Excerpt from Cradles of the Reich by Jennifer Coburn, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Herr Ziegler," said Hilde, sitting upright in her seat. "There's no one more committed to building the Reich than my father. If he says he's up for the job, you can count on him."

The obergruppenführer gave a smile that looked both impressed with Hilde and embarrassed for Franz. It was a weak man whose daughter had to do his bidding for him.

When Franz lowered his eyes, Hilde couldn't tell if the gesture was anger or shame. As mental snapshots of Franz's cold indifference to her over the years began flashing in Hilde's mind's eye, she realized she didn't care what he thought. "Obergruppenführer," Hilde said, holding out her hand for his plate. "Would you care for another serving of hasenpfeffer?"

3
Irma

Frankfurt

Living in a women's boardinghouse, Irma Binz had grown accustomed to the sound of urgent knocking on her bedroom door. Whether it was a broken heart or a pan fire in the kitchen, the young women at Frau Haarmacher's house always ran to Irma for assistance. She resented the assumption that her age automatically gave her expertise in every area of life. What did she know? Find a new love. Grab a garden hose.

"Irma, I know you're in there!" Ava demanded while continuing to pound on the door. "It's an emergency! Please open! Charlotte hurt herself!"

Irma turned away, pointedly ignoring Ava's pleas. She held up a single shoe from two different pairs, deliberating between her tan shoes with grosgrain bows at the buckle and her black patent leather T-­straps, eventually deciding that the lighter ones would look best with her new dress. She slipped her feet into the high heels while the knocking continued, more furious now.

It had been so peaceful when Irma first moved into Frau Haarmacher's house three years ago, after her mother had passed away. All four of the other residents had been old maids, awkwardly shy and mercifully quiet. To Irma's dismay, each of them had moved over the years, three to live with family in other parts of Germany and one to take a job as a governess in England. Those women had never tried to include Irma in their lives. But these peach-­faced secretaries and new schoolteachers were constantly clustered together for Sunday afternoon picture shows or winter ice-skating at the pond. Irma wanted none of it.

She huffed, fishing her sole pair of earrings from a white porcelain bowl that, like everything else in the room, had been there when she moved in. As she fastened the black pearls onto her lobes, Irma scanned the room. The carved mahogany headboard and matching vanity had been in Frau Haarmacher's family for generations and were emblazoned with her family crest: an H with two crossed swords. The eggshell walls were as bare as they had been on Irma's first day at the boardinghouse. Back then, she had assured herself she would leave the day she found a husband, so there was no sense settling in. Irma understood that the moment she hung a picture, she would have officially given up on starting a new life. She'd been smart, she thought, checking her reflection in the mirror. I will only have to carry one small suitcase to Eduard's home after we marry.

"Irma! Charlotte cut herself. Bad."

Irma sighed, then made her way toward the door and reached for the cold brass knob. She could not wait to leave this house of perpetual crisis. Patting her sweater pocket for the third time, Irma made sure her friend Marianne's letter was still there. It was more than just a note between old wartime pals: it was ammunition for the discussion she planned to have with Eduard this evening.

Breathless, Ava stood at the threshold of Irma's bedroom, looking like a bisque doll with her long brown waves and porcelain skin. "Thank goodness," she said, leaning against the doorframe. Charlotte's screams from downstairs filled the house like an air-raid siren. Ava opened her mouth, horrified by the sound. "Charlotte cut herself with the meat cleaver, and she's bleeding buckets. She needs stitches."

Excerpted from Cradles of the Reich by Jennifer Coburn. Copyright © 2022 by Jennifer Coburn. Excerpted by permission of Sourcebooks. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.