“Who’s here?” I asked quietly.
“The soldier.”
My body went cold with fear. The soldier. The one I’d heard came every few days or so under the guise of making sure my mother was safe, but with a clear interest in what he would take once the lady of the house passed away. I hoped that calm I supposedly had would make itself known.
“Remember the story?” Paulina asked. We’d spent time that first evening after the woman was shot at the safe house coming up with a story for why I was there, in case the soldier came before I could get away.
I nodded.
“Good. Let’s get this over with.”
She led me to the kitchen and reached for my bag, but I grasped it tightly and held on, shaking my head.
Her eyes told me she understood and she pointed to the pantry.
“He’s already checked there so he won’t check again,” she said. Reluctantly, I let her have it and watched as she stashed it behind a box of sprouting potatoes.
She pointed to the cutting board where a small pile of vegetables waited to be cut, and then to the pan on the stove. I moved quickly, picking up the knife and beginning to chop, my fingers trembling.
His boots were on the staircase now, each strike of the man’s boot heel making me flinch. A moment later the kitchen door swung open.
“Who are you?”
His voice was like gunfire. Sharp. Quick. And came at me with a speed so fast I nearly took off my own fingertip
I was shocked at how young he was. Younger than me. Twenty at the most. His face was bland, void of any interesting characteristics, the bit of his hair I could see a dark blond, eyes blue. He was the perfect German soldier, and the ugly look in his eyes made my blood run cold.
“I—”
“This is Lena,” Paulina said, putting on a casual if not slightly irritated voice. “Her mother was a nurse and she’s learned some tricks of the trade so I’ve hired her to help with Mrs. Holländer.”
I gave him a quick smile before lowering my eyes again.
“Lena,” Paulina continued. “This is Lieutenant Schmeiden.” She said it in a way that made him sound important.
“She stays here?” he asked, moving closer to me.
“She does,” Paulina said. “As of two days ago.”
“Where do you normally live?” he asked me, his eyes taking my clothing, my battered shoes. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“I’m from Wismar, sir.”
“How did you find a girl from Wismar to help you?” he asked Paulina.
“One of the neighbor women told me about her.”
“Hm,” he said, circling the kitchen island where I was concentrating on not cutting myself as I kept chopping vegetables. “And where were you when I arrived?”
“She was running an errand for me,” Paulina said, moving to the pantry.
He stopped beside me, his uniform brushing against my elbow.
“You have identification, I assume?” he asked, his breath brushing against my neck.
“Of course,” I said, setting down the knife and moving to the sink to wash my hands.
“I don’t have all day.”
