“Blame it on me,” Herr Berger says. “Tell Himmler you need to corral a new team, and if he asks why, tell him it was my doing.”
“Stefan,” Frau Berger hisses, her inflection makes it clear he should stop speaking.
He’s protecting us, yet putting himself and likely Frau Berger in grave danger while doing so.
“Vater,” Otto says. “I should have spoken up sooner. This is my fault. I’ll take the blame.”
“No,” Frau Berger shouts.
I grab Otto’s arm, pinching my fingernails into his flesh, wishing he would stop talking.
Dietrich shakes his head and takes a swig of the clear liquid drink he’s been washing green olives down with. “No!” Dietrich mocks Frau Berger. “You’re going to get me killed. That’s what you’re doing. I’m your brother. Do you have no understanding of the fact that we’ve all been blinded at some point,” he says, his voice carrying through the hall. Dietrich lifts his glass to the Reichstag flag hanging above our heads. “We all live under the same mind, and there’s no way out. We can live or die.”
The growing argument between Otto’s family settles into the back of my mind as I imagine what will become of Danner if Dietrich complies with us stepping away. I’ll have no way of helping him, or anyone else. There’s no hopeful ending here. Someone will suffer the consequences we’re all tossing around, hoping it isn’t?—
“We can’t lose Frau Berger of all people,” a man says, passing behind us. “She’s the only one who truly knows how to work with her hands.”
Me. I’m the one with the grenade.
I whip around in search of who would say such an awful thing, spotting only the back of a soldier’s head as he walks away.
I slip my hand out of Otto’s and rush toward the man, grabbing a hold of his wrist to stop him from going any further. “I beg your pardon?”
The lonely soldier. I should have known. Seeing that he was dismissed from duty, I’m not sure why he received an invitation to this event. “I watched you bring someone back to life,” he says. “That’s all I meant, of course.”
“Is that true, Emilie?” Herr Berger asks, showing interest, not disappointment.
My mouth is open, but words don’t form. What am I supposed to say?
“Yes, it was for the conclusion of our data,” Otto says. “If we lost the volunteer, we would have had to start from the beginning of that trial and we wanted to make sure we had all our information in on time.”
The soldier makes his way into our circle with a sly crooked smile. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks like he knows he’s about to win the jackpot. “Oh, come on now, I wouldn’t say that was the exact reason your wife went through the trouble she did,” the soldier replies. “We just have a Florence Nightingale on our hands, don’t we? Or was it something more—something a married woman shouldn’t be so concerned about?”
“A Florence Nightingale…” Dietrich grumbles. “What is the meaning of this?”
“There’s no meaning. Emilie was doing what she needed to complete the task. In fact, Private Krieg here was relieved of his duty for his inappropriate behavior in the lab. I think it might be best that you see yourself out the door, Private. Your invitation must have been a clerical error.”
Dietrich is staring at me like an owl watching a helpless mouse who has backed herself into a corner.
“As you wish, Herr—pardon—I meant to say Doctor Berger. I must say, I find it fascinating that you would defend your wife after her covert behavior.”
Otto’s father whistles to a man standing guard by the door. “Please see him out,” he shouts. “Do not return. I know where you came from, and I’ll have no quandaries about sending you back to where prisoners belong.”
Mortification wraps me in a cold sweat, wondering what Otto, his parents, aunt, and uncle are thinking. If I make a peep to defend myself, I’ll appear guilty. I know it’s best to remain quiet. “Emilie is the only woman working in our lab. This kind of behavior was bound to happen with the straggling soldiers coming and going. Private Krieg fondly approached Emilie the first day she arrived, but she kindly told him she was a married woman. Apparently, that wasn’t enough of a reason to satiate his jealousy,” Otto explains, squeezing my hand with a clammy grip.
“Young soldiers will be young soldiers. We just need to ignore their pettiness, isn’t that right?” Frau Dietrich asks Frau Berger.
“We’ve both seen our days of this,” she agrees.
I wasn’t aware Otto knew about the lonely soldier—Private Krieg—approaching me that first day. Someone must have told him.
Otto wraps his arm around me and pulls me in tightly to his side. “I suppose it isn’t easy being so beautiful, or being married to someone so beautiful, is it?” he jests.
“So beautiful…” Dietrich mutters. “Well then.” He abruptly steals the conversation back. “I’d like to speak with you both in the morning to discuss our plan for moving forward, Stefan, Otto.” The formality is gone, and I’ve been weeded from the equation. “My office at seven.” Dietrich twists on his heels and casually makes his way over to another gathered crowd, lifting his glass to start a new toast.
“What now?” Otto asks his father.
“We’ll have to see in the morning. I don’t know where this leaves us. I apologize for trusting him and putting the two of you in this situation. I understand why you didn’t approach me until now. I’m a coward of a man when it comes to my brother, but I assure you I’ll be putting a stop to that at once.” Herr Berger drops his gaze to his feet and shakes his head. “Marion, let’s see ourselves out.”
