüller took it but frowned under the dark veil. “What will you tell Josef and your family when they ask?”
Elsie rubbed her fingers, suddenly warmer than they’d been. “I’ll tell them I gave it to save the Fatherland.”
The frau nodded. “Your sister, Hazel, had courage, but Elsie—you have the heart of the prophet Daniel.”
Elsie winced at the mention of Hazel in the past tense. She looked away and shook her head. “The ring was never truly mine.”
Frau Rattelmüller grasped Elsie’s hand. “There are still people who remember that God’s law is above all mankind.” Her voice caught. “These men will not lead us down the path of destruction. I learned early in my life that the dead cannot save the living. Only we can do that. While there is life, there is hope.” She turned to leave.
Elsie stopped her. This was her chance. “I ask a favor of you in return.”
Elsie took a deep breath; the glacial air choked the flesh of her throat. The branches crackled under the sleet. Every whisper was a danger, every move suspected, but Tobias had become too important to Elsie. Each hour he spent in her bedroom was an hour closer to revelation and ruin. If this was a chance to save him, she had to take it.
“When you first discovered Tobias in our kitchen, you offered to take him with the others. Will you do so now—will you get him out of Germany?” she asked.
Frau Rattelmüller gripped the crooked handle with both hands and lowered her voice to barely a murmur, “Elsie, it is too dangerous now. Moving him from the bakery to my home could put us all in our graves.”
The wind swirled gusts of budding flurries.
“And in this weather—he is so small and weak.” The frau shook her head.
Elsie pictured Tobias’s knobby elbows and knees, his tiny earlobes beneath the stocking cap. His health was poor. She was right. There was a good chance he would not survive the elements.
“I’m sorry,” said Frau Rattelmüller. “Please believe me, if there was a way to safely transport him, I would do it. The Gestapo patrols your bakery day and night. Perhaps it is under Josef’s order of protection; nonetheless, they are there … watching. I must think of my friends first.”
Elsie nodded. She’d seen the headlights of the cars rolling by late at night but assumed every street in Garmisch was being carefully guarded. The news that it was just hers made her knees go slack.
“I will help you in every way I can,” Frau Rattelmüller continued, “but I cannot do this.”
Elsie couldn’t fault the old woman for prudence. Every measure of caution had to be taken. Acting impulsively cost lives. So for now, Tobias would stay hidden in her bedroom.
Then Elsie remembered: “He has a sister in the camp. Her name is Cecile. She works with the seamstresses. Could you get her out with the others?”
This was one thing she could do for Tobias.
“Ja.” Frau Rattelmüller thumped her cane on the icy cobblestone. “If she is still there, we will take her to Switzerland.”
Elsie nodded. “Tell her that her brother is well and speaks of her with great love. Tell her he promises to see her again.” She sighed out a plume of white. “He’ll be the one waiting with blue ribbons.”
“Blue ribbons?” asked Frau Rattelmüller.
Elsie nodded. “She will know the meaning.”
A dog barked, and both women jumped.
“Go.” The frau turned and hobbled down the slippery lane.
Shaken, Elsie scooped up an armful of logs, splinters pricking her arms. Inside, Julius had finished the lebkuchen and moved on to brötchen with the last bit of the family’s butter and jam. Elsie dumped the wood beneath the stove and coughed to clear her throat of any residual sentiment. Knowing Julius’s nature, she couldn’t take the risk of exposing her true emotions.
“Has your oma eaten?” she asked.
The boy crunched the side of his roll and shook his head.