Caroline Woods - Fräulein M.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Hide her? Is this person a Jew? If they catch me—”

“It is a risk you’ll have to take.”

He fell to his knees on the floor, his hands in front of him for support, and she feared his heart really had failed him. She helped him into the chair, yanked his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. When she returned from the kitchen with a glass of water, he still hadn’t opened his eyes. He lay back, his head damp, his glasses askew across his nose and mouth.

She held his chin and coaxed water down his throat until he sputtered. “I like you, Herr Reuter,” she said, wishing she could make him believe her. One of his eyes opened a crack. He looked as if he could spit at her face. “I am not doing this to hurt or threaten you. The Jewish woman is someone else I’ve been sent to report on. I’ll be pleased to hear both she and your brother make it to Sweden alive.”

“Oh, so I’ll still be dealing with you upon my return?” he said, his voice hoarse. “Nurse Metzger, my sweet caregiver?”

“Yes,” she said. “I need you to keep hold of that van. When you return, your next task will be to help me out of the country.”

The day after, she went to give the Blumenthals Herr Reuter’s name and explain that Frau Blumenthal should be ready to leave in six days. If she’d expected them to thank her, she would have been gravely disappointed, but Grete knew better. The three of them sat in the dining room, Grete playing with one of the silk flowers in the arrangement on the table as the couple stared at each other, mouths open, heartbroken.

“Six days?” said Frau Blumenthal. “And you’re sure he can be trusted?”

Grete nodded. “He has as much to lose as you do,” she said, realizing only after she’d spoken how untrue these words were.

Herr Blumenthal still hadn’t moved. His green eyes shimmered and mouth trembled as he studied his wife’s hand, turning it over and over on the tabletop. His wife whispered something Grete could not hear, and he shook his head, inhaling with a wet sniff.

“It is the best chance we have, Schatzi ,” he said, stroking her skin. “We’ll take an even greater risk if we both try to hide in Herr Reuter’s car. Besides, we don’t have the money for a ferry ticket for myself and your doctor bills once you’ve arrived safely. You and the baby go. I will find a way to Sweden as soon as it’s possible.”

“That’s right,” said Grete. “Your husband can meet you later, Frau Blumenthal. The important thing is for you to take care of your health right away.”

Frau Blumenthal cut her eyes, full of tears, toward Grete, pursing her bluish lips. Grete felt acutely how unwelcome she was in this moment, despite the role she’d played in bringing it about. “And what about you?” Frau Blumenthal said. “How can we be sure you can be trusted?”

“You can’t,” Grete said, getting up to go. “When Herr Reuter arrives it will be very late at night. If you decide not to travel with him, if you decide all of this is a trap, you can keep your lights off and ignore the buzzer. I am sure he will not wait long.” She took in Frau Blumenthal’s swollen wrists, the skin marbled in red and white, for what she hoped would be the last time.

“I wish there were a code word I could give, something to convince you to believe me.” Buttoning her brown jacket, she made her voice very soft. “All I can say is I pray you’ll go.”

A couple of weeks later she sat with Klaus, having dinner at the Hotel Adlon, feeling as though everything she’d done behind his back were written on her skin. Nothing to report . Go through Travemünde. Part of her wished he could see.

Herr Reuter’s shop hadn’t opened in days; an On Holiday sign hung in the window. The van was missing. At her weekly appointment with the Blumenthals, nobody had answered the door. She’d felt a surge of victory swell in her stomach, then the urge to burst into tears.

“We’ll be having champagne,” Klaus told the waiter, winking at Grete, or perhaps admiring the view; behind her head there was a window that opened out to the Brandenburg Gate. When the waiter began to list varietals, Klaus shooed him away. “Bring us the best, please,” he said. “Tonight we’re celebrating.”

“Ah,” said Grete, her smile thin. Her next assignment, then, would be a difficult one; she’d known as soon as he suggested the Adlon. She, too, had made more effort than usual tonight. She’d painted her lips coral and curled her hair so that it lay on her shoulders, gold on emerald, hoping if she looked especially nice it would distract him from asking questions.

Instead of reaching into his pocket, he took her hand. “You are a sight for sore eyes, darling.” A lock of blond hair fell across his forehead, and he grinned with one corner of his mouth, and despite everything a little gasp of love sighed in her chest. She was fifteen, naked under her nightgown on his balcony all over again.

She half-listened as he told her about his most recent visit to Poland and what the SD aimed to accomplish there. “Entirely feasible, we know, because of our successes in Czechoslov…”

She was having trouble concentrating. The room swam before her in a sea of cream and plush brown, dizzying her. It hurt, almost, to focus on his eyes, and so she picked a spot somewhere on his forehead, noticing lines in the skin that hadn’t been there before. Perspiration rolled down the sides of her torso.

She realized only when she shifted her gaze to his mouth, watched his teeth close around his fork, loaded with ham and beans, that their dinner had arrived. Half a roast chicken, which she couldn’t remember ordering, sat before her, untouched.

“I just want you to tell me,” she said, gripping her fork and knife without lifting them. “I want to know what my next assignment is.”

He cocked his head and lifted his glass. At some point, he’d switched to beer. “But that is what I’ve been trying to say, darling. Because of my new position under Brigadeführer Jost, we need to turn our attention to the move to Warsaw.” He laughed once, irritated, it seemed, that she’d missed all of his good news. “Haven’t you been listening?”

Grete could see their waiter approaching with a tray of whipped and sculpted desserts. She blinked him away with a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. “We?” she said.

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been saying. We are moving to Poland, at least for the time being, so that I may serve as Herr Jost’s undersecretary. This may be the most important post of my career.” He leaned back in his chair and gave his mouth a thorough wipe with his napkin. She noticed he’d cleaned his plate. “Why, look at you, little Grete. You haven’t touched your dinner, and here I’ve paid through the nose for it. Whatever could be on your mind?”

With her fingertips she smoothed the fine linen covering the table. Underneath she could feel nubby, ordinary terrycloth. “Where will you put me in Warsaw? What will you tell the other officers—you need to find lodging for your mistress?”

“Look at me, Grete,” he said, and when she did, she could tell he enjoyed this. His pale eyes twinkled. “You’re being melodramatic. You aren’t my mistress, you’re my fiancée! We’ll be married, of course, as soon as we get there. Before we go, if you’d prefer.”

Stunned, unsure what else to do, she nodded.

Klaus laughed. “We’ll even do it in church, if you’d like—my little Catholic fool. We’ll get you a pair of lace gloves. In Poland, you can surround yourself with Catholics if you want.”