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

"Program?" Gundi asked, projecting her voice in hopes that Dr. Vogel would turn his attention back to her. She boiled with rage, betrayed by the doctor she had trusted since she was five years old. Help me, you pathetic Feigling!

When Dr. Vogel finally turned around, Gundi thought he resembled a frightened animal, his eyes wide, his body tucked into a corner of the room, trying, it seemed, to disappear. He mumbled, "There is no need to be shy, Gundi. Dr. Ebner needs to make sure your baby is healthy." Gundi tried to catch his eye before Dr. Vogel turned his back to her again and recommenced moving instruments from one side of the shelf to the other.

Dr. Ebner pressed the front of himself against Gundi's naked backside, reaching his hands around to grasp her breasts. Her body tightened with revulsion as a volcano of acid began to rise from her stomach. Dr. Ebner squeezed her, speaking softly into Gundi's ear. "These will be good for the baby," he whispered as his erection pressed against her. Then, in a normal volume, he added, "Gundi, everything looks beautiful. You're a strong and healthy expectant mother." He patted the exam table. "Now, let's see how your baby is growing."

2
Hilde

Munich

Before she even reached the front door of her house, Hilde Kramer smelled the rich aroma of frying bacon and simmering red wine, and she knew it meant that Mama was making her signature hasenpfeffer. Hilde quietly opened the door and walked toward the kitchen threshold, knowing she would gain far more information by observing her mother than she ever could by asking questions. Johanna only served braised hare stew a few times a year, and it was never just to fulfill a craving. She was trying to impress someone, thought Hilde, likely the family of a marriageable young man.

When Hilde had left for Gymnasium that morning, her mother told her to make sure she was home in time to prepare herself for a very important supper guest. She was certain her mother had invited yet another friend who not so coincidentally had a son around Hilde's age. With graduation in just months, Hilde could see Johanna growing more anxious about her daughter's future.

Over the Christmas holiday, a steady flow of "old friends" stopped by the house with sons whose eyes widened at the sight of Hilde's broad shoulders and shot-­putter's build. In the new year, Johanna had set her sights lower and dragged in a cast of misfits, one more ludicrous than the next. Hilde's least favorite was a boy who was shaped like an egg. "He had no neck!" Hilde protested. Johanna reminded Hilde that the young man was studying to be an engineer and that she should stop being so picky. February's offering was a university student who was nothing but neck—­a long, slender one with brown moles splattered about. Hilde couldn't help wondering if this was her mother's idea of humor. What, I thought you wanted someone with a neck! Hilde didn't see what the big hurry was; she had just turned eighteen.

She remembered a time when the smell of hasenpfeffer had been a warm invitation to the comfort of her mother's kitchen. Now, it simply reeked of desperation.

Where did Mama even find a hare, much less one plump enough to cook, this time of year? I guess it pays to be an officer's wife.

Hilde watched Johanna shifting fluidly from the cupboards to the stove, reaching up to grab spices, then turning to slice shallots on the wooden block. The whole kitchen seemed to join her mother in the dance. A chandelier of cast-­iron pots hung overhead as the largest of the set boiled on the stove, its lid quivering in response to the bubbling beneath.

In the dining room, the good dishes from the display cabinet now adorned the crocheted tablecloth. She hadn't seen their swirls of pink roses called into action for years now, not even for potential suitors. This one must be very special, Hilde thought. Freshly polished silver candlesticks held tall brown candles.

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.