Frau Schäfer closes her journal and drops her pencil on the table. “Well don’t just stand there like—” she motions a gesture with her hand toward the woman in the corner. “Her.”
“Yes, Frau Schäfer. I know the children should be engaged in reading and writing until their lunch is set on the table,” I repeat the line written in the schedule. “Come along, children. Let’s get to work.”
Frau Schäfer raises a brow then folds her hands on top of the journal. “I have some correspondence to tend to in the other room. I trust you’re capable of taking it from here.” She stands from her seat, one hand holding the journal and pencil to her chest, the other curved below her belly.
“How far along are you?” A daring question, I’m sure.
She glares at me for a long moment, and I regret letting my thoughts slip out.
Gavriel warned me to avoid eye contact with Officer Schäfer, but it might be best to do so with Frau Schäfer too.
“Four months or so,” she mutters, not with the joy and glow of most mothers excited to welcome a child into the world.
“How wonderful,” I say, forcing more cheer than she.
“Yes, quite…” she says, leaving the room on that flat note.
Before engaging with the girls, I glance toward the cradle. Flora lies awake, staring at the ceiling. I kneel beside her and take her tiny hand in mind. “Hello, sweet girl.” She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Even when I wave my hand in front of her face, her eyes don’t follow. “You’re so quiet and content,” I murmur, stroking her smooth cheek. For ten months old, something isn’t right. I can’t be the only one who sees it.
Yet not a word about her from Frau Schäfer.
“Well—um—um—Mama says…” Marlene scans the kitchen then glances at Isla as if looking for permission to say whatever is caught on her tongue.
“What does she say?” I urge.
“She says that…good babies are quiet babies,” Marlene whispers. “But Flora is—is, uh?—”
“Unusual,” Isla adds. “She has a defect.”
“A defect?” I repeat.
“Her nerves don’t work right,” Isla continues. “No one knows for sure.”
If no one knows for sure, it’s quite a big assumption. There must be more of explanation, but why not inform me so I can help?
“Is that so?” I scoot to the side, finding her scribbling out a drawing.
Marlene shrugs her shoulders and crumples up the drawing.
“Why did you do that? That was a lovely drawing,” I say.
She sweeps a thin strand of baby hairs to the side of her face and looks over at her sister again. “I—I’m supposed to be doing my letters. But I already know them all.”
“If you know your letters, I’m sure it’s all right to continue your drawing,” I tell her, patting my hand on the top of her silky hair. She flinches at my touch and stares up at me as if I’ve broken a rule.
“No, no. If Papa doesn’t see my practice letters when he comes home, he’ll?—”
I stare at her little face, her eyes squinting as she searches for words.
“He’ll be disappointed?” I ask.
“No,” Isla says. “There’s no such thing as disappointment. There’s right and wrong.”
“To be fair, that’s not quite correct. You can be both right and wrong at the same time, and there’s a place in the middle for mistakes or misunderstandings.”
“Papa would disagree,” she says with a bored sigh.
Your papa is a cruel man. The words fester in my throat but stay there. What good would a response do? These girls don’t know any different. They’ve been raised in a world where obedience is the only option. Though, I’ve watched the effect of enforced obedience throughout my life, and some children learn only how to rebel.
