PROLOGUE
EMILIE, JULY 1942
Dachau, Germany
Over the past five months, Otto and I have driven past the foreboding black iron gates of Dachau countless times since moving here as newlyweds. I promised myself the location wouldn’t be a bad omen for our new life together and I’ve done my best to avoid the sights since moving here, but this morning, sitting here now in front of this dismal spot, there’s nowhere else to look.
The gates are within a stone’s throw and though the air is hot and humid, a chill scurries up my arms like a spooked spider. Raindrops dribble down the iron rods, drawing my attention to a pattern melded into the bars, or…is it two patterns? An optical illusion, perhaps, depending on the perspective.
As a uniformed guard steps out from beneath the gated arch, my gaze clings to the words bent into the iron:
ARBEIT MACHT FREI.
Work will set you free.
Will the criminals ever be released from this concentration camp? The words on the sign don’t depict the amount of work necessary to be set free.
A tall, hard-eyed Gestapo approaches Otto’s car window and demands identification. Otto pulls out his papers and hands them over, and I can see the subtle nervous twitch of his right eyebrow. The guard’s gaze flares, likely noticing my trembling hands.
“Heil Hitler,” Otto says, saluting the man.
“Heil Hitler,” the man replies. “What is the purpose of your arrival to Dachau?”
“You must be a new guard. We haven’t met. I’m Dr. Berger, working in Block 5. Dr. Dietrich has requested that my wife, Emilie Berger, aid him with his work as I’ve been doing.”
I hand my identification to Otto, feeling the blood drain from my face. No matter how many times I cross paths with a man in this particular uniform, I feel like a meek mouse from the terror they emanate. Can they see through me, and read my thoughts?
He pivots on his heels, taking a couple of steps toward the cement arched wall over us and pulls a hanging clipboard off a protruding nail. He draws his finger down the center, studying it intently. “Dr. and Frau Berger,” he states, handing our identifications back to Otto. The guard steps back from the car and unlatches the gates for us to continue through. The way he referred to us made us sound much older than twenty-two.
I shouldn’t be surprised to see SS officers and more Gestapo scattered around the open gravel area. The number of convicts lined in rows or walking in groups is astounding. How could there be so many criminals? As if this place isn’t dreary enough, the inmates are soaked, with ragged garbs hanging from their shoulders. Of course, the SS and Gestapo have proper head covers and trench coats to keep them dry.
We arrive at a row of cars between two buildings, and my stomach tightens, knowing this is where we get out and walk amongst the crowded compound.
I regret agreeing to this idea. I ought to have taken Otto’s advice and stayed away from a conversation I shouldn’t have been a part of, but it’s too late to change my mind now.
Otto opens my car door, and props open an umbrella to shield me from the rain then takes my hand, his grip tight as if I might change my mind and run back home. He wouldn’t be wrong. If I could, I would. I can’t shake off the restless apprehension.
As the door closes behind me, my reflection in the neighboring car’s window catches my eye. My curled hair, lipstick, and fitted dress makes me stand out among the drab surroundings. With Otto in black dress slacks, a white-collared shirt, and suspenders, we don’t look as though we’re visiting a concentration camp.
A long, dark-brown wooden building with narrow windows looms, swallowing us within its ominous presence.A formation of military planes flies overhead, low enough to leave a whizzing whistle behind in a tail of smoke. Not a day goes by when we aren’t reminded of being trapped in the center of a hostile battle. There’s no clearer definition of war than the sight of barbed wired fences surrounding dark fields muddied by the sky’s tears. Uniformed, rigid men pace in every direction, and there’s no way to distract myself from the truth—the fear I live in daily.
Groups of male inmates wearing blue and white striped uniforms watch us as we walk along the muddy, rubble pathway. I can’t avoid the dread and grief in their eyes. They recoil upon eye contact, turning away as if it’s a sin to look in our direction.
“Just focus on where you’re walking, darling. Don’t mind any of the prisoners walking about,” Otto says, gripping my handtightly. He leans in a bit closer to whisper into my ear. “It’s not every day these men catch a glimpse of gorgeous blonde beauty.”
In any other place or time, my cheeks would blush from his compliment, but here, in this place, I would rather go unnoticed. “It looks like the winds have pushed rubble over the path, be careful not to trip.”
The plaid red, black, and brown umbrella Otto is holding above my head does little to offer me comfort as we approach a new destination. A daunting wooden door with an iron handle stands between me and this solid confinement, a place I never imagined I would see.
“Is there a particular reason we’re going into this specific building and not the others?” I inquire, turning to Otto with a timid smile.Everything will be okay, I remind myself.
He squeezes my hand gently and whispers, “Darling, it’s the sick bay, as I mentioned earlier.” His response carries a hint of tension.
I squint at the sign above the door, straining my eyes to make sense of the marking “B.5”. My ankles ache in the heels I unwisely chose not realizing we’d be walking over wet rubble. “Are there different wings in this sick bay too?” My question comes across as mischievous, anticipating his response based on all the others he’s given me.
Otto huffs a quiet laugh from his nose and responds in a hush. “Yes, indeed, there are several wings. There seems to be an abundance of ill criminals, requiring the need for expansion.”
Though it’s becoming more difficult to keep my cheerful grin in place, the questions keep coming of their own accord. “But I thought you said you didn’t work with the patients?” I can’t help but add, “You know you’ve been a bit mysterious about your days at work. I guess I can’t help the questions.”
