But where was God as the children of Charité were being murdered? Elise wondered. She said Hail Mary after Hail Mary, and still received no answers. And felt nothing but horror and despair. She must have dropped off to sleep, but woke with a start when the bus pulled back into the parking lot of Charité, in the midmorning.
And then the thought hit her. What if God were asking the exact same thing? What if God is asking where are we?
Back at Charité, Elise changed into her black funeral dress. She was walking out the doors of the hospital when she noticed Dr. Brandt striding from the main entrance. He was still in his white coat and SS armband.
Breaking into a run, she caught up with him on the sidewalk, her heels banging on the concrete. “Dr. Brandt,” she said breathlessly, “I need to speak with you.” The scent of car exhaust lingered in the sticky air.
Brandt looked annoyed, as though he’d heard a mosquito buzz. “I’m busy, Nurse …”
“Hess,” she reminded him, “Nurse Hess.”
“Yes, Nurse Hess.” He looked at her, now recognizing her face. He smiled. “I’m going out to get a cup of decent coffee. That fake coffee they serve in the cafeteria isn’t fit for man or beast.”
“Dr. Brandt,” Elise said, falling into step with him, “who is Nurse Aloïsa Herrmann?”
He stopped short and stared. “How do you know about Aloïsa Herrmann?”
Elise looked him full in the face. “It’s she who sends letters to the parents of children being shipped off to Hadamar. Whoever ‘she’ is.”
“And what do you know about Hadamar?” Dr. Brandt loomed over her.
“I know—” Elise took a shuddery breath. God, give me strength. “I know it’s where you’re sending children to be murdered.”
Without warning, Dr. Brandt’s hand shot out and slapped her across the face. The blow caught her off balance, sending pain rocketing through her cheekbone and skull. She staggered backward and put a hand up to her reddening skin.
“That is not for you to know! It does not concern you!”
“It does concern me! These are my patients! They’re being murdered and their parents are being lied to!”
“Who have you told? Who knows?” Dr. Brandt gripped her arm.
“Stop!” Elise cried. “No one!”
“Don’t interfere with what you don’t understand. If we don’t rid ourselves of these … lice, they will multiply and compromise the entire body. This isn’t about morality—it’s about delousing. Genetic hygiene. The mercy killing of the sick, weak, and deformed is far more decent, and in truth a thousand times more humane, than to support a race of degenerates.”
Four SS officers approached. Two pulled out guns while the other two forced Elise up against a wall. The rough mortar between the bricks scraped her back. She heard the clicks of two safeties being released.
“Everything all right here, Herr Doktor?” one of the officers asked.
There was a beat, a curious moment in time, when all of them knew that life or death was hanging in the balance. It stretched on forever and yet passed in an instant.
“Yes, let her go,” Dr. Brandt answered. “She is young—just a misunderstanding. Yes, Nurse Hess? I know who your mother is, and I would be most unhappy to tell her of your unprofessional behavior today.”
“Jawohl,” she managed, her voice cracking.
The two officers released her and turned toward Brandt. “Heil Hitler!” they said, raising their arms in sharp salute.
“Heil Hitler!” Dr. Brandt replied, arm raised.
She slid down onto the pavement as her legs crumpled beneath her.
The officers continued along the sidewalk, and Dr. Brandt resumed his mission to find decent coffee without looking back.
I’m lifting my eyes to the hills now, Lord, Elise thought. And I’ll do everything in my power to make this stop, but I’d appreciate some help, all right?
When she was finally able to stand and walk, Elise realized she didn’t want to go home. And she couldn’t bear to go back to the hospital. Then a word came to her—sanctuary. She began walking, across the Spree, and then to the church, not far from the Brandenburg Gate. She needed to talk to God.
Elise was no stranger to St. Hedwig’s in Berlin-Mitte. It was where she had been baptized, made her first Communion , and was confirmed, thanks to her grandmother, who’d insisted over Clara’s objections. And it was near the hospital, so she could easily go for morning Mass or evening vespers.
St. Hedwig’s, modeled after the Pantheon in Rome, had an enormous verdigris dome. Inside, the dome rose to a single high window, looking down on the congregation like a great eye. An oversized, bloodred Nazi banner hung from each Corinthian column, and a gold-framed painting of Hitler presided over the altar. On a large wooden crucifix hanging from above, Jesus wept. Here and there, flickering candles from small altars pierced the darkness.