The Baker's Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page B

than six or seven years old, up the platform steps. He wore a simple white linen shirt with matching gloves, black trousers,and a bow tie. He might’ve looked like any boy dressed for Christmas Eve if his hair hadn’t been cropped to his scalp, the color of his skin so sallow that he seemed featureless, a walking apparition. The woman instructed him to step onto the stool, and he did so with lowered head. Then, he looked up with eyes as big and brilliant as springwater.
    The leader played a long, high note on the violin. The boy, with fists at his side, took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and sang. His countertenor voice rang out through the corridors. Everyone quieted their conversations and turned. Pure and smooth as new butter, it took Elsie’s breath away. She’d heard the Christmas hymn her whole life, sang it herself, but never before had “Silent Night” sounded like this.
    â€œAll is calm, all is bright …”
    The violin fell away, but his voice remained.
    â€œOnly the Chancellor steadfast in fight, watches o’er Germany by day and by night …”
    Before he’d finished, the dinner service began. Waiters clinked china plates on varnished trays and poured jewel-toned wine into waiting goblets. Conversations resumed. A woman laughed too loud.
    â€œAlways caring for us … always caring for us …”
    Elsie closed her eyes.
    â€œWine?” asked the waiter from behind.
    â€œSilent night, holy night …” The boy’s voice never faltered or strayed from its perfect pitch.
    A lump rose in Elsie’s throat, brimming emotions she’d tried to suppress earlier.
    â€œHe has an excellent voice,” said Josef.
    Elsie nodded and blinked dewy eyes. “Where is he from?”
    â€œHe sang to the arriving detainees at the Dachau camp,” explained Josef. “Sturmscharführer Wicker heard him and had him sing at a handful of his dinner parties. Everyone seemed to enjoy it. He has a unique voice, mesmerizing if you aren’t careful to remember from where it comes.”
    â€œJa, unique.” Elsie collected herself.
    â€œBrings us greatness, favor, and health. Oh give the Germans all power.” The boy finished.
    The violinist came to the microphone. “I quote our führer: ‘All nature is a gigantic struggle between strength and weakness, an eternal victory of the strong over the weak.’ ” He clicked his heels together and raised his bow in party fashion. “Guten appetit.”
    The bubbling crowd broke into a cacophony of clanking silverware and chatter. The violinist began a new song to which the boy sang, but Elsie could barely make it out above the dinner crowd.
    â€œIs he a Jew?” she asked Josef.
    â€œHis mother was a Jewess singer. His father, a Polish composer. Music is in his blood.” Josef pulled a brötchen roll apart and spread butter on either half.
    â€œMy nephew, Julius, sings. Hazel says he’s rather good.”
    â€œWe should have him sing for us some time.” He laid one half on Elsie’s plate. “Tonight is this boy’s last performance. He’s going back to the camp tomorrow. With everything going on in the Ardennes …” He crunched his bread and swallowed hard. “I apologize. That is no subject for Weihnachten.”
    She’d first heard about the camps years before when the Grüns, a merchant family that sold the best soaps and shampoos in the area, vanished in the middle of the night. Elsie had visited their store at least once a month. Their son, Isaac, was two years her senior and the handsomest boy in town. He winked at her once when she bought honey milk soap. Secretly, she’d imagined him while lying in her warm bathtub, the steam rising like a fragrant veil around her. The memory shamed her now. Though Jewish, they were well liked in the community. Then one day, their store was boarded up and