The Baker's Daughter

Chapter Twenty-three

SCHMIDT BÄCKEREI

56 LUDWIGSTRASSE

GARMISCH, GERMANY

JANUARY 24, 1945

“This is a surprise.” Frau Rattelmüller gave a hacking cough into the sleeve of her coat.

A chilly wind swept round the kitchen.

“I saw the chimney smoke.” She banged her cane against timber door frame. “Your oven was lit early, so I thought I’d get my brötchen.”

Elsie swallowed hard and stepped in front of Tobias, shielding him with her skirt. “Six o’clock. You know we don’t open until then. With my parents away, I haven’t the time for special purchases. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait like the rest.”

Frau Rattelmüller craned her neck around Elsie. “Seems you have a helper.” She pointed with the shepherd’s hook of her staff. “A little elf.”

Elsie stiffened. “I must ask you to go.” She moved toward the door, aching to lock the chain, usher Tobias up to his hiding space, and pretend it was all a bad dream. The consequence of this moment was more than she could bear. Even Josef wouldn’t be able to save her now.

Tobias cowered by the oven, its kindle burning and hissing within.

“Is he a Jew?” Frau Rattelmüller asked, unyielding.

Elsie’s knees buckled. She couldn’t throw the old woman out now or she’d go straight to the Gestapo. “A Jew?” She forced an awkward laugh. “Nein, this is—”

“Because he seems to fit the description of the Jew child the Gestapo searched for on Christmas Eve.” She stepped inside the kitchen and closed the door behind her. “They came to my house, too, and scared my old Matilda into a hairball fit.”

Frau took a seat on the nearby stool and leaned her wrinkled chin on the wooden cane handle, inspecting them.

“You are mistaken,” said Elsie. Her cheeks were as hot as the oven’s coals. A pitchy note rang shrill in her ears. She tried to sip in air.

“Come here, boy,” said Frau Rattelmüller.

Elsie held him by the hand. “This is my nephew Julius. Hazel’s son.”

Frau Rattelmüller narrowed her eyes on Tobias. “Tell me then, when did they start marking the German boys like the Jews in the camps?”

Tobias’s sleeves were folded up to the bend of his elbows. A centipede of inked numbers scrawled down his left arm. He covered them.

Frau Rattelmüller huffed and thudded her staff against the tiled floor. “Don’t lie to me, child. I know your family too well. It isn’t in your blood—the art of deception.” She grinned with yellowed teeth that reminded Elsie of a children’s recording her papa bought them long ago: Peter and the Wolf. The wolf’s French horns and Peter’s pitched violins played in her mind.

Though the sun climbed in the sky, the room grew darker and blurred at the edges. Elsie steadied herself, dug her fingernails into her palms. She had to think clearly, to find an explanation, but all she could hear was the squeals and moans of the logs in the oven.

“You’ve been hiding this child for what—a month now? I’m impressed. Are your parents involved?”

There was no way out, but Elsie would not drag her family into her mess. “No,” she said.

“Gut.” Frau Rattelmüller nodded. “Then may I make a suggestion?” She stood and came within whisper distance. “Get him out of here. You don’t know what you’re doing. And if they find him, your whole family will pay. Herr Hub, too.”

An ache shot through Elsie’s chest, then thudded about like Peter’s duck trapped in the wolf’s stomach. Her mouth went dry, her fingers numb. Tobias stepped away from them both. His body shook.

Frau Rattelmüller’s expression softened. “Don’t be afraid, boy.” She reached out a shriveled hand.

He cringed and hid his face against the table ledge.

Elsie put her arms around his shoulders and drew him to her. “If they find him, they’ll kill him.”

“Ja, that is certain,” said Frau Rattelmüller.

Elsie closed her eyes a moment to think. Better him than her family, right? In the darkness of her mind, she thought perhaps. She couldn’t keep Tobias hidden in her wall forever. But if she turned him in, his blood was on her hands. Could she live with that?

“There are others.” Frau’s voice was soft as the crackle of breadcrumbs underfoot.

“Others?” Elsie matched her whisper.

“Why do you think I buy so much brötchen in the mornings?” Her eyes were clear and true. She shrugged. “One cat and an old woman don’t eat that much.”

Elsie felt a sudden release inside, like the snapping of a twig, the noose come undone. She took a full breath and tasted the toasting rolls in the oven.

“I have friends in Switzerland. I am trying to get them there—out of Germany.” Frau Rattelmüller turned to Tobias. “What is his name?”

Elsie held his hand firmly in hers. She didn’t know whom to trust anymore. “He’s a gifted musician, like his mother and father, and a skillful pretzel maker. His name is Tobias.”

First, she’d test Frau with keeping this secret.

Tobias looked to Elsie, ingenuous and grateful, and an overwhelming guilt swelled up deep within her. In a world where everything seemed an illusion and nothing was what it should be, the thought came to her with chilling clarity: Tobias was her responsibility now, and she had to save him.