I took one last look at the Great Hall as I shut the door. The three men and the woman were looking at me as if they knew what Karl and I had planned for Eva’s tea party. The stares coming from their eyes shook me. Darkness had fallen and the extraordinary picture window on the north wall was black as the night, suiting my mood. Again, I felt helpless, under the crush of Hitler’s hand and the scrutiny of his forces.
* * *
Karl and I didn’t see each other until the next morning. We walked down the drive at the Berghof, then wound our way up the hill on a path that had been cleared through the deep snow toward Göring’s residence. At one point we stepped off onto the short ski trails cut by Eva and her friends the day before. No one was out. The clouds had scattered, but the temperature was bitter under the hard blue sky.
“I was worried,” I said to him. We clung to each other as we tramped through the snow. “I was afraid you’d get caught with the ring.”
“I dropped it in my underwear,” he said. “I thought the SS would stop short of putting their hands down my pants. I don’t know what I would’ve done if the Colonel had asked me to strip. He could have ordered me to.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, although the circumstances weren’t funny. “The woman who searched me certainly wasn’t shy. She searched almost every crevice.”
Karl nodded. “Yes, I know of her. She’s a beast and not to be fooled with. You are lucky she didn’t order you to take your dress off. I’ve heard—never through firsthand experience—that some resistance operators hide contraband where it can’t be seen. It can only be found by probing fingers.”
I shook my head. “Imagine that those of us who want to live freely must resort to such tactics.”
Karl stopped and turned to me. We stood on a slope, half in sunlight, half in blue shadow. The frosty plumes of our breaths mixed as one and then disappeared into the air. Karl kissed me and then said, “What’s the old saying? ‘All’s fair in love and war’? We do what we must, no matter the price.” He guided my head toward his shoulder.
“Nineteen forty-four will be here soon,” I said. “Surely we can celebrate something.”
He kissed me again. This time his lips lingered on mine and my heart stirred with longing. It had been several weeks since we’d made love.
“Yes,” he said with determination. “We can celebrate our union and pray that this year the Reich will come to an end.”
I put my arms around his neck and pulled him close. “I hope you’re right. Germany is in need of good news.”
We stomped up the snowy hillside until we were in the blinding sun. Instead of continuing toward Göring’s house, we turned east toward the SS barracks. As we neared, Karl slowed. “Listen.”
A faint melody drifted in the air, men’s voices carried on the wind. I recognized the tune, one I had known from Christmases past, in happier times when Berlin was not shattered by bombs and death had not gripped the land. It was “O Tannenbaum,” which my father had sung to me many times when I was a child. I remembered the silent nights of Christmas when all was calm and bright and there were no worries, no terrors of war, no horrors thrust upon the world. Times of peace were always brief, it seemed. Those times had ended and war, like a plague, enveloped us. I turned to Karl and sang softly to the melody. He cupped my face in his hands as the tears streamed from my eyes.
CHAPTER 14
Christmas 1943 and New Year’s 1944 dragged by like the ticking of a sad clock. The monotony of winter set in with its mostly gray days, dismal afternoons and long nights. Since Karl and I had arrived at the Berghof we’d experienced little joy, none of the pleasures that anyone leading a normal life would have expected during the season. But when I asked myself what “normal” was, I could come up with no good answer. The world was being ripped apart. How could I complain when so many were suffering? Every time I wanted to cry or grouse about my circumstances, I thought of those with no food or shelter in the midst of winter, perhaps with nothing at all but a lean-to propped against the harsh, cold winds.
I saw little of Hitler during the early months of 1944 and that suited me fine. He traveled back to the Wolf’s Lair, leaving a few of us with Eva. The officers who confided in Karl told him the Führer was now impossible to get along with no matter his location. He was surly, irritable, and always directed blame away from himself to those beneath him. Hitler, the infallible, could do no wrong. Karl said the Führer had the uncanny knack of refusing the sound advice of his generals and then excoriating them for losses of men and matériel. They were doomed by his failure to listen, his belief in his omnipotence. He was also a disastrous statesman, a tyrant over the lands he had conquered. His puppet governments were little more than killing machines against those who resisted his iron hand.
We never found out who laced Hitler’s cup with cyanide. Neither did the SS. So many splintered pockets of resistance were arising it was impossible to tell who might be responsible. The Colonel ordered that the poisons be taken out of the kitchen and Cook’s classes for new tasters be discontinued. “I’m more concerned about the Führer than a taster,” he told her. “If they die, they die.” Cook was furious, but her protests had no effect. At first I suspected someone from the kitchen, perhaps even Else, had tried to poison Hitler, but when I studied her kind face and subservient demeanor I knew she would never attempt such an act. On the other hand, those loyal to the Führer, like the Colonel, remained staunchly so and above suspicion. They would fight to the death for the Reich. Karl and I decided we should keep to ourselves during the winter and not press our luck. The times were too dangerous and too much suspicion had been cast upon the kitchen staff. Karl assured me the plot we’d been waiting for would be put into motion soon. Therefore, we should exercise patience and caution.
After the holidays, Karl and I expected we would be called back to the Wolf’s Lair. However, no orders ever came. Hitler returned to the Berghof in late February 1944.
The foul mood in the house was unchanged by the intermittent thaws and shoots of grass poking through the snow. Although the days were growing longer and the sun stronger, heavy clouds of melancholy hung over the mountain retreat. Eva and her friends, the SS staff, Göring, Bormann, Speer and others would sometimes bask on the terrace during the increasingly warm days. Most of the time they were like paper cutouts, as shallow and useless as the governments Hitler had set up in his conquered lands. I imagined these officers and dignitaries came to the Berghof to listen to Hitler, bow and scrape and then execute his orders whether or not they believed in them.
By late March, the British had made no move against the Führer, nor had any other governments. Karl hinted that attempts on Hitler’s life, besides the one he was involved in, might be in the works from other SS officers. The SS and its divisions were fractured by a lust for power; the chain of command was Byzantine and Machiavellian. Its leaders often were not aware of what their fellow officers were doing. Hitler issued conflicting orders to the officers and expected them to be carried out no matter the cost. If the men asked for clarification, they would be labeled as idiots or traitors who were dragging down the war effort. Astonishingly, Karl told me that Hitler’s generals were whispering about an attack the Allies might be massing for on the Western Front. Hitler knew of these rumors and scoffed at the idea. France was impenetrable, he thought.
* * *
Our mood brightened on June 6, 1944, when news of the Allied invasion at Normandy arrived at the Berghof. Karl disguised his delight in the company of the other officers, but with me he was euphoric. He sensed that Hitler could not win a war on two fronts. The Red Army was pushing to the west, the British and the Americans would push to the east and they would meet in the middle—in Germany.
Hitler, Karl reported, was “white as a ghost and looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.” He spent much of his time in the Great Hall hunched over, his hand shaking as he attempted to draw with colored pencils on his array of maps.
“Hitler will have
no choice but to surrender,” Karl said to me a few days later. We sat in my room after I’d tasted. Else had gone out with one of the other girls for a walk. He whispered in my ear, cautious that he might be overheard. “Valkyrie may not even be put into motion.” He clasped my hands. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful? The Allies may be here in a matter of days.”
I looked at his face and saw that he was searching for any good news to come out of this war. He could not hide the exhaustion that lurked underneath his skin. I wanted to build him up for our sake, but this evening I couldn’t. That task was as difficult as the change of winter to spring—the promise was there, but there was no certainty when it would happen.
I withdrew my hands from his and spoke in a low voice. One couldn’t be too cautious. “It would be wonderful . . . but we are dealing with a madman.” I turned away, afraid to look at him for fear I would cry. “I don’t believe he will surrender. Germany will go down to defeat in ashes.”
When I turned, Karl’s face was pale and wracked with pain. His voice shook. “Please, Magda, tell me you don’t believe what you’re saying. For God’s sake, tell me you believe we will live.”
I sighed. “I only know I love you.” I brushed my hand against his cheek and said, “Let’s be married. Let’s live before it’s too late.”
He stared at me, his eyes clouded with emotion. He kissed me and whispered, “Yes, as soon as we can.”
* * *
Eva came to me a few days before my wedding and helped me pick out a suit from her vast wardrobe. She invited me to her private apartment, adjacent to the Führer’s. Her living room was nicely coordinated in blue and white furnishings with a matching couch along one wall. A white writing desk sat opposite, in addition to chairs and a small table. Two rustic windows let in light.
I sensed she was as excited about my nuptials as I was—perhaps even more so. Eva, like so many devoted followers of Hitler, had the sense that nothing could go wrong as long as he was in charge. The man she adored would, in the end, conquer all the lands he desired. My faith in that future was by no means as assured.
She took me into her bedroom, where a large burled walnut wardrobe covered one wall. She pulled open the doors and said, “Choose whatever you like.” I was astonished at her collection of beautiful dresses, shoes, furs and scarves. I handled the dresses carefully, deciding upon a smart navy suit, one of the least expensive Eva owned, but with modern styling. “I’ll loan you my pearls,” she said. “They’ll look wonderful with that outfit.” She sat on the edge of her bed and looked at me. “I don’t think we wear the same shoe size. You’ll have to fend for yourself.” She laughed, but the sound came out small and bitter.
I was taken aback by her laugh. “Have I done something wrong?”
“Oh no, Magda, not you. You’ve been above reproach. You’ve even saved the Führer’s life. I’m forever grateful.” She stopped and lifted her hands, examining her ring finger. “I wish I had a little sherry.” She smiled. “A drink might help me get through the day.”
“I’m thankful you’re letting me choose a dress. But it’s too much.”
“No, it’s your special day.”
Despite her generosity, I remained aware that we weren’t really friends. “I didn’t mean to make you sad. If you prefer to be alone—”
She rose from her bed and rushed to me. “No, don’t leave.” She took my hands in hers. “Can’t you see? I envy you—you’re marrying the man you love. And a handsome one, I must admit.” Her face reddened. “I have no wedding, no marriage to look forward to because the Führer will not set a date while we are at war. His duties are too important. There’s too much work to be done for Germany. The Reich’s leader shouldn’t concern himself with such trivial matters as . . . love. The excuses are always the same.” She released my hands and returned to the bed, sinking upon it in despair.
For an instant, I pitied her and wanted to reach out. I understood how she must feel; however, my concern vanished almost as quickly. How could I pity a woman who was infatuated with a tyrant? Eva insisted on traveling the dangerous path she had chosen. She might have been blinded by Hitler, blissfully unaware of what was going on in the world, but she also chose to ignore the war and its horrors for the sake of a man she loved. Was she also in love with the promise of power?
She called for one of her servants. A middle-aged woman well schooled in deference entered the apartment. She bowed to us and took my measurements upon my host’s orders. The dress was to be sent to Munich for alterations. Eva seemed in a better mood by the time I was ready to leave.
“Before you go, I have something to show you.” She pointed to the cedar chest at the foot of her bed. She knelt before it and opened it carefully, with reverence, as if she was revealing a secret. I looked inside. Eva lifted a gorgeous white wedding dress that lay atop leather-bound diaries and a silverware case. She held the silky ruffled bodice against her and looked in the mirror. “This is what I’d look like as a bride. Do you like it?” She nodded her head and laughed like the Eva I had known before.
She did look lovely, her oval face and brown curls set off by the dress. “It’s beautiful,” I said. Again, I pitied her but wondered how she could continue to live so blithely in her fantasy, unable to see the truth of what was going on around her. She was like a horse with blinders on, unable to see beyond its own narrow vision. I was certain the Führer would never marry her, but I couldn’t say that. Instead, I said, “May the man you wish to marry recognize your beauty.”
She kissed me on the cheek. “I seek nothing more.” She carefully folded the dress and replaced it in the chest.
I thanked her and left her apartment feeling as if I had spent my time with a ghost. Hitler would never marry Eva. She would die as lonely as the day she came to the Berghof.
* * *
The morning of our wedding a British bomber flew over the Berghof, and, for a time, we believed our afternoon ceremony would have to be delayed. Hitler was alerted and he ordered the fog machines to be activated. A thick haze covered the residence and its surrounding buildings for several hours. Everyone dutifully took their place in the bomb shelter. Hitler stood at the top of the stairs looking into the milky sky while the rest of us waited below. No bombs were dropped and the all clear was sounded.
Karl and I were married at four in the afternoon on June 14 in the Great Hall. After the artificial fog cleared, the sun shone gloriously on the Obersalzberg. Puffy white clouds, their wispy tails catching on the mountaintops, traversed the blue skies. Hitler ordered the Hall’s gigantic window lowered so the lovely Alpine air could flood the room. About one hundred guests attended our civil ceremony: Cook; workers from the kitchen and greenhouses; quite a few of the SS officers, including the Colonel, who I knew still didn’t trust me. He stood off in the corner, sizing up the attendees, looking like a disgruntled bulldog. Hitler, smiling and shaking hands, greeted many of the guests. The only other notable Party dignitary who attended was Speer, who looked reserved but handsome in his suit and leather boots.
Karl and I stood at the south end of the Hall near the large fireplace. We looked over the guests toward the spectacular view of the mountains, whose colors shifted in the afternoon sun. The couches and chairs had been cleared from the sitting area so we could stand above the guests seated below. A Party judge officiated our simple Nazi ceremony, which made no mention of God or religion. We were marrying under the auspices of National Socialism. Eva, looking radiant, stood to my right while Hitler stood to Karl’s left. My handsome soldier wore a proud smile, mirroring the love I felt for him. Nothing mattered to Karl except our vows. From the corner of my eye, I saw the Reich’s leader smile and nod as the ceremony proceeded. He was like an amiable doting father.
Karl and I kissed, a brief promise of what was to come, and our marriage was sealed. The nuptials had taken twenty minutes.
On Hitler’s orders, a table for frosted cakes and iced champagne had been set up near the west wall. Valets dressed in
white tuxedos served the chattering guests. Everyone agreed that our wedding was the most festive event at the Berghof since we had returned late last year. Such compliments gave me little comfort, but I tried to act like the happy bride, despite my knowledge that our lives were in danger and that our future was tenuous at best. I greeted everyone with a smile and a kiss. I even made my way to the Colonel, who sulked in the corner. His eyes were fixed and cold, but I extended my hand and he shook it. “Congratulations, Frau Weber,” he said with frost in his voice. I smiled and kissed him on the cheek, all the time feeling revolted by my actions.
Hitler didn’t stay long. Eva was by his side the whole time, snapping photos when she could. Even Hoffmann, Hitler’s portly photographer, was there taking “official” snapshots.
Karl saluted as Hitler approached. The Führer kissed me on both cheeks and then shook Karl’s hand. He gave us congratulations and presented us with two engraved silver wedding rings inscribed inside with his name. He left us with these words: “Long life, my son and daughter. May you have many children for the Reich.” Eva dabbed at tears as they walked away. Karl and I looked at each other as they departed, aware that the rings were a beautiful token given by a brutal dictator. Neither one of us, I was certain, wanted our feelings for Hitler to spoil what little happiness we might have on our wedding day.
That night, we moved into a small married couple’s apartment away from the Berghof and the SS dormitory. As darkness fell, we made love as if it were our last night together. We knew our joys were fleeting and our life together might end at any moment.
* * *
In about a month, we left for the Wolf’s Lair. The routine was the same—traveling by train at night, arriving in Rastenburg in the morning. Hitler was ensconced in his private train with a few of his senior officers, adjutants, valets and security staff. The cooking staff and other workers followed in a second train. Eva was not aboard either one. I assumed she would stay on at the Berghof for a time before returning to her home in Munich.
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