Free Saving Amelie by Cathy Gohlke Page A

line and continuing your bloodline, you contribute to strengthening the human race—the ultimate purpose of all our work.”
    “I’m not a project, Father. Besides, I don’t have this ‘suitable someone’ tucked in my back pocket—I’m not interested in marriage now! Please stop changing the subject.”
    Weariness replaced his affected charm. “Choosing someone you know is preferable to having the choice made for you.” He stared at her until she, confused, looked away. “I’m tired, Rachel. I must say good night. But you must think about all I’ve said.” At the door to his room he paused, not looking back. “We will meet Gerhardt and his wife for dinner tomorrow evening. You will see her condition for yourself.”
    “Kristine—her name is Kristine,” Rachel insisted. The girl I grew up with—the girl who spent nearly every weekend at our house!
    He did not answer but closed the door, the latch clicking into place.
    Rachel wrapped her hands round her head. What is the matter with him? What was he talking about? And what about those children? What about Amelie?
    An hour later, in the middle of a radio broadcast concert, the program was interrupted by another speech from the Führer, once again thundering about Poland and the importance of needed living space for the German Volk.
    Rachel shook her head and snapped the dial, silencing the urgency. He sounds as theatrical as The War of the Worlds ! No wonder everyone back home was terrified by that radio broadcast. Invading Martians were like Hitler turned loose. If only Herr Hitler were a figment of the imagination too.

8
    H ELPLESSLY , C URATE B AUER trailed Frau Fenstermacher round the schoolroom. She wouldn’t sit, wouldn’t stand still, and couldn’t seem to pack her bags fast enough.
    “Demons! They’re demons, Curate, I tell you, and I’m finished— kaputt !” She slammed sheet music into folders. “You must find someone else!”
    “Now, now, Frau Fenstermacher, they’re children—a little high-strung, perhaps, with so many of their fathers being called into service, but good children in need of stability.” He pulled her bag gently from her arm.
    “In need of stability? That’s the understatement of our decade!” she snapped. “Our own village children are handfuls quite enough. At least I can threaten that if they don’t behave, they’ll never be allowed to perform in the Passion! But these refugee children—there’s no such hope for them, and I’ve no leverage!”
    “Perhaps in these unusual times we should make an exception. They’re truly good children.”
    She jerked the bag away. “Ha! You’ll never get Father Oberlanger, nor the mayor, nor the town itself to allow a child not born in the village to perform in the Passion Play—that’s sacrilege. It’s a right of birth and a privilege to perform, not something passed round the table!” She sighed heavily, purposefully. “Not to speak contrary, Curate, but I don’t see good children when I look at those runny-nosed hooligans! Your rose-colored spectacles need polishing, and my nerves need a good shot of schnapps!”
    “I’ll buy you a bottle myself, if you will only stay through Advent, Frau Fenstermacher,” he pleaded. “I’ll buy you the best and biggest bottle in Oberammergau—in all of Bavaria!”
    She stopped suddenly and stared at him, pity in her eyes. Her shoulders slumped and she laid a hand on his arm. “That’s good of you, Curate, what with your vow of poverty and all. But you can’t afford the schnapps that would make me stay another week with these wild things, let alone through Advent. And you may as well face facts. If the Führer doesn’t settle this thing and pull our troops back, well . . .”
    “What will we do?” The young priest plopped on the desktop behind him. “The choir director has been sent for training. A third of the Passion cast is on military duty and more on alert. They’ll be called any day now. The schoolmaster is