The German Midwife: A new historical romance for 2019 from the USA Today best seller.

by Mandy Robotham

  Dieter’s knock came like a toll bell, crashing into my head and yanking me back to the moment. This time I coaxed him just inside the door, and Eva’s eyes went up in alarm at the sight of his uniform.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said to her. ‘He can help.’

  I told him quickly of Eva’s request. Strangely, he didn’t announce the plan as complete madness or suicide, only nodding that he was thinking.

  ‘Dieter, do you really think this is wise?’

  ‘No, nothing in this war is wise, Anke. But I think Fräulein Braun is right: the baby has no chance up here.’

  ‘Why? Has something happened?’

  He dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘The resistance made its move, from the inside. There was no need for an attack, they were already here – Daniel, and several of the house patrol. I can only guess they are part of a group whose frustrations have turned them against the Reich.’

  ‘Daniel!’ I couldn’t believe the mild-mannered chauffeur was anything but that. Except the war had taken its toll on his family – he’d alluded to that. ‘Are they here now, threatening?’

  ‘There was a small ambush, which we’ve contained. They’ve retreated for now, but my guess is they’ve gone to regroup, and may well come again. They’ve dismantled the radio in the meantime – luckily, Meier is preoccupied in trying to fix it.’

  ‘So, how do we get the baby away? Are there any other sympathetic drivers we could call on?’

  He shook his head. ‘I couldn’t ask Rainer. He’s loyal to me, but he has a young family. It’s too much to ask.’

  ‘We could hide the baby until it’s safe to move, after dark?’ I knew I was grasping at very short straws even as I said it.

  ‘I don’t know much about babies, but I’m guessing they don’t stay quiet for long, especially when they’re hungry. And the mountain road will close up soon, once our re-inforcements arrive.’

  He was right. The baby was feeding now, but we had a maximum of about four hours, if that, before his stomach was empty again. Eva had some milk powder to hand if she couldn’t feed, but we had to mix up the bottles without the kitchen suspecting.

  Dieter was quiet, deep in thought. ‘We need to move soon or we risk not being able to at all,’ he said.

  ‘But where?’ As I said it, a thread of hope nibbled its way from deep in my memory, and I plucked it into reality: Uncle Dieter’s farm. It was here in Bavaria, less than thirty kilometres away, and he had a housekeeper who I knew to be kind, forgiving and – I suspected – no supporter of the Reich. She might harbour the baby until we could arrange somewhere safer. I wasn’t certain but we had no choice.

  ‘I know somewhere,’ I said, ‘but we still need transport. I can drive. If you can find me a truck or a jeep, I can move the baby.’

  He looked at me with those intense, penetrating eyes. ‘Anke, you know that would be suicide – and the end for your family. Besides, you wouldn’t get beyond the first checkpoint.’

  He blinked long and hard. ‘I’ll take him.’

  ‘Dieter, no! It’s dangerous for you too.’

  ‘But I’m more likely to get past the checkpoints, if the baby is quiet. At least we’ll have a chance.’

  He swallowed and refused to meet my stare. He meant the baby had some chance, but beyond that, life – Dieter’s life – was a complete uncertainty. He would never be able to return to the Berghof – at best considered a deserter, at worst a traitor and a fugitive. For the Nazis, that ranked worse than the enemy.

  ‘How will you explain away the baby’s absence?’ he added.

  ‘Leave that to me.’ I had absolutely no idea at that point but we would think of something and face the consequences.

  ‘I’ll sort out the transport, and hopefully stay out of Koenig’s sight. He’s on the warpath – so you’ll have to be quick in getting ready. I’ll be back in five minutes.’

  The spark from our fingers was electric as we touched and he slipped through the door.

  Eva saw me approaching, and tensed, arm muscles holding tight on to her precious bundle. ‘So soon?’ she said.

  ‘It has to be now,’ I said. ‘There’s no other way if you’re sure he needs to go.’

  ‘Will you take him?’ she said. ‘How can I ask this of you?’

  ‘Captain Stenz will go. To a place I know – hidden and safe for now. Someone will care for him there. I know they will.’

  ‘Captain Stenz, is he …?’

  ‘He’s reliable, kind. I promise. Trust me. Trust him.’

  ‘I have to. I have no choice.’ She looked down at her son. ‘Neither of us do.’

  Christa helped Eva dress the baby quickly, and I found a make-up compact on the dressing table – we imprinted his little foot onto the powder and then on a sheet of writing paper. Later, we could think about preserving it. Christa cut a wisp of his hair and pressed it between more paper. Through all of this, he was mercifully quiet, cooing slightly, a little drunk on his mother’s first milk – the thick, yellowy nectar crusting around his lips.

  Swiftly, Christa collected some boiling water from the kitchen, professing we needed it for the imminent birth, and was soon making up a bottle of milk.

  Dieter’s knock came all too soon, like the enemy at the gates. He slipped inside and nodded.

  ‘Eva, it’s time,’ I said gently.

  We wrapped the baby in a soft blanket, and then again in a grey, regulation covering – nothing to stand out and attract attention. Asleep now, his body was cocooned and his tiny features peeked out like those of a Russian doll.

  Eva could barely speak through the sobs, and I peeled back her fingers, knuckles white as I prised him away.

  ‘Darling Edel,’ she breathed, as Christa held her shoulders, grief rocking her entire body.

  I handed the baby to Dieter, with a wrapped bottle of milk.

  ‘I’ve got a motorbike and sidecar,’ he said, focusing on the practicalities. ‘It’s less likely to raise suspicion, but I’ll need to tuck the baby right inside.’

  ‘Can you ride a bike, at speed?’

  Those blue pools flicked up and the boyish grin surfaced. ‘I’ve grown up around engines, Anke. I’ll be fine.’

  I babbled to delay the inevitable. ‘He should sleep for a bit, with the motion too. Just make sure his face is clear of any covering. If you need to stop just give him the bottle.’

  He nodded. It was time for us now. His free hand linked with mine and squeezed.

  ‘I’ll find you if I can,’ he whispered. ‘Be safe, Anke. Survive. You must survive.’ His eyes were the clearest I had ever seen, and I wanted to kiss his lips so hard and for so long – tumble into bed and forget everything of the past day, eat fresh pastries and drink good coffee while tracing my hands over his pale, beautiful face. And never let go.

  Instead, there were only words, insipid and inadequate. ‘You too. Stay hidden. Uncle Dieter will help you. He’s a good man. But look to yourself.’ My hand was so tight on his I might have drawn blood.

  I slipped a note into his pocket, a quickly scrawled code to Uncle Dieter: ‘Care for this boy, find him parents where he has none. I’m well. Noo Noo.’

  It was the pet name my uncle and I had used since childhood, and proof that the message came from me. The rest was up to trust and fate and his rough, good nature. A noise came from the corridor, and Dieter snapped back into the room.

  ‘I need to go,’ he said, turning and mouthing, ‘I love you,’ that little chip in his tooth just visible.

  ‘Me too,’ I mouthed back, but I don’t know if he caught it. I saw the jacket disappear through the door, and my future, once again, became as deep and dark as the weave he was wearing.

  A minute later I heard the thrust of a motorbike engine, the throaty roar as he revved and receded into the distance. They were away, no sounds of a chase; perhaps he had slipped by without attracting attention – his unblemished reputation paving the way. Then a crack. And a second, third. Gunfire or the engine kicking back? I
had no way of knowing, only time and consequence would tell. Eva gripped on to my hand while our futures disappeared down the mountain, each of us keening inside at the loss.

  I knew then I could only do what he asked of me and survive. I turned to Christa, whose silent support through the past twelve hours had braced me more times than I could count. All three of us sat in a huddle on Eva’s bed, listening to the encroaching heavy steps outside, Koenig’s strident boom causing us to link arms and stand firm. A thunderous rapping on the door signalled an end to the momentous birthday at the Berghof, and we three prepared ourselves for the battle ahead.

  41

  Retribution

  From his feet to his collar, he oozed fury, pushed out in the slightest of twitches, pacing hard so that his limp barely registered, blood simmering in his vessels. Above the collar, however, Joseph Goebbels was a set mask of calm, sunken cheeks, black hair not a slick out of place. Only his eyes pulsed with unrest.

  He circled me, jabbing at his prey, as if I was a disgusting yet intriguing exhibit in a zoo. I stood perfectly still, resigned, every nerve within me working hard on the blankest of expressions, nothing to rile him, nor show fear.

  ‘So, Fräulein Hoff,’ he began. ‘This is not quite the outcome we expected, is it?’ The tone was not rhetorical.

  ‘No, Herr Goebbels. I’m as sorry as you for Fräulein Braun’s loss. It is tragic.’

  ‘I would say it’s more than tragic. This was not just any child, as you know. This is a tragedy for all of Germany. So, can you enlighten me as to what happened?’

  I sucked in air as discreetly as possible, fighting against the rising quiver in my voice. ‘The labour was progressing as normal – as with any first labour – and there was nothing to concern me until the baby was born.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘It was obvious from the first seconds that he wasn’t … coping.’

  ‘And so it breathed?’ This heinous man – a father of six himself – could not even attribute a sex, a persona to this baby. I hated him more for that than anything in his despicable history.

  ‘Yes, briefly.’

  ‘Did you attempt to save the baby? To give life?’ His tone was still flat, a gargantuan anger kept underground, bubbling like the pot of ham on Mama’s stove, puffs of steam fighting their way out from under the lid. Always, always, that pot spilled its dirty scum onto the clean metal stove.

  ‘I did, for a short time.’

  ‘Why only for a short time?’ he shot back. Now he was animated, a chink to show my guilt, assigning my own blame. It would save them having to fabricate it later, just for the records.

  ‘Fräulein Braun asked me to stop.’

  ‘Are you sure about that? Are you sure you just didn’t want this baby to die, the Führer’s baby? For revenge, retribution? We know the Reich has enemies.’ His face was inches from me now, spiny teeth just showing. An ugly man, inside and out.

  ‘No.’ I said it as calmly as I could, without emotion. The lid on my fear made his nostrils flare.

  ‘And why did Fräulein Braun ask you to stop? Why would a new mother tell you to cease saving her baby from death? I can’t imagine it, Fräulein Hoff. I really can’t picture it at all.’

  ‘Because it was obvious the baby was not capable of living. The baby had—’ here I felt a stab of betrayal to all babies born not quite perfect ‘—deformities. Significant deformities.’

  ‘So you say. In fact, severe enough that you felt the need to dispose of the body before we were able to view it, to burn it so completely that all proof was lost?’ Now his voice was rising, the pot beginning to boil, sour foam bubbling.

  ‘I imagine that was behind Fräulein Braun’s thinking,’ I said. My own voice was beginning to crack, resolve crumbling. Come on, Anke. Fight for the baby, for the family, for Eva, for yourself. Deep breath.

  ‘Her first concern was that the Führer’s reputation may be damaged if he were … if the baby was known to be his. She wanted no record, no possibility of an image, to be used against the Reich.’

  I looked him squarely in the eye and lied through my own, silently chattering teeth. ‘She did it for the love of the Führer. For Germany.’

  He was briefly blindsided, drew back, and paced the room again. Then he rallied for a second attack. ‘And you, Fräulein Hoff, you didn’t think that these actions would arouse suspicion, might create questions?’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of that at the time,’ I said, in semi-truth. ‘I was dealing with a dead baby, and a very distressed mother, who had just lost her son. My priority is always with the mother, and the baby, if possible.’

  ‘So you have said!’ He was shouting now, loud but controlled. ‘And yet I am still at a loss, Fräulein Hoff, as to what is the truth. The real truth.’

  He banged his fist on the desk at the same time as the door flew open, and Eva launched herself in the room. She had the look of an injured lioness rallying to protect her cubs.

  ‘Joseph!’ she cried, and his face swivelled, stricken at probably the loudest and only rebuke she had ever dared aim at him. She stood, trembling, pale and unsteady, loose hair hanging limply, her robe soiled and hanging from her suddenly diminished body. I left my spot, took out a chair and led her to it. Her voice was calmer when she spoke. ‘Herr Goebbels, please. This is not Fräulein Hoff’s doing. It was my decision entirely.’

  He was struck dumb by her intrusion and forthright words. ‘You cannot – and will not – hold her responsible,’ she went on. ‘Her care was unblemished. There was simply no hope and I did what I thought was right at the time.’

  He stepped forward, and I saw in his twitch the wily cogs of his brain working overtime.

  ‘Of course, Fräulein Braun, and my thoughts go out to you – mine and Magda’s. Our deepest condolences.’ His sudden fawning made me nauseous. ‘But perhaps it would have been more … fitting, if we had been able to prepare an appropriate burial.’

  No one in that room believed for a minute he was talking out of respect, rather than control. Not even Eva, as gullible as she could be. She looked at him, her face cracked from crying, and acted like a consummate actress.

  ‘I understand, Joseph, and it is for me to make peace with the Führer, when the time is right. But I did not want anyone – anyone – laying eyes on the boy who should have been perfect. I did it out of respect for the Führer, for his bigger creation. Surely you can see that. Or is your faith in the dream waning?’

  She didn’t weep, or falter. She wasn’t supposed to at that point, moulding to the expectation of a Nazi mistress, focused and unyielding, like the scores of Magda models across Germany. But I caught it in Eva’s voice, the tiniest glitch, the pain not of a dead baby, but a live child all but dead to her, knowing he was out there somewhere, without her, nuzzled into someone else’s breast. And I couldn’t help applauding her for it, the sacrifice.

  The Reich’s ultimate wordsmith, master of the truth twist, was finally silenced. He was Hitler’s right-hand man, among the most trusted, but could he – would he – dare question the word of a queen, the only chosen one?

  ‘As I say, my condolences,’ he managed. ‘Fräulein Hoff, please help your mistress back to her room.’

  I felt the tremble in Eva’s limbs as we walked out, perhaps from weakness and loss of blood, but more likely from the biggest confrontation of her life. For someone who had spent her life in the shadows, she had come out fighting when it mattered most.

  ‘Just before you go, Fräulein Hoff.’ Goebbels’ quiet, understated tone jerked on my leash and I froze mid-step.

  ‘Yes, Herr Goebbels?’ I didn’t turn but held firmly on to Eva.

  ‘Captain Stenz. Do you know anything of his disappearance, the circumstances surrounding it?’

  I felt Dieter’s watch prickle on my wrist, where I had strapped it, perhaps unwisely, the day before. I slipped it out of sight under Eva’s robe. Joseph’s beady stare was on me, burning into my shoulders. Had he seen my wrist, the
giveaway I couldn’t bear to hide away?

  ‘No, Herr Goebbels. I saw him yesterday, briefly during the labour, and not since.’

  ‘As have we all, Fräulein Hoff. I understand from Sergeant Meier that you were … friends.’

  He didn’t see me swallow, but it allowed a second to stop a sob forming. ‘Not friends, but we were civil to each other. He was my overseer.’

  ‘Nothing more?’ He was probing, would have loved to wheedle, cajole or beat it out of me, given the chance.

  ‘Nothing. It does as well to be on good terms with your captors, Herr Goebbels.’

  ‘Hmm.’ I took it as a dismissal, and piloted Eva from the room.

  I settled her in bed, checked on her bleeding, while her face turned into the covers, eyes creasing into tears. Her dry, cracked fingers locked into mine.

  ‘Thank you, Eva,’ I said. ‘For me and for my family.’

  She looked at me, eyes red, tears rolling. ‘It seems I do get to care for someone after all,’ she sniffed, and smiled weakly. ‘Just briefly.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ I said, and held her as she sobbed for her lost boy.

  Epilogue: Berlin 1990

  Anke, aged seventy-seven

  From my flat near the Chausseestrasse I can see the Wall coming down, little groups chipping away at years of internment, bodies scurrying away with their piece of concrete history, already marketable. Like ants with their spoils.

  I’m strangely sad, not for humanity, because those on the Eastern side might finally know something of democracy in time, but because those bricks assure me I’m not alone in my memories of that time. Each one of us old enough to see the Wall go up would remember the time before, during and after the rage that took hold of Germany, Europe and the world. Today’s little piles of rubble are a reminder of that moon rock landscape of post-war Berlin. In an odd way, that’s comforting.