All God's Children Read Online Free Page A

away each concern that plagued her—her mother’s censored letter, the unexplained presence of the doctor, her nonexistent documents for going home….
    But her efforts to find inner peace were short-lived as she was startled back to reality by Liesl’s howl of distress and Ilse’s strident and impatient attempt to settle the child. Her prayer would have to wait.

    At supper Josef sat on the bench across the kitchen table from the professor’s niece and the child, Liesl. The professor sat at one end of the narrow table and his wife at the opposite end. He tried to concentrate on his food and the conversation—stilted as it was given that the professor’s wife was decidedly uncomfortable in his presence. But again and again, his attention returned to Beth.
    In his presence she appeared nervous, never meeting his eyes directly, maintaining her silence unless spoken to directly. No, not nervous. More cautious. From what he had observed on the battlefield, caution was something to be admired. He far preferred to be in the company of soldiers who considered their options rather than those who rushed headlong into the fray.
    Earlier she had burst into the house as if the crisp autumn wind had driven her there. Her chatter had been filled with the unmistakable vibrancy common to Americans. During his time in Boston, he had never gotten accustomed to the way his American friends had of simply blurting out their thoughts and feelings without any attempt at censoring them first. But once she had seen him—or more to the point seen his uniform—she had assumed the guarded reserve that was commonplace throughout Germany these days.
    “Do you live near Munich, Herr Doktor?” Beth asked, apparently as unsettled by the strained silence as everyone else.
    “My parents live in Harlaching—in the southern part of the city.” He saw the professor’s wife glance at him for the first time. Harlaching was less than two kilometers from the professor’s cramped apartment.
    “That’s quite a lovely area,” Beth continued. “The homes are quite… stately.”
    “They are larger,” Josef admitted.
    “And yet you have decided to—”
    “Josef wishes to take a room with us to be nearer his work at the university,” Franz said, and the look he gave his niece was a warning for her to stop probing. “You must tell us what your mother had to say, Beth.”
    Beth’s answer was surprisingly blunt. “Everyone appears to be fine.” She darted a quick glance in his direction. “Once the censors had their way with it, I’m afraid there was much in the letter left to the imagination.”
    Earlier when Franz had given her the letter, Josef had been taken aback by her unadulterated joy. Clearly as she ran off to savor the contents, she was anticipating news of friends and family. In that moment he had actually envied her, for he well recalled the letters that his father had written to him while he served his first tour of duty as a medic. They were brief missives of instructions and curt reminders of the honor he could bring to the family name. He was quite sure that it had been his mother who had lobbied for his father to use his influence to get Josef back to Munich to complete his studies.
    Now as he observed the professor’s American niece helping Frau Schneider serve the meal, he wondered if perhaps her news from home had been as disappointing as the letters from his father had been. Certainly when her uncle had inquired about her letter, Beth’s answer had been surprisingly curt.
    “Beth, that’s too much mustard,” Liesl said testily.
    “I thought you like lots of mustard,” Beth replied as she scraped off part of the condiment, added a slice of sausage, and handed the half sandwich to the girl. Josef could not help but notice that Beth attended to the child’s constant needs as if she—not her aunt—were the parent.
    “It’s too much,” Liesl fumed. “Papa?” She turned to the professor for support.
    “Liesl, we