The German Wife(109)

Soon I thought the thirst would kill me, maybe even before the cold. At one point I dozed off, but I woke with a start when a door closed somewhere else in the basement—the echoing vibration of the slam, then the sickening click-click-click of a lock snapping into place. After hours—days?—of darkness, my hearing seemed keener. When my stomach rumbled with hunger, it sounded so loud to me, I wondered if the people in the cells around me could hear it.

Then the door opened again. When my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw that it was the same guard.

“Toilet break,” he said. “No speaking.”

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in that cell. My body odor was so strong that when I moved, a wave of it washed over me, and sometimes it left me feeling nauseous. With no access to sunlight, not even during toilet breaks, all I could do to judge time was count the interruptions to darkness—the delivery of a bowl of cold oatmeal and a glass of water, periodic toilet breaks. If those things were happening twice a day, I’d been in the cell for ten days—but it felt so much longer. My hips and shoulders were bruised from sleeping curled up on the hard floor. I’d been so cold for so long that my mind felt foggy—like my body was shutting down in slow motion.

This trip out of my cell was different. I found myself sitting in a stark room while a Gestapo officer shouted at me.

“You and your husband are traitors to the Reich! Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Are my children okay?

Why did you arrest me so quickly?

Did Jürgen manage to do any damage before you arrested him?

Is he gone?

Why are you keeping me alive?

Am I ever going home?

And then—a thought struck me, clearer than all the others.

He had spoken about Jürgen in the present tense. Was that an accident?

I raised my eyes from the table to look at the man opposite me. The disgust in his eyes was hard to stomach. I wondered how he’d feel if he knew he’d just given me an unexpected gift. There was at least a chance that Jürgen was alive.

That was enough to make me strong again, even though my body was weak. I met his gaze as he shouted at me, insults and threats and accusations, but I didn’t say a word.

Two men took me again, dragging me with rough hands beneath my arms, along the same corridor—but this time, instead of taking me to my cell, they dragged me up a set of stairs. My eyes watered from the sunlight, but I could make out a car waiting outside. They pushed me toward it and into the back seat.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked. No one answered, but to my surprise, the streetscape around us soon told the story.

When the car came to a stop outside my house, the man in the passenger’s seat threw my handbag at me. I fumbled to catch it.

“We’ll be watching you,” he said flatly. His gaze drifted across to Dietger and Anne’s house. There was a figure in the front window.

“That’s...that’s it?” I croaked. “I can go?”

“We’ll be watching you,” he said again. “Every move you make, we’ll know about it.”

The house was empty when I let myself inside. The clock on the wall in my dining room said it was two fifteen, but I had no clue what day it was. I knew I’d have to call Lydia sooner or later to ask where the children were, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so—not yet. I took a quick shower and changed into blessedly fresh clothes. They hung on my frame—however long I’d been in that cell, I’d lost an immense amount of weight. My stomach still didn’t feel right, but I made myself a cup of ersatz coffee and nibbled on some old ginger cookies I’d made before the ceremony at Castle Varlar.

Then came a knock at the front door. I scrambled to my feet and ran along the hallway to open it. Lydia was there, alone. She looked every bit as disappointed as she did angry. She took a step forward until her face was close to mine.

“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you had no idea what your husband was going to do,” she whispered fiercely.

Behind her, a car door opened, and I was momentarily distracted by the sight of Gisela running along the path, crying and calling, “Mama! Mama, you’re home!”

Lydia took a step back. I crouched to envelop Gisela in my arms as she threw herself toward me, crying into my shoulder. A wave of love and relief washed over me at the weight of her limp body in my arms. Behind her, Laura and Georg were walking along the path too, both looking confused and unsure.

“I missed you so much. I was scared you’d never come back,” Gisela wept.

“I’m sorry, my love,” I choked out, pressing kisses against her hair. “I’m so sorry I had to go away.”

“Welcome home, Sofie,” Lydia said flatly. “I have explained to your children that there was a little misunderstanding and you’ve been away on business sorting it out.”

I looked up at her in shock. Was it a kindness that she’d lied to the children for me, or yet another game?

“Thank you,” I said. She nodded curtly and spun on her heel and walked away.

Laura remarked that I looked tired, and Georg’s frown had never been so deep, but after a few awkward moments, I found myself in the sitting room, surrounded by the children as they filled me in on their “exciting weeks” at Lydia’s house.