BooksBarbecue
Back The German Wife
Chapters (61)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Praise
  4. Dedication
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. A NOTE FROM KELLY
  58. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  59. The German Wife - Reader's Guide
  60. Discussion Questions
  61. Booklist

“Sofie, it’s okay. Truly,” he whispered, his breath hot on my ear. “My love, even Otto underestimates this technology sometimes. We’ve made decades’ worth of progress in just a few short years. It’s okay that you’re not up-to-date with every detail. There is so much secrecy, Sofie. I wouldn’t always tell you even if you asked.”

“I feel like we’re living completely different lives.”

“It can’t be helped.”

“What went wrong today?”

“Technical problems too complex to explain to you when we are both this tired.”

“Can you fix the problems?”

“Yes. It is only a matter of time.”

A sudden vision of that immense crater on the island flashed before my eyes.

“Should you fix them?”

“We’ve spent a fortune on the program but still don’t have a model that can be mass-produced. This series of launches was supposed to show the top brass that we’d turned that around. The pressure is growing.”

“Why would they even want to mass-produce bombs right now?”

“My love, you are smart enough to know the answer to that.”

I found myself suffocating, so I pulled the blankets off our faces and drew in some deep breaths. Jürgen did the same. When my lungs no longer felt as though they were bursting, we returned to the blankets and I whispered, “They want to go to war?”

“A man like Hitler always wants war. He wants power and land, and no one is going to give those things to him. At some point, he’ll try to take them.”

29

Sofie

Huntsville, Alabama
1950

Three weeks had passed since we arrived in America. They were weeks of pure, unexpected bliss, of snuggling on the couch with Jürgen every night, of sleeping in his arms, and of watching him work like crazy to connect with Felix and to support Gisela as she settled in.

Weeks familiarizing myself with a town that seemed wary at best, hostile at worst—of trying to encourage my daughter to be brave, of giving her permission to take her novels to school so she could at least read at recess because none of the German children would speak to her, and none of the American children could.

Weeks of waking up some mornings to find graffiti on our street, sometimes just a day after we painted over the last lot. That black patch of paint on the road was growing so thick, soon we’d feel the bump as we drove over it.