Chapter 9
October 1939
Clara had been working at the clinic for several weeks now. Her shifts were five days on and three days off on a rolling basis. Most of those shifts had been daytime but as she became more settled in her role, she was undertaking some night shifts.
In that time, word had seemed to spread throughout the Jewish community of the secret midwife, although she was hardly secret anymore, given how frequently she was being called upon. She couldn’t and wouldn’t turn anyone away. She treated them all, from a rabbi’s daughter suffering complications after a miscarriage, a wealthy merchant’s wife whose regular doctor had turned her away, to a young mother of three haemorrhaging from a botched procedure performed in desperation. Each time, Clara worked through the night if necessary, drawing on everything she had learned. Sometimes, one case led directly to another, summoned on the spot before she’d even left. She never asked for payment, never asked how they’d found her, even though Friedrich was starting to get nervous about just how widely known she was in the community, even if they didn’t know her real name. She had grown accustomed to the knock on her door late at night, always the same pattern, letting her know it was the young lad, Paul, who had been sent for her help.
Friedrich was working longer and longer hours, and she was often called out when he was at work. She didn’t tell him what she’d done or where she’d been unless he specifically asked. Not that she wanted to keep secrets from him, that wasn’t the point, but she knew he would worry endlessly if he knew she was out so often, monitoring and assisting with births, checking on newborns and their mothers.
Today she was working from eight in the morning to six in the evening. She didn’t particularly like travelling home in the dark and when he could, Friedrich always met her. It was reassuring to have him there. After her encounter with the man on the tram, she had been rather more aware of her surroundings and who was around her when she was out and about in Berlin. She hadn’t mentioned the man to Friedrich as she hadn’t wanted to worry him. Instead, she had reasoned with herself that maybe the man was a husband or even a doctor or an employee from the Charité Hospital and had recognised her.
Now it was several weeks on, she had almost convinced herself that she might even have imagined the passing comment. Although, she still often got the sensation she was being watched but she didn’t know if that was real or just from fear and paranoia now she was out in the Jewish community more. Most of the time, she managed to quell her nerves and reminded herself that she had a choice, she was choosing to help, she could stop whenever she wanted. Unlike the women she visited, where there was no way out for them, they did not have that same privilege. They lived in a greater fear each day that they might be relocated out of the city. It was happening with increasing regularity and putting everyone on edge. The tension within the city was unlike anything Clara had ever experienced.
‘Frau Bergmann, just the person I wanted to see,’ said Frau Lange as Clara emerged from the changing room. ‘We have a new patient today who I would like you to attend. She’s only about twelve weeks pregnant, but she has had difficulty carrying a baby to term. We need to keep a very close eye on her. When she came last week, her blood pressure was high. Here’s the file.’
Clara took the manila folder and flicked through the notes. Most of them were clear and it was easy to read the German handwriting. ‘When is her appointment?’ asked Clara.
‘Nine o’clock. I’ll let you know when she’s here.’
‘Thank you, Frau Lange,’ said Clara. This meant far more to her than her superior realised. She was being given the responsibility of a private appointment.
‘You’re more than capable of attending to this patient,’ said Frau Lange, as if reading Clara’s mind.
Clara nodded. It felt good to be given this responsibility. Funny how she had been so upset at having to leave the Charité Hospital. She had thought her midwifery career would be over but instead it had opened doors Clara had never imagined. She was now working in the private sector and being assigned her own patients. She couldn’t wait to tell Friedrich, he’d be so pleased for her.
Clara was eager for the next hour to pass. Finally, she was told her patient had arrived. She went down to one of the consulting rooms to meet her.
‘Frau Müller,’ said Clara as she entered the room. ‘My name is Frau Bergmann. Pleased to meet you.’
According to the records Clara had looked at earlier, Frau Müller was twenty-nine and had suffered three previous miscarriages, two in the first four months and the last one when she was six months pregnant.
Ursula Müller was a petite woman with striking dark hair, styled in fashionable waves that framed her delicate features. Her navy-blue dress, cut in the latest style, complemented her refined bearing that, like everything about her, exuded understated elegance. She passed an assessing look over Clara, before smiling. ‘I’m told you’re British but married to a German officer.’
Clara hadn’t realised her personal credentials were being shared. Surely if it were a problem for Frau Müller then she wouldn’t have agreed to see her. ‘That’s right,’ replied Clara. ‘I’ve lived in Berlin for several years now.’
Frau Müller ran her hand over her stomach. ‘Your German is very good,’ she said. ‘Just a hint of an accent. It could be mistaken for a regional dialect, like somewhere near the Swiss border.’
Clara smiled at the compliment and took her seat at the desk where she opened Ursula Müller’s folder. ‘I’d like to begin by taking general observations. We’ll start with your blood pressure.’
As Clara carried out her examination, Frau Müller continued to talk to her.
‘Where is your husband based?’ she asked as Clara helped her onto the examination bed.
‘He’s here in Berlin,’ replied Clara. ‘At the Bendlerblock.’ She took her tape measure from the desk, unrolled it and measured the size of Frau Müller’s stomach to ensure it was as it should be.
‘Ah, my husband works there too.’
‘Oh, that’s a coincidence.’ It wasn’t particularly, as so many personnel worked at the administrative building now, but it seemed the polite conversational thing to say.
‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Frau Müller gave a small chuckle. ‘Although I don’t suppose they know each other. It’s such a big building and so many staff there.’
‘Indeed,’ replied Clara. Friedrich had always told her not to discuss his work in public, just in case someone was listening. ‘Your measurements are as they should be.’ She rolled the tape measure back up and spent the next few minutes examining Frau Müller thoroughly.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked the expectant mother.
‘Your blood pressure is a little elevated,’ replied Clara, folding the cuff of the equipment and placing it in its box.
‘Is the baby in danger?’
