Under the Same Stars by Libba Bray(97)

“It is the truth and I don’t find it insulting. How boring to be a wife. I am going to move to Berlin and wear trousers like Marlene Dietrich!”

“The Führer doesn’t like women to wear trousers. It isn’t feminine,” Gerda says.

“Herr Jaeger smiled at me in the street yesterday. Yes. I would make an ideal wife for him.” The way Klara says this, as if it were fact, irritates Sophie. But Klara is right—she would make a good wife for the commandant.

There are discussions. Who will or should marry whom. Which boys have noticed which girls. Sophie has never divulged her relationship with Karl to anyone. If it were known, she’d have no reason to keep riding out to the forest. But today, she can’t seem to hold back.

“What about me?” She hates herself for asking, like picking at a scab till it bleeds.

Klara cocks her head and gives Sophie a judging squint. “You should marry the first man who wants you. You won’t have second chances.”

“Don’t be such a bitch, Klara,” Hanna says.

Lotte’s head shoots up. For such a small child she has very large ears. “You said a bad word. I’m going to tell my mother.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Charlotte! Or I’ll tell Mother what happened to that missing cookie she’d been saving. One day, your sweet tooth will be the death of you.”

“No one ever died from sweets,” Lotte grumbles. There is no more talk of tattling.

“Shhh,” Sophie says, stilling the others. She nods toward a sun-dappled thicket. A doe has wandered into view. The deer carries herself with rare grace, wet black nose probing the underbrush. She’s not fully grown yet; her ears are larger than her head. They twitch into alertness. Finally, she lifts her velvety head. Her eyes meet theirs. It’s as if the whole of the forest holds its breath. And then the doe sprints away, zigzagging into the wood.

“Seeing a deer is a blessing,” Sophie says. “They’re messengers between the worlds of humans and spirit and a sign of healing. At least, that’s what the Norse believed.”

The boys return from their run. They are ruddy-cheeked under a sheen of sweat. Werner has decided to sing an Oktoberfest song and is really getting into it. “Ein Prosit! Eine Prosit der Gemütlichkeit!” He sees the magazine, lifts it up. “Ahhh, you are reading Frauen Warte! Did you want to be perfect for me, Klara?”

Klara makes a face. “Don’t be vulgar, Werner.”

Oskar grins at Hanna. “Maybe later I’ll go hunting. I’ll find us a squirrel. Or a rabbit. You could cook it for us, Hanna.”

“I’m not much of a cook, Oskar.”

“You will learn. My mother can teach you.” Oskar kisses her cheek boldly. The other girls exchange glances. It’s the best gossip in ages. Hanna’s face reddens; her expression is a fury with nowhere to go.

“Come on! Let’s have a photo to memorialize this moment. The last picnic before winter—the last picnic of the war. It will all be over soon,” Werner booms. “Leon. Where is your camera?”

Hanna gives Sophie a furtive glance. If only the others knew how Die Eichel uses that camera in the attic. Leon organizes everyone just so. Hanna is pretty sure it’s so that he has an excuse to maneuver the girls into position. Especially Klara.

(“I know she’s a Nazi. But she’s very pretty,” Leon will admit later. “This is why women make better spies,” Hanna will say to Sophie with a roll of her eyes.)

Werner poses like Baron Wilhelm Alexander but with his tongue sticking out, which produces a giggle in Hedy, which makes him clown all the more while Leon pleads, “Could you be still, please?” It is a moment of such lightheartedness one could almost forget there is a war going on. Almost.

“Werner, move,” Hanna says, elbowing him aside. “Leon, take one of me with Sophie by the tree.” She reaches a hand toward Sophie.

“Hanna. I hate posing for pictures. I never feel right.”

“Come on. Just one. Here.” Hanna picks up a scraggly branch for each of them. “We’ll pose with our seidr wands. For old times’ sake, eh?”

Sophie takes the branch. It’s useless trying to resist Hanna. They stand side by side. Hanna with her wand held high as a lightning bolt; Sophie clutching hers to her chest in uncertainty.

“That’s it! Hold it…,” Leon says, and clicks the shutter on the Voigtl?nder. “There. Now you will never fade from memory.”

A gunshot rings out sharply from the forest, sending a flock of birds screeching into the sky. It’s followed by a second crack. And a third.

Leon turns to Karl. “Hunters?”

“Maybe,” Karl says, on edge.

“Or enemies,” Oskar says. “Those are big guns. I can tell from the sound. Rifles.”

“Someone’s coming,” Klara whispers. She ducks behind Werner, who takes a split second to enjoy this rare good fortune. As if Klara would ever deem him worthy. Herr Jaeger emerges from behind one of the softly swaying trees, his rifle in hand. Sophie bristles at the thought of him, an intruder, in their forest, a snake in the garden.

Oskar waves. “Herr Jaeger! What a surprise! Won’t you join our picnic?”

The commandant comes to the edge of the blanket, reaches a hand into the bowl, and takes the fattest of the blackberries. “I heard your voices and I wanted to warn you not to go that way.” He points back to the direction he’s come. “We are doing target practice. I would not want you to be shot accidentally.”