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

Enough with nostalgia. Irma shook herself back to the present. She hadn't been the only one who suffered. Wallowing in self-­pity would do no one any good. Irma cast her eyes forward and began walking confidently toward her future.

As Irma continued her walk, she tried to focus her mind on pleasant thoughts. She loved crossing the Main River, its banks bursting with leafy poplar trees; nearby were hedges trimmed into perfect spheres. The evening light began softening the hues of the skyline, as if a thin layer of pink watercolor had been brushed across the entire city. The yeasty aroma of bread baked earlier that day layered itself with the earthy scent of oncoming rain.

When Irma arrived on Schulstrasse five minutes later, it was with renewed determination. Surely Marianne's letter would give Eduard the push he needed.

* * *

Marianne's note had arrived six days earlier, written on thick paper rimmed in blue cornflowers and folded within a cream linen envelope. It was the third time in a year that her old friend had extended an invitation to work for the Reich at a maternity home in Steinhöring, a village just outside Munich. When she first received the letter, Irma sat in her room, pressing her lips with irritation, wondering if her friend had forgotten that she wasn't able to bear children. In any case, Irma had told Marianne repeatedly that she would never step foot in a hospital of any kind again. She was sure her friend was not cruel, just terribly insensitive.

Irma had no intention of accepting the position but was grateful for the offer, because now she could show Eduard the letter and pretend she was tempted to accept the job. After all his delays in setting a wedding date, perhaps it would be best if she went, she would say with a look of rueful contemplation. Sometimes men just needed a little reminder that they might lose an opportunity if they did not seize it.

Irma practiced her smile and congratulated herself on her clever decision to wear the yellow sweater Eduard had bought for her two weeks earlier. A realization settled in, though. The souvenir of their date was bright and cheerful, yet their time together had not been.

* * *

Irma had been irked by how distracted Eduard seemed, his heavy-­lidded eyes darting about, then lingering far too long on other couples visiting the Städel Museum. It had been his idea to visit the museum, telling Irma he wanted to see the new Arno Breker sculptures. Irma hadn't been to the museum in years and was eager to see the Ludwig Dettmann and Adolf Ziegler paintings that had recently replaced the degenerate art by Jews. Once there, however, all Eduard wanted to do was stand around the lobby and people watch.

She had always found Eduard's habit of rustling his hands in his pants pockets mildly irritating, but on this visit, she felt fury over the way he kept picking up and releasing coins. The jingling seemed to be a soundtrack to his indifference toward her. Eduard's voice had been hollow when he defended himself against Irma's reprimand, explaining that he thought he saw an old schoolmate. "Yes, that is him," Eduard confirmed, quickly excusing himself to greet a portly older gentleman with a wife far too young for him. They had spoken for a moment, then had shaken hands and parted with no introductions made. Irma would have to work on his social graces.

As if Eduard had read Irma's mind, he apologized, then offered his full attention. "I'm sorry. I should have introduced you, but I couldn't remember his wife's name," he said, palms upturned in a gesture that begged forgiveness. After a few hours in the museum, as they stepped outside into the early evening air, Eduard had taken note of Irma rubbing her upper arms and offered his jacket. Still smarting, Irma declined, but she noticed Eduard glancing into store windows until he finally spotted a yellow cardigan with stemmed orange marigolds embroidered on the bottom, as though they were in a garden against the backdrop of pure sunshine. Eduard had insisted on buying it as an apology for the incident at the museum and as a promise that he would always take care of her. He didn't actually say any of that, but Irma knew that was what he had meant.

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.