The Baker's Daughter

Chapter Thirty-three

GARMISCH, GERMANY

MAY 1, 1945

The 6:00 p.m. train came and went with neither Elsie nor Josef on it. Josef worried that Elsie hadn’t received the message he’d slipped under the door, so he trudged back to the bäckerei, keeping to the alleys. He tapped on the back entrance. No one answered. Voices echoed around the building, and he followed them to the front where a handful of enemy Amis lounged. He hid in the shadows, the setting sun slowly expanding the dark perimeters.

“Mighty kind of you, miss,” said a portly soldier with a fat bullet embedded in his helmet. “We’ve been living on hardtack, cigarettes, and chocolate for weeks. Good to get something fresh.” He shoved a roll in his mouth, pulled it apart with his teeth, and chewed. “You should meet our cook. Teach him a thing or two,” he muttered, then gulped. “Hey, Robby!”

A dark-haired man with a burning cigarette dangling from his lip turned.

“You need to learn to bake these—make some decent food for a change.”

“Give me ingredients and maybe I will,” Robby quipped.

“You got a pretty little town here,” said a slim, soft-spoken Ami who looked as Aryan as they came. “Climate reminds me of home. I’m from Gaylord, Michigan—you ever heard of it. North of Detroit?”

“Shut up, Sam. We ain’t supposed to be fraternizin’ or talkin’ to these people. Not countin’ she don’t understand a word you’re sayin’,” said another.

Josef craned his head around the corner to see to whom they were referring. There stood Elsie, a basket set on her cocked hip.

“Lady gave us food that don’t come out of a cold can. She deserves at least a thank you,” Sam mumbled and readjusted his rifle on his back. “Besides, everybody’s heard of Detroit.”

“Not if you’re German and don’t know the difference between hello and good-bye, never mind New York and Hollywood.” The portly trooper picked his teeth with a dirty thumbnail, then took another bite.

“Hollywood,” said Elsie. “Jean Harlow?” She put a hand on her waist, cocked her chin up, and recited in near perfect English, “ ‘You don’t know the tenth of it. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve stood for. The first night I met the guy he stood me up for two hours. For what? A woman in Jer-zee had quad-ruplets, and it’s been that way ever since.’ ”

The group went silent then burst into laughter.

Josef leaned back against the cold building. A searing pain cleaved his skull. What was Elsie doing giving them bread? Talking to them—in a foreign tongue! He questioned whether it was another hallucination.

“Looks like you’re wrong, Potter,” said Robby He stubbed his cigarette out on the cobblestone and tucked the nub behind his ear. “She knows more than you think. That’s right, Jean Harlow.” He nodded. “But personally, I’d peg you for Lana Turner.”

Somebody whistled. Potter puffed up his chest and batted his eyelashes. The men laughed. Elsie laughed. Josef gripped the stone against his back, trying to keep the pounding in his head from knocking him over.

“Libeled Lady?” said Elsie.

“You sure are.” Robby winked.

Elsie smiled and handed him a roll.

He took it. “I could get written up as a Benedict Arnold for saying this to you but—to hell with it. Thank you. Danke schön.”

“Bitte schön,” she replied.

“Sure is an eager beaver. Ain’t like most of these German girls,” said Potter.

“Ee-ager bea-ver?” repeated Elsie.

“Ha!” Potter slapped Sam on the back, knocking his bread from his hand. “Fast learner.”

Sam picked it up and cleaned away the dirt on his sleeve. “Maybe we should give her something. Pay her for the meal?”

“Good thinking.” Robby dug in his side satchel and pulled out a rectangular bar. “Being a baker, she’s gotta like chocolate.” He handed it to Elsie.

She turned the bar round, then tore back the paper in strips. Her eyes lit up. “Schokolade!” She took a bite of the side. “Ist gut!”

“Now we’re talking,” said Robby. “What else you boys got?”

“Pack of cigs,” said Sam.

Robby took the pack and offered her one. “Smoke?”

She selected one of the thin fingers. Somebody threw Robby a lighter, and he lit the end for her. She sucked and blew out a curl of smoke with the ease and sophistication of a movie star.

Josef couldn’t believe his eyes. Elsie was a completely different woman. Even the way she stood, so confident and bold. Not at all the dainty girl who clung to him at the Weihnachten ball.

Suddenly, she set to mouse coughs, and the men came round the sputtering Elsie.

“You okay?” asked Sam.

Elsie took deep breaths. “O-key, o-key?” she repeated like a squawking blue jay, then handed the cigarette to Robby. “Nein.” She took another bite of the chocolate bar, then wrapped it back in the package and slipped it into her basket. “Thank you.”

Again, the men broke into laughter.

“She’s a trouper.” Potter scratched his belly and readjusted his gun over his shoulder.

“Wie ist your name?” asked Robby.

“Elsie Schmidt,” said Elsie. “Und sie?”

“Sergeant Robby Lee.” He bowed.

“Cook extraordinaire,” added Potter. “I’ll admit, given the time and rations, this boy can make a mean pork barbecue.”

“North Carolina, born and raised.” He took a drag from Elsie’s cigarette. “It’s in the blood. My momma ate nothing but barbecue the whole time she was pregnant with me. My baking is a little rusty, though.”

Elsie held a roll up high. “Brötchen.”

The two locked eyes, and even from the alley shadows, Josef felt the electricity between them. An ache shot through him. There was no ring on her hand. After everything he had done for her, how could she have so quickly abandoned him and their country? Traitor, he thought, and suddenly the voice that cut his mind in two was not his own but Herr Hochschild’s son. His muscles tightened from head to toe; his breath stopped. He closed his eyes, unable to fight the spasms and the tunneling of his vision.