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Froehliche Weihnachten (COMPLETE)

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This is a historical fiction set in 1940's Germany.  That means Nazi Germany.   This is the story of two girls who were best friends when they were little. Now that they're 18, they're reunited.  One of them grew up with Nazi propoganda pounded into her head.  She wrestles with her morality- that which she senses, knows deep down, is right- and an internal battle with all the brainwashing she's undergone.   Let me be crystal clear- the Nazis were bad. They were scum.  The main character in this story has to dig through propoganda and lies to learn that truth we know today.  
 

 

 

FROEHLICHE WEIHNACHTEN

by CK- Cute Kitten

The soft layers of the cloth diaper rubbed over the sensitive mound of her womanhood with each step. The press of the padding tingled along her nerves, radiating waves of comfort in the quiet dark of night. The hem of her red nightgown swished around her ankles while the lace collar, cuffs, and hem shone like fresh snow in the dim yellow glow of the kerosene lamp. Her thick woolen socks made no sound on the wooden floors of the old farmhouse. 

Gertrude carefully opened the doors between various rooms, trying to keep squeaky hinges silent. She tiptoed over the squeaky floorboards as she slunk through the house on Christmas Eve. Snitching a few Christmas cookies was an old childhood tradition between her and her twin sister. 

The only thing that slowed her annual Christmas Eve sojourn was the diaper. Even a single cloth diaper forced her thighs apart, making her waddle. The thickness slowed her gait down. Just one layer, just one diaper, yet it felt like she wore several pairs of thick woolen underwear. 

How had her sister Heidi tolerated such a bulky undergarment? In bed on a cold night, a diaper was comforting. But up and ambulating around, the warm bulk just got in her way. Heidi never had a choice about wearing and using diapers; she’d been incontinent all eighteen years of her short life. 

Heidi had been born with deformed, twisted limbs. She was never able to talk or know when she had to go to the bathroom. Incontinent cripple. The doctors at the hospital had called her condition cerebral palsy. The family had called it a curse, an embarrassment. 

Back when Gertrude was was a little girl, she only brought one friend inside to meet her sister. Her best friend, Magda the little Jewish girl. Heidi was kept hidden away, a shameful family secret. 

Heidi never went to school. The doctors and family both knew she was incapable of learning. Gertrude tried to teach her what she learned in school, anyway. Heidi was never able to talk, but she learned to read. Heidi and Gertrude even proved it to their parents. The doctors refused to believe it, chalking it up to wishful thinking. 

Gertrude slipped into the spacious living room. The diaper pressed against her privates. It was dry; she had no intention of actually using it. She only wore them to feel closer to her dead twin. Heidi had been gone for a year, but the would of her passing was still fresh in Gertrude’s heart. 

Heidi had been her best friend and confidant, even if she could only grunt and drool. Gertrude learned to interpret those grunts until they became a language all their own. 

The cold living room seemed larger since it was empty. Her grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles were all upstairs, asleep. Her father had cleaned out the fireplace earlier and filled it with fresh logs for Christmas morning. Hand knitted stockings hung from the mantle, lumpy with little gifts. The war had tightened purse strings all across the Reich, but out here in the country they didn’t feel the bite as hard as the city folk. 

The gifts weren’t much; just small luxuries to sweeten hard times. Some candy, apples, oranges. Scented bar soaps and body powder for the ladies. A new hairbrush to replace an old, broken one. 

Her grandparents were full of old stories mourning the lost glory of the German Empire and life under the kaiser. Her father and uncles had all fought during the Great World War. They had suffered under the economic hardships steered by the inept Weimar Republic government and raped by the even harder penalties of the Versailles Treaty. 

Gertrude didn’t pay much attention to politics or what was going on in the wider world. There was too much work to do on the farm, more important things in her immediate life to worry about. What little she knew, she gleaned from the grumblings of the menfolk, particularly when they were soused with drink. 

The cold emptiness of the room pressed in on her. The magic of Christmas, that most wonderful time of the year, was as chill and dark as the unlit fireplace. Gertrude was the only girl in her family. All ten of her cousins were boys. Nine of them were away from home on the front lines fighting the enemy. Josef was the only one home on special leave. He wasn’t a regular Waffen SS soldier like the others. He was a member of the SS Totenkopfverbande. 

She wasn’t sure exactly what they did. Josef refused to talk about it, but their domineering grandmother pestered him into dolling out a few crumbs. At dinner, he’d mumbled something about guarding a camp. After a few glasses of grandma’s homemade gluhwein, he’d let slip some slurred gibberish about a place called Buchenwald. 

The absence of her cousins, the absence of her twin, left Gertrude feeling alone. Up in her little cramped closet of a room she’d once shared with her twin, the lonely isolation had pressed in on her. She hadn’t been able to sleep, even with the comfort of Heidi’s diapers. Memories and shadows of her dead sister filled every nook and cranny of the room and pinched her heart. So she’d fled downstairs, hoping that keeping their old tradition alive would help her feel less alone. That it would bring back some small part of her sister. 

The diaper shifted and rubbed against her with every step across the living room. It was a constant reminder of her twin. Usually the warm softness of the thick padding reassured her. Now it only heightened the ache of Heidi’s absence. 

This wasn’t the first time Gertrude wore Heidi’s diapers. She’d been wearing them to bed every night since her sister’s funeral. The first time she donned a diaper was the night they scattered Heidi’s ashes in their grandmother’s rose garden. Heidi used to love staring out the window for hours at the summer roses, watching the bees and butterflies. 

The night of the funeral, Gertrude had wallowed in the dregs of grief, out of her mind with mourning. So she pulled out one of Heidi’s clean cloth diapers and put it on. Immediately, the press of the thick bulk between her legs had calmed her, reassured her. Heidi was gone from the earth, but she was still with Gertrude in her heart. From that night on, Gertrude wore her dead sister’s diapers to bed. 

Tonight was Gertrude’s first time getting out of bed and walking through the house in diapers. The padding that usually comforted her now unnerved her. What if she got caught in a diaper? They’d say she’d gone crazy with grief. They’d lock her up in the loony bin. She should’ve taken the diaper off before leaving the bedroom. She’d tried, but her fingers refused to open the diaper pins. She couldn’t bring herself to do it- it made her feel like she was leaving Heidi behind. Casting her sister aside by taking off the diaper. 

Gertrude shuddered at those thoughts, cold from the inside out. The lantern swayed on the thin wire loop handle in her hand. The soft, swaying light danced on the tin ornaments with their shiny, metallic paint. The candles on the Christmas tree were snuffed out for the night; they’d be relit Christmas morning, along with the yule logs in the fireplace. Most of the ornaments were wood, hand carved by her grandfather, father and uncles when they were boys. Some were knitted from yarn, made by her grandmother and aunts. 

The ones that drew the most attention were shiny, metallic tin disks proudly displaying thick black swastikas. Her uncle had bought them a few years ago on a trip into the city. He’d wanted to put a big swastika on top of the tree, but grandma refused. She wanted her beloved, tacky, stained glass and lead star instead. 

Lumpy presents in cheap brown paper lay under the tree. Everybody knew what they were- new hand knitted sweaters or cardigans. Smaller packages were mittens, scarves, gloves. Everyone was grateful, too- the ones from last year were falling apart after months of hard living and working. A hard life made harder with the extra burden of caring for her disabled sister. 

She’d left Heidi behind once before, when the family moved her into a sanatorium several years ago. Taking care of her disabled sister had become too much of a burden on top of all the farm work, especially as the boys grew up and left the village for adventure and glory in the Wehrmacht. She had missed her sister, but the work-exhausted part of her had been relieved to be free of the extra duties. 

That relief pricked her conscience now with a sharp slivers of guilt. She rarely had the free time and funds to visit her sister. The home for the physically disabled was in a town several days’ travel from their tiny village. The family received a letter from the sanatorium doctors saying Heidi’s condition had grown more severe, so they’d transferred her to Hadamar psychiatric hospital, which was even further away, for more intense treatment. A few months later, the family received a letter from Hadamar doctors informing them of Heidi’s demise. 

Gertrude’s insides had twisted in doubt and disbelief when she’d read the death certificate. The cause of death listed acute appendicitis. Heidi had had her appendix removed as a small child. How could she die from an organ that was long gone from her body? The rest of her family insisted it must be a mistake, a mix up. 

Gertrude had travelled with her father to claim Heidi’s remains and get the death certificate fixed. In the Hadamar waiting room, Gertrude had talked to other grieving families there to claim their loved ones’ remains. So many dead patients. They dropped like flies. Was that normal? Doctors assured her it was. The mentally and physically disabled were of weak, inferior blood. They didn’t live very long. It was tragic. Gertrude had the doctors’ sympathies. But, really, they had assured her, it was for the best. One irate man was there to demand an explanation for the burnt ladies’ hairpins in his dead brother’s ashes. The man’s brother had died of appendicitis, too. Quite a few patients had died from that. There were a lot of death certificate mix-ups, and ladies’ hairpins in male ashes. Way too many mixups. It roused Gertrude’s suspicions. 

Gertrude’s family swallowed the doctors’ lines. Gertrude didn’t, but every time she voiced her doubts, she was shushed or ignored. The doctors’ told the family it was just her grief talking and not to take her seriously. So she held her tongue, bend her head, and kept working. Put in more hours doing charity work with the Bund Deutscher Madel, or League of German Girls. She could never shake the notion that she’d abandoned her sister to cold blooded killers who couldn’t even keep the remains of their victims straight. 

Life unworthy of life. She remembered learning about that in school. She’d read magazine and newspaper articles by prominent doctors promoting the idea. Useless eaters. The disabled couldn’t contribute to society. They only took. Times were hard. Sometimes, to save a healthy body, diseased limbs had to be cut off. There was no room for diseased, useless leeches full of nothing but bad blood. They were nothing but a burden on society, weighing it down. Wasn’t Gertrude’s own sense of relief to be free of her caretaker duties proof of that? 

Staring at the cold fireplace, Gertrude blinked back tears. The guilt ridden ache for her sister burned stronger. She forced her mind back to happier times. Normally, she’d have been to the kitchen and back upstairs by now with iced ginger cookies or sweet, sugar dusted fruit bread for her and Heidi. 

Gertrude focused on the soft padding rubbing against her crotch and backside as she walked. The sensations distracted her from dark memories. Moving in the diaper was both weird and soothing at the same time, like a beloved Christmas carol sung in a foreign language. 

The diaper added an extra layer of warmth in the drafty old house. The heavy cotton of her nightgown and thick wool of her hand knitted socks kept her warm enough, but the diaper added the last layer that made her cozy. 

Sometimes, she wondered what the diaper would feel like wet. She blushed at the thought. Once in a blue moon, when the pain of her sister’s absence was particularly sharp, she felt the urge to add on more diapers and rubber panties then let her bladder loose. Fear and disgust always held her back. 

How could she even think such a thing? Maybe she really was going crazy. Trying to flee from her thoughts, shut down her overactive brain, Gertrude hurried into the kitchen. 

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Well this is good. I am very interested to see where you take us with this one. Love the seed of doubt in Gertrude's mind about how

5 hours ago, Cute_Kitten said:

There were a lot of death certificate mix-ups

 very well played. Thank-you.

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That was amazing. It's interesting to see things from a completely foreign perspective. Not many writers can do Nazi Germany. Not many care to try.

Is this the end of the story or are you planning to continue? Given the few stories of yours I've read this seems like how you'd end a story.

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The kitchen was colder than the living room. She sat her lantern down on the edge of the big kitchen table.  There was no electricity at night, so she couldn’t turn on the lights even if she’d wanted to.

 

Cookie tins- some gifts from neighbors in the village or girls from the League- lined up on the counter between the sink and the icebox.  The stacks weren’t as high as the years before the war; a reminder that all across the Reich, German families were scraping by just like them.  Solidarity in hardship.

 

The tins were full of pfeffernusse, spongy soft, puffy spice cookies dipped in a sweet, thick white glaze.  Others held allerlei cookies- spiced gingerbread and molasses sweetened with a thin glaze.  The soft, chewy cookies came in traditional shapes like stars, trees, angels, snowmen and rocking horses. Swastika cookie cutters were popular, too, to celebrate their Aryan roots.

 

Loaves of sweet bread and nut rolls lay on the kitchen table under dish towels. Gertrude felt almost guilty as she flipped back the corner of a towel and picked up a knife to cut a small slice of stollen. She felt better when she saw a little piece was already missing- another family member already stole some stollen.  

 

Even here, the selection was thin.  No confectioner’s sugar dusted the top of the loaf.  Usually, her aunt’s stollen was full of raisins and chunks of dried, candied fruit.  This year, the raisins were few and far between.  Sugar and flour had been used sparingly, stretching the rations out as much as possible.  Gertrude had done the same thing with the ginger and clove spices when she made batches of lebkuchen, soft spice cookies dipped in chocolate.  She’d watered the chocolate down with milk to stretch it out.  The result was less than delicious, but at least they had cookies.  

 

Gertrude cut a thin slice and covered the loaf back up.  She broke the slice in half- one for her, one for Heidi.  She bit into her small piece.  She could barely taste the sugar and spices.  It tasted like dry paper- her mom had held back on the butter that made it so creamy and moist.  She’d skimped on the sugar and flour.  All the sweet bits Gertrude looked forward to and treasured, gone.  The stollen tasted like….Christmas without her sister.

 

Tears blurred her eyes.  The stollen was a dry, papery lump in her mouth.  She wanted to spit it out.  She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, the frayed lace cuffs harsh on her soft skin.  She forced herself to swallow the flavorless lump.  

 

“Enough. Stop it. You’re a strong German girl. What would Heidi say if she saw you like this?”   Gertrude tried to rally herself.  If Heidi was here, she wouldn’t have been able to talk, but Gertrude easily pictured the disdainful, scornful look Heidi would give her when she thought Gertrude was being a big crybaby.  

 

She sniffled, blinking back the rest of her tears.  She raise the other half of the stollen up to the ceiling.  Up to Heidi in heaven.  “Prost.”   Her whisper was as dry and dull as the sweet-loaf bread.   She toasted her twin, then shoved the bland morsel into her mouth whole.  She chewed, pretending the stollen was moist and dense, sweetness oozing over her tongue and bits of candied fruit popping between her teeth.  

 

She closed her eyes, remembering happier times of her childhood.  Snowball fights with her cousins.  Throwing snowballs up at her bedroom window to make Heidi laugh and stick her tongue out.  Josef pulling a sled while she sat on it, holding Heidi up.  The three of them would go careening down a snow covered hill.  Quite often, her best friend Magda would join in.

 

Magda.  The name brought Gertrude up short.  She swallowed the mushy lump of stollen.  She hadn’t thought of her for years.  As little girls, they’d been inseparable, ever since they met in their first year of school. An older girl had been teasing the little Jewish girl, flipping up her skirt and showing the other kids her bulging diaper.  The crying six year old Magda had worn thick, bulky cloth diapers covered by voluminous rubber panties.  The Jew’s diapers made Gertrude think of Heidi, so Gertrude had calmly walked up to the jeering older girl and socked her hard, right in the nose. Just like Josef taught her.  The girl’s nose had crunched, blood spurting out.  The older girl had punched Magda back, giving her a black eye before running off crying for her mommy.  Magda had given Gertrude the cookies from her lunch as a thank you.

 

After that, the girls became fast friends. They’d played together every day.  Adults hadn’t been happy about the friendship, so the girls snuck off and played together in the woods or in Gertrude’s family barn.  There weren’t that many hiding places in the small barn, so they usually played up in the hayloft.  Sometimes they snuck inside to play with Heidi.   Magda never laughed- she even learned to interpret some of Heidi’s grunts.  

 

Magda and Heidi became friends the first time Gertrude brought Madga to meet Heidi.  Heidi’s thick, soggy cloth diapers and rubber panties had leaked all over the bed.  Heidi had been upset.  To calm her, Magda didn’t hesitate to lift up her dress and show Heidi her own soggy diapers.

 

Magda, Heidi, and Gertrude had become known by the village kids as the Diaper Brigade.  The Diaper Girls.  Heidi might not get out much, but the whole village knew of her from her cousins and other relatives talking.  Gertrude didn’t wear or need diapers, but she was found guilty and soggy by association.  Some of the boys had tried to flip up Gertrude’s dress, too, to see if she was diapered.   They knocked that off after Gertrude slugged them a few times.  Having a disabled sister and being best friends with a pants-pissing Jew hadn’t helped her popularity with the village children.

 

As they grew bigger, there were more chores and less time for playing  They didn’t see each other as much.  Looking back, Gertrude wondered if that was deliberate on their parents’ end.  Teachers and youth leaders yammered on about the importance of blood purity, on eugenics and the natural evolutionary superiority of the aryan race.  History teachers taught how the Jews had betrayed Germany in the Great World War.  They had all been spies for the enemy. They caused the economic hardships under the Weimar Republic.  During the Great Depression, while good Germans suffered, greedy Jews grew rich.  Most Jews might be bad, but Magda and her absorbent, padded underpants weren’t like that at all.

 

Everything came to a head one summer evening.  Gertrude and Magda had played all day; Gertrude walked Magda home to keep other German kids from teasing her.  The windows to Magda’s house were open.  Magda’s uncle and her father were arguing inside.  So Gertrude and Magda, just like many kids would, hid under the windowsill and listened in.

 

“Come with us, Jakob.  I’m begging you.”  The deep voice belonged to Magda’s uncle, Rudolf.  He had been a tailor, at least until a law had been passed that banned Jews from the profession.   

 

“Move to America? They don’t want us there.  No countries want us.  They can barely afford to feed their own people.  There’s no room for us, anywhere.  We both fought in the Great War for Germany.  It’s our home.  Things are really tough right now, so people are lashing ut.  We just have to be patient and ride it out.”   The reedy voice belonged to Magda’s father, Jakob.

 

“I’ve got a job lined up.  I could get you one, too.”

 

“Through the same connections you get those American papers from? Do you have any idea how much danger that puts us in?”  Jakob hissed, sounding like a leaky hose.

 

“I burn them after I read them.  It’s always good to hear what the other side says.  And that’s exactly why I’m leaving.  You can only read German papers, listen to German radio- hell, the Volksempfanger model can’t even pick up any foreign broadcasts. First the Brown Shirts boycotted our businesses. Then, a law says Jews can’t own land. Another law says Jews can’t be newspaper editors. Then we’re not allowed in the National Health Insurance. No more Jewish teachers, accountants, dentists, doctors, lawyers.  Then we have to register all our wealth and property. We have to get identity cards from the police. Our taxes go up.  Everyday, the list grows.  They take more and more of our rights and our money.  I’m taking my family out of here before they start taking our lives.  I see the writing on the wall. “   Magda’s uncle sounded tired and sad, like this was an old argument.

 

“........”  Silence stretched out while Magda’s father didn’t reply.

 

“I won’t-I can’t- put it off any longer. So, come with me.”  Her uncle implored.

 

“Those American rags made you crazy.  How are you going to afford the emigration tax for Jews?  It’s up to 80%.  Those bastards will take practically all your money.  You’ll be poor in America.”  

 

“Take it all now, or little by little- either way, it’ll end up in Nazi hands.  We’re already poor here.  There, at least I’ll have a job.  I can always make more money.  Even if it’s just with the clothes on my back, I’m leaving while I can.  I wish you’d come along with us.  Even our parents are going.”

 

“You’re going to leave me, Martha and little Magda in this house all by ourselves.”  Magda’s dad sounded tired, the fire going out of him when he realized he couldn’t change his brother’s mind.

 

“It doesn’t have to be this way.  At least let me take Magda.  This life here...it’s no future for her.”  Her uncle’s voice trailed off into low mumbling.  Gertrude and Magda hadn’t hear the rest of the conversation- a series of harsh whispers followed by the fleshy thump of a fist hitting a table.  The door had banged open; the girls had shrunk back against the wooden siding of the house.  

 

Magda’s uncle had stepped out onto the porch, face tilted up to heaven.  He had noticed the girls with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  “The world’s falling apart. Why don’t you two go sew it up a bit? Go play.”  He’d given them each a piece of hard candy from his pocket and walked off.

 

Moments later, Magda’s father had come out onto the porch.  He’d stared at his brother’s back, then had looked down at the girls.  “Gertrude, you head on home.  No more playing with Magda.”

 

Gertrude’s child mind had thought he meant for the day.  Turned out he meant forever.  Days later, Magda’s uncle and the rest of the family left for America.  All the small village watched them go.  Only the few Jewish families were sorry to see them leave.  

 

After that, Magda sometimes snuck out to Gertrude’s farm to play when she could, when her father wasn’t looking.  Those times were few and far between.  They grew increasingly further apart until they stopped altogether. After a law was passed that kicked Jewish kids out of German schools, they didn’t see each other at all.

 

Then one day, a group of SS Sturmabteilung soldiers- Brown Shirts- appeared.  They had the Jews gather up what belongings they could then herded them at rifle point into trucks.  That was the last time Gertrude ever saw Magda.

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Wow.

I love how heavy this story is. A proper catharsis. You are doing a great thing here, Cute_Kitten.

On a lighter note, How are you so good at describing food? My mouth was watering the entire first half of the chapter. :)

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I'm enjoying this story. So well written.

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This is a fantastic new story. The first two chapters are actually authentic. Growing up with a German heritage, I know well the Christmas traditions. I also know of the candles on the trees and I have some of my great grandparents ornaments that they hung. They are indeed tin and carved wood. They didn’t include Swastikas. But then my family fled Germany at the time this was happening. They went to southern Russia and then on to the USA. I wa eagerly awaiting the next chapter.  

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Thank you for commenting. :)   I'm glad to know the story feels authentic. 

 

 

Gertrude shook her head, pulling herself out of old memories.  What was wrong with her?  Christmas was supposed to be the happiest, most joyful time of year.  Christmas Eve was the most magical night of the year.  Yet here she was, wallowing in sad memories.  She should be remembering happier times with her sister.  With Magda.  If she was going to mourn, it should be all the German soldiers who’d died on the front, who gave their lives to protect their families, their freedom, their Reich.  The National Socialist Women’s League had thrown a memorial Christmas  luncheon earlier today for families of fallen and wounded soldiers.  

 

Gertrude swallowed.  The stollen made her mouth feel dry, like she’d eaten paper.  Her tongue rubbed the roof of her mouth.  She poured herself a glass of milk from the icebox.  Her grandfather owned a few cows and some goats, so milk was one ration they didn’t have to worry too much about.  They were even able to give and trade it with the villagers and other farmers.  

 

After the dry, papery, tasteless stollen, the milk tasted cold, creamy and sweet as it flowed over her tongue.  She closed her eyes, savoring the taste.  She leaned back against the counter.  The diaper’s thick padding cushioned her backside, bringing her thoughts back to Magda and Heidi.  Heidi had spent her whole life in diapers.  Magda had worn diapers because of an underdeveloped bladder.  Had Magda ever outgrown her diapers?

 

Gertrude finished her milk and rinsed her glass out.  She gazed out the window over the sink.  Snow fell in flat, lazy flakes, blanketing the world in white.  Bare branches piled high with snow bowed under the accumulating weight.  Bushes, fences, and water troughs in the animal pastures were just lumps under the thick white blanket.  The full moon shone down through thick, dark clouds heavy with more snow.  The moonlight glistened off the white snow, softly illuminating the night.  No animals stirred. All was calm. Quiet.  Peaceful.

 

Gertrude stared at the scene, trying to soak that serenity into her soul.  She thought of her favorite Christmas song.  Silent Night.  The special Christmas Eve radio program had played a new version of the beloved classic.  She hummed softly, trying to carve that peace into her heart.  After a few moments, she sang in a low voice.  

 

“Stille nacht. Heilige nacht.  Silent night. Holy night. All is calm. All is bright.  Only the Chancellor stays on guard.  Germany’s future to watch and ward.  Guiding our nation aright.”  

 

The new song was popular with certain segments of the population.  Around the community bonfire in the village that evening, the Church choir sang the original while the boys and girls in their Hitler Youth League uniforms sang the new version.  Then the older boys lined up, taking turns jumping over the crackling fire to prove their bravery.  At the end, when everyone was heading home, each household took a burning twig from the community fire to light candles on their Christmas tree.

 

The clouds drifted across the moon; blue shadows on the white snow danced and shifted to reveal a set of footprints in the deep snow leading into the barn.   Gertrude’s stomach tightened at the sight. Her tranquility and peace shattered. The tracks were fresh; already thick flakes were filling in the holes.  Everyone in the family was in bed, fast asleep.  The prints were too small to belong to a full grown man.  A child or a woman, then.  

Nervous knots in her belly tightened into anger.  One suspect immediately leapt to mind.  Ilse, a woman from the village.  Was she trying to raid their barn again?  Gertrude had caught her twice trying to steal a few eggs or a bucket of milk fresh from the cow.  Gertrude was too soft-hearted, letting Ilse off with a warning that next time, she really would turn her in to the police.   Perhaps Ilse was after a chicken this time- a roasted hen for her Christmas supper.

 

Gertrude’s blood boiled.  The family barely had enough to get by as it was.  What little extra they produced, they needed for trading.  All across the Reich, bellies of good Germans went hungry together.  Gertrude wondered if Ilse was tainted with thieving Jewish blood in her family tree.   She certainly behaved like a greedy, selfish Jew.  

 

For a moment, Gertrude considered waking Josef up.  He’d scare the hell out of Ilse.  Hell, he’d arrest or shoot her himself.  Was Gertrude really such a cowardly pansy that she couldn’t handle one thieving neighbor?  Indignation and self disgust stoked the flames of her anger higher.  

 

Her eyes fell on Josef’s shiny boots and rifle in a corner by the door.  She didn’t need to bother any of the menfolk.  She’d handle Ilse on her own.  Make her regret taking Gertrude for a fool.  Gertrude wasn’t going to shoot her, not on Christmas Eve.  Just scare her with that big rifle so bad Ilse literally pissed herself.  Maybe Ilse would wish she was wearing a diaper, like Gertrude was.

 

Gertrude giggled darkly at the thought.  She smiled, baring her teeth as she crossed to the coat rack.  Her own wool coat was still wet with melted snow from when she fed the animals earlier and got them settled for the night.  So she put on Josef’s heavy coat. It was huge, swallowing her up.  His high boots felt like she was putting her feet into boats.  Between the thick diaper, oversized coat and boots, she felt like a little kid playing dress up.  The rifle was cold in her hands, but she held it comfortably.

 

She knew it was loaded, too.  That morning, Josef had taken her out to an empty field to shoot tin cans off a fence. She’d smuggled him out a bottle of grandma’s gluhwein and some Allerlei cookies.  After two hours with the gun, she felt confident enough to use it now.  Or at least scare a trespassing thief with it.

 

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Another great chapter. :)

Was that altered version of Silent Night a real thing? Or did you make it up?

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20 hours ago, Wannatripbaby said:

Another great chapter. :)

Was that altered version of Silent Night a real thing? Or did you make it up?

It was a real thing.  :) The Nazis were into total control- they wanted to replace religion with their ideology.  

"Songs that mentioned Jesus, like Silent Night, were rewritten with new lyrics espousing the benefits of National Socialism by none other than chief Nazi ideologist Alfred Rosenberg and Heinrich Himmler, one of the masterminds of the Holocaust. At the height of Nazi Christmas revisionism, any mentions of the Savior were replaced with mentions of the “Savior Führer.”"

quoted from:  https://www.fastcodesign.com/3024022/how-hitler-redesigned-christmas

Here's another article you might like:  Though the translation I'd originally found when researching Nazi life had a slightly different translation: 

https://libertyunyielding.com/2013/12/23/nazi-germany-hijacked-christmas-changed-lyrics-silent-night/

 

 

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For some reason I kept thinking you had just renamed your story from last year and were doing the repost so I hadn't read this. I think you're doing an amazing job of bringing in the history here. As soon as you begin alluding to her death I wondered if Heidi wasn't one of the first to go through the gas chamber experiments. The way you handled the telling of the families was well done. The Anti-semitism being something she didn't really get, but was brainwashed into seems accurate too. I'm curious to see where you go from here with this, but with everything you've written it's well done! 

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Kitten as always good story so far. You have hit on two of my favorite subjects even if one is infamous and evil. Honestly,I have always been fascinated with the evil that men do,including and especially the Nazis. Never forget that history or be doomed to repeat it. Diapers of course being the other less infamous subject. This is an unusual setting and I totally look forward to more. Also nice details of the Totenkopfverbande. I know their deal but will keep quiet because spoilers.  

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On 2/4/2018 at 11:29 AM, BabySofia said:

For some reason I kept thinking you had just renamed your story from last year and were doing the repost so I hadn't read this. I think you're doing an amazing job of bringing in the history here. As soon as you begin alluding to her death I wondered if Heidi wasn't one of the first to go through the gas chamber experiments. The way you handled the telling of the families was well done. The Anti-semitism being something she didn't really get, but was brainwashed into seems accurate too. I'm curious to see where you go from here with this, but with everything you've written it's well done! 

Thanks for the comment. :3   You might've thought that since both stories are set in Germany and take place during Christmas. ^_^    Heidi was one of the victims of the Nazi T4 Euthanasia program. (Well, a fictional victim xD)   The T4 program was the blue prints the Nazis ended up using for their Final Solution, and it seemed a good way to parallel Heidi and Magda, and to plant some seeds of doubt in Gertrude about propoganda-controlled Nazi society. 

 

On 2/5/2018 at 11:26 AM, babyluv13 said:

Kitten as always good story so far. You have hit on two of my favorite subjects even if one is infamous and evil. Honestly,I have always been fascinated with the evil that men do,including and especially the Nazis. Never forget that history or be doomed to repeat it. Diapers of course being the other less infamous subject. This is an unusual setting and I totally look forward to more. Also nice details of the Totenkopfverbande. I know their deal but will keep quiet because spoilers.  

Thanks for commenting. :3   One of the aspects I find interesting about Nazi Germany is the mentality behind the regime. Like, how daily life was for the Germans and how they viewed the world through the propoganda the Nazi Regime pumped out. That's why I chose to write from Gertrude's POV instead of Magda's. 

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I absolutely love this story, but am saddened that we haven't gotten an update on your other German story. Still, beggars cannot be choosers. 

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Get out of my head! 

In all seriousness GJ on backgrounding the reality for the story, you've really given a lot of context to the history surrounding the characters in the story.

Real talk, how much hatemail is being generated cause of this one?

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17 hours ago, eatenbywo1ves said:

Get out of my head! 

In all seriousness GJ on backgrounding the reality for the story, you've really given a lot of context to the history surrounding the characters in the story.

Real talk, how much hatemail is being generated cause of this one?

 Thank you for commenting. :)   I did a lot of research/ note taking on this- I have about 20 pages of notes just on research facts and terms. I'm glad to hear I've gotten things right so far. :)  I wanted to make the back stories/ setting as realistic and plausible as possible. 

So far I haven't had any hate mail or complaints- probably because I put a warning up beforehand. 

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She carefully, quietly shut the big door behind her then trudged into the cold and deep snow to the barn.  The bottom of the coat and the hem of her nightgown dragged through the snow.  She held the lantern down low.  There were no windows on this side of the barn, so she wasn’t afraid of giving away her position.  There was no hiding under the full moon, anyway.  And she was the one with the gun.  

 

Snow crunched under her boots, her feet slipping around inside and knocking her off balance.  The diaper forced her legs apart, already throwing off her center of balance.  She wobbled back and forth with each step as her feet slid around inside the huge boots.  Between the diaper and the boots, she waddled and lumbered like an unsteady toddler just learning how to walk.

 

The barn seemed much further away than usual, thanks to her hampered gait.   The yellow light from the lantern swayed with each waddle.  Cold air blew against her face, turning the tip of her nose and cheeks a rosy red.  The closer she got to the barn, the tighter she clutched the rifle.  Anger faded to a nervous fear, yet she trudged on.  The press and sway of the diaper swaddling her loins reassured her.  She held the rifle like a toddler would a stuffed animal for security.

 

Was this was what soldiers on the eastern front felt like as they faced the Red Army and a Russian winter?  As Gertrude trudged along, she couldn’t help but think of her cousins away at war.  Were they, like her, dashing through the snow, gun in hand, to face the enemy?  Or were they hunkered down in a bunker with their fellow soldiers, gathered around a tiny Christmas tree like the magazines and newspapers depicted? They weren’t in diapers, though.  Diapers and a rifle.  She would’ve giggled, finding that thought amusing, if she wasn’t so angry and nervous.

 

She reached the barn.  The footprints were almost completely covered.  Snow piled up on her head and shoulders.  She dislodged most of it by shaking her body.  She froze as she stared at the closed barn door.  Her heart hammered against her ribs and her cold palms grew sweaty.  She really should’ve gotten one of the menfolk.  What if it was someone besides Ilse?  But who else could it be?  Especially on Christmas Eve.  Ilse was the only one for miles around who’d been caught stealing in the barn.  Twice.

 

Besides, Gertrude had the rifle and she knew how to use it.  She had the advantage.  Her cousins on the front lines weren’t scared.  They were brave, strong German boys.  They’d laugh at the big baby scared to go into her own barn.  Maybe she really did belong in diapers.

 

Gertrude clenched her teeth, screwed her courage to the sticking place, and siddled into the barn as quietly as she could. She raised the rifle so it looked like she was ready to shoot.  She slowly looked around.  Shadows and darkness; only a sliver of moonlight peeped through one small window.  She only had that little bit of light and her lantern to see by.  Smells of hey, dirt, animal sweat and manure filled her nostrils.  

 

The light also gave away her position while the darkness hid the intruder.  Her pulse sped up.  She kept her back to the barn door to prevent an ambush.  Her gaze slowly swept the quiet dark, looking for any movement in the shadows.  Darkness within darkness.  

 

“I know you’re in here.  I saw your footprints.  Come on out with your hands up, you yellow bellied polecat.”  She tried to sound tough and intimidating by repeating a line she’d read in a book set in the American wild west.  The cowboy character had sounded tough and badass as he gunned down Indian savages.  Her pounding pulse seemed to bounce off her bladder like it was a drum echoing her heartbeat.  Fear made her suddenly aware of how badly she needed to pee.

 

Silence.  The two cows, goats, and big draft horse were sound asleep in their stalls.  Hens slept in their cages.  A few clucked softly, rustling their feathers as they settled back down.  Even the cranky old rooster slept on.  He usually squawked up a storm anytime a stranger passed by. Underneath the stench of the barn and animals lurked the faint smell of stale human urine, like an outhouse.

 

“If you don’t show yourself, I’ll blow your brains out.”  If the thief hadn’t seen her, she just gave away she was armed.  Maybe that would intimidate the thief into surrendering?  Ilse was a young widow with many children; she was too poor for a gun, and too stupid to use one even if she did have it.  

 

The silence stretched out.  Gertrude raised the lantern to widen the circle of flickering, yellow light as she took tentative steps forward.  Josef’s huge boots clomped heavily.  Her feet slid.  The diaper’s thick padding prevented her from bringing her feet together.  Her bladder twinged.  She clutched her pelvic muscles together.  

 

“I mean it.”  Her voice warbled, losing its threatening edge. Pale brown eggshells appeared in the edge of the light’s reach.  Drops of wet, clear egg white glistened in the light on the shells.  Gertrude’s eyes narrowed as her lips compressed into a thin line.  A trail.  

 

Her confidence grew.  The barn was small.  Even in the dark, there weren’t many places to hide.  Animals and equipment and tools were squished in together.  She checked the stalls.  No one hid in there.  The shells convinced her it really was Ilse, just as it had been the other times.  A wheelbarrow leaned against the hayloft ladder, blocking it.  Gertrude had left it there earlier after feeding the animals, too tired to put it away.   The only place for someone to hide was the little nook in the corner at the end of the chicken cages.  

 

Gertrude clomped forward slowly, warily.  Her ears strained for any small sound that would give her quarry away.   Nothing.  Had the thief somehow gotten away?  Impossible.  There was only one door, and she was in front of it.  The closer she drew, the stronger the underlying smell of human urine grew. The thief was just very good at hiding.  But not good enough- as the lantern light approached the back of the small barn, more broken egg shells appeared.  

 

She slid her hand under the thin metal handle of the lantern and let it slide down her forearm to rest in the crook of her bent elbow.  This left her free to grip and steady the rifle with both hands.  Everytime she lifted a foot to take a step, the oversized boots slid off her foot, hitting the worn wooden floor with echoing thumps.   The eggshell trail led to the dark corner past the chicken cages. Gertrude’s gaze was so intent on the rim of lantern light and the dark nook she forgot all about her bladder.  

 

Her muscles tensed.  Her breathing slowed.  Her heart pounded in her ears.  She approached the end of the chicken cages.  One cold, sweaty finger hovered near the trigger.  With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she rounded the corner.  The lantern lit up the little storage corner.

 

More eggshells.  A few hay bells.  Wooden crates full of old, broken tools.  Some metal milk canisters peeked out from under an a partially fallen tarp.  Perhaps it had been pulled. The other end of the tarp covered a stack of crates, making a tent between the tool crates and the milk canisters.   Perfect for hiding a body. The outhouse smell was strongest here.

 

Gertrude shuffled closer in an awkward, scooting waddle to keep the boots quiet. She took a deep, steadying breath as she neared the tarp. Her heart thundered in her ears.  She used the tip of the rifle to fling the tarp aside.  

 

“GOTCHA!”  She froze in shock.  The girl huddled on the floor was not Ilse.   Gertrude would know those big blue eyes anywhere, even if she hadn’t seen them in years. Ever since they’d been marched away at gunpoint.

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Oh Wow, that was a surprise!

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You knew it had to be Magda because the description at the beginning said it was about their reunion.

Great chapter. :)

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Good Point, Trip.  However I think I skimmed the Red, I am bad about that.

CK, I guess you want us to use that. I really like Kitten better, but you made a point about CK at the top, I just went back and reread the first chapter.  That is really a fine piece of writing.  If I ever get a point reset, I plan definitely to Like that chapter.

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7 hours ago, Wannatripbaby said:

You knew it had to be Magda because the description at the beginning said it was about their reunion.

Great chapter. :)

When I posted this over on ABDLST, I didn't put the warning.   This board's a little different, so I figured it'd be better to put the warning up. :)

5 hours ago, ELLIE52 said:

Good Point, Trip.  However I think I skimmed the Red, I am bad about that.

CK, I guess you want us to use that. I really like Kitten better, but you made a point about CK at the top, I just went back and reread the first chapter.  That is really a fine piece of writing.  If I ever get a point reset, I plan definitely to Like that chapter.

If you prefer to call me Kitten, I"m okay with that.  I just use CK since that's what several people I talk to online call me since it's shorter than typing out Cute Kitten. :) 

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Loving the story CK you are doing am awesome job with this one. You have me on the edge of my seat and craving more already. Glad my likes rolled over. I wasn’t able to give one earlier tonight. 

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Magda stared up at her, blue eyes huge in her sallow face. Her body was as tense as Gertrude’s.  Both were too scared, too shocked to scream.  Her clothes were layers of dirty, tattered rags.  Her once plump face was gaunt.  Her cheeks were sunken hollows.  Baby fat and pudge melted away to reveal sharp angles and jutting bones.  Egg liquid shined on her thin lips in the lantern’s light- she was so hungry she’d sucked raw eggs.

 

Their gazes locked, brains too stunned to process what was going on.  Childhood friends- the Diaper Girls- reunited on opposite sides of a rifle.   A bedraggled Jewish girl who smelled of pee and a healthy Nazi girl in a clean diaper.

 

The smell of fresh, concentrated ammonia filled the air as a puddle of liquid expanded from under Magda,  soaking her skirts and the floorboards, dripping between the cracks.  A wave of warmth flowed over Gertrude’s crotch, her bladder caving under the strain tension, fear, and shock, collapsing under the strain of heavy emotions.   The padded cloth diaper was thick enough to absorb her pee without the protection of rubber panties.  The girls peed at the same time.  

 

Only Gertrude gasped, face flushing in embarrassment.  Her diaper was heavy, weighed down by her urine.  The diaper pins kept it warm and snug against her, but the wetness and weight let her know it was there.  The soggy cloth clung to the fleshy folds of her lady parts, yet the rest of her was dry.   The contrast was strangely soothing.  

 

Poor Magda had no diapers, and she apparently never managed that potty training thing.  Gertrude could only stare down at her.  Her body felt numb and leaden, her brain kaput.  She could only focus on the feeling of her wet diaper and stare at the puddle of urine around her childhood friend.

 

Those blue eyes just continued to stare up at Gertrude over the barrel of the rifle.  Magda had no reaction to peeing herself.  No fear of death, either.  Only the shock of unexpected recognition.  Gertrude kept her finger on the trigger, kept the muzzle pointed at Magda.

 

“Magda.”  She managed to croak out.  Her voice was loaded with questions that never made it out of her throat, that her sluggish mind was just beginning to form.  What the hell happened to you? What the hell are you doing here?

 

Those blue eyes slowly blinked.  “Gertie.”  The reek of pee drowned out the barn and animal scents.  Gertrude hoped it was Magda’s puddle and not her own wet diaper that smelled so bad.

 

“You’ve changed.”  Gertrude couldn’t keep the tremble out of her voice.  The pee smell reminded her strongly of days she’d come home from school to find Heidi in a drenched, leaky diaper and wet bed that stunk up their small room.   What should she do?  She hadn’t expected this at all.  Magda was her childhood friend.  Magda had also broken into the barn and stolen eggs.  Typical Jew behavior.  Right?  But Magda wasn’t a bad Jew.  At least, she hadn’t been as a child.  Who knew now?  She was hiding out like a common criminal on the run.  Magda didn’t look like a criminal- she looked like a scared, cornered rabbit.

 

“So have you.”  Magda spoke softly.  She  never moved in her pee puddle.  Her eyes took in the uniform coat with the swastika band on an arm.  The big boots.  The rifle.  Sadness crept in to replace surprise.  Slowly, she shifted on her knees.  Her long skirt grew wet and dark with more pee.  The rifle’s muzzle now pointed directly over her heart.  “It’s easier if you shoot here.  Death is quicker.  You can get back to your Christmas celebration sooner.”   Her voice was a soft and quiet as the surrounding night, without the serenity.  Calm, detached, emotionless. Dead inside.  

 

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We could use another chapter!   Thanks!  Surely Gertrude will have some compassion, or will she?

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Awww, I want to scoop Magda up and give her a nice warm bath & a hot meal. :wub:

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