war was declared and there was already talk of greater rationing in Berlin. But the war wasn’t here—not yet. And she’d bought something for her father, after all—his favorite writing paper, available only from Berlin stationers. She was contemplating buying a box of chocolates for their return trip when sirens blared so loudly from every direction that she dropped her packages and shopping bags to cover her ears.
Faces in the waning light paled; steps around her quickened, someheading for the nearest newly appointed air-raid shelter. But once the noise subsided, most pedestrians and the few shopkeepers who’d run into the streets to look up into the sky for Polish bombers masked the tension in their faces, picked up, and moved on as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. Shaken, Rachel pulled her hands from her ears and breathed. That was when she spotted Jason Young across the street.
Knowing she blushed, she refused to acknowledge his wave, but stooped to retrieve her jumble of packages. The heaviest slipped from her grasp. Vainly she swiped the air in an attempt to recapture the ream of linen stationery that burst open. Jason was suddenly beside her, piling brown paper parcels into her arms, chasing stationery as it turned head over heels in the late-day breeze, rushing up the pavement.
When he chased the last sheet into traffic, to the tune of impatient taxi drivers laying on their horns, she screamed, “Let it go! Let it go!”
But he gallantly trotted back, errant sheets in hand. Ordering the linen jumble just so, he handed the ream to her as if on a silver platter. “Lady Kramer—” mouth serious, eyes smiling—“we meet again.”
She didn’t want to return his smile. She just wanted this miserable, frightening day to be over, and she didn’t want to think about social graces or crude reporters. But she forced a smile, embarrassed though she was to be in his debt again. “Sir Jason to the rescue. You make a habit of saving damsels in distress.”
He grinned from ear to ear. She hated that her breath nearly caught at his shining brown eyes. Devilishly handsome—there ought to be a law. Does he know? Brash? Boyish? She couldn’t tell, but wouldn’t mind getting to the bottom of it. The thought startled her. He’s Father’s enemy! And then she wondered if perhaps her father needed an enemy . . . or at least a conscience. As horrendous and browbeating as Jason Young’s investigative pieces had been, they’d also proven thought-provoking—for her.
Perhaps there were things Jason Young knew about Germany thatshe didn’t—things he could explain. She could ask. But how? “That infernal siren!”
“Meant to keep us on our toes and off our guard. I’m sure they’d claim they’re running essential tests to see that they work properly in the event of air raids—for the safety of the Volk , of course.” He almost looked serious as he scanned the sky.
Rachel felt the blood drain from her face. “Poland. You don’t think they’d really—?”
“You expect something different?” He eyed her cryptically and swept his arm across the expanse. “Preparation—for weeks now. They’ll massacre the Poles, and if the Poles don’t blast them back, shame on them. Already, Hitler’s—” He stopped short. “My apologies, Fräulein Kramer. You don’t want to know.” He tipped his hat as if to move on.
She felt the rush of heat to her cheeks. “That’s not true.” But his accusation echoed Kristine’s: “Rachel, open your eyes!”
“No?” He turned back. “What’s changed?”
A million things—Kristine, Amelie, talk of killing centers and of gassing children. This insane invasion of Poland—and what will that unleash? Surely the Allies won’t abandon Poland as they did Austria. Czechoslovakia. And if Hitler would do this, what else might he do? Is anything too far-fetched?
Jason waved his hand in front of her face. “Earth to Fräulein Kramer.”
She
Faces in the waning light paled; steps around her quickened, someheading for the nearest newly appointed air-raid shelter. But once the noise subsided, most pedestrians and the few shopkeepers who’d run into the streets to look up into the sky for Polish bombers masked the tension in their faces, picked up, and moved on as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. Shaken, Rachel pulled her hands from her ears and breathed. That was when she spotted Jason Young across the street.
Knowing she blushed, she refused to acknowledge his wave, but stooped to retrieve her jumble of packages. The heaviest slipped from her grasp. Vainly she swiped the air in an attempt to recapture the ream of linen stationery that burst open. Jason was suddenly beside her, piling brown paper parcels into her arms, chasing stationery as it turned head over heels in the late-day breeze, rushing up the pavement.
When he chased the last sheet into traffic, to the tune of impatient taxi drivers laying on their horns, she screamed, “Let it go! Let it go!”
But he gallantly trotted back, errant sheets in hand. Ordering the linen jumble just so, he handed the ream to her as if on a silver platter. “Lady Kramer—” mouth serious, eyes smiling—“we meet again.”
She didn’t want to return his smile. She just wanted this miserable, frightening day to be over, and she didn’t want to think about social graces or crude reporters. But she forced a smile, embarrassed though she was to be in his debt again. “Sir Jason to the rescue. You make a habit of saving damsels in distress.”
He grinned from ear to ear. She hated that her breath nearly caught at his shining brown eyes. Devilishly handsome—there ought to be a law. Does he know? Brash? Boyish? She couldn’t tell, but wouldn’t mind getting to the bottom of it. The thought startled her. He’s Father’s enemy! And then she wondered if perhaps her father needed an enemy . . . or at least a conscience. As horrendous and browbeating as Jason Young’s investigative pieces had been, they’d also proven thought-provoking—for her.
Perhaps there were things Jason Young knew about Germany thatshe didn’t—things he could explain. She could ask. But how? “That infernal siren!”
“Meant to keep us on our toes and off our guard. I’m sure they’d claim they’re running essential tests to see that they work properly in the event of air raids—for the safety of the Volk , of course.” He almost looked serious as he scanned the sky.
Rachel felt the blood drain from her face. “Poland. You don’t think they’d really—?”
“You expect something different?” He eyed her cryptically and swept his arm across the expanse. “Preparation—for weeks now. They’ll massacre the Poles, and if the Poles don’t blast them back, shame on them. Already, Hitler’s—” He stopped short. “My apologies, Fräulein Kramer. You don’t want to know.” He tipped his hat as if to move on.
She felt the rush of heat to her cheeks. “That’s not true.” But his accusation echoed Kristine’s: “Rachel, open your eyes!”
“No?” He turned back. “What’s changed?”
A million things—Kristine, Amelie, talk of killing centers and of gassing children. This insane invasion of Poland—and what will that unleash? Surely the Allies won’t abandon Poland as they did Austria. Czechoslovakia. And if Hitler would do this, what else might he do? Is anything too far-fetched?
Jason waved his hand in front of her face. “Earth to Fräulein Kramer.”
She
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