January 1942
Nazi Germany
Hans sat in his cell, watching the second hand tick by on the clock. Tick, tick, tick. He fidgeted with his hands, trying to calm down before it all ended. He looked down at his hands, remembering how he got here.
There are people worth dying for.
The thought came to him unbidden. His death, he could make sense of. But why her, too? Of all of the people, his sweet, wise wife was the one person who deserved this punishment the least. And now,The thought came to him unbidden. His death, he could make sense of. But why her, too? Of all people, his sweet, wise wife was the one person who deserved this punishment the least. And now, she would never have anyone to whom she could pass on her seemingly infinite sweetness and wisdom. His sweet, dear wife, who had never given up on him--he shook his head; that was gone now. Their relationship, the intimacy, the innocence--as was the hope of ever having a family. He shut his eyes, blocking out the memory of the screams. “Enemies of the Reich and the Fuhrer shall not have any offspring--whether Aryan or untermitschen.” It was all gone now.
She had stood by him when no one else would. It was that unwavering devotion that had thrust her here, stuck in this awful situation into which he had gotten them.
It had all started one sunny spring day in late April 1941. He had gone home to find an angry--well, more frightened for his sake than angry--lioness. His dear Liesel, four months along on this exciting journey to establish a family, showed him a side of her he had not seen before. And she also showed him a new side of her shoes--and whatever other launchable things that could be converted into weapons--that she could find, too. But when he looked in her eyes, it was fear that prevailed.
“My love,” she had whispered, “What have you gotten us into?” He had looked at the ground and cleared his throat, ashamed. He hadn’t considered the ramifications of his decision--at least, not in depth. And now, with a family...
Her glare had softened at his remorse as she reached up, her hand gently tracing his cheek as she wiped away a tear from his eye.
"How did you know?” he had whispered brokenly.
In reply, she pulled out a pamphlet. Oh, no, he had groaned inwardly. Not this. He thought he had hidden it well, but apparently not.
“What were you thinking?”
“Liesel, darling, Hitler is a tyrant. If we don’t rise up, who will? What hope is there for Germany if its own people, these so-called superior ‘Aryans’, cower in the dirt? Should we just allow the Allies, who are involved in this fight for reasons other than patriotism--to come to the aid of other countries--to do our work? If even we aren’t invested, then why should we expect them to be?”
She had nodded understandingly, judgement nonexistent in her soft features. And they had been off--together, united, with no secrets kept between them.
The months passed, and Liesel assisted their little resistance group, which did nothing braver than the writing and distribution of pamphlets that called the country, called all the sensible minds left, to rise up and overthrow the dark tyrant.
But then one day, all of that changed.