Brown Tattered Blue Cloth

1. Auflage 2020
ISBN: 978-1-0983-3443-7
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet/DL/kein Kopierschutz

E-Book, Englisch, 742 Seiten

Sebastian Braun saves the life of an army corporal in WWI, who happens to be future German dictator Adolph Hitler. So begins a long and complex relationship between the two as Germany and the world is roiled by two successive world wars. This historical fiction follows two German families, one of them Jewish, who struggle to survive the rise of Nazism.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Brown, Steven

Leseproben

Munich, Germany-Spring - 2011 PROLOGUE I A tight bunch of red roses tucked beneath one arm the old woman slowly descended the steep staircase. The vertical pitch, along with a heavy handbag slung over one shoulder strained her frail legs as she eased her way down from the second floor. Although still remarkably fit for nearly a century old, she had nevertheless noticed a sharp decline in stamina the past year and the stairwell was increasingly difficult for her to navigate safely. Scorning a perfectly functional elevator a few feet outside her apartment door, she stubbornly refused to use the claustrophobic contraption. She’d told her few friends in the building she would only use it when they came to collect her in a pine box, which she also claimed wouldn’t be long now. Once downstairs, she paused on the edge of a small foyer surprised by how winded she was after only two flights of stairs. Shuffling slowly across a yellowed linoleum floor, she dipped a shoulder to just the right angle and nudged open a swinging glass door just enough to slip outside. Outweighing her by a least a couple hundred pounds, the door would have been an impassable barrier if not for the practiced opening maneuver, her only defense against becoming a shut-in like so many of her neighbors. Curiously, there was a push button door opener within easy reach, but she never used it. If she couldn’t even walk down some stairs and open a damn door by herself, she’d long ago decided that would mean her race was finally run. Suddenly outside, the morning sun was beginning to peek over the steeply pitched roof of Garden Court Manor, now just behind her. Located in downtown Munich, the large senior residence had been home for more than 40 years and would remain so until she met her maker. Standing on a wide sidewalk bathed in deep shadow, it was unseasonably cold for a spring morning, even for mountainous southern Bavaria. Pleasantly, however, the streaming rays of sunshine beaming out into the congested traffic lanes of Steinsdorfstrasse, now just in front of her, promised another beautiful day once it warmed up a bit. Parallel to the sidewalk, Steinsdorfstrasse was a bustling city street tucked inside a tight maze of office buildings, shops, restaurants, and apartments. Clogged with the usual morning rush of commuters and pedestrians hurrying to work, school, or play, the area was a mass of humanity, rushing about to begin the day. The old woman was so accustomed to city life by now that the blaring sirens, beeping horns, and screeching tires no longer even penetrated her consciousness. In fact, after returning to Germany years earlier, she had purposely sought a busy urban setting where she could live a faceless and private life, hidden in plain view. Dressed lightly in a flowered spring skirt, white short-sleeved blouse, and a pair of blue deck shoes, an icy blast of wind greeted the woman’s first tentative steps toward Steinsdorfstrasse. Goosebumps quickly formed the length of her exposed arms and she shivered against the unexpected cold. The remnant of a stubborn winter that refused to loosen its icy grip on Europe, the chill made her consider rushing back upstairs for a sweater. Pausing to adjust the handbag digging into her shoulder, she felt for the long-stemmed roses tucked beneath her arm and quickly dismissed idea—she was running far too late already. Glancing at a thin wristwatch, she saw it was nearly time for her bus to arrive on the opposite side of Steinsdorfstrasse. Cold, but at the same time thankful to be outside the stuffy apartment for the first time in a week, she inhaled a lungful of the crisp morning air. Standing just four inches over five-feet tall and weighing no more than a hundred pounds, she had the prototypical look of grandmother’s everywhere, with no outward evidence of the extraordinary life she had in fact lived. Apart from a few unruly tendrils fluttering at both temples, a thick pile of snow-white hair was kept neatly in place by a large amber clasp that was very much out of style. Her narrow elegant head and surprisingly unwrinkled face, projected both strength and confidence and a pair of plain wire-framed glasses magnified her deeply set clear blue eyes. Having slept poorly the night before, she was hoping to relax on the manicured grounds of Memorial Greens cemetery for a few hours today, a special place where the only people she really cared about resided these days. Nearing the edge of the street, she saw that crossing Steinsdorfstrasse mid-block would pose its usual challenge, but she was up to it. A low rumbling sound made her glance up just in time to see a city bus approaching at a fast pace to her left. The bus disappeared for an instant as it slipped from bright sunlight in the street and into the cool shadow of the senior residence building. Blinking away the glare, the woman cupped a hand to her brow and watched the bus veer rapidly toward the curb where she stood. Even before it came to a complete stop, the bus’s hydraulic doors swished open and large yellow caution lights blinked a furious cadence in the cool shadows. Eyes fixed on the stopped bus, almost close enough for her to touch, the elderly woman stamped her feet nervously. This wasn’t supposed to be happening and in all the years she’d been making the same crossing, at the same place and time, it never had before. Munich busses ran on a very precise schedule, so one out of order was highly unusual. The arrival of the bus triggered a response from a small group of people standing on the sidewalk nearby, a gathering she hadn’t even noticed until now. Zombie-like, they began to shuffle toward the bus, their dulled expressions typical of early morning bus riders everywhere. Craning her neck, the old woman saw that the bus blocked her view of the street entirely and there was simply no way she could cross over safely now, at least not until after it continued on its way. She could have easily walked a short distance in either direction to be clear of the obstruction, or perhaps even used the protected crosswalk half a block away, but that wasn’t an option. This was where she always crossed. Aware that her own bus was due on the opposite side of the street any minute, her stomach growled as she watched the line of passengers’ slowly board. A frigid wind, of the sort that seemed to always follow city busses, enveloped her delicate body like an invisible frozen blanket. Reaching down to smooth her clinging skirt, she peered up through the slightly distorted green windshield of the bus and saw the driver sitting at the wheel with his head bowed. He seemed to be scribbling on a clipboard and although she could only see a small portion of the dark-haired man’s face, he nonetheless wore the scowl seemingly required of all bus drivers. She’d often wondered why personality challenged people so frequently gravitated to such high customer contact jobs, but then, she guessed that’s probably why they were hired in the first place. “Oh, for heaven sakes, the cold and increasingly impatient old woman muttered to herself, peering up at the driver. Please don’t make me miss my bus!” Her plan, now in jeopardy, was to cross Steinsdorfstrasse for the short bus trip to Memorial Greens cemetery, her destination for the day. Dangerous for anyone, to say nothing of a senior citizen, a wide concrete median in the middle of the busy street made the trek a little less perilous, but still very dangerous. As the years had passed and her legs wouldn’t carry her as fast or fluidly, she simply gave herself more time, waiting for larger breaks in traffic before scampering across. But even in heavy traffic or bad weather it rarely took more than a minute to cross and sometimes less because kind motorists would often stop to wave her across. Never having driven herself, it didn’t occur to her they were perhaps being less kind and instead simply stunned to see such an old woman hobbling across a busy downtown street. The unscheduled bus arrival had complicated things and in fact, if it didn’t leave soon, she would not have enough time to cross Steinsdorfstrasse, no matter how kind the motorists were today. Considering another bus to the cemetery would not arrive for over an hour, she silently cursed herself for having waited until the last minute again, a nasty habit she’d developed. When the bus doors finally snapped shut and after the final passenger boarded, she stared up at the driver expecting him to zoom away from the curb in a cold cloud of diesel fume. Vexingly, he instead sat peering down at the clipboard in his lap, elevating her anxiety with each passing second. Inching closer to the edge of the curb, certain he was about to depart, she watched him toss the clipboard aside and lean forward to grip the steering wheel. Her eyes still locked on him, her heart fluttered with anticipation knowing he was about to slip back into traffic on Steinsdorfstrasse and just maybe she wouldn’t miss her bus after all. Then, astonishingly, she found herself locked in the driver’s angry gaze as his intense dark eyes glared through the windshield at her. Releasing the steering wheel, he slumped back in the seat, folded his arms, and shook his head, all without taking his eyes off the old woman. Peering disgustedly down at her, he began waving his arms wildly while seeming to point at the now closed bus doors. Completely baffled by his strange behavior, the elderly senior citizen stood like a statue on the sidewalk, her cheeks now flushed by more than...