If I was wise, I’d have an answer, but I’ll keep that remark to myself too.
“Chamomile,” I say, accentuating the word, “canhelp upset stomachs, and may be used as a mild sleep aid.”
“Yes, it can,” Frau Schäfer replies, raising a brow.
“Though, I’m sure bourbon has a much stronger effect.” A flaming heat fills my face, a sensation I want to hide at all costs. Fear should have stopped me from saying such a thing, but giving in to my unease would allow the continuation of hurting an innocent child. My anger speaks louder. She needs to know I’m aware of the secret she and her husband were arguing about to possibly take her down a few notches.
Frau Schäfer grabs my wrist and yanks me out of the kitchen. “How dare you?” she utters, anger seething with each word.
“How dare I take a whiff of something before pouring it into your baby’s bottle?”
“You’re not a doctor. You don’t have a right to comment on what Flora needs. You are here to follow my orders, not question them.”
“A doctor told you to pour bourbon into Flora’s bottle? And mask the bourbon by swapping it out in a bottle of chamomile oil?”
I’ve infuriated her and this may be the moment where I find out that she’s the one who shot the last nanny, rather than her husband. Though, something tells me Frau Schäfer doesn’t have the ability to pull a trigger. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re trying to hide whatever condition Flora might have. Because a pure Aryan baby isn’t supposed to have physical delays or apparent unexplainable pain. And she shouldn’t be crying the way she does, right? Wasn’t it just two years ago the Reich was quietly euthanizing children with medical issues? And sterilizing women who couldn’t produce ‘perfect’ offspring. The Reich stopped euthanizing people for that, right?”
Frau Schäfer’s brows snap together with disdain, her face darkening in shades of red, her eyes bulging with shock. Except, everything I said is what the Reich wants anyone under their power to believe and live by. We hide what we can’t afford to be exposed.
For four years, the German army, alongside the Führer, has been responsible for rewriting birthrights in Poland and now several other countries. No matter how hard I try to understand how we ended up like this, it will never make sense. Why can’t we fight back? Why isn’t anyone strong enough to push them away? Did we have the strength in the beginning? Before it became too late? Before we were forced to ration food and accept the demise of Europe?
“I’m not a bad mother,” Frau Schäfer seethes through clenched teeth.
“I’m not a doctor, Frau Schäfer, but I believe there could be other options to help Flora rather than potentially causing her long-term health issues, as well as damage to her brain and organs.”
“And I suppose you know what that is since you apparently think you’re better with children than me?”
Isn’t that the reason they wanted help? Not that they were overly concerned with qualifications, which doesn’t say much for Frau Schäfer.
“I grew up in an orphanage. I’ve been around many children and have seen quite a bit.”
“Then, what I’m hearing is, you think you can help her?”
Now there’s desperation in Frau Schäfer’s eyes. She might think I was oblivious to the arguments between her and her husband, but if anything was clear, he expects her to hide whatever pain or delays Flora might be suffering with, and to do so without the help of a physician. She’s in a very vulnerable place.
“How long have you been quieting her cries with bourbon?”
“Hush, will you?” she snaps. “The children don’t need to know. I don’t know…on and off for a couple of months.”
“Her body might need time to adjust without…I can try and help her with some exercises I’ve learned from experience with other children. I can’t promise it will help, but it might.”
“All right,” she says. “Fine. You must know, I won’t be able to stop Heinrich—Officer Schäfer—from his agitation if she continues to cry at all hours of the night.”
“She’s a baby,” I remind her. Despite her reasons for crying…babies do cry. But she’s perfect, and I swear…I will not let the world erase her.
“She’s a pure Aryan child, and we are a part of the Lebensborn program. As you just said yourself, there isn’t allowance for any slight imperfection, even now, following the end of the Eugenics program. She should be consolable at the very least.”
“Lebensborn program?” I ask, unaware of any such program.
“I’ve said too much. Never mind that. Flora must stop crying. It’s simple.”
Frau Schäfer crunches her nose and jerks her head back. “What is that stench?”
“Me.” I turn around and pull the fabric from the center to my shoulders, showing her the deep blood stain. “I assume someone died in this?”
She grabs my arm and flings me back around. “You better get one thing straight…You are not in control here. You do not speak to me in the way you have been today. You might think you have something on me for the way I’ve been feeding my infant but let that uniform be a reminder to you that I owe you nothing. You are replaceable and someone else can fill that uniform just as you are. Now, go handle my child.”
She pins me under her stare for a long minute, mostly because I don’t jump following her threat. “I’m sorry for the way he makes you feel, and for the fear you must live with.”
