with burghers and housewives andshopgirls. The air smelled of snow and soot. Vehicles choked the roads: private automobiles, the low-slung Horchs and Opels she hadn’t seen in so long; a streetcar, blue sparks shooting off its cables as it rounded the corner ahead; horse-drawn carts carrying empty burlap sacks. Police wagons rumbled over the cobblestones, and a couple of policemen, their faces obscured by driving goggles, whizzed past on motor scooters. Arrests must be occurring all over the city.
If only she knew someone powerful enough to help her and loyal enough to be trusted. Just one person.
But she was alone.
More police whistles shrilled, so nearby that she jumped. The man walking alongside her shot her a startled look. She had to get off the streets. Her good luck couldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, someone would recognize Hitler’s former pet.
A narrow alley yawned between two stone buildings. She darted into its darkness. Rubbish bins had been shoved against the wall, and the stink of decaying food and coffee grounds and cat piss assailed her nose. She didn’t care. She leaned on the wall, letting the iciness of the stones seep through her coat, the almost painful sensation steadying her.
There was someone she could go to for help.
Eva.
She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the cold wind that whipped down the alley. Contacting her former best friend would be mad.
But for the first time in months, she didn’t shove thoughts of Eva out of her head. Her once dearest friend: sweet, laughing, sport-mad Eva, who loved photography and Karl May cowboystories and skiing. Their thirteen years of friendship gone in an instant when Gretchen had found out that Eva had secretly been dating Hitler. For two years, two of the people she had loved most in the world had concealed their romance from her. The betrayal still tasted bitter in her mouth.
How could she possibly go to Eva? How could she trust her again?
Footsteps pounded in the street beyond the alley. Gretchen shrank against the wall. The opening between the buildings was so narrow she caught only a flash of a brown suit and the frightened whiteness of a man’s face as he ran past. Two SA fellows were close on his heels, shouting, “Halt! Social Democrat swine!”
Surprise washed over Gretchen. So they weren’t only arresting reporters, but the liberal Social Democrats, too. Were any members of the opposing political parties safe? Or were they all being rounded up—everyone whom Hitler perceived as an enemy? If Daniel was still free somewhere, he couldn’t stay that way for long, not with the police force and SA groups flooding the city.
She had no choice. If she wanted to find Daniel, there was only one person who might be willing to track down his location and keep Gretchen’s reappearance a secret. It was a risk she must take.
Surely Hitler had thrown Eva over by now; a Bavarian shopgirl wasn’t marriage material for the new chancellor in Berlin. In the time she and Eva had been apart, she wouldn’t have become a dedicated National Socialist, Gretchen knew. Eva had never cared a pin about politics. By now, she probably had a new beau, and without the old string tying her to Hitler, she might listen to Gretchen. She might still care about her. Gretchen felt something swell in her throat. Just as she still cared for Eva.
She crouched on the ground, trying to curl into herself, so if anyone happened to glance into the alley she would look like a shadow between the bins of rubbish. She was going to have to wait here awhile. At least one hour. By then the SA men should have brought the Munich Post reporters to jail and filled out their intake papers. Enough time for Daniel to be processed, if he had been among those captured.
A newspaper, wet and wrinkled from the falling snow, lay on the cobblestones. She brushed it clean. It held today’s date—Thursday, 9 March 1933—but as she skimmed the front page, she saw no mention of
If only she knew someone powerful enough to help her and loyal enough to be trusted. Just one person.
But she was alone.
More police whistles shrilled, so nearby that she jumped. The man walking alongside her shot her a startled look. She had to get off the streets. Her good luck couldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, someone would recognize Hitler’s former pet.
A narrow alley yawned between two stone buildings. She darted into its darkness. Rubbish bins had been shoved against the wall, and the stink of decaying food and coffee grounds and cat piss assailed her nose. She didn’t care. She leaned on the wall, letting the iciness of the stones seep through her coat, the almost painful sensation steadying her.
There was someone she could go to for help.
Eva.
She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the cold wind that whipped down the alley. Contacting her former best friend would be mad.
But for the first time in months, she didn’t shove thoughts of Eva out of her head. Her once dearest friend: sweet, laughing, sport-mad Eva, who loved photography and Karl May cowboystories and skiing. Their thirteen years of friendship gone in an instant when Gretchen had found out that Eva had secretly been dating Hitler. For two years, two of the people she had loved most in the world had concealed their romance from her. The betrayal still tasted bitter in her mouth.
How could she possibly go to Eva? How could she trust her again?
Footsteps pounded in the street beyond the alley. Gretchen shrank against the wall. The opening between the buildings was so narrow she caught only a flash of a brown suit and the frightened whiteness of a man’s face as he ran past. Two SA fellows were close on his heels, shouting, “Halt! Social Democrat swine!”
Surprise washed over Gretchen. So they weren’t only arresting reporters, but the liberal Social Democrats, too. Were any members of the opposing political parties safe? Or were they all being rounded up—everyone whom Hitler perceived as an enemy? If Daniel was still free somewhere, he couldn’t stay that way for long, not with the police force and SA groups flooding the city.
She had no choice. If she wanted to find Daniel, there was only one person who might be willing to track down his location and keep Gretchen’s reappearance a secret. It was a risk she must take.
Surely Hitler had thrown Eva over by now; a Bavarian shopgirl wasn’t marriage material for the new chancellor in Berlin. In the time she and Eva had been apart, she wouldn’t have become a dedicated National Socialist, Gretchen knew. Eva had never cared a pin about politics. By now, she probably had a new beau, and without the old string tying her to Hitler, she might listen to Gretchen. She might still care about her. Gretchen felt something swell in her throat. Just as she still cared for Eva.
She crouched on the ground, trying to curl into herself, so if anyone happened to glance into the alley she would look like a shadow between the bins of rubbish. She was going to have to wait here awhile. At least one hour. By then the SA men should have brought the Munich Post reporters to jail and filled out their intake papers. Enough time for Daniel to be processed, if he had been among those captured.
A newspaper, wet and wrinkled from the falling snow, lay on the cobblestones. She brushed it clean. It held today’s date—Thursday, 9 March 1933—but as she skimmed the front page, she saw no mention of
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