Read Online All God's Children by Anna Schmidt - Free Book Online Page B

front of Anja and the children as the soldiers entered the park and moved toward them. “I know this one,” she heard one say to his partner. “Professor—”
    “Werner?” she ventured as she squinted up at one of the soldiers. “Is that you?”
    Werner Ostmeir was the son of her uncle’s downstairs neighbor. He’d just turned eighteen when Beth had first come to Munich. Beth had seen him march off to war side by side with his dearest friend—a boy her age who had been killed in battle. She had mourned that young man’s passing and then rejoiced with Werner’s family at his safe return. Just before the United States entered the war, she and the rest of the family had attended Werner’s wedding.
    “Fräulein,” Werner replied shyly. Then he straightened to his full height, some two inches shorter than Beth, and glanced at the woman and children. “Who is this?”
    God continued to shower blessings on the situation as the light snowfall escalated into a near blizzard. Beth seized the opportunity to pick up the boy, and as the soldiers bent their heads against the driving snow, she started past them. “A cousin visiting from Denmark. I dropped our house key when we brought the children here to play earlier.” She continued to edge toward the gate, herding Anja along with her. “Perhaps your parents mentioned that my uncle and aunt are away and—Oh my, these children are going to catch their death. It was good to see you, Werner,” she called over her shoulder. She hoisted the boy higher on her hip and wrapped her free arm around Anja’s shoulders as she hurried away.
    As they passed through the gate, she risked a look back and was relieved to see that the two men had taken refuge under an arbor. Apparently staying dry took precedence over questioning her and Anja. She gave a quick wave and hurried down the street and tried not to think about how she might explain this “cousin from Denmark” should Werner share that news with his parents.

    CHAPTER 5    
    J osef walked with the long, determined strides of a man on a mission. Fortunately the accumulated snow meant that the streets were fairly deserted and that his purposeful step raised no suspicions. He hurried on, anxious to bring Beth his news.
    With the exception of one or two times when the two of them had been alone in the kitchen or sitting room, she had mostly avoided him. One evening he had returned to the apartment from a shift at the hospital to find the professor’s study filled with people—people who the professor introduced to him as colleagues and former students. Josef had not been fooled. Students and faculty members they might be, but more to the point, these were people who were at the very least outcasts under the new regime and at the very most people with whom so-called
good
Germans no longer associated.
    Still he had accepted Franz’s invitation to join in listening to the poetry reading in progress and to stay for the discussion that followed. Beth acted as hostess in the absence of her aunt, who Josef later learned stayed in their bedroom whenever her husband insisted on hosting such a gathering.
    Once the reading ended, the discussion deteriorated into stilted small talk. Josef was well aware that it was his presence in the room that had caused everyone to censor themselves. Beth was perched on the arm of her uncle’s chair, sipping her tea.
    “I have a concern,” she said, as if the discussion of the poet’s work had continued at the lively pace that Josef suspected was normal for the gathering. During the weeks he’d spent living in the house, Josef had learned that this was the Quaker way of introducing a troubling topic.
    The professor cleared his throat, perhaps intending to warn her, but she continued speaking. The other guests gave her their full attention, expecting no doubt some commentary on the work of the poet.
    “Is not the poet saying that all are created equal?”
    Around the room guests offered