Chapter 12
Friedrich left earlier than usual, and Clara held him a little longer.
As the door closed behind him, a heaviness settled in her chest – a physical ache.
It wasn’t like her to feel so vulnerable.
She’d always felt quietly confident about everything she did.
This new sensation was alien to her, and she didn’t like it.
Clara walked back through the Charlottenburg apartment, her footsteps echoing in the morning quiet, crossing the living room to the window overlooking the street as she always did.
She waited for Friedrich to appear on the pavement below, where he looked up and blew her a kiss.
She caught it in her open hand, pressing it to her lips before blowing one back.
After putting his suitcase into the boot of the waiting car, he took one last look up at her, giving a small nod of his head before climbing in.
Clara watched the vehicle as it disappeared around the corner.
She leaned her forehead against the cold glass. What would Friedrich think if he knew what she was planning today? The thought brought a lump to her throat. He always said he loved her compassion, her determination to help others, but this was different. This was not only dangerous but defiant.
Clara’s stomach flooded with dread at what was ahead.
She hated this sensation. She needed to be in control.
She turned and looked at her reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece, tucking in a strand of hair that had escaped her neat bun.
Her white nurse’s uniform was ironed and starched, her nurse’s cap nestled in her bag, ready for when she arrived at the clinic, where a freshly laundered apron would be waiting for her.
The weather was turning colder now and there was a chill in the October wind that seeped through the windows at night.
She studied her face in the mirror. Clara Bergmann, wife and midwife.
She could now add spy to her credentials.
She took a deep breath as she thought of why she was about to commit a crime.
It wasn’t about her, it was about the women and babies.
She had Friedrich to protect her, they had no one and they were most vulnerable.
It was her duty as a midwife to protect them.
But more importantly, it was her duty, her desire, as a person to help another human.
She left the apartment a short time later, stepping out onto the pavement. She pulled the collar up on her cape and hurried down the street towards the tram.
She had just reached the end of her road when, seemingly from nowhere, a figure moved out from a doorway and fell into step alongside her.
‘Don’t be frightened, Frau Bergmann. It is me. Paul.’
‘I’m just on my way to work,’ she said, pre-empting his question. She glanced around the road but there were only a few people, themselves hurrying to work. No one seemed to be paying her any attention. ‘What is wrong?’
Paul hesitated. ‘One of the pregnant women, she is . . .’
‘Bleeding?’ prompted Clara.
‘Yes.’
‘How much?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘This one time or other times?’
‘This is the third time. Please, can you come?’
They rounded the corner onto a main street, a short distance from the tram. ‘I can’t. How many months pregnant is she?’
‘Seven and a half.’
Clara felt torn between not being late for work and going to the aid of the mother, who clearly needed medical help.
She couldn’t risk getting into trouble at the clinic when she’d only just started working there.
She turned to the lad. ‘I have an afternoon home visit. I can come then, but it will have to be quick. I will use my lunch break.’
‘What time?’
‘Three o’clock. Meet me on the north side of the Weidendammer Bridge.’
‘I’ll be across the road,’ said Paul. ‘If it is safe, I will swap my newspaper from my left to my right hand. You will then follow me.’
Clara nodded. ‘Understood. Go back now and tell the mother she must have strict bed rest. Tell her to put a towel underneath her so I can assess how much blood has been lost when I get there.’
He nodded and then strode on ahead of her.
Clara glanced around and again couldn’t see anyone watching her or paying her any attention. Good. It needed to stay that way.
Clara took the opportunity of the tram ride to regain her composure and settle her racing pulse.
She was aware her mind was flitting from one dilemma to another, making it difficult for her to think straight.
She was a nurse, a midwife. She was trained to be calm and capable.
She just had to apply that mindset to everything she did.
By the time she walked into the clinic, she felt much more in control.
She would deal with one situation at a time.
She was very conscious of the pregnant woman who was bleeding but as Clara couldn’t do anything about it right now, she would not focus on it.
She would go about her duties at the clinic, meticulously as she always did and not draw attention to herself.
The clinic was busy that morning which kept her mind from dwelling on things she had no control over.
The first patient Clara saw was an older mother pregnant with her fourth child. The woman had her three children with her ranging from two years old to seven. The poor woman looked exhausted.
Clara gave the children a stethoscope to play with to keep them occupied while she examined the mother. ‘I would suggest some sort of bed rest but I’m going to assume that’s not possible.’ She looked over at the children who were taking it in turns to listen to the beat of each other’s heart.
‘I have my sister coming to stay with me in a couple of weeks,’ said the woman.
‘In the meantime, I’m going to prescribe some iron supplements,’ said Clara. ‘If you wait here, I’ll get them for you.’
The small space of the supply room smelled of iodine and camphor, its shelves lined with neatly labelled medications. She moved directly to the glass-fronted cabinet where the iron supplements were kept.
She set the glass bottle on the counter for her patient, then paused, her gaze returning to the row of identical boxes. Her encounter with Paul that morning and the Jewish woman she had agreed to see flashed through her mind.
Clara’s hand hovered over a second box. A flush of heat crept up her neck as she glanced at the door.
The clinic had begun tracking supplies more carefully in recent weeks and Frau Lange had mentioned a full inventory coming soon.
Her fingers trembled slightly, not from fear of taking the medication, but from the realisation of how easily she was contemplating such an act.
‘I’ll replace it tomorrow,’ she whispered to herself, calculating how she could purchase an identical box at the Lowen-Apotheke on her way home.
If the Jewish woman didn’t need them after all, she could simply return the borrowed box, with no one the wiser.
And if she did need them, Clara swallowed hard, wasn’t a woman’s life worth more than strict adherence to inventory logs?
Before her conscience could argue further, Clara slipped the second box into her apron pocket. She arranged the remaining boxes to disguise the gap, closed the cabinet and gathered her legitimate supplies.
Clara assisted with the delivery of a baby that morning which was very straightforward with no complications.
No matter how many births she attended, the moment a new baby entered the world was something sacred.
The first cry, the warmth of new life in her hands, the mother’s breath catching and the look of wonderment in their eyes – it never failed to move her.
‘You did well this morning,’ commented Frau Lange as Clara left the new mother and baby once they were settled in their room.
‘Thank you,’ said Clara, pride sweeping through her at the compliment from her superior.
‘But it has meant you’ve missed your lunch break,’ said the older woman. ‘I suggest you take your break now and then go straight to your afternoon home visits. You have three to carry out.’
‘Yes, Frau Lange,’ said Clara, not believing her luck. She would have time between the first two ladies and Frau Müller to dash over to the Jewish lady and see how she was. She hoped to goodness the poor woman was all right.
‘Is something wrong?’ asked Frau Lange.
‘What?’
‘You’re frowning.’
‘Oh, sorry. I’m fine I was just considering which route to take,’ replied Clara quickly.
Frau Lange gave her a long look before instructing her to go straight home after seeing Frau Müller and she would see Clara in the morning.
In the end, Clara took a shorter break and arrived at her first home visit promptly. The appointments were not given a specific time, the patients just knew it was an afternoon visit.
It was a brief call to a woman who was very relaxed about everything. She didn’t need to stay at home for any medical reason but had chosen to have home visits due to having two young children. It was easier than bringing them with her to the clinic.
The second call of the afternoon was a little more involved. It was a first-time mother, whose husband had been posted to Poland, and she was particularly anxious about giving birth alone.
Clara spent a lot of time reassuring the young woman and talking her through everything that would happen and how she would be given the utmost care.
‘Do you have any family nearby? Your mother? Or a sister?’ Clara asked as she was writing up her notes.
‘My mother. She lives in Dresden.’
‘I can write a letter on behalf of the clinic, recommending that your mother be allowed to travel to Berlin and reside with you for the duration of your pregnancy and several months beyond, if not indefinitely,’ said Clara.
‘You could do that?’ The young woman’s voice was full of hope.