Read Online In Satan's Shadow by John Anthony Miller - Free Book Online

train accident. It was three days before he arrived at the hospital, and it had taken two days for authorities to reach him. She had been worried the whole time if he was with another woman. Although she had promised him all was forgotten, she doubted she could ever trust him again.
    That’s why the baby had been so important. It was a fresh start, a new beginning. Now she doubted she would ever get pregnant again. But if she did, she would give up everything: the violin, the crowds, the admirers, the lifestyle, she would even give up her camera, her most prized possession in the world. There was just one problem. She couldn’t bring herself to be intimate with Manfred. And she didn’t know why.
    She walked into her apartment, setting her bags down by the door. She had purchased two dresses, a conservative charcoal one with white buttons, the other emerald green. White gloves, a smart gray hat accented by a lighter gray band, and a pair of black high heels completed her new ensemble. Clothing was becoming scarce with the war; she bought it as soon as she saw something she liked. Authorities did well supplying other basic necessities. Most foods were easily obtainable, although amounts were dictated by ration cards, but coffee was not. Anything was available via a thriving black market. And it was amazing how many people used it.
    Kurt was in his bedroom when she walked past. He was bent over his desk, immersed in whatever lay before him, not even aware she was there.
    Amada watched him, a smile curling her lips. She loved Kurt. She may not have her own children, but she was blessed to have him in her life. Six years old when she married Manfred, he had always been quiet and sensitive, somewhat of a loner, although he did have a few friends. He idolized his father, who was often too busy to spend time with him, and was often too critical when he did.
    She knocked lightly on the door frame. “What has you so intensely occupied?”
    Kurt turned and smiled. “I almost have it. Come see.”
    Amanda walked into the room and looked over his shoulder. On top of the desk was a decorative bottle with the logo of an old pharmaceutical company. It was lying on its side, the interior filled with a miniature ship, a replica of a seventeenth century Spanish galleon. The sails had just been raised to a vertical position via a string held in Kurt’s hand.
    “Kurt, that looks fantastic,” she said, surprised by the results. “I know how long you’ve been working on it. Congratulations. Now you’ve mastered it.”
    “It did take a long time,” he said, beaming, pleased that she recognized how difficult it was. “But I think the next one will be much easier.”
    She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and kissed the top of his head. “Good for you. I’m proud of you. You never gave up.”
    “Thank you,” he said, smiling. “I can’t wait to show father.”
    *
    Manfred Richter did not come home for dinner, his aide calling to say he had prior obligations. He was rarely home evenings; his Nazi party responsibilities demanded commitments beyond the normal work day: meetings, conferences, entertaining clients at theaters or cabarets. And Manfred Richter thrived in social environments.
    They lived in a luxurious house with live-in domestic help, a young woman named Hannah. Olive-complexioned with black hair, she was married to a German soldier stationed in Norway.
    As Hannah served dinner, Amanda asked Kurt about school, his friends, and lent a sympathetic ear to the trials he experienced as a teenager in Berlin. They were close. Amanda listened to what he had to say; she paid attention to him. He appreciated it.
    After dinner he left to see his friends, as he normally did. They were all classmates, most of whom lived within a few blocks. Amanda liked them; they were polite and well-behaved.
    Amanda had a last cup of coffee as Hannah cleaned up from dinner. She talked about her husband, the last letter she had