“Uhh, Estherly, you always see hearts!” my older sister, Oma, said, laughing.
“It sort of looks like a heart, if you squint and look at it sideways.” Anika giggled.
“It’s as plain as day! Right there over the tree, a big, beautiful heart! I can’t believe you don’t see it!” I said, standing up and pointing again.
Laughing, they grabbed my arms and pulled me back down to the soft, dewy grass. Hand in hand, we would spend hours lying under the night sky, sharing our hearts as only sisters can. Our bond, our loyalty, and our love was solidified under those stars shared with the whispering winds.
A gun fires, jolting me from my memories. Grabbing my hand, Mae looks at me with wide, petrified eyes. Searching for Henry, our eyes meet, and I’m reminded how much I’m in love. Even during this horrible time, his subtle smile lets me know that, for now, we are not in imminent danger. On cue, soldiers rush our way and usher me, Mae, and our schoolmates back to class, breaking the stare between Henry and me.
“Gather your things. Get back inside. Move it!” demands one of the men.
Making our way back to the brick schoolhouse, more shots ring out. Panic sets in once again as the sound moves in closer. I stare up at what used to be a beautiful, historic building, the schoolhouse I’ve always been fortunate to call my home away from home. The broken windows almost look as though they weep for the grand presence the building once was. The two-story schoolhouse used to have twenty classrooms. Now, with most of the students and their families either deported or murdered, they cram what is left of us into one room on the bottom floor.
Pain ravages my back, and I’m knocked to my knees. The gravel scrapes my hands, and I can feel cuts on my legs from the forceful blow.
“You’re too slow, girl. Get up now!” he orders.
Without a sound, I do as I’m told. Horror strikes when my yellow star falls from where it was sewn on my dress. I reach for it, seeing the thread had come loose, and hope the angry man won’t notice it’s gone. My hand trembles as I pick up the star. Taking a chance, I hold it back in place over my dress.
Blood flows from both of my knees and hands. The dirt and small pebbles sting my wounds, but out of fear of another attack, I ignore them. I catch a glimpse of my aggressor walking beside me, a man three times my size, strutting along, swinging his whip. The look in his eye is cold, but nonetheless he is satisfied with himself and his assault. My stomach knots as I think of how self-righteous he is.
Tears build in the corners of my eyes, but I will never give him that satisfaction I know he must be looking for. Keeping pace with me, he glares, seemingly waiting for me to do something he does not approve of. Don’t cry. Estherly. Hold yourself together. You’re almost inside. With my heart beating faster, my stare stays fixed ahead of me, my eyes not daring to waver. A single tear makes its way down my left cheek and rests at the corner of my lips. I wonder what Henry must be thinking as he’s watching this spectacle. Thankfully, the tear must have gone unnoticed because the soldier on my case doesn’t say anything about it.
A blond soldier keeps the door to the school propped open with his tall, medium-build frame. He ushers the other students by, yelling in a brash tone and waving them on with abrupt, grand gestures. Mae, a few steps ahead of me, hesitates and is met with a push from a short, hefty soldier that forces her through the door. Unable to watch what Mae is going through, I turn my gaze towards the soldier holding the door. I catch a glimpse of his crystal-blue eyes and turn my gaze back to the ground in front of me. Other soldiers on the playground yell from behind me. I long for the days when all I could hear was the sound of laughter or teachers blowing whistles.
My hand briefly grazes Henry’s as I’m rushed inside the classroom. For a moment, it seems as if time stands still. My cheeks flush and my heart overflows with adoration.
“Get inside!” yells the man who struck me.
His boastful voice makes me jump and quicken my steps as I make my way through the small classroom. Putting on my jacket with another yellow star sewn to it, I take my seat next to Mae. The wood of the chair is cold, and splinters stick at my legs through my dress. Mae, wide-eyed, glances at me. I try reassuring her with a smile, however from the look on her face, I’ve failed.
Doing her best to keep her students focused on studying, our teacher, Mrs. Bakal, writes math problems on the blackboard. Mind drifting, I stare out the window. The big beech tree outside the window sways with the soft fall wind, as its leaves descend slowly, dancing their way to the ground.
“Estherly,” she says, with her soft tone. “You need to do your schoolwork.”
I look up to see my teacher standing near my desk. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bakal.” I sigh.
Smiling at me, she makes her way back up to the front of the classroom and continues with the sums. Concentrating on math is the least of my concerns. I can’t help but let my mind wander again. I long for this day to end. I miss the warmth of my home and family, especially in these terrible times. My education has always been important to me, but with the uncertainty my community and family live in, my wish is to be near them now. When I’m at school, I spend most of my time worrying what might be happening back at home. I want to learn, but I’d rather be at home with my family. Home is one of the only places I am safe.
Fidgeting in my chair, I try to ignore the stinging on my knees. The dried blood cracks, and the wounds split open again. A tiny droplet of blood trickles down my leg, no doubt finding its way to my white sock. Doodling hearts and turning my zeros into flowers on what is supposed to be my math paper keep me looking busy. Math is not my strong suit. Oma is the math wiz in our family. She can solve any problem in her head in seconds. She finished school in the top of her class last year. It was a proud moment for the Krauss family.
A soldier yells, “It’s time to go home!”
Standing up, I gather my things. I wait for Mae to grab her books and we walk out of school towards the sidewalk.
“How are your legs?” Mae whispers.
“I will be fine. They hurt, but they are minor scrapes,” I say, looking down at my bloody socks.
“I swear, Estherly, when I saw him hit you, I wanted to run over and push him, but I was so scared.” Tears well up in Mae’s eyes. “Oh, Estherly, I’m so sorry.”
Taking her hand into mine, I give her a reassuring squeeze. Since the Jewish community was attacked, Mae and I rely on each other as best as we can.
“There was nothing you could do. If you tried to intervene, something worse would have happened to you or me.”
Walking hand-in-hand, we make it to the sidewalk.
“This is where we say goodbye.” I pull her into a hug. “Go straight home, and remember the curfew,” I say in her ear.
Mae nods and turns, heading towards her house. Turning in the opposite direction, I start my journey home.
Walking down the street, a cool gust catches the hem of my dress as dry leaves swirl around my ankles and smash underneath my feet. I love the crunching sound they make and try to step on as many as I can. Mixed in with the sound of the leaves, there’s also the familiar thud of a soldier’s boots hitting pavement behind me. Fear sets in, and it takes all I have to keep moving. I walk past darkened shops, ignoring them and focusing straight ahead.
A thump hits the back of my right calf, then the left. I panic. He’s kicking me. Over and over, the man’s boot strikes me, nearly causing me to fall. Snickers come from around me; some people point, and others look away. It’s like I’m the main attraction in a sickening parade.
“Jewish garbage!” he yells.
I recognize his voice; it’s the same soldier who attacked me at school. I don’t dare speak. To do so would surely mean death.
“Look at you in your fancy clothes, carrying your books as if it makes you worth something,” he squawks. “You are nothing but filth!”
I fight the urge to run away. If I do, he will chase and kill me, the same as Nazis have done to others who try an
d flee. He continues his abuse as I make my way through town. He taunts me with mean comments and kicks to the back of my legs. Outside town, our farmhouse comes into view.
The journey to my house seems endless, and the soldier doesn’t let up, as I make my way to the front gate. Stopping at the fence, his footfalls scuff the dirt behind me. Will he kill me now? Will he kill me in front of my home with my parents watching? I didn’t do anything to cause such hatred.
Unlatching the gate, I make my way through, placing my foot on the first cobblestone on the path to my home. Catching a glimpse of my tormentor, he stands silent, watching every move I make. Two more steps, then one more. I’m almost there. My hand grasps the doorknob, and I scurry inside.
Once in the house, I find my mother and Oma in the kitchen. Oma busies herself chopping turnips, her dark-brown bouncy hair kept in place by a scarf. A ringlet hangs near her eye, and it draws my attention to the dark circles under her eyes. While she has deep-set eyes that are normally shadowed, the shade is more prominent now. Even though I’m told I resemble her, I’ve always been jealous of my sister’s beauty. Oma smiles, but her grin fades when she sizes me up.
“Mame,” Oma says.
My mother, whom my sisters and I resemble, is at the sink filling a pot with water when her attention turns to me.
“Estherly! My sweet girl. What happened to you?” she exclaims, as she rushes out of the kitchen, into the hall, and to my side.
I can’t speak, I can barely inhale. Tears stream down my face as I grab for my mother. I melt into her warm, loving arms and gasp as the sobs overcome me.
“Simon, come here!” my mother yells for my father.
Gavi follows as my father makes his way from the living room to where my mother and I hold each other in an embrace. Standing next to each other, I’m reminded of how similar their looks are. Both my father and Gavi stand over six feet tall. They both have long, narrow faces and dark features. While Gavi is thin and lanky, father is broad and wider like the rest of us.
“What is it, Ruth?” my father asks.
A loud knock at the door sends shivers down my spine. Letting go of my mother, I look around to see the terror in my family’s eyes. For several years now, a knock at the door is abnormal and usually means trouble with the Nazis.
“Girls, go to the kitchen, now,” my father insists.
We do as we are told but linger in the doorway to watch what will happen. My father hesitates as he reaches for the door, his hand shaking ever-so-slightly. As the soldier makes his way into our home, he brushes past my father and stands in our entry way, stomping his muddy boots on the floor. He must’ve trampled through Oma’s freshly watered garden for his boots to be in that condition. “Der Typ is irrel!” I think, struggling to keep my mouth closed and bringing more chance of horror upon my family. But, he is a lunatic! Who smashes living, beautiful plants, flowers, and vegetables?
“Your papers!” he yells to my father but keeps his gaze towards the kitchen.
“Yes, sir, one moment.” My father rushes to the living room to fetch the paperwork and quickly returns it to him.
Looking the papers over, the soldier scowls.
“There are six sets of papers here. I only see five of you. Where is the other?” he shouts, as he taps one finger on the handle of the pistol fastened to his side.
“Our youngest daughter is ill and upstairs in her room.” My father’s shaky voice sounds meek and defeated. Never would I describe my father as weak, but under the pressure of it all, my father caves to keep his family safe.
The soldier glares at me and throws our papers down to the muddy floor where he casually cleaned his boots. Making his way towards the kitchen, I freeze. Gavi lunges forwards in the entryway, but his movements are stifled by my father’s hand gesture for him to stay as he is.
The soldier stops inches in front of me and lowers his eyes. I glance up before keeping my head down. His alcohol-scented breath blows in my hair. Moving away from me, I tremble as he makes his way to our kitchen cupboards. He opens each one of them, knocking its contents to the ground. Glass shatters around me, and a big stew container hits my ankle. The sound of the pots and pans hitting the floor deafens me. The pot of water my mother was filling is slammed to the floor, and the cool fluid splashes my legs. Without another word, the soldier saunters past me. He turns back towards the kitchen right as he reaches the front door and gives me a malicious smile. In an instant, he opens the door and is gone.
Bursting into tears, I grab Oma’s hand, and we make our way to the kitchen table. My legs are sore from the events of today and feel as if they can barely hold my body up anymore. My father and brother rush into the kitchen, making their way through broken cups and plates. Sitting down at the table, we all realize how close to death we were.
At dinner, I recount the events that took place today, and they listen to me with a look of horror on their faces. My mother’s eyes fill with tears as I describe how the soldier had kicked the backs of my legs the whole way home.
“I’m sorry, Mame, I shouldn’t have led him to our home,” I said, as I lay my hand on my mother’s.
“Silly Estherly, where would you have gone?” She smiles. “You always come home if something bad happens, no matter what.”
I tiptoe down the stairs, careful not to make any sounds. Waiting for Oma to fall asleep seemed like it took longer than usual tonight. With her being so upset about what happened today, I understand why. I’m also still shaken by what happened to me– to us –today. I reach the last step, the noisiest one of them all, and scarcely touch it as my other foot hits the floor. Going through the kitchen, I think of the mess the soldier made earlier today. It took three good sweeps to get the glass off the floor. I grab a piece of cheese and a flashlight, then make my way to the back door. I unlock it and slip outside.
The moon is full and bright. The autumn breeze dances on my skin. Running through the damp grass, I make my way to our old wooden barn. What once held half a dozen horses is now empty and void of happiness, but it’s our place. I get inside and try to warm myself up by rubbing my hands on my arms and legs, careful not to touch my scrapes. Sitting on the dry hay, I wait. It is so quiet in here now, no horses whinnying and no hooves rustling, not like it used to be before the horses were taken by the soldiers. Now, it’s silence, except for the wind hitting the barn.
Something touches the tip of my finger and then slinks around my arm, purring and meowing.
“I brought you some cheese, my friend,” I say to the little cat that has found refuge inside our barn. When we first met, she feared me. She wouldn’t let me get too close, but now we have an understanding, and she trusts me.
I give the cat her cheese and stroke her scruffy, black fur. “He’ll be here soon.” I whisper the words to the cat and take a deep breath. My body tenses with excitement. Knowing I will see him soon sends my heart into a frenzy. I lay down on the hay, and the little cat cuddles with me, no doubt trying to stay warm.
I wait… But tonight, he does not come. Where is my Henry?
Chapter 3 – Ferrin
Waking the next morning, I open my eyes and find Estherly’s diary staring me in the face. My stomach twists with sadness when I think of what I read the night before and all that the Jewish people went through during those times. I wonder how a human being could ever treat other people so badly. The Holocaust has always disgusted me, but after reading Estherly’s account of some of the horrors she faced, I’m sickened.
Checking my bed for Otis, I roll onto my back and let out the air of my lungs.
“Poor thing,” I say out loud, as I find Otis and pet him. “Here she was, trying to get an education, and those Nazi jerks made her life hell.”
It’s inconceivable that the Holocaust even happened. I wonder how anyone on this planet could allow such awful things to go on, and then I think of what happens in our world today. Terrible atrocities take place every single day. It breaks my heart and sends me into a depression,
along with the thought that I have to pry my butt out of bed and go to hell (otherwise known as TelCom Digital Systems).
“Otie, Momma has to get up. I’d give anything to stay in bed all day with you”—I turn and face Estherly’s diary—“and read that, but if we want to keep living in our nice house and eating food from the grocery store, rather than trashcans, then I have to go to work.”
As if sympathizing with me, Otis crawls up to my face and kisses the tip of my nose. Staying in bed a little longer than I should, I get lost in thoughts of Estherly, Mae, wondering who Henry is, and Estherly’s family.
Noticing the time on the alarm clock, I push myself out of bed and rush around getting ready for work. As I sit on my bed, pulling on my flats, my eyes move to the diary on my nightstand. I catch myself gawking at it again and thinking of Estherly. Something about her captivates me. She’s like a character straight out of a great novel. Grabbing the diary from the nightstand, I tuck it under my arm and carry it downstairs. I can’t leave it behind. Whisking by the bench that sits near my front door, I grab my insulated lunch bag before heading into the kitchen. Walking into the laundry room, I grab two bags from a pantry shelf. Closing the door, I step back into the kitchen. Gently placing the diary into a plastic grocery bag, I then open my refrigerator and peer in. I take my pre-made coffee, my yogurt, and the sandwich I fixed before I went to bed last night and stuff them all into my lunch bag. Panic sets in when I look at the clock on the microwave and realize I’m running ten minutes behind. I jolt through the hallway, grab my purse off the same bench I grabbed my lunch bag from, and hurry out the door. Skipping my walkway, I decided to run across the grass, even though tiny droplets of dew cover the blades. I open the passenger side door and throw my lunch bag in, but take my time putting the diary on the seat. It’s so fragile, I don’t want to damage it.
Hurrying to the driver’s side, I get lost in thought again when I glimpse the hunter-green garbage cans at the curb. Even though I know it’s completely silly, I warm at the sight of Sam’s trashcan so close to mine. A flash of the two of us standing in that spot last night pops into my mind and my insides somersault. Moving my eyes to the front of Sam’s house, I envision him walking out the front door in a robe that accidentally falls open, showing off the ripples of his chiseled chest and revealing he’s wearing boxers. I know it’s not possible because Sam works from home and sleeps in. I know this cause I’m a total stalker. Lucky bastard, I think, as I switch my gaze to the huge, gray clouds gliding through the stormy sky. I’d give anything to work from home and not have to keep clocking in for the job that sucks the life out of me.
Remember the Stars Page 2
