“May I ask your name?” I said quietly. She froze for a moment before turning her face toward me without meeting my gaze.
“Why?” she asked, turning back to the stovetop and flipping a flapjack.
“To be friendly.”
She made a neat stack of three and delivered them to the oven before pouring more batter and then facing me.
“Magda,” she said.
“It’s nice to meet you, Magda.”
She nodded stiffly, seeming to not know where to look, her eyes darting here and there around the room.
“You are Lena?” she said.
“I am,” I said, shifting in my seat, uncomfortable still at the strange name.
“It is a good name,” she said, turning back to the stove. “Strong.”
“I’m not sure it suits me then,” I said and she looked over her shoulder at me, her eyes taking me in.
“Ja,” she said with a nod. “It suits you quite perfectly.” She poured more batter and continued talking. “My daughter is Ediline. She is more flower than strength.”
Her eyes met mine again and she grinned.
“It’s a beautiful name,” I said. “Where is she now?” I was afraid to hear the answer, but wanted to ask, in case she had no one else to talk to.
“With her younger brothers. With my sister. I sent them away when...” She swung her arm in a wide arc and I nodded, understanding her meaning.
“Did you live in this town before the war?”
Her smile was back. But now it wasn’t tight, nor was it soft. It was twisted, ugly, and mad.
“I did,” she said. “This was my home.”
The food I’d consumed churned in my belly, my limbs going cold. I thought of the small child–sized chair in the dining room. My lips parted, a question on the tip of my tongue, but the sudden sound of footsteps on the staircase in the other room stopped me, and I stared down at the remains of my breakfast as the kitchen door swung open.
“Guten morgen,”Hauptmann Keller said, a jovial smile on his face as his eyes took in what felt like every strand of hair on my head, the exact color of my eyes, and the food on my plate.
“Guten morgen,”I said quietly as Magda put the kettle back on the stovetop.
“That looks like it was a fantastic meal.”
“It was, thank you. Your cook is wonderfully skilled.”
“Agreed. Though for some reason she didn’t think it proper to serve you in the dining room?”
His tone was light, though I could feel the threat he laced it with. By the stiffening of Magda’s shoulders, I could tell she had too.
“That’s my fault,” I said. “She did insist, but since I was the only one up, I asked to sit in here so I wouldn’t be eating alone.”
“Hm. Well, I suppose you ladies are more prone to needing others, aren’t you.”
“Indeed, we are a social species.”
“I quite like dining alone,” he said. “Gives me time to assess the day, organize my thoughts, plan ahead...” His eyes flicked over me. “Women don’t have need for such things. You should be grateful there are men to take care of the more serious things in life.”
I saw Magda’s hand tighten on the handle of the searing hot frying pan and for a moment feared...hoped?...that she’d use it, swinging around with all her might and slamming it against his head. But a moment later she relaxed her grip, delivered the last of the flapjacks to the oven, and turned to her boss with a smile.
