Love in the Shadows

13.

“THERE IS NO PLACE for sentiment in war, Fraulein Brun,” Müller said. “Death is a price to be paid.”

Johanna entered the kitchen “What’s that, Hauptmann Müller?”

Müller turned sharply towards her. He clearly hadn’t realised she was there.

“You may leave,” she said before he answered.

He clicked his heels, bowed his head, and marched towards the foyer.

Fraulein Brun looked pale, and her normally alluring brown eyes were empty of emotion. There was a distance between them, a distance that she should be keen to maintain for her own wellbeing, but that she wanted instantly to close. The urge to take the Frenchwoman into her arms and comfort her was strong. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“He killed Nancy’s kitten.”

She closed her eyes to block out the pain emanating from Fraulein Brun and inhaled a deep breath. “Oh my God.” She rubbed her forehead and looked at her again, hoping to see a shift in her appearance, though knowing if she were in the same position she would feel such desperate agony that no amount of empathy from a stranger, let alone the enemy, could ease it. “I am so very sorry.”

Fraulein Brun shook her head. “He killed a kitten. Who does that for their own amusement?”

Johanna took a glass from the cupboard and quenched her thirst with water from the tap. “You’re sure it was him?”

Fraulein Brun glared. “Would your husband do such a thing?”

Johanna would have said no before the war, but now she wasn’t sure what lengths Gerhard would go to. He hadn’t returned until very late, and she didn’t think he would be bothered by a kitten, so she very much doubted it was him. She was sure Nanny wouldn’t have done it. “Müller is capable,” she whispered.

“He is evil.”

She touched Fraulein Brun’s arm. The muscle was tight beneath her fingers, and the woman remained frozen. It was instinctive to want to comfort her, but it was Johanna who needed to feel soothed by their contact. Fraulein Brun stared at her hand but didn’t move away when Johanna caressed her arm. “Nancy will be devastated.”

“I told her that he had probably run away. But yes, she is. Once again.”

Johanna let her go. How many hearts would be broken by this war? She knew hers had been several times over. Had she protected Astrid enough? She didn’t think so, but she didn’t know what else she could do. Since her husband had no time for her, and she was effectively being watched by Müller as closely as the Frenchwomen, she was as powerless as they were. “I have to get on,” she said.

“Are you going to do anything about it, Frau Neumann?”

The discomfort of her own grief made Johanna angrier, but the fury was made worse by the frustration that came with feeling helpless to do anything about the situation. “I will see if I can get Müller reassigned, but the kommandant has already dismissed the idea once before, so I don’t hold out much hope.”

Fraulein Brun clenched her teeth. Her eyes narrowed as if she couldn’t stand the sight of Johanna and she turned away.

Johanna desperately wanted to touch her cheek, trace the strong line of her jaw, feel her soft lips beneath her fingertips. Most of all, she wanted to take away her pain and see the beautiful smile that she kept well hidden. “I feel the same way,” she said.

“I very much doubt that, Frau Neumann.” Fraulein Brun picked up the wood basket and went outside.

What would their world become after the war? Johanna could never accept that the merciless actions of such men were either necessary or acceptable, and when those husbands and fathers returned to their families, what then? Would their wives and children become the outlet for their aggression and anger, as had been the case with her own father? No matter which way she considered what was happening around her, history was repeating itself. The thought that Astrid’s childhood would be marked by this war, possibly even worse than her own had been by the previous one, made her sick to her stomach and profoundly sad.

As she walked through the dining room and into the foyer fighting angry tears, she had an overwhelming desire to hold Astrid close and to never let her go.

She entered the room they’d designated as the classroom on the second floor. Astrid was sitting on her chair in front of a small table with her back to the door. Nanny was standing with her back to her, ruler in one hand and tapping the palm of her other, facing the map of Europe on the wall. To one side of the map was a handwritten sheet of paper titled “National Socialism”, and another titled “German Reich”. Each had bullet-pointed notes too small for her to read from where she stood.

“But why so many countries?” Astrid said.

“Because we must preserve calm and order, Astrid,” Nanny said in a tone of indignation. “Not all peoples of the world are as clean as we are. They follow ideologies that threaten the livelihoods of hard-working nationalists, they spread diseases that might lead to our extinction, and they incite riots. When people challenge the fundamental principles on which our Fatherland is founded, we must rise as a united force and defend ourselves.”

Johanna couldn’t disagree more with the words being drilled into her daughter’s impressionable mind, and especially with Nanny’s use of the Nazi term “Fatherland” to describe what she preferred to think of as her homeland.

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Astrid said.

Thank heavens her daughter hadn’t responded with blind obedience. She cleared her throat to attract Nanny’s attention and when Nanny turned to her, Johanna smiled. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything too important.”

“Nothing is more important than a solid understanding of our political and social history.” She looked like she’d swallowed something nasty. “Can I help with something, Frau Neumann?”

She’d liked Nanny as she would any distant relative, but the differences between their outlook now caused her to question whether she’d made the right decision in keeping her on when moving here. After all, Johanna had time on her hands, and wouldn’t it be better to shape her daughter’s future with talk of the fine arts, even if they were currently banned?

She would prefer to fill her daughter’s head with an appreciation of surrealism, and abstract expressionism, ballet and opera, and the newer styles of swing and jazz that she’d heard snippets of from America while working at the orchestra. She wanted Astrid to read and be influenced by the words of William Faulkner and Margaret Mitchell, rather than Nanny and Nazism. Not only did studying the fine arts bring joy and passion, but it also triggered deep thinking and lively debate.

Then, as an adult Astrid would have a broader outlook, be confident in her own mind, and she would become a remarkable woman. Astrid wouldn’t allow herself to be bullied or suppress her views to conform with such a narrow world view that determined one race or creed to be superior to all others. She would be more courageous than Johanna had been. That’s what she wanted for her daughter – that, and the freedom to enjoy her childhood.

“I was wondering if Astrid would like to go outside and play for a bit,” she said.

“Mutter, Mutter.” Astrid got up. She wrapped her small arms tightly around Johanna. “Can I go in the garden, on the swing?”

“I’m not sure how safe it is,” Nanny said.

Johanna sighed. She had played in her grandmother’s garden during the Great War, and it had helped her to make some of the bad memories less vivid. They had ventured into the garden only a handful of times in the past five months and she’d not felt in danger. Nanny was being overly cautious. And, anyway, if they died together while enjoying a few minutes of freedom outside, then so be it. “We won’t be long, and I’ll be with her,” she said.

“There’s still a chill in the air. She might get ill.”

Johanna smiled. “My dear Nanny. We need to breathe. It’s not healthy to be locked up indoors all day every day. We should take advantage of the fact that there is a little sunshine this morning.”

“Yes, Frau Neumann.” Nanny sounded as though she had something stuck in her throat.

Johanna was sure Nanny’s concern was as much for Johanna’s welfare as Astrid’s. She meant well. “We won’t stray from the garden. You can keep an eye on us from the window, if you feel the need, or you can take a break.”

“If you must go, Frau Neumann?”

Johanna stroked Astrid’s back as she held Nanny’s concerned gaze. “We must, Nanny. So, please don’t worry.” She looked to Astrid and smiled. “Shall we get your coat, darling?”

Astrid ran down the stairs, and Johanna struggled to keep up with her. She followed her through the kitchen and into the garden.

She inhaled the fresh air as Astrid ran to the swing. The sky was a deep sea-blue, and the trees were filling out with leaves. The deep carpet of forest-green pines that bounded them remained a reliable protector. Still, she got an image of enemy troops marching towards them from within the undergrowth. She looked to the sky and dreamed of her beloved Berlin. She’d always loved spring there, with its evolution of colours and shapes, and floral scents. It was the season that resonated hope and transformation and she needed both right now.

“Push me, Mutter,” Astrid said.

“It’s very pretty, here,” she said as she pushed.

“Can I get a drink and something to eat?” Astrid asked. “Can we have a picnic?”

Johanna laughed. “I’ll see what I can rustle up.” She gave Astrid one last big push. “You’ll have to swing yourself.” She wandered into the kitchen.

She took the jug of berry cordial out of the fridge and what remained of a tart they’d eaten for supper the previous evening. She reached for the glasses, glancing out of the kitchen window to check on Astrid, who was crouched on the grass and stroking a kitten that wasn’t Lakritze. A girl about the same size as her but with dark-brown hair kneeled on the grass next to her. Her heart raced in fear. Abandoning the snack, she ran outside.

“Astrid, darling,” she said, trying to curb her anxiety. It was ridiculous to feel this way about another child talking to her daughter. She glanced up at the windows of the house, to check if they were being watched, knowing that if either Müller or Nanny were to see them, they would have something to say about inappropriate fraternisation. When she couldn’t see anyone snooping, she breathed a sigh.

The girl stared at Johanna. Her eyes were unmistakeably like those of Fraulein Brun, as was the heart-shape of her face. She had a look that said she knew she would be in trouble for being here, and yet she made no move to leave. That boldness Johanna also admired in Fraulein Brun.

Astrid looked up, stroking the kitten that circled her legs, nuzzling her. “Look, Mutter, it’s Nancy’s. She’s called Cleopatra. She had another one called Leo, but he ran away.”

Johanna felt the anger rise within her at what Müller had done. She took a deep breath to calm herself, cleared her throat, and smiled. “You’re Fraulein Brun’s cousin?”

Nancy nodded. “I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to play with Astrid.”

“How come you’re not at school?”

“There’s no school on Wednesday.”

Johanna’s heart broke again, with the knowledge that this child spent so much time alone in the cottage. She should stop them playing together, but she didn’t want to and couldn’t bring herself to. “Would you like a glass of berry cordial?” she asked.

Nancy smiled and her eyes sparkled.

Johanna was reminded of Fraulein Brun, the way the Frenchwoman affected her, and how she wished to see her smile more often. How justifiably angry she’d been earlier, and how Johanna should do something to help her. She went back to the kitchen.

When she returned with two glasses of berry cordial and a small slice of tart for the girls, Astrid was pushing Nancy on the swing. She set their plates on a raised root of the oak tree and watched them drink together.

“Let’s eat the picnic,” Astrid said.

“Is that for me?” Nancy’s eyes widened. She seemed to hesitate, then perched on the root with Astrid at her side and ate quickly.

Johanna was doing the right thing for Astrid, and for Nancy; she knew it deep in her heart. As she pondered the fact that she didn’t care what her husband would say, or the others, she caught a flicker of something in the shadows of the archway.

The red tip of a cigarette being smoked.

Müller was watching her.