For Such a Time by Kate Breslin Page B

out of her mind.
    “The picture of my father’s house? Yes. Baron von Schmidt commissioned a local artist in Thaur to paint it. I was born there—grew up there, in fact. I stayed until I left to go to university in Bonn.” His expression turned pensive. “Of course, being from Innsbruck, you undoubtedly recognized it.”
    “Of course,” Stella lied, relieved that she had guessed correctly. “Did you ever return?”
    “Once. Long enough to bury my father.”
    He didn’t elaborate, yet Stella sensed his bitterness. He’d also said his “father’s house,” not his own. Was this another piece to the puzzle of his character?
    “Enough chatter.” He glanced at her half-eaten bowl of oatmeal. “Finish your food, then back to bed.”
    “Bed? But I thought . . . what about your urgent letter to Berlin?”
    “See, you’re already proving to be a good secretary! Keeping the boss out of trouble with the boss, eh?” He grinned, and the hard lines disappeared from his face. Stella was again taken aback by his attractiveness; the slightly crooked nose merely enhanced his rugged features.
    “I’ll take care of Berlin,” he said and patted her hand in an oddly affectionate gesture. “Actually, my giving you the day off is not as chivalrous as you might think. I must leave for a few days—meetings in Prague. You can rest while I’m gone. Now eat.” Retrieving his glasses, he took up the sheaf of papers he’d been perusing.
    ———
    Aric glanced at Stella over the top of his report, noting how the dark half circles beneath her eyes emphasized her drawn features. Only her enthusiasm over breakfast tempered his anger each time he looked at her bruised face or the way her clothes hung loosely on her frame. He was amazed that he’d stumbled on to her in the first place; the Lagerführer should have caught the error on her papers when she first arrived at Dachau. Of course that meant believing the uniformed thugs in charge actually had the capacity to think.
    The sight of her standing in front of a Dachau firing squad would haunt him the rest of his days. Half naked, with only a soiled shirt to cover her long-limbed frame, she’d leaned against a blood-spattered wall, gripping the hand of a child.
    Aric shifted in his chair. He’d arrived at the precise moment a shot was fired—and the small girl crumpled like a rag doll. Stella’s face was taut, her blue eyes blazing, yet she’d refused to let go. The small corpse dangled in her grasp, a sight made more grotesque for its sheer desperation.
    He may have originally gone in search of her because of his attention to detail, or the inconsistency of her papers, or even because he’d once known a Muller family in Innsbruck—but everything changed for him in that instant. He’d plowed throughthe armed squad and bullied the guards for her release, then kept her off the train and instead bribed a Kapo to clothe her before stashing her inside the trunk of his car. Grossman drove with the speed of an all-out retreat to the nearby house of Aric’s cousin, Hilde Gertz.
    Aric couldn’t understand why she mattered so much to him. The war had inured him to so much death and brutality; Stella was a stranger, who because of Gestapo malice had become merely another warm-blooded obstacle in the Reich’s path.
    Yet, having returned yesterday to retrieve Stella from his cousin’s house after his business in Munich, he’d lifted her into his arms and felt jarred by his own fury. It was the first time in a long while something—someone—had moved him.
    She was so thin he’d felt the protruding ribs beneath her thin cotton dress. Even this morning she seemed weak, enough so that he was glad he’d changed his plans.
    Aric hadn’t intended to leave her alone, but Eichmann’s early phone call had changed all that. The SS- Obersturmbannführer was in Prague for a week’s summit before continuing on to Berlin. When he’d suggested driving up to Theresienstadt to meet, Aric