The Taster - Softcover

Alexander, V.S.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1496712277 ISBN 13: 9781496712271

Verlag: Kensington, 2018

Inhaltsangabe

Amid the turbulence of World War II, a young German woman finds a precarious haven closer to the source of danger than she ever imagined—one that will propel her through the extremes of privilege and terror under Hitler’s dictatorship . . .
 
In early 1943, Magda Ritter’s parents send her to relatives in Bavaria, hoping to keep her safe from the Allied bombs strafing Berlin. Young German women are expected to do their duty—working for the Reich or marrying to produce strong, healthy children. After an interview with the civil service, Magda is assigned to the Berghof, Hitler’s mountain retreat. Only after weeks of training does she learn her assignment: she will be one of several young women tasting the Führer’s food, offering herself in sacrifice to keep him from being poisoned.
 
Perched high in the Bavarian Alps, the Berghof seems worlds away from the realities of battle. Though terrified at first, Magda gradually becomes used to her dangerous occupation—though she knows better than to voice her misgivings about the war. But her love for a conspirator within the SS, and her growing awareness of the Reich’s atrocities, draw Magda into a plot that will test her wits and loyalty in a quest for safety, freedom, and ultimately, vengeance. 

Vividly written and ambitious in scope, The Taster examines the harrowing moral dilemmas of war in an emotional story filled with acts of extraordinary courage.
 
Praise for V.S. Alexander’s The Magdalen Girls
 
“Fans of Barbara Davis and Ashley Hay will enjoy this tenderhearted story of sinner, saints, and redemption.”
--Booklist
 
“Alexander has clearly done his homework. Chilling in its realism, his work depicts the improprieties long abandoned by the Catholic Church and only recently acknowledged. Fans of the book and film Philomena will want to read this.” --Library Journal

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

V.S. Alexander is an ardent student of history with a strong interest in music and the visual arts. Some of V.S.’s writing influences include Shirley Jackson, Oscar Wilde, Daphne du Maurier, or any work by the exquisite Brontë sisters. V.S. lives in Florida and is at work on a third historical novel for Kensington.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

The Taster

By V.S. Alexander

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

Copyright © 2018 Michael Meeske
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4967-1227-1

Contents

Praise, 
Books by V. S. Alexander, 
Title Page, 
Copyright Page, 
Dedication, 
PROLOGUE, 
THE TEAHOUSE - THE BERGHOF, 
THE WOLF'S LAIR - RASTENBURG, 
THE FÜHRER BUNKER - BERLIN, 
BERCHTESGADEN - SUMMER 1945, 
EPILOGUE, 
AUTHOR'S NOTE, 
A READING GROUP GUIDE, 
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS, 

CHAPTER 1

A strange fear crept over Berlin in early 1943.

The year before, I had looked up at the sky when air-raid sirens sounded. I saw nothing except high clouds, streaming like white horses' tails above me. The Allied bombs did little damage and we Germans thought we were safe. By the end of January 1943, my father suspected the prelude to a fiery rain of destruction had begun.

"Magda, you should leave Berlin," he said at the onset of the bombing. "It's too dangerous here. You can go to Uncle Willy's in Berchtesgaden. You'll be safe there." My mother agreed.

I wanted no part of their plan because I'd only once, as a child, met my aunt and uncle. Southern Germany seemed a thousand miles away. I loved Berlin and wanted to remain in the small apartment building where we lived in Horst-Wessel-Stadt. Our lives, and everything I'd ever known, were contained on one floor. I wanted to be normal; after all, the war was going well. That's what the Reich told us.

Everyone in the Stadt believed the neighborhood would be bombed. Many industries lay nearby, including the brake factory where my father worked. One Allied bombing occurred on January 30 at eleven in the morning when Hermann Göring, the Reichsmarschall, gave a speech on the radio. The second occurred later in the day when the Propaganda Minister, Joseph Goebbels, spoke. The Allies had planned their attacks well. Both speeches were interrupted by the raids.

My father was at work for the first, but at home for the second. We had already decided we would gather in the basement during an air raid, along with Frau Horst, who lived on the top floor of our building. We were unaware in those early days what destruction the Allied bombers could wreak, the terrible devastation that could fall from the skies in whistling black clouds of bombs. Hitler said the German people would be protected from such terrors and we believed him. Even the boys I knew who fought in the Wehrmacht held that thought in their hearts. A feeling of destiny propelled us forward.

"We should go to the basement now," I told my mother when the second attack began. I shouted the same words upstairs to Frau Horst, but added, "Hurry! Hurry!"

The old woman popped her head out of her apartment. "You must help me. I can't hurry. I'm not as young as I used to be." I rushed up the stairs to find her holding a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of cognac. I took them from her and we found our way down before the bombs hit. We were used to blackouts. No Allied bombardier could see light coming from our windowless basement. The first blast seemed far away and I was unconcerned.

Frau Horst lit a cigarette and offered my father cognac. Apparently, cigarettes and liquor were the two possessions she would drag to her grave. Bits of dust dropped around us. The old lady pointed to the wooden beams above us and said, "Damn them." My father nodded halfheartedly. The ancient coal furnace sputtered in the corner, but it couldn't dispel the icy drafts that poked their way through the room. Our frosty breaths shone under the glare of the bare bulb.

A closer blast rattled our ears and the electricity blinked out. A brilliant orange light flashed overhead, so close we could see its fiery trail through the cracks surrounding the basement door. A dusty cloud swirled down the stairs. Glass shattered somewhere in the house. My father grabbed my mother and me by the shoulders, pulled us forward and covered our heads with his arched chest.

"That was too close," I said, shaking against my father. Frau Horst sobbed in the corner.

The bombing ended almost as quickly as it had begun and we climbed the darkened stairs back to our apartment. Frau Horst said good evening and left us. My mother opened our door and searched for a candle in the kitchen. Through the window, we saw black smoke mushrooming from a building several blocks away. My mother found a match and struck it.

She gasped. The china cabinet had popped open, sending several pieces of fine porcelain, given to her by her grandmother, to the floor. She bent down and scraped the shards into a pile, trying to fit them together like a puzzle.

A cut-glass vase of importance to my mother had smashed to bits as well. My mother grew geraniums and purple irises in the small garden behind our building. She cut the irises when they bloomed and placed them in the vase on the dining room table. Their heady fragrance filled our rooms. My father said the flowers made him happy because he had proposed to my mother during the time of year when irises bloomed.

"Our lives have become fragile," my father said, looking sadly at the damage. After a few minutes, my mother gave up her hope of reconstructing the porcelain and the vase and threw them into the trash.

My mother pinned her black hair into a bun and walked into the kitchen to get a broom. "We must make sacrifices," she called out.

"Nonsense," my father said. "We are lucky to have a daughter and not a son; otherwise, I fear we would be planning a funeral not far down the road."

My mother appeared at the kitchen door with the broom. "You mustn't say such things. It gives the wrong impression."

My father shook his head. "To whom?"

"Frau Horst. Our neighbors. Your fellow workers. Who knows? We must be careful of what we say. Such statements, even rumors, could come down upon our heads."

The electricity flickered on and my father sighed. "That's the problem. We watch everything we say — and now we have to deal with bombs. Magda must leave. She must go to Uncle Willy's in Berchtesgaden. Maybe she can even find work."

I had flitted from job to job in my twenty-five years, finding some work in a clothing factory, filing for a banker, replenishing wares as a store clerk, but I felt lost in the world of employment. Nothing I did felt right or good enough. The Reich wanted German girls to be mothers; however, the Reich wanted them to be workers as well. I supposed that was what I wanted, too. If you had a job, you had to have permission to leave it. Because I had no job, it would be hard to ignore my father's wishes. As far as marriage was concerned, I'd had a few boyfriends since I turned nineteen — none of them serious. The war had taken so many young men away. Those who remained failed to capture my heart. I was a virgin but had no regrets.

* * *

In the first years of the war, Berlin had been spared. When the attacks began, the city strode like a dreamer, alive but unconscious of its motions. People walked about without feeling. Babies were born and relatives looked into their eyes and told them how beautiful they were. Touching a silky lock of hair or pinching a cheek did not guarantee a future. Young men were shipped off to the fronts — to the East and to the West. Talk on the streets centered on Germany's slow slide into hell, always ending with "it will get better." Conversations about food and cigarettes were common, but paled in comparison to the trumpeted broadcasts of the latest victories earned through the ceaseless struggles of the...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Kensington
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2018
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1496712277
• ISBN 13: 9781496712271
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 336
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: eucomply; hello@eucompliancepartner.com; ; Pärnu mnt 139b-14; Tallinn; 11317; Estland