Page 22 of The Nanny Outside the Gates

FIFTEEN

HALINA

The bloodied uniform slips off my shoulders before I even leave the construction space of the attic.

I keep my eyes on Gavriel, plodding backward through the construction space.

He stands, framed by raw lumber, his arms folded, stance steady.

His sleeves are rolled up, revealing corded forearms, each marked with small cuts and smudges of dirt.

Sweat beads along his temple, two drops trailing down the curve of his cheek.

My heart pounds, almost recklessly. He’s captivating in a way I can’t quite explain.

Like ancient architecture, weathered by battle, built to endure.

With each step I take down the stairs to where Frau Sch?fer and the girls are waiting for me to return, the heavy fabric shifts like a thick potato sack rather than a smock dress.

I’m no better or different than any person wearing one of these uniforms every day.

Flora’s cries grow louder by the second.

Frau Sch?fer might be wondering why her morning bottle hasn’t quieted her down.

“Who was it you were speaking to up there?” Frau Sch?fer asks, standing at the bottom of the main stairwell with her arms crossed over her chest.

“I wasn’t speaking to anyone. Perhaps you heard me talking to myself,” I reply. I don’t care what she thinks. I’ve been awake with Marlene all night, have cleaned up several puddles of vomit, and now must find a way to clean my personal clothes without using anything that belongs to this household.

“That uniform is filthy,” she says.

“So are my clothes,” I reply.

“Come, Halina,” Frau Sch?fer says, turning on her heels away from the stairwell.

Too many responses percolate on my tongue, words she should hear.

Instead, I obediently follow her into the kitchen, spotting the girls at the far end in their small play area, Flora crying from her cradle, her hands gripped along the sides, trying to pull herself up to see what everyone else is doing, and the kitchen prisoner standing guard over the three.

A knot forms in my stomach and my breaths constrict as she reaches for the tincture of chamomile. “Do you know what this is used for?”

“There was no comment with reason in the rule booklet for why I should add chamomile to Flora’s bottle. So, no.”

“Don’t be wise,” she retorts.

If I was wise, I’d have an answer, but I’ll keep that remark to myself too.

“ Chamomile ,” I say, accentuating the word, “ can help upset stomachs, and may be used as a mild sleep aid.”

“Yes, it can,” Frau Sch?fer replies, raising a brow.

“Though, I’m sure bourbon has a much stronger effect.

” A flaming heat fills my face, a sensation I want to hide at all costs.

Fear should have stopped me from saying such a thing, but giving in to my unease would allow the continuation of hurting an innocent child.

My anger speaks louder. She needs to know I’m aware of the secret she and her husband were arguing about to possibly take her down a few notches.

Frau Sch?fer grabs my wrist and yanks me out of the kitchen. “How dare you?” she utters, anger seething with each word.

“How dare I take a whiff of something before pouring it into your baby’s bottle?”

“You’re not a doctor. You don’t have a right to comment on what Flora needs. You are here to follow my orders, not question them.”

“A doctor told you to pour bourbon into Flora’s bottle? And mask the bourbon by swapping it out in a bottle of chamomile oil?”

I’ve infuriated her and this may be the moment where I find out that she’s the one who shot the last nanny, rather than her husband.

Though, something tells me Frau Sch?fer doesn’t have the ability to pull a trigger.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re trying to hide whatever condition Flora might have.

Because a pure Aryan baby isn’t supposed to have physical delays or apparent unexplainable pain.

And she shouldn’t be crying the way she does, right?

Wasn’t it just two years ago the Reich was quietly euthanizing children with medical issues?

And sterilizing women who couldn’t produce ‘perfect’ offspring.

The Reich stopped euthanizing people for that, right? ”

Frau Sch?fer’s brows snap together with disdain, her face darkening in shades of red, her eyes bulging with shock. Except, everything I said is what the Reich wants anyone under their power to believe and live by. We hide what we can’t afford to be exposed.

For four years, the German army, alongside the Führer, has been responsible for rewriting birthrights in Poland and now several other countries.

No matter how hard I try to understand how we ended up like this, it will never make sense.

Why can’t we fight back? Why isn’t anyone strong enough to push them away?

Did we have the strength in the beginning?

Before it became too late? Before we were forced to ration food and accept the demise of Europe?

“I’m not a bad mother,” Frau Sch?fer seethes through clenched teeth.

“I’m not a doctor, Frau Sch?fer, but I believe there could be other options to help Flora rather than potentially causing her long-term health issues, as well as damage to her brain and organs.”

“And I suppose you know what that is since you apparently think you’re better with children than me?”

Isn’t that the reason they wanted help? Not that they were overly concerned with qualifications, which doesn’t say much for Frau Sch?fer.

“I grew up in an orphanage. I’ve been around many children and have seen quite a bit.”

“Then, what I’m hearing is, you think you can help her?”

Now there’s desperation in Frau Sch?fer’s eyes.

She might think I was oblivious to the arguments between her and her husband, but if anything was clear, he expects her to hide whatever pain or delays Flora might be suffering with, and to do so without the help of a physician. She’s in a very vulnerable place.

“How long have you been quieting her cries with bourbon?”

“Hush, will you?” she snaps. “The children don’t need to know. I don’t know…on and off for a couple of months.”

“Her body might need time to adjust without…I can try and help her with some exercises I’ve learned from experience with other children. I can’t promise it will help, but it might.”

“All right,” she says. “Fine. You must know, I won’t be able to stop Heinrich—Officer Sch?fer—from his agitation if she continues to cry at all hours of the night.”

“She’s a baby,” I remind her. Despite her reasons for crying…babies do cry. But she’s perfect, and I swear…I will not let the world erase her.

“She’s a pure Aryan child, and we are a part of the Lebensborn program. As you just said yourself, there isn’t allowance for any slight imperfection, even now, following the end of the Eugenics program. She should be consolable at the very least.”

“Lebensborn program?” I ask, unaware of any such program.

“I’ve said too much. Never mind that. Flora must stop crying. It’s simple.”

Frau Sch?fer crunches her nose and jerks her head back. “What is that stench?”

“Me.” I turn around and pull the fabric from the center to my shoulders, showing her the deep blood stain. “I assume someone died in this?”

She grabs my arm and flings me back around.

“You better get one thing straight…You are not in control here. You do not speak to me in the way you have been today. You might think you have something on me for the way I’ve been feeding my infant but let that uniform be a reminder to you that I owe you nothing.

You are replaceable and someone else can fill that uniform just as you are. Now, go handle my child.”

She pins me under her stare for a long minute, mostly because I don’t jump following her threat. “I’m sorry for the way he makes you feel, and for the fear you must live with.”

I close my eyes as I watch her lift the flat of her palm up and out. The sting and clap against my cheek cause bright spots to freckle over my eyes. The pain is temporary, but my words will sit with her.

“Now. Go,” she hisses.

I will never judge a mother, but I know the result of bad parenting. Marlene and Isla will remember their mother’s behavior, and their father’s too. These memories will hang in the backs of their minds like paintings, ones they’ll view differently as they age.

Flora, red in the face with tears dampening her cheeks, croaks out another loud cry as the sound vanishes into a raspy breath. “Ma!” she shouts as I lift her up, finding her bottom soaked. It’s the first time I’ve heard her utter a word, and it’s a shame Ada doesn’t respond to her attempt to speak.

“Did you just say Ma?” I repeat her word with a forced sense of joy. “Ma?”

Flora mimics the movement of my lips but doesn’t say the word out loud again. It’s something. It’s a milestone.

“Isla, could you read your sister a story while I change Flora out of her wet clothes?”

Isla drops the book she’s holding and tosses her head back. “Fine,” she complies.

“I’m going out. I have errands to run,” Frau Sch?fer says, her tone pompous and unaffected by our conversation.

“Sylvia and Oskar are on guard for the prisoners and will be in and out frequently checking on them.” The kapos.

I haven’t seen Sylvia since the first day I arrived, but Oskar charges in and out of the house frequently.

He visits the attic at least six times a day, checking on Gavriel’s work.

“Girls, stay by Halina’s side. There are prisoners in this house, yes? ”

Frau Sch?fer is out the door within seconds of her last statement.

“Yes, Mama,” Marlene grumbles, and Isla takes her by the hand and pulls her toward me as we make our way to the stairwell.

No sooner than I set Flora down and remove her wet clothes and diaper, does the squeal of car brakes ping against the windows. Frau Sch?fer must have forgotten something.

I set the new dry cloth beneath Flora and fold in the sides. “Can you say ‘ba’?” I ask Flora, exaggerating the movement between my lips. “Ba…”

She smacks her lips together a few times and smiles. “Good try, sweet girl!” I say, tickling her tummy.

“Papa’s home,” Marlene squeals. “He’s come home in the middle of the day again!

” My hands turn clammy as heat rises through my spine.

With everything I’ve heard about and from Officer Sch?fer this week, I know well enough that there’s no saying what his agenda is or what state of mind he’ll be in when he enters the house.

“He has a friend with him,” Isla adds. “Another officer, but I don’t know him. I thought we knew most of them by now.”

“Does your father bring officers home with him often?”

Isla turns from the window and faces me as I pull a fresh romper over Flora’s head and try to attach it at the bottom as she’s busy trying to roll away from me.

Isla’s head falls to the side, just a bit, and her eyes narrow as if she wants me to read the thoughts going through her head before she speaks them out loud.

“Not very often, but when he does, it’s usually because he needs a worker taken out or replaced from the house.

” She peers over at her sister. “Isn’t that right, Marlene? ”

Marlene drops her head and nods. “Yes, that’s right.”

The front door slams open so hard, the walls shudder, the paintings hanging in Flora’s bedroom rattling.

“Where is she?” Officer Sch?fer’s voice is paralyzing, biting through the walls as if he’s only a few steps away.

A breath catches in my lungs, choking me, and all I can do is clutch Flora to my chest as I stiffen in wait.

“Where are you?” his voice booms.

“He must be angry with Mama,” Marlene whispers.

Their mama isn’t here. I am.

Flora must sense a need for calm among the commotion as she pushes herself upright to sit at attention, staring at the bedroom door. Even the youngest of prey knows when to remain still in the face of their predators.