THE FÜHRER'S DAUGHTER

THE FÜHRER'S DAUGHTER (Episode 1) - Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

GRACE AWOKE the next morning to the irate chirp of her alarm clock.  Bleary-eyed and listless, she slapped the snooze button to squelch it. After a lifetime of rising at 6:30 AM, it should have been easier to embrace this time of the day.

It wasn’t.

Father’s proclivity for punctuality was his trademark. As with all his edicts, he expected her to follow them without fail—even ones as banal as appearing presentable at the breakfast table at 7:00 AM sharp.

After washing up and getting dressed, she dragged her feet to the breakfast alcove wondering if last night’s events had been nothing more than a bad dream.

A new day had dawned. Could the ill will she suddenly harbored in her heart toward her parents have resulted from such a dream? Perhaps none of that business with the photos had actually happened.

Another night, another nightmare.

No, it had been real—and repugnant. How could she even face them over breakfast, as if everything was normal?

“Guten Morgen, Grace.” Father smiled and tapped his watch. “Once again, you are late.”

Unaware that her usual sheepishness was all but gone, she said flatly, “I didn’t sleep well.”

“Is that so?” His voice betrayed a touch of irony.

“I’m sorry, Father. I—”

“No matter. I’m sure we’ll find a way to correct this problem with your punctuality, no?”

There was something odd in Father’s tone. Uneasy, she nodded and glanced over to Mother, whose eyes dropped as she drizzled hollandaise over her eggs.

“So,” he said, “if your restless night had anything to do with the intruder caught breaking into the archives last night,” Father said, his voice becoming colder with each word, “you’ll no doubt sleep easy tonight knowing that he has been…dealt with.”

Her fork dropped and clanked onto her plate. “Dealt with?”

With his eyes narrowed, he searched the room. “Is there an echo in here?”

“What happened with Friedrich?” Grace said, “And what do you mean, ‘dealt with’?”

“Must I spell it out for you?” He sighed and shook his head. Quietly, he impaled the bratwurst with his fork, sliced it, then stuck the piece in his mouth. “Such a waste. His commanding officer said the young corporal rather fancied you, Grace.”

Though it pierced her heart, she would not shed tears before him. Father could be unpleasant, but this was especially cruel. Was he actually enjoying this?

“I’ve lost my appetite,” she said, then stood, threw her napkin on her plate, and turned around to hide the fact that she was about to break down.

“Fraulein, you do not turn your back to the Führer. No one d—”

Choking back a sob, she dashed from the room.

“You get back in here right now!” He bellowed, his chair hitting the marble floor as he bolted to his feet.

She ignored him while angry tears drew hot lines on her face. Who cared if anyone saw? Grace bounded up the stairs two steps at a time, then stormed into her room and slammed the door.

For the next half hour, she sobbed.

Father demanded absolute obedience, but he could also be compassionate at times—not often, but it happened now and again. Why was he being this way?