Her mother took a step towards her, arms outstretched, but Annamarie was terrified. She could not accept this. She had to get away from them. They were going to trap her here.
“You need to rest,” her father said, and she flinched when he put his arm around her shoulder. Her mother covered her mouth, as if she understood—for the first time—what she had done. She sobbed something behind her palm, but Annamarie did not understand, did not care.
In that soothing voice he always used to calm everyone down, her father was talking to her. “Take some time, Annamarie. We can talk this through. Explain everything. Come upstairs.” He led her to the stairwell, and feeling quite outside her body, Annamarie followed him.
He led her into her old room, everything the same as it had been. The wardrobe on the wall opposite the bed, the dresser next to the door, the bed smoothed out. She ran to it—free of his arm—and threw herself onto the mattress, grabbed the edges of the coverlet, and rolled herself into it.
For once, her father stopped talking, but as she sobbed, she heard him shifting from one leg to the next on the creaking floorboards. He could stay there. She didn’t care. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying the day she found Marco on the road to Arlund, the night they climbed the Planggers’ tree, when he’d touched her, kissed her, how she had been the greatest fool and run off to find him. When he came to her and…
She wailed and balled her hands into fists, punching at the side of the mattress until it hurt. He was her brother!
She heard her father calling her name, realised she could not call him Papa anymore. Realised she had no father whatsoever. Were the boys in on this too? Did Bernd and Manuel know? She screamed into the pillow, feeling the damp seeping into the linen.
When she could not take in another breath, she sat up, wiped her tears, and stared at the man in the doorway.
“Get out,” she said hoarsely. “Just get out.”
She saw her mother come in with the suitcase and the purse of money. She gingerly placed the bag next to the door and the money on the dresser.
“Annamarie,” she started.
“Get out! All of you! Now!”
Papa steered her mother out the door, and before closing it, he said, “Take all the time you need, Annamarie. We’re downstairs when you’re ready. We’re going to manage this, Annamarie. I promise.”
When they had left, she stood, her head hurting, her jaw hurting, her stomach hurting, everything aching. She went to the window, flung it open. There was no way out. She would break a leg if she jumped out the window, but that was all. Not die, and unable to flee.
She would have to wait.
She flung herself onto the bed again, laid on her side, and studied the wooden ceiling, tears running down her cheeks. She would never be able to come back. Never. Her sobbing ceased as her head cleared. She had to leave. She’d managed before. She would manage it again. There was no place for her here. Resolve seeped into her, a calming elixir.
When she heard the door open and close downstairs, she realised her parents were going to the barn. She opened the door to her room, avoided the loose floorboards, and listened at the top of the stairs.
Not a sound. Not a movement.
She hurried back to the room, grabbed the suitcase and the purse of money. Her shoes were down at the front door. If she could get out before they saw her, she’d take the back road to Graun, find Sebastiano, and have him take her to the border before anyone saw her. Before more snow fell and the pass closed. Or walk if she had to.
She looked for pen and paper to leave a note but found nothing. Her stationery was long gone, traded for food once. Now she could not risk taking the time to write something downstairs.
Before leaving, she stared at the bed. Her mother would come up here looking for her for supper. She would probably cry when she saw the empty bed, run a hand over the discarded cover. Wonder where Annamarie had gone off to. Feel horrible about what she had done.
Good. That woman deserved it.
Chapter 20
Graun, March 1938
K atharina stood behind Jutta, next in line for communion, when she heard whispering. Jutta looked over her shoulder, frowning, and Katharina did the same. Toni Ritsch was striding from pew to pew, stopping to whisper to the men. The cause of the disturbance. Bernd stepped out of the communion line and leaned in to listen, Florian’s reach for him too late. Next moment, her son was out the door together with Andreas Ritsch and Ulrich Noggler.
Katharina had to move forward, and Father Wilhelm held the Host out for her, but his eyes were trained behind her.
“Amen.” Katharina genuflected and stepped aside to let Florian take the next Host.
Jutta was at the third pew, where Toni Ritsch had just left Hans Glockner.
“What is it?” Katharina asked them.
“Hitler’s marched into Austria,” Hans whispered. “Without firing a shot.”
Katharina turned to Florian, her eyes huge. “Annamarie,” she said to him.
“Yes, Annamarie.”
Annamarie had gone back to Sebastiano, gotten a ride to the border, to Austria. That was all Jutta had been able to tell them before Mass.
“Those cowards,” Jutta hissed. “The chancellor just let the Nazis march in?”
The sanctus bells made them all face the altar again, and those who were left inside got a rushed blessing and an abrupt end to the Mass. Katharina filed out behind Florian, Jutta, and Hans, Manuel next to her. She kept Manuel close to her these days. Outside, a group faced them: Toni Ritsch, standing rigid and
