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had gone all around the Lebensborn hostel. Not just of what had happened, but what was going to be done about it. She knew, both by instinct and her sure awareness of her rightful place among all the girls, that she would be part of the answer.
     
    She sat up in the bed, waiting for Frau Hegemann. The nurses had moved her into a private room. That was a dead giveaway, too: things were going to be spoken that were not meant to be overheard. She’d made sure that her own baby was brought in to her just before Frau Hegemann was to appear. So she could have the tiny boy she’d decided to name Siegfried – that seemed patriotic and martial enough – at her breast, the image of serene motherhood.
     
    The door opened and the hostel director came in. She smiled at Liesel. “Everything is going well for you, I trust?”
     
    “Quite well, Frau Direktor.” Liesel had opened the front of her bedrobe for the baby to suckle. Its small hands pawed annoyingly at her breast, but she had made her mind up to endure that. “He’s put on seven ounces.”
     
    “ Sehr ausgezeichnet .” Frau Hegemann tilted her head to look at the infant. “This is how the war of births shall be won. The Lebensborn program was instituted for just this reason, to bring such children into the life of our people. Unfortunately –” The hostel director’s face turned hard. “It has not worked out that way in every instance.”
     
    “What do you mean?”
     
    “You needn’t play stupid. I’m well aware of how all the girls and the nurses gossip, and that everyone here knows what has happened. One of the girls has given birth to a child that doesn’t meet the strict standards of racial hygiene that we practice here. The child shows obvious signs of a mongrelized genetic background.”
     
    The eyes , thought Liesel smugly. A deep sense of satisfaction had arisen in her when she’d first heard the whispered news. About the bastard that mousey, conniving bitch had thrown, with its two different-colored eyes. Her Siegfried’s were both blue, like little jewels, the way a proper Aryan child’s should be.
     
    “Investigations have been made.” Frau Hegemann sat rigid in the chair, her spine a rod of iron. “The girl should never have been allowed in here at all. The documents that supposedly substantiated her racial background were discovered to be forgeries; her mother’s Nordic blood was mixed with that of her father’s ethnic group, a degenerate strain in which this heterochromia is common.”
     
    Liesel hadn’t heard that word before, but could guess what it meant: that other baby’s condition of one blue eye, one brown. She liked the word mongrel better, to describe such creatures. The same word someone would use for those gaunt, garbage-eating dogs in the street.
     
    “I suppose you could drown the baby.” She tried to keep from smiling. “In a bucket of water. My uncle, on his farm, used to do that with kittens.”
     
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Frau Hegemann. “The child in question is healthy and sound, other than its regrettable . . . features.” The hostel director’s mouth curled in distaste. “There are other considerations to be kept in mind. This child is the offspring of an SS officer of note. As such, it presents us with a dilemma as to its . . . disposition. Until such time as the Rasse- und Siedlungshauptamt makes a further determination about what is to be done, we have been instructed to make sure that the child is to be placed in a racially fit household. That is why I wished to speak to you.”
     
    “I’ll be happy to help,” said Liesel, “in any way I can.”
     
    Frau Hegemann studied her for a moment. “I’m sure you will be. I’m also sure that you’ll understand the need for discretion in this matter . . .”
     
    * * *
     
    The other girl had been placed in a private room as well. A room with a locked door.
     
    “I’m hoping there will be no emotional display.” The