“You must be Fräulein Ritter,” she said.
“I am.” I shook her hand. “You are Fräulein Schultz?”
“Yes. The Führer’s dietician and cook.” She looked at me with concern. “What have they told you about your position?”
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Come with me to my office off the kitchen. You’ll be staying here in the east wing so you can be close to me, the kitchen staff and the other tasters.”
I didn’t understand. We went into the hall past the kitchen to a series of doors. Hers was the first. She opened it with a key and we stepped inside the small room. She took off her apron and sat at her desk while I took a seat in the guest chair. A window faced north, the same direction as the Berghof, looking out upon the sprawling view of the Untersberg. She turned to me with her hands folded in her lap.
“You have been chosen,” she began, “by me and Captain Karl Weber, the SS officer who oversees the security of my staff. You are one of fifteen.”
I shifted in my seat. “Fifteen what?”
“Tasters who work for the Führer at his headquarters.”
“Tasters?” I had no idea what she was talking about. “Perhaps you could explain what that means.”
She looked at me like a teacher who was irritated with a student. “You, and others, taste the Führer’s food. Your body is offered in sacrifice to the Reich in case the food is poisoned.”
My breath fled, horrified as I was at her words. The cook must have recognized the distress in my face, for she reached across and held my hand.
“There’s no need to panic,” she said. “I will tell you frankly, he is obsessed with being poisoned. He thinks the British have it in for him—it’s all very Shakespearean if you ask me. Why would they resort to such medieval tactics when one well-placed assassin’s bullet would do? His personal physician could poison him as well, but we don’t taste his medicines. Your chances of being poisoned are slim. After all, we all sample the food as it’s prepared.” And with a sly glance she said, “Still, I suppose there’s always a chance. I suppose you may not be ready for such candor, but you need to know the truth.”
“This is why I was chosen for civilian service?”
She withdrew her hands and returned to her businesslike demeanor. “Yes. Apparently, the Reichsbund felt you were qualified for this position. It’s a great honor.”
I didn’t know how to respond, so I said meekly, “I suppose it is.” I thought of my uncle Willy and wondered if he would be proud of my position. His recommendation had gotten me here.
“You will be working with me,” she explained. “If you do a good job, I have other duties you might pursue, such as bookkeeping for the kitchen. That’s an important task as well. We have full growing capabilities for food—greenhouses you will become familiar with.” She paused and studied my face. “You’re pretty. There are plenty of attractive men here, enough to keep a flirtatious girl busy. I discourage intimate fraternization with officers and other staff. We have movies, dancing sometimes, but you must remember you are in service to the Führer. Your personal life is of no consequence.”
I shuddered. My life might end here. Not even the bombings in Berlin had forced me to face my mortality in such a brutal way. The thought that I might die for Hitler stunned me. An unwitting trap had been set and closed over me. My parents had sent me away, Uncle Willy had pulled strings and now I was in a position that might lead to my death. My mind raced, thinking of ways that I might get away from the Berghof. But where would I go?
She stood and I felt dwarfed by her figure. Apparently, she could read my thoughts, too. “I wouldn’t be hasty in your conclusions. If you reject your position there could be serious consequences. You might never work again. As I said, the risk is slight. When the war is over, your service to the Reich will be rewarded.” She picked up her apron. “I must get back to the kitchen.” She lifted the hair that fell across my left cheek before she opened the door. “Captain Weber was right. You are pretty—in a different way. Perhaps that’s why you were chosen. He wants to talk with you. Wait here.”
She left me sitting alone in the office. I bent over, covered my face with my hands and waited for the SS officer. In a matter of days, my life had changed from that of a common German girl to one of importance in the Reich. My head spun from what fate had thrown my way so quickly. The thought of dying, let alone for Hitler, had rarely entered my young head. Like a trapped animal there was nothing I could do. To back out would place shame and derision on my family, perhaps even open them to questioning. I could only wait and hope for the best.
The handsome officer came a few minutes later.
“You are prettier than your photos,” he said after he had a chance to look at me. His words were offered in a factual tone with no sexual innuendo intended. I thanked him, but with little enthusiasm. After all, what did my looks have to do with tasting food?
Fräulein Schultz had called him “Captain.” The insignia on SS uniforms meant little to me. There were two patches on each side of his collar. One contained two silver bolts that looked like lightning.
His blondish-brown hair, parted on the right, swept back from his forehead. His mouth was sensuous, not cruel; the bow in the upper lip carried a distinctive cleft. His hazel eyes were topped by long brows that curved like arches to either side of his nose—a pleasing feature in its own right—strong and chiseled to a fine point. Perhaps his ears were his only flaw. They were large for the size of his face. Nevertheless, they didn’t detract from the officer’s overall appearance. I was drawn to him, but what woman wouldn’t have been? I knew, of course, that such an attraction was dangerous. He could have me shot as easily as he might take me in his arms.
“You have been chosen for a dangerous job,” he said.
I watched as he took a seat in the cook’s chair and withdrew a pack of cigarettes but, finding no ashtray, replaced them in his jacket pocket.
“I didn’t ask for it,” I said. “I had no idea what my job would be until ten minutes ago.”
He settled back. “You can always leave. The Führer is not an impossible man. Many have come and gone here.”
“That’s not my wish,” I said, hoping to overcome my own doubts. What else would I do? Reina would not be happy if I ended up on her doorstep. “I need to work. And, besides, I’ve been told that finding any work might be impossible if I leave the Berghof.”
He offered his hand. “I understand.” His eyes shifted from business, as if he understood my plight. “My name is Karl Weber. I’m an officer in the security detail assigned to oversee the kitchen and dining. Not exactly an exciting job, but I suppose I’ve earned it. I fought in Poland and France. The fighting was pretty rough, but not as rough as our troops on the Eastern Front have had to endure.”
“Were you wounded?”
“No, I was lucky.”
We sat for a moment and I was unsure of what to say. My fate had been sealed by the Reichsbund and there was little I could do about it. To leave would bring disgrace upon my parents. My aunt might throw me out on the street. I remembered I needed to call Willy and Reina to let them know what I was doing. “May I make a phone call? Do I have that privilege?”