For Such a Time by Kate Breslin Page A

turned toward the stairs. Stella took a deep breath before she followed him down to face her new employer.
    The colonel sat at the breakfast table, a sheaf of papers in one hand, while the other held a steaming cup of Kaffee . Perched on the end of his nose—a slightly crooked one, she noticed—were a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. The glasses lent him a disarming air of intelligence, and it struck her with the disconcerting notion that in different clothes he might pass for any other average man at breakfast.
    He seemed preoccupied with whatever he was reading. When he finally glanced at her, he paused, the cup of Kaffee hovering near his mouth. Slowly he lowered it to the table and then removed his glasses. “Did Joseph fail to relay my message?”
    “He did as you requested, Herr Kommandant. But I chose to come downstairs.”
    “Turn around,” he said quietly.
    Self-consciousness wrestled with her hunger as she inhaledthe tantalizing smells of real Kaffee and fried potatoes. Obeying his order, she bit the inside of her lip against the pain of her too-tight shoes and spun in place slowly.
    He rose from his chair. “Come, you’ll sit here.” He spoke gruffly as he indicated the place next to his own. “Any more nightmares?”
    A solicitous question. Intimate. Heat assaulted her cheeks. “No, Herr Kommandant.” Deciding she owed him at least a minimal courtesy, she added, “Thank you for . . . last night.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    Stella thought she glimpsed a smile before he returned to his seat. Her attention moved to the sideboard, anxious to see what she’d be forced to eat this morning. To her relief, she spied a tureen of steaming oatmeal, slices of buttered rye toast—and no pork. Once she served herself, she sat down and began eating the warm, thick cereal with enthusiasm.
    “You want nothing on it, Fräulein? Personally I find it tastes like paste unless it’s buried under a mound of sugar.”
    She glanced up with a mouthful of oatmeal.
    “But I’m pleased to see you taking my orders seriously.”
    His eyes lit with amusement, and Stella almost choked in her haste to swallow the food.
    “It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten so well,” she said. “At Dachau we had gruel—”
    The sudden fury in his expression stopped her. Had she angered him? Would he change his mind and take away the food? She tightened her grip on the spoon she held. “I’m sorry, Herr Kommandant, I meant no disrespect.”
    “Eat,” he growled. Then with a sigh, added, “Please, Fräulein. Enjoy your breakfast.”
    Stella’s hand shook as she reached for the silver tureen of cream, then the jar of golden honey. After heaping liberal amounts of each into her bowl, she held the spoon halfway to her lips before stealing another glance at the colonel.
    He’d returned to studying his papers. She relaxed and ate more slowly, enjoying the forgotten delicacy. Mmmm . . . oatmeal, land of milk and honey. Her eyes drifted shut as she lost herself to the creamy sweetness. She couldn’t remember when she’d savored such a treat, and surely it had never tasted so good.
    When she opened her eyes, she found the colonel watching her, his features sharp. Like a hungry wolf . . . and she, the lamb?
    Unnerved by his scrutiny, she picked up a slice of toast and cast a purposeful glance around her. In daylight, the soft beige walls of the dining room seemed more cozy than elegant. In addition to the sideboard stood a traditional German Schrank honed from walnut. Overhead, a spindled wood shelf ran along the room’s perimeter, exhibiting an array of porcelain plates hand-painted with exquisite flowers. Six pictures decorated the walls, pastoral scenes much like the painting near the stairs.
    “They belonged to my mother.” He had followed the direction of her gaze. “I was fortunate to be able to bring them from Austria.”
    “As well as the castle painting by the landing?” She was unable to get the comforting scene