Georg stilled. His gaze sharpened on my face.
“I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
His lip curled in disgust, and he shook his head.
“You’re disloyal to the Reich and they arrested you because someone found out. You and Papa are probably only alive because his rockets are turning the tide of the war.”
A torrent of words waited, boiling in my gut. The time was coming when I would be able to say them.
You were a puppet in the hands of evil men from your childhood, but there is a good person inside of you, and I’m going to help him grow strong again.
But Georg had just inadvertently reminded me why I couldn’t yet say those words. If I were honest with him now, he would walk straight to that car or across the road to Dietger to share the news of my disloyalty. I couldn’t even blame him. He had been raised with the doctrine of country before family. As far as I could tell, the Allies were still weeks away from Berlin. Would the Gestapo arrest me again? Take me back to the prison?
If they did, my girls would be all alone in Berlin as the city fell. I couldn’t risk it. I had to hold my tongue.
All I could do was let Georg go and pray to God that I would get the opportunity to say what needed to be said later, when all of it was over.
“I’m not disloyal,” I said, my tone hollow. “I’m worried for you. You’re a man now, but you’re still my baby.”
At these words or maybe my broken tone, Georg paused.Then he stepped toward me and embraced me.
“Mama,” he scolded softly. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. It’s an honor to serve the Führer. Trust in him and know that I’ll be safe and back home before you know it.”
I threw my arms around his waist and squeezed him tightly.
There were thunderous footsteps on the stairs above us, and Laura and Gisela were there, both beaming with pride through their tears. Georg hugged them both quickly, told them to be brave and to be strong, and then a horn sounded outside. The girls ran to my side, both crying in earnest. I threw an arm around each of them as Georg crossed the foyer quickly to throw open the front door.
“Wait,” I blurted. “Wait…”
But I trailed off because there was nothing more to say, and it was obvious that Georg knew it too. He turned back to face us and he raised his right arm defiantly, in a salute to a man who deserved no such honor, a man who had already lost, even if he and my son were yet to recognize it.
“Sieg heil!” Georg said. Hail victory.
Still crying, my daughters raised their hands to return the gesture. I raised mine too, just as I knew I had to, but it trembled violently above my head.
Georg’s tone spoke of his defiance as he gave that salute, but I did not miss the flash of fear in his eyes.
I had no idea what was happening at Kassel over the weeks that followed. I asked everyone I saw if they had any news—occasionally going out just so I could ask the grocer or people on the street. Although she’d never admit it, Lydia was fretting as much as I was, for both Karl and Hans now. To my frustration, she kept arriving unannounced at my house seeking news.
“I’m sure they’ll all be fine,” she told me, but her voice was strained and she was picking at the skin of her fingernails. “Karl and Jürgen are prized assets in the Reich—they’ll be protected no matter what happens. And our boys are soldiers. I mean, they’ve trained for years for this in the Jungvolk and the Hitlerjugend.” She paused suddenly, then looked tearfully into my eyes. “But you will tell me if you hear anything, won’t you, Sofie? Anything at all?”
I had plenty else to worry about on the home front, because Berlin was rapidly descending into chaos. The Allies were bombing day and night, and Laura, Gisela, and I were on edge all the time—ready to run down to the basement at the shrill burst of the air raid sirens. The city was soon cut off, and there was madness in the air that reminded me of Kristallnacht. Homes and stores were ransacked, people were mugged in broad daylight for the simplest of things.
Against this ugly backdrop, the Reich’s delusion of hope continued. Cars drove through the streets with speakers on their roofs, blaring reminders to protect our homes and streets at any cost. New propaganda posters appeared on telegraph poles and in letter boxes. Defiant to the end, Hitler continued to incite us to violence in his name.
Laura held one of these posters in her hand at breakfast one morning.
“What’s the plan, Mama? How shall we defend our home from the enemy?”