Chapter 7
Clara stood at the apartment window waiting for Friedrich to emerge from the main entrance out onto the street. When he did, he paused and looked up at her, raising his hand. She waved back and continued to watch as he hurried off to work.
Clara had relished in the safety of Friedrich’s arms all night.
Just the two of them, cocooned in their apartment, away from their warring countries, in a place where there was nothing but peace.
When she had woken and Friedrich’s side of the bed was empty, an impending sense of unease pitched up in her stomach.
A sensation she feared she was going to have to learn to live with all the time the world was in turmoil.
What that turmoil would look like, she couldn’t imagine.
Later, over breakfast, Friedrich asked her what she planned to do that day.
Her response was vague. She listed some household chores and what she was going to make for dinner, but that was all.
She didn’t say that she was due to visit the Bauers.
If she didn’t outright say it, she was protecting him.
If anything were to happen to her, then Friedrich would have no part in it.
Of course, her husband wasn’t stupid. He looked at her. ‘Is that all?’
‘It’s enough to keep me busy,’ she replied. He held her gaze for a long moment. His eyes conveyed a morass of concern, love and maybe even pride but most of all fear. ‘Just for today,’ she added.
‘Just for today,’ he repeated.
She knew the situation in the city, the country, had changed now.
She would have to be even more careful than she already was, but she also reasoned that, all being well, she probably wouldn’t need to visit Annelise again.
Just this last visit and then she wouldn’t have to put herself, and more importantly Friedrich, in a difficult position.
The last thing she wanted was to cause him any problems at work.
Clara had no appetite for travelling across the city but her promise to Annelise weighed on her conscience.
The café incident had left a bitter taste, yet what troubled her the most was this new feeling of vulnerability, a sensation as foreign to her as she now was to Germany.
This hesitation, this fear, this wasn’t her.
This wasn’t the young woman who had packed her bags and left England’s suffocating expectations behind, seeking something more in Berlin’s sophisticated streets.
Despite this alien feeling, she refused to be diminished by others’ judgements.
Helping another woman and her baby was most certainly more tangible and meaningful than clinging to the ritual of English tea as her small act of rebellion.
After Friedrich had left for work, Clara began tidying up the breakfast dishes and kitchen.
She looked at the washed-up teacups and pot from the night before, still sitting on the draining board, and let out a sigh.
Poor Friedrich, he had borne the brunt of her frustration and like the true and honourable gentleman he was, he hadn’t taken offence.
In fact, he had sympathised with her. A lesser German officer may have spouted Nazi rhetoric and berated her, but not Friedrich.
He was so much better than that. She never failed to acknowledge how lucky she was that they met, and she felt that sentiment even stronger today.
She went over to the bookcase and removed the midwifery book that had been returned to its usual place the night before. She left it on the coffee table before picking up her medical bag and leaving the apartment.
She took the tram across the city and less than an hour later she was being shown into the Bauers’ apartment by Richard.
‘We weren’t expecting to see you,’ said Annelise, her face lighting up when Clara entered the living room.
‘I wanted to check you both were all right,’ said Clara. She leaned over the crib at the sleeping baby. ‘He looks very content. Is he feeding well?’
‘Yes, every three to four hours, like you said. He’s a very content baby,’ said Annelise.
‘And how are you?’ asked Clara. ‘Are you getting enough rest and sleep?’
‘Yes. Richard has made sure of it.’
‘Can I feel your stomach?’ asked Clara. ‘I want to make sure your womb is contracting properly.’
A short while later after Clara had examined Annelise and was happy with everything, she got to her feet.
‘I don’t think you need me to come back again,’ said Clara reluctantly.
Normally, a new mother would be attended to in her home for two weeks, but nothing was normal anymore.
‘If you are worried, you know where to find me.’ It was the least she could offer, and she couldn’t help feeling guilty that she was in effect abandoning them.
‘We are so grateful to you,’ said Annelise.
‘It’s my pleasure,’ replied Clara as she packed away her bag. She looked up at the young woman, sensing she wanted to say more. Annelise and her husband exchanged a look. Clara paused. ‘Is everything all right?’
Richard cleared his throat. ‘There’s something we need to ask you.’
‘Yes?’ Clara replied.
There was a long pause and another look between the couple. Clara waited, unease fluttered in her stomach.
Finally, it was Annelise who spoke. ‘My friend, Rachel, she has a four-week-old baby boy. He’s not well. He’s been non-stop coughing.’
‘Can you pay them a visit, please?’ asked Richard. ‘She is very worried. She doesn’t know what to do.’
Clara couldn’t reply immediately. This was not what she had planned to do. She wasn’t supposed to be getting involved with any more cases. But, as always, the question that plagued her was how could she refuse? On both a professional level and a humanitarian level she couldn’t say no.
‘Please,’ begged Annelise obviously sensing Clara’s indecision.
‘Of course,’ said Clara. ‘Where is the mother and baby?’ The words were out before she could argue with herself.
She tried not to think of Friedrich and how he might feel about her doing this.
But, she reasoned with herself, it was just one woman and one baby.
Clara was in the area, a quick visit and that would be that.
The woman, Rachel, and her baby were only a few minutes away in a narrow side street of the Prenzlauer Berg district. The five-storey building, once an elegant facade, was now showing signs of neglect with peeling paint and small weblike cracks in the plaster.
Richard pushed open the heavy wooden doors that led from the street and Clara followed him inside to a small, dimly lit entry hall. The once grand staircase with an ornate iron railing wound its way upwards.
They reached the third floor and Richard knocked gently on the door. It was opened by an elderly woman, clearly not Rachel, but perhaps her grandmother.
‘Frau Blumenthal,’ said Richard. ‘I’ve brought my sister to see Rachel.’ He looked pointedly at Clara.
Clara glanced around the landing, wondering who was on the other side listening, spying. She didn’t want to speak out loud, her accent would give her away, instead she dipped her head in acknowledgement to Frau Blumenthal.
The older woman looked Clara up and down, suspicion in her eyes, but nevertheless after a couple of seconds, seemingly satisfied, she opened the door wider and waved them in.
It was only once the door was closed, and they were in the living room that she spoke. ‘Thank you for coming. My granddaughter is through there with the baby. He has croup. I have tried what is available to me, but he is getting worse.’
‘I’ll take a look and see what I can do,’ said Clara.
She followed the grandmother into an adjoining room.
The room was perhaps once a dining room but was now being used as a bedroom, with a crib resting on top of a sideboard.
The double bed was pushed under the window.
Sitting on the edge was a woman probably around Clara’s age, holding her baby in her arms.
‘Hello, my name is—’ began Clara but was cut off by Richard.
‘No names,’ he said quickly. ‘Sorry, but it’s best not to know then no one can tell.’
Clara swallowed. She’d never considered she’d have to hide her identity and yet Richard and his community were already thinking in terms of keeping themselves and people around them safe.
The baby breaking out into an episode of coughing had Clara’s attention back on the reason she was there. The cough was a sharp barking kind.
After a thorough examination with limited equipment Clara handed the baby back to Rachel.
‘He has croup as your grandmother suspected.’ She looked in her bag and brought out a small bottle.
‘This is eucalyptus oil. We can put a few drops into a bowl of boiling water and with a sheet, create a steam tent.’
‘That’s what my grandmother said,’ replied Rachel. ‘But we don’t have any oil.’
‘Your grandmother is very wise,’ said Clara, turning and smiling at the older woman. ‘We should carry out the first treatment now.’
‘I’ll boil the water,’ said the grandmother.
A few minutes later, between the three of them, they had created the steam tent.
‘You can do this several times a day for about ten minutes each time,’ said Clara.
‘Make sure you only use two or three drops though as it may be too strong for the little one. At night-time, prop the end of the crib up so his head is raised.’ She looked around and took a couple of books from the shelf.
‘These will do fine,’ she said placing them under the head end of the crib.
Clara spent some time with Rachel and the baby, explaining how else they could help and the best way to position the baby for sleep at night-time. She could see the worry easing in Rachel’s face with each passing minute.
Once the first steam treatment was complete, Clara was pleased to see the baby relax and nurse more easily from his mother.
‘If he doesn’t get any better or his symptoms worsen, you should try to seek help from the hospital,’ said Clara.
Richard shook his head. ‘It’s not possible.’