The Baker's Daughter

Chapter Twelve

SCHMIDT BÄCKEREI

56 LUDWIGSTRASSE

GARMISCH, GERMANY

DECEMBER 25, 1944

Happy Christmas, Hazel. I write to you with cold feet and a mustard rub my chest. I slept poorly last night. The Gestapo came to our house past midnight searching the town for a runaway Jew. They made Mutti and Papa stand in the kitchen wearing only their nightgowns—on, Christmas Eve! What horrible times we live in.

Mutti said I’ve caught a fever. Perhaps I should have eaten more at the banquet. They had suckling pig, potato cream, white sausage, and reisbrei for dessert, but none of it tasted the way it should. I didn’t care for the champagne, either. The bubbles made the food feel wrong in my mouth. Mealy, like it’d already been chewed. My stomach was soured. As for the dress I spoke of in my last letter, chiffon might be lovely to look at, but it’s not much good against the cold. It’s ruined anyhow. The skirt is stained, and the crystals hang from their stitches.

We tried to enjoy Christmas Day as best we could, but everyone was in poor spirits. Mutti fixed a little carp. Papa made a bit of Christstollen. I ate by the fire until the heat made Oma’s wooden bird ornaments take flight. Then I came back to bed. My nose is raw and swollen, my eyes red and cheeks pale as a boiled fish. I look and feel like the plague. Josef came by a few minutes ago. I told Mutti to send him away. I must confess to you. So much has happened-.-.-. Josef gave an engagement ring. I put it under the mattress for the time being. I haven’t decided what to do. Hazel, I don’t love him, but he’s a better man than any I know. He protects us and is good to Mutti and Papa. They say it’s an excellent match for the family. Mutti says you don’t need love to be a wife, just a good brötchen recipe and a strong back. But you were in love with Peter, right?

Oh, Hazel, there’s so much more I want to tell you, but don’t have the strength or courage to write. Are you ever coming home? I miss you. You always knew the right things to do. I wish I were more like you. Please write soon and give my Christmas greetings to Julius. Heil Hitler.

Your loving sister,

Elsie

P.S. Does the Program inspect incoming letters?

LEBENSBORN PROGRAM

STEINHÖRING, GERMANY

DECEMBER 27, 1944

Dear Elsie,

Today, I received your December 21 letter and laughed out loud at the story of Frau Rattelmüller. She’s always been odd. But we must remember her history. If my husband and children were burned in a house fire, I would go crazy too. I was only a small child but still recall how she wailed by their graves. They say each coffin held a scoop of ashes. Four whole people reduced to a few scoops, can you imagine? I wish Mutti and Papa hadn’t taken me to the funeral. I hate remembering. Sometimes I wish I could erase memories—erase the past.

I’m sorry Julius and I couldn’t come home again this year. With the fighting in the Ardennes, the Program banned all women and children from travel. How I miss you, Mutti, and Papa. You’re right. It’s been too long since we visited. Garmisch is full of old ghosts for me, but I promise to bring Julius for my birthday in the spring if all goes well with the war effort.

As I wrote in my last letter, we honored the winter solstice with a wonderful Julfest banquet yesterday. Many more officers attended than expected, which pleased us greatly! One named Günther asked specifically for me. It caused quite a stir among the girls since he has only been partner to a privileged select. His Aryan ancestry is among the highest in all of Germany. And it showed. His mother hails from the Stern family—of Stern-bier. He was quite interested in our family’s bäckerei and asked all kinds of questions. There are many similarities between the fermentation of wheat and that of bread. We had a lovely time. I hope he comes back again.

More good news. I finally received an honorary card! All my fears about the twins were for naught. The Program only gives these cards to the best girls, so they must be pleased with the children’s development. The girl is quite hearty and fearless. She wailed through the entire SS christening, and when they held the dagger over, she reached for the blade! Everyone says she has a true Viking spirit. The boy is somewhat deficient, but so was I at first.

With my honorary card, I am allowed to pay lower rent and have special shopping privileges. I haven’t been able to buy extra dirndl notions—satin ribbon, lace, and pewter buttons—in a year. Everything must go to the greater good of our nation, of course. But I must admit, my toes curl up with excitement knowing I can buy the finest fabric, threads, and hooks should I choose. It’s like Christmas all over again.

I saw Julius on Christmas Eve. The children sang “Weihnachtslieder.” It was beautiful. I swear I could hear Julius’s voice high and pure above the others. I know that’s a shamefully maternal notion. Our boys’ choir is much better than Vienna’s, so they say. We hope to produce some of the best vocalists in the world, but we all admit there’s still work to be done. The natural aptitude is present, but the spark is missing. Perhaps Hans Hotter could come and provide lessons.

After the performance, we were given an hour with the children. Father Christmas served thick slices of sugar-dusted Weihnachtsstollen, and the young ones ran around with it stuck to their lips and hands, leaving white fingerprints on our arms and skirts and faces. I haven’t felt that dizzy with happiness for months. Julius seems to be doing well. He said he loves his classes and has learned to click his boot heels in true party fashion. He’s quite the expert at it and gets a good laugh from the popping sound of leather. Then he strikes up his hand and yells, “Heil Hitler!” I’m amazed at how fast he’s become a little soldier.

He asked again about his father. I still don’t have the heart to tell him, so I said he’s driving a Luftwaffe truck somewhere in Yugoslavia and can’t find a postman to deliver letters. He was pleased to hear this news and immediately asked for a toy truck. I offered him another piece of stollen instead, but took none for myself. I’m trying to lose the weight I gained from the twins.

So you attended your first SS party? My little sister, all grown up. I’m sure you loved it. My first Hitler Youth ball with Peter was a dream. By the way, is Josef single? I can’t recall if you said he was married or not. I hope not, for your sake. But if he is, do not be disappointed. Perhaps they’ll ask you to join the Lebensborn Program. I’d certainly love your company. It can be lonesome here. Sentimental folly, I’m well aware. However, I miss the sound of sleep, the rhythm of someone else’s breathing. I guess I spent too many years sharing a room with you.

I don’t sleep much these days. I try to imagine Julius across the compound in his tidy bunk bed and the sound of his steady in and out. It helps. I’m confident he will be a better man, a better German, because of my sacrifice. It is not too long before you could be a wife and mother too. You will see.

I think of you often, Elsie, and send my love.

Heil Hitler.

Hazel