The Winter Guest (25 page)

“No!” Ruth blurted out. Helena stared at her. Ruth struggled to recover as the full extent of her dilemma crashed down upon her. She did not want her sister going to the chapel—surely Ruth’s deceit would be apparent then. But she believed Helena that Sam was their only hope for escape.

“Pack some bags,” Helena instructed in a low voice. “In case he says we must go right away. Don’t let the children see.” Better not to provoke the questions they would have—they thought that the adults in their lives had all of the answers, which this time was simply not true.

“Wait!” Ruth faltered as her sister turned back. Helena could not go to the chapel. It was not really that she thought the soldier would tell—she knew that, despite his guilt, he would protect Helena from the awful truth rather than hurt her in the way. Now that Ruth had divulged news of a strange man in the woods, though, the Germans could find the chapel and apprehend Sam at any time and Helena could not be there when it happened. But Ruth could not explain this to her sister without telling her the truth. “It’s dangerous,” she said finally.

“It’s always dangerous,” Helena replied, sweeping a strand of hair impatiently from her forehead. “We have no other choice.”

No, Ruth conceded silently. She had taken away that choice the moment she revealed Sam’s existence at market. “Go now.”

Helena was already at the door, buttoning her coat. Ruth watched out the window as her sister started up the hilltop. Despite his harsh rejection, she wished more than a little bit that it was her going to see Sam again. Did Helena suspect anything? No, it was still there—the same luminescent glow she had seen about her sister the first time she had returned from the chapel. Helena was happy in a way that she would never be again if she knew.

Her jealousy grew. Ruth could tell by the way that Sam had touched her, as if exploring a new country, that he and her sister had not been intimate. And surely he would not try to be with Helena now after all that had happened. Ruth willed her sister’s feet to move faster, praying that she would reach Sam and leave again before the townspeople reported him, or found him themselves.

The time passed slowly. The children played inside, more quietly than usual. “Ruti,” Michal said in a low voice, slipping away from the girls and coming to the chair where she knitted. “Helena’s errand...does it have something to do with the soldier?”

“No,” she replied, too quickly. She hated lying, but she did not want to alarm him. And how could she explain, when she did not have all of the answers herself? It was in a sense true—Helena’s errand was not really about the soldier, but about their escape.

She looked around the cottage, desperate for a distraction. Once she might have suggested a craft, but one needed something to make it out of and there was simply nothing to spare. “Let’s take a nap,” she suggested, and they did not protest, but climbed into bed and huddled together for warmth. She cleared her throat and began to sing, her voice nowhere as good as Mama’s. But the children did not seem to notice. Karolina snuggled in contentedly and let out a small sigh and fell quickly to sleep. Ruth stared at the ceiling, remembering how she had lain on the chapel floor with Sam just hours earlier.

She awakened sometime later and slipped out from among them to prepare dinner. Snow began to fall, heavy against the window, the wind whipping it into great circles. She fretted, thinking of her sister. Helena had made the trip in worse weather before, but surely the squall would slow her down.

She lifted the lid from the pot of soup she had prepared, then gave it a stir. Earlier, she had pulled a nearly empty sack from the cupboard and scoured the bottom for the last few remaining lentils, scraping the mold off them and depositing them in a dish as though each was a nugget of gold and adding the potatoes she’d bought. She remembered then as if from another lifetime a piece of meat that she had refused to eat as a child because it had been too charred. “It’s a sin to waste food,” Mama had said. “There are people who have to do without.” Her mother’s words now seemed a portent, their current suffering the price to be paid for her earlier waste.

In the bedroom, the children began to stir. Michal rubbed his eyes as he stumbled into the kitchen, a still-groggy Karolina nestled around his neck. Twenty minutes later, they had assembled at the table for dinner. No one needed to be reminded of mealtimes now. The children watched, hopeful but resigned, as she scraped the bottom of the pot, each trying not to beg for an extra morsel. They ate, quickly and silently. Even Karolina had stopped crying when her few drops of sweet milk were gone. Dorie was scraping at a bit of old porridge on the edge of the table and then when she thought nobody was looking popped it in her mouth.

Unable to watch them any longer, Ruth stood to clear the plates. Her eyes traveled to the calendar above the sink, marveling at how the days had blended together. How could she have forgotten Karolina’s birthday, which always came in such a rush after Christmas? They did not have even a small gift for her. She pulled the jar of honey from the cupboard, the last remaining bits barely visible through the glass.

Ruth held it close to the stove, liquefying the thin coat of honey. She took a spoon and scraped the jar, holding it out to Dorie. Dorie paused for a split second uncertainly, as though it was a trick, then plunged the whole spoon into her mouth, eyes widening with glee. Ruth took another spoon, divided the rest of the contents between Michal and Karolina. The baby’s face looked strange and for a moment Helena wondered if she’d made a mistake and the unfamiliar rich taste would make the child ill. But she squealed with delight.

Ruth looked down at the nearly empty jar, which called to her. One spoonful wasn’t going to keep them from starvation. She could not keep them safe here and was powerless to help them escape. But she could give them this. She scraped the jar and then plunged the spoon into her mouth, the sweetness mixing with the salt from the tears she could no longer stem.

“Sto lat,”
she said aloud to Karolina
. May you live to be a hundred.
It was the child’s second birthday.

20

Helena raced toward the chapel. It was bitterly cold now, the sky dark gray. Her breath rose in crystalline puffs, mixing with the falling snow. The few days since she had been to see Sam seemed a lifetime. She would have gone sooner, but sneaking out had proven impossible with the holiday. She recalled how the children had opened on Christmas Eve the small gifts she and Ruth had fashioned from whatever they could find around the house. Taking in the scene, she was flooded with guilt—it was a sham pretending to celebrate Christmas. But watching the children’s faces, she knew that the happiness it brought was good, a respite from the suffering and worry that threatened to deny them their childhood.

She raised her feet higher to break through the ice that coated the ground, still puzzling over Ruth’s change of heart. It simply wasn’t like her sister to acquiesce. Had she finally lifted her head from the sand and seen just how bad things really were? It did not matter why Ruth had agreed to leave—the important fact was that she had done so. Helena imagined entering the chapel, telling Sam that they could go together now and have the life they planned. Would he be as happy about it as she was? She paused, considering. Making plans for a life together that was not possible was one thing, living out those fantasies quite another. Perhaps he would not want her for real.

Helena shook off the doubt that nagged at her. There simply wasn’t time. She pressed forward and soon reached the chapel. She knocked and, not waiting for a response, pushed open the door. “Sam?” There was no response. Her heart fluttered slightly as she scanned the chapel to see if he was napping. He might have moved his sleeping place once more. But the floor was bare, the pile of brush he usually slept on scattered, as though someone had swept it away with a broom. Uneasiness licked at her stomach. The air was still and there was a strange musty smell she recognized from the day she had brought him here.

The fire, she noticed, was out, a little clump of ash visible through the open grate. Sam must have gone for wood, she reasoned. She stepped outside, a low buzzing in her ears. “Sam?” she called again, forgetting in her haste to keep her voice low. The trees seemed to muffle her words into silence. She held her breath for one second, then another, waiting for the familiar response that would make everything okay.
Nothing.
Terror seized her. Her eyes scanned the ground, searching for tracks. But the snow was unbroken. No one had come or gone from here since the fresh snow had begun to fall hours earlier. A pile of stones she did not remember lay in a semicircle just by the door.

Helena ran back inside. The cups and other small living items she’d given Sam were missing. The chapel looked as if no one had ever been there, and all that had happened these past weeks had been a figment of her imagination. Her photo, the one he had asked for, had been ripped from the spot on the wall near where Sam had once lain. A torn bit of paper, still stuck to the wall, was the only sign that anyone had been. Helena knew then that he was truly gone.

She stood motionless, her mind whirring with confusion.
Sam was gone.
She wondered if he had left on his own, made the break for the border he had talked about. He would not, she felt certain, have up and gone without at least letting her know, despite her once asking him to do just that. No, someone had come here, without warning. It could have been the police, or even the Germans. She looked around the room more closely now. There were no signs of a struggle. But her skin prickled. Whoever had come might be back. She must go.

Outside Helena paused, seeing him in the empty space before her. She turned back to the chapel, willing him to appear and run after her, as he had the day they had quarreled. But the door remained shut, and the windows dark. Her eyes stung with tears. She started quickly down the path toward home.

When Helena reached the fork in the road she stopped. Sam had disappeared, and with him their only hope of escape. Perhaps she had been wrong to trust him. Perhaps he had reconsidered his feelings for her. Seeing his solemn face as he had recited marriage vows just days earlier, it hardly seemed possible. No, he would not have abandoned her. But where was he? She saw his face in her mind, but the setting behind him was a blur. Was he hurt, or even dead? She doubled over in anguish.

A moment later, she straightened, swallowing back her pain. She had to try to find him, to know if he was all right. Alek, she decided, turning toward the route that led to Kraków. He had not been able to help Sam. But at least he might be able to tell her what to do.

It was nearly midday when she reached the city, breathless from running. The snow had stopped but clouds hung low, obscuring the top of the castle. Helena did not bother to climb to the top of the hill to plan her route—there simply wasn’t time. Every passing minute meant that Sam might be farther away or in worse danger. Instead, she ran heedlessly across the wide railway bridge that spanned the river, footsteps clanging against metal and seeming to ricochet through the air.

At the top of Grodzka Street, she forced herself to slow down and walk normally for fear of attracting attention. She looked in the direction of the Old City, considering. Alek might be at the café now, but picturing the German patrons who had stared at her with interest, she knew she should not go there. Wierzynek, she thought, remembering the fine restaurant where Alek worked.

Wierzynek sat just above the market square, a two-story restaurant with a latticed iron balcony on the second floor and wide windows that swung inward to allow the fresh air on fine spring days. She hesitated outside the front door, smoothing her hair. Even if Poles were not now forbidden from dining there, she would not have dared enter the elegant establishment in such a state. She made her way around to the back of the restaurant where a truck sat idling. A moment later, a worker appeared, bobbling a stack of crates that rose higher than his head and gave off a sour smell.
“Prosz˛e, pana,”
Helena said.

“Tak?”
The crates wobbled precariously and Helena hoped that he would not be startled into dropping them.

“I’m looking for Alek Landesberg.” It had not occurred to her until just that second that he might not work under his own name.

The man set down the crates. “Alek?” He shook his head. “He hasn’t turned up for work in a few days. Something about a sick relative. The boss says he’s going to let him go if he isn’t back soon.”

“Thank you.” Walking hurriedly away, she considered the information. Though she had known him only briefly, it did not seem like Alek to miss the job he said was so valuable for obtaining information. Something was not right. Without thinking, she started toward Starowi´slna Street, the wide thoroughfare that would take her to the Jewish quarter.

A few minutes later, the bustle of the city center gave way to the quiet desolation of Kazimierz. Here the cobblestones had been hastily cleared of snow, leaving a slick coating, and she navigated them carefully, trying not to fall.

She reached Skawinska Street, pushed open the heavy door to the
gmina
and raced up the marble steps, her footsteps echoing eerily throughout the empty stairwell. The door to Pan Izakowicz’s office was open. She knocked.
“Dzie´n dobry?”
Silence greeted her. Her heart sank. She had hoped she might find him here, packing still. Some books remained on the shelves and the photographs still hung on the wall. But the piles of papers cleared from the desk and the menorah that had sat on the corner were gone.

She sank to a chair, shaken. First Sam, then Alek and now Pan Izakowicz, too. It was as if the entire world had disappeared overnight.

A sudden noise came from the corridor. Footsteps. Helena jumped up. What would happen to her if she was caught here? The door pushed open and a toothless man in a wide black hat, not much older than Izakowicz, stood before her. They stared at each other uncertainly and she could tell from the fear in his eyes that he was supposed to be in the ghetto. Had he somehow escaped or not yet gone?

“I’m looking for Pan Izakowicz,” she said.

“Why?” The man’s voice was protective.

“I need to find someone and I think he can help.”

“He isn’t here anymore.” Helena prayed he had not gotten into trouble for speaking with her about her mother. “They’ve closed the
gmina.
” Sooner than the six days the Germans had promised him. “So he’s in Podgórze now. Who are you trying to find?”

She hesitated, wondering whether the man could be trusted. “Alek, his nephew. I was hoping he could help me with something.”

She saw a glint of recognition in the man’s eyes. But then he shook his head. “He’s gone. To ground, I suspect, along with the rest of them.” Alek had died? Her stomach twisted. “Hiding in the woods, that is,” the man clarified. Helena exhaled. “Things have gotten very dangerous,” he continued. More dangerous did not seem possible to Helena, but the man’s grave voice left little room for doubt. “I doubt even Alek can help anyone now.” The man walked past her and took one of the photographs from the wall. Was he connected to the people in it? “I wouldn’t stay here long, if I were you,” he added before walking from the office.

Helena raced down the stairs and back onto the street. Pan Izakowicz had been her last hope of finding Alek and for a moment she considered going to the ghetto. But if Alek was in hiding, no one—not even his uncle—would be able to find him. They were all gone, and with them her family’s only hope of escape.

She stopped abruptly. The intersection ahead of her was blocked by two large jeeps. Her breathing stopped. Was it another
aktion?
No, there were no Jews left to arrest or kill anymore. Except her. Watching the police stop an ordinary pedestrian, Helena’s heart pounded. It was a checkpoint, one that she might have seen if she had taken the time to survey the city before coming down. Her identity would not be apparent from her
kennkarte,
but if she was detained for unauthorized travel...

She ducked back against the building and headed in the other direction. At the corner she turned, and began walking blindly, taking a right and then a left turn, not caring which way she went, as long as it was away from the danger. A few minutes later, she stopped, leaning against one of the buildings to catch her breath. A drop of cold water fell from the roof overhead, running down her collar, icy against her neck. She was not quite certain which way she had gone, but there was something familiar about the street.

The black market, she remembered, taking in the abandoned industrial building at the corner. She reached into her bag and her hand closed around the cold metal of the Kiddush cup. She had nearly forgotten it was there. Holding tightly to it, Helena started forward. She slipped in between the two buildings. The market was much the same as it had been the day she had come with Alek, the traders seemingly unperturbed by the police presence just streets away. Amid the silver merchants, Trojecki sat in the same place as days earlier, as if he had not moved.

“You remember me?” she asked.

The man eyed her coldly. “Don’t waste my time.”

“I’m not. You said thirty,
tak?
” She bluffed the higher price, hoping he would not remember.

He shook his head. “Price has gone down. Twenty-five.”

She stood. “Twenty-seven.”

He waved her back. “Fine.” He held out his hand.

Helena pulled out the Kiddush cup, then hesitated once more. She did not want to part with the item and reject her past as her mother had done. But the children needed food. She had believed in Sam and Alek, trusted them. That was her first mistake. She was back to that place now, where she could only depend on herself for their survival.

Helena waited until the merchant had passed her the money, then handed him the cup. Then she walked away quickly, the coins cold and heavy in her hand.