As the conversation shifted to hospital gossip Clara didn’t recognise, she sat back and let the chatter wash over her, grateful not to be the centre of attention.
As the truck lurched into motion and Berlin’s familiar streets began to slip past, Clara felt as though she were being torn in half. Part of her – the part that had been terrified for months, that had watched friends disappear and colleagues turn cold – felt a profound sense of relief with each mile that took her further from the city’s suffocation grip. But the larger part of her ached with guilt. How could she sit here, safe in this truck bound for freedom, when Marie had no such luxury? When Max was still dodging patrols in the shadows? When countless other women, mothers she’d helped, babies she’d delivered, all remained trapped in a city that was growing more dangerous by the day? She had done what she could, saved who she could, but it felt insignificant against the enormity of what she was leaving behind. Friedrich had been right to insist she go, but that knowledge did nothing to ease the crushing guilt that pressed down on her.
The truck Clara was travelling in was followed by another full of medical supplies. In a strange way it gave her comfort to think that Friedrich would have organised the cargo in the first place. It gave her a strange feeling of connectivity to him, however, tenuous.
Around midday they stopped at a small town where they had lunch in a café and were able to use the washroom facilities. Clara was glad of the opportunity to stretch her legs. A medieval church tower dominated one side of the square, its weathered stone bells chiming the hour, while half-timbered houses with their distinctive dark wooden beams and whitewashed walls formed a neat perimeter around the market area. Some of the shopfronts displayed not only the goods they were selling, but portraits of the Führer. Clara turned away, hating what she saw.
‘Hey, Frida! Time to go.’
Clara heard the voice but didn’t immediately pay any attention. It was only when the shouting was louder and just as she turned to see who it was, there was a tap on her shoulder. Clara jumped. ‘Oh, Alma. You frightened me.’
‘I was calling you. Are you deaf?’ She shook her head. ‘Come on, we are leaving.’
‘Oh, yes. Sorry, I was, you know, just admiring the church.’ Clara smiled and hurried across to the truck, annoyed that she hadn’t been alert enough to someone calling her by her false name. She needed to be more attentive.
The trucks trundled out of the town, and onto an uneven road, pitted with dips and grooves, causing the truck to sway from side to side. The motion was making Clara feel sick.
‘Are you all right?’ asked one of the other nursers. She nodded towards Clara’s stomach.
Clara realised she was holding her had protectively over her belly. She hadn’t even realised she was doing it. ‘Travel sickness,’ she said.
The nurse raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, we have a long journey. Don’t be sick on me.’
Clara moved her hand away from her stomach. Something else she needed to be mindful of. Crikey, this journey was proving more difficult than she thought it would be.
Indeed, it was a long journey, but eventually as the afternoon was drawing to an end, they reached the border town just west of Cologne.
Friedrich had told Clara he would be arriving early evening and she was to look out for him around seven o’clock. Apparently, he had arranged for an inspection of the supplies leaving Germany and he was carrying out a spot check. It wasn’t something Friedrich had to do often, but it was at his discretion and was an ideal cover story for him being there. Three hours, that was all she had to wait.
The inn they were staying in for the night was on the edge of the town and looked almost fairy-tale like with its steep, red-tiled roof and whitewashed walls adorned with dark timber beams. Wooden flower boxes overflowing with red geraniums competed with a Nazi flag hanging from the upper balcony.
Despite the blemish on the exterior, the interior of the Gasthof was warm and welcoming. There was a main dining room with heavy oak tables and benches and an open fireplace.
Clara and the three nurses were shown upstairs to their rooms. One double and two singles. Clara offered to take the smallest room which was in the attic, which seemed to keep Alma and her companions happy. Clara was pleased to be tucked away from everyone else.
The dining room bustled with military personnel and what Clara assumed were locals in their civilian clothing. A few women sat around the tables, some of them rather friendly with the soldiers.
Clara caught sight of one woman sitting at the bar who hopped off her stool and leaned against the counter, her eyes fixed on someone across the room. Clara looked over and nearly choked on her glass of water when she saw Friedrich striding into the room. Her gaze flicked back to the woman, who was now smiling at him – a smile that told Clara exactly what she had in mind. Clara had to force herself not to jump up and claim her husband.
Friedrich glanced her way, but there was no acknowledgement or even a flicker of recognition.
‘He’s rather nice to look at,’ said Alma, leaning towards Clara. ‘Shame the whore over there has already got an eye on him.’
Until that point, Clara hadn’t been aware she had a jealous streak, but now she knew differently. She watched as Friedrich approached the bar and the woman smiled broadly at him, turning towards him as he ordered a drink. He even smiled back at her.
‘You’re staring,’ Alma commented.
‘What?’ Clara forced her gaze away from her husband. ‘I was just looking around.’
Alma laughed. ‘She was just looking around. Or more like, she was just looking at the officer.’
The other nurses and soldiers at their table laughed along with Alma. Clara could feel a small blush creep up her neck – not from embarrassment but from fear.
The soldier sitting to Clara’s right on the bench seat shifted closer to her, putting his arm around her shoulder. ‘I’m sure I can take your mind off that officer.’ He moved to plant a kiss on Clara, but she managed to shy away, shaking his hand from her shoulder. Again, the rest of the group laughed.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, getting to her feet and climbing over the bench seat.
The soldier caught her hand. ‘Leaving so soon?’
