“A Jewish girl?” His eyebrows slanted in a frown.
“No, she is . . . Byelorussian. With my little food parcels and . . . sorry, with your apple strudel sometimes, I helped her grandmother save the girl from imminent death from starvation. Yesterday and today, I noticed people following me.”
“How do you know?” He eyed her, expectant, a clear gaze of his kind, smoky gray eyes.
“But Ewald, it was so obvious.”
“Why does it concern you, my Liebchen? You do a kind deed.”
There was a pause between them while she debated whether to reveal or explain to him her worries and resolving for a half-truth, uttered, “I’m not concerned for myself, but for the girl and her grandmother. I work for SD and if they who followed me are the Underground workers, it may harm the little one. If they are from Hammerer, I wouldn’t know how to explain to him my care of two people who . . . Sorry, Ewald, there are things I can’t explain even to you.”
“I think I understand. But from now on, your news will haunt my days and nights.”
It was about a week later, when Ewald asked her matter-of-factly, “What do they need?”
“Who do you mean?”
“Your girl and her grandmother.”
“Oh, they need bread, eggs, butter. Everything and anything. Can you get milk?”
He took her hand in his. “I can get the moon for her.”
“She doesn’t need the moon.” Ulya allowed herself a little smile.
“Liebchen, I will do anything only to see a smile on your beautiful face. You must not worry about the little girl anymore. Nobody would follow me. I’ll deliver food for her and—” He didn’t finish and went to the wardrobe. From the upper shelf, he pulled a doll. Dressed in a lovely linen nightgown with lace, the bisque doll-girl had auburn hair full of curls, big brown glass eyes with lashes, open mouth with two bottom teeth, and a dimple in her chin. “For the little one.”
Ulya took the doll in one hand then threw her other arm around his neck.
“What is her name?” He took her by surprise.
“Her name? Masha,” she gave the first name that came to her mind.
“I wish we had—”
They were silent for a long moment. No words were needed. That night, he loved her so tenderly, so sweetly, he drained all her doubts and fears.
55
End of February 1944
“Liebchen, I’m called to Germany.”
Ulya’s heart twisted with pain. “To see your Annchen.” It had been months since he or she even mentioned the name.
His eyes widened and behind them something changed. She tried to look away, but he tilted her chin up, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Ursula, I am in love with you.” His voice broke with huskiness. “You are the one I want. Do you understand what I mean?”
He was telling the truth. She felt it to the depth of her being. Raising her lifelong barriers, he left her exposed, vulnerable. Before she could open her mouth to confess to him, he drew her to him, planting his kisses across her forehead, cheeks, chin, and then her lips. She nestled closer into his arms. “Ewald.” Her throat constricted.
He went on smoothing her hair with gentle hands, consoling her with whispered endearments, “Liebchen.” “My Herzchen.” “Schatzilein.” Then, after a deep sigh, he took her face into his hands. “I realized how helpless I am. I can’t protect you here. Will you come with me to my quiet Austria? When I return, I’ll arrange it.”
Her heart wrenched in her chest. She turned her face away from him. If only he knew who she was. His enemy. She used him to comply with her obligations, she put his life at risk while reporting the locations of the storehouses he frequented. Who am I? A killer? A cold-blooded creature whose main objective is to kill his people? Her own people as well? She felt caught between two traps.
His delicate, tender kiss on her lips moved her to tears, bringing her back into his cushioning embrace. “Ursulchen.” Gently, he eased her down onto the bed and unbuttoned her blouse. “You are so beautiful,” he exhaled. The touch of his tongue on her breasts was light and painfully teasing. He went on kissing her, whispering his love for each part of her body.
He was the man who brought her untried senses to life.
On February 27, to see Ewald off to the train, Ulya went to Hammerer to ask for permission to get off work one hour early.
“Fräulein Kriegshammer.” He looked her up and down. “Not only do you seem upset, you want to get a leave. As your superior, I demand an explanation.”
“A friend of mine is departing for Germany today.”
“And who it might be?”
“Major Demel.”
“Ah, I have to blame myself since I introduced you to each other. So, you became—”
“Friends, Hauptsturmführer Hammerer. We got friendly.”
Her superior was not easy to read, and she couldn’t tell if he was buying her statement. Most likely, he knew the truth.
“Ah, lucky people who get a leave. And especially now. My best wishes to Herr Demel on his way to the Fatherland.”
At the railway station, she watched canvas-topped ambulance trucks with red crosses and scores of stretchers set down on the ground, the brisk air carrying waves of disinfectants or medical alcohol, and groans and shouts of pain. The walking wounded, some had their arms in slings, others their heads bandaged, moved slowly along with the men on crutches, who stalled the process.
It took her several minutes to reach the platform. Not immediately, she sighted Ewald standing to the side, peering into the gathering crowd.
He hurried to her, his progress hindered by the salutes he exchanged with other officers and soldiers. Instinctively, they made an abrupt move to each other then yanked away and, for a long silent moment, caressed each other with their eyes.
She found her voice. “I will wait for you to return.”
He leaned to her, his lips close
