at the guard near the door and she was escorted back to her room.
She sat on the edge of her bed, closed her eyes and reviewed the conversation in her head. Had she said something to incriminate herself? She didn’t think so, but who could tell what information they were looking for.
She hadn’t done anything wrong. Only her duty, as she saw it, and she never, ever neglected any of her patients—German or otherwise.
She glanced down at her hands. They were shaking. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get them to stop.
Rose lay down on top of the blankets and began to pray.
* * *
The next day was a repetition of the day before. Questioning in the morning. A midday meal. An evening meal. No visitors. No sight of anyone beyond the guards who escorted her to and from her daily interrogation session.
After the first week, she asked when she’d be allowed to return to her duty at the hospital.
Her questioner snorted and replied, “Never.”
Not a reassuring answer.
Another week passed, then two.
On the twenty-fourth day, her routine was broken.
She entered the German’s office to discover Herman standing next to him, his arms crossed over his chest. Stunned, she came to a complete halt in the doorway. A guard had to nudge her forward before she remembered to tell her feet to move.
A chair sat several feet in front of the desk, as usual, alone and isolated. She perched on the edge of the seat, her entire attention on the doctor.
She noted his pale complexion, tired eyes and downturned mouth. The good doctor wasn’t taking very good care of himself.
“Your co-conspirators have confessed.” Her questioner said. “The butcher Van Meiter and others. You have been found guilty of treason and will be executed by firing squad in three days.”
She glanced at him, but dropped her gaze to the floor upon seeing the self-important smile he often wore.
“The doctor has some things he wishes to say to you.”
There was silence for a moment, then Herman spoke in a tone so cold, so chilling, a shiver racked her body. “You lied to me.”
His accusation brought her head up. His mouth twisted into an ugly mockery of a smile, as if she were the most heinous criminal.
“You lied and you used me.”
Her death was set; no reason to prevaricate further. “Yes, I lied.” Guilt stabbed a bayonet into her chest. “I’m very sorry for that and for abusing the safety of your patronage at the hospital.”
“Is it true, what they told me? You hid British soldiers and helped them escape?”
“Helped them escape possible confinement, torture and death, yes.”
“I thought you treated everyone equally? No favouritism.”
“In this place, bandages alone could not save British lives.”
“How many?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Answering couldn’t make things worse. They were going to shoot her regardless, and she owed him—of anyone—the entire truth. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” His eyebrows went up. “Guess.”
“Perhaps...two hundred.”
Both Herman and the German officer swore.
“I truly hope you get what you deserve.” Herman dropped his arms, gave her one last glare and strode from the room.
“Take her back to her room,” her questioner ordered the guard.
When she didn’t rise fast enough, the man put a hand under her arm and pulled her up. She stumbled out of the room and down the hall in a daze.
Back in her room she sat on the bed for a long time, letting tears drip off her chin and onto her folded hands. She could have withstood any torture, any question, but not the expression of betrayal on Herman’s face.
It was the one regret she’d take to the grave.
Her evening meal came, but she barely ate anything. What was the point? She abandoned it to kneel in front of her cot and pray. Her guard came in, took her uneaten food and left without even looking at her.
Hours later, a rattle at the door surprised her.
The guard who came in wasn’t one she
She sat on the edge of her bed, closed her eyes and reviewed the conversation in her head. Had she said something to incriminate herself? She didn’t think so, but who could tell what information they were looking for.
She hadn’t done anything wrong. Only her duty, as she saw it, and she never, ever neglected any of her patients—German or otherwise.
She glanced down at her hands. They were shaking. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get them to stop.
Rose lay down on top of the blankets and began to pray.
* * *
The next day was a repetition of the day before. Questioning in the morning. A midday meal. An evening meal. No visitors. No sight of anyone beyond the guards who escorted her to and from her daily interrogation session.
After the first week, she asked when she’d be allowed to return to her duty at the hospital.
Her questioner snorted and replied, “Never.”
Not a reassuring answer.
Another week passed, then two.
On the twenty-fourth day, her routine was broken.
She entered the German’s office to discover Herman standing next to him, his arms crossed over his chest. Stunned, she came to a complete halt in the doorway. A guard had to nudge her forward before she remembered to tell her feet to move.
A chair sat several feet in front of the desk, as usual, alone and isolated. She perched on the edge of the seat, her entire attention on the doctor.
She noted his pale complexion, tired eyes and downturned mouth. The good doctor wasn’t taking very good care of himself.
“Your co-conspirators have confessed.” Her questioner said. “The butcher Van Meiter and others. You have been found guilty of treason and will be executed by firing squad in three days.”
She glanced at him, but dropped her gaze to the floor upon seeing the self-important smile he often wore.
“The doctor has some things he wishes to say to you.”
There was silence for a moment, then Herman spoke in a tone so cold, so chilling, a shiver racked her body. “You lied to me.”
His accusation brought her head up. His mouth twisted into an ugly mockery of a smile, as if she were the most heinous criminal.
“You lied and you used me.”
Her death was set; no reason to prevaricate further. “Yes, I lied.” Guilt stabbed a bayonet into her chest. “I’m very sorry for that and for abusing the safety of your patronage at the hospital.”
“Is it true, what they told me? You hid British soldiers and helped them escape?”
“Helped them escape possible confinement, torture and death, yes.”
“I thought you treated everyone equally? No favouritism.”
“In this place, bandages alone could not save British lives.”
“How many?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Answering couldn’t make things worse. They were going to shoot her regardless, and she owed him—of anyone—the entire truth. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” His eyebrows went up. “Guess.”
“Perhaps...two hundred.”
Both Herman and the German officer swore.
“I truly hope you get what you deserve.” Herman dropped his arms, gave her one last glare and strode from the room.
“Take her back to her room,” her questioner ordered the guard.
When she didn’t rise fast enough, the man put a hand under her arm and pulled her up. She stumbled out of the room and down the hall in a daze.
Back in her room she sat on the bed for a long time, letting tears drip off her chin and onto her folded hands. She could have withstood any torture, any question, but not the expression of betrayal on Herman’s face.
It was the one regret she’d take to the grave.
Her evening meal came, but she barely ate anything. What was the point? She abandoned it to kneel in front of her cot and pray. Her guard came in, took her uneaten food and left without even looking at her.
Hours later, a rattle at the door surprised her.
The guard who came in wasn’t one she
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