“She’ll see you,” says the same young lady, stepping back into the living room.
I recall Estherly’s words from the last passage I read where she talked about not being able to move her feet. For completely different reasons, I’m now in the same predicament.
“You won’t be able to speak with her for too long, as it’s time for her late afternoon nap and I woke her up. Maybe only five to ten minutes.”
“That’s okay,” I say, breathless.
I follow the woman down a long hallway with a few doors on each side. A stream of light brightens up the otherwise dark hall which comes from the room I think we’re headed into. The young woman pushes the door open, and from behind her, I catch an obscured view of an elderly woman with long gray hair. I have the very inappropriate reaction of running past the young woman and to the bed.
“Auntie Oma, this is Ferrin Frazier,” the young lady speaks loudly, both delighting and disappointing my heart.
Oma. Estherly’s sister, Oma. Oma who I imagined was dead because the last thing I read was that she was taken by the Nazis.
I recall a photograph I found in the boxes of Estherly’s things and force the image of it into my mind. I remember writing on the back saying, “Oma nineteen years old.” I compare the face of the past with that of the present. And then I recognize her. I catch the same eyes and that sly smirk she gave in almost all her younger photos staring back at me from the bed, only aged.
Oma smiles through wrinkles. “Hello,” she says, with a grin.
“It’s nice to meet you, Oma. It’s very, very nice to meet you,” I say, as excitement bursts in my chest like fireworks.
“How can I help you?”
“I’m Ferrin, and I found Estherly’s diaries.”
“Estherly?” Oma repeats her sister’s name.
“She found her diaries,” says Estherly’s great-granddaughter.
“Oh,” Oma says, placing her hand over her chest and widening her eyes.
Lifting a feeble finger, Oma points to a photograph on her dresser. My eyes meet those of Estherly’s in a photograph. It’s surreal that I’m speaking with her sister. All sorts of questions race through my mind.
“Yes, Estherly. I found her diaries,” I say in a soft voice, but loud enough for her to hear.
I take hold of Oma’s hand, and she brings her other one over the top of mine, patting it.
A tear falls from Oma’s cheek, leaving me unsure of what to do next. Looking to Estherly’s great-granddaughter, I silently ask for help.
The young woman bends to my level and lowers her voice. “She misses Nana.”
I tilt my head, completely clueless as to what she means. “Who is Nana?”
“Oh, my great-grandmother, Estherly. We called her Nana.”
I smile, now understanding what she meant.
Oma nods as a couple more tears trickle down her cheeks. “Estherly…” Oma says, and this time her voice cracks. She frowns and fights tears. Sadness takes over her face, and I know.
“Estherly is with God,” Oma says.
I knew it was coming, but Oma’s words kick me straight in the chest.
“Are you okay?” asks Estherly’s great-granddaughter.
I can’t catch my breath to answer her. I extend my legs and straighten my back, standing and letting go of Oma’s hand. Words fall from my mouth, but even I can hear they’re incoherent.
A hand lands on my back. I turn around and find Estherly’s great-granddaughter facing me.
“I’m sorry, Ferrin. Nana Estherly passed away over twelve years ago.”
Tears pour from my eyes and foolishness takes over. “No, I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” says Estherly’s great-granddaughter.
“What’s your name?” I ask her, as she hands me a tissue.
“Helene,” she answers.
I turn back to Oma and shoot her a forced smile.
“You found Estherly’s diaries?” Oma asks.
Stooping back down near the bed, I nod as I cry. Oma wipes tears from my cheeks, which only intensifies my emotions.
“Don’t cry, child. Estherly is with God. May I see the diaries?” Oma asks.
Helene places the diary I gave her on Oma’s blanket-covered chest. She lifts it up with shaking hands and opens it. Holding the diary with one hand, she covers her mouth with the other. With the hand that was covering her mouth, she traces the photograph of Estherly that I taped inside the diary. When a smile tugs at the corners of Oma’s lips, I can’t help but to grin along with her.
“Your sister was beautiful,” I say.
“Oh, she was. She was. In this photo, Estherly was only sixteen years old. I remember when Papa and Mame had these taken. There’s one of me, Gavi, and Anika around here somewhere from that same day.”
Hearing Oma speak of the people Sam and I have been reading about is like living in a dream. I liken meeting her to what it would feel like to meet a celebrity.
“I hope you don’t mind that I read Estherly’s diaries.”
Oma turns her eyes from the pages of the book and looks into mine. “It’s a very interesting story, isn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed. You all went through so much,” I say, trying to be as sensitive as I can.
Putting the diary down, Oma lifts the sleeve of her nightgown, revealing a numbered tattoo on her arm. I recognize it right away. Oma was in a concentration camp.
“Auntie Oma has lived a very hard life,” Helene says from behind me.
Turning, I look up into Helene’s eyes, and for the first time I notice they’re Estherly’s. They have the same darkness and round shape, and they’re as striking as her great-grandmother’s eyes.
“Is your great-grandfather Oren still alive?” I ask, hoping I’m not prying too much.
“No. Gramps passed away shortly after Nana did. I’ve always thought that it was too painful for him to live without her.”
“I don’t know much about him. The diaries we have only talk of—”
“Henry,” Oma says, before I can get the name out.
I nod.
Oma raises her arm and points to a closet in the corner of the room and waves at it. “Helene,” she says, but doesn’t give further instruction. She only motions toward the closet door.
Seemingly understanding what Oma means, Helene walks to the closet, opens it, and bends inside. When she turns, cradling what looks like another diary, my heart nearly leaps from my chest. As she walks toward me with it, lace curtains blow in a cool breeze coming from an open window.
“This was Nana’s last diary. I think this is what Auntie wants me to show you.”
I walk over to Helene and stare down at the beautiful book. It’s much different from Estherly’s other diaries that have basic black covers. This diary is made of white leather, with intricate gold embroidery, and pink roses as a centerpiece, with a lock crossing from the side to the front.
“That’s breathtaking,” I say.
From behind me, Oma says, “Now, you’ll have Estherly’s full story.”
Helene hands me the diary and motions for me to take a seat near Oma’s bed.
“Auntie Oma, are you getting tired?”
Oma shakes her head while keeping her eyes trained on me.
“Oren is in this diary.” Oma points to the one in my hands. “I’ve been trying to find her other diaries for years. How did you find them?”
“Well, it seems Edgar Rose, a distant family member of Oren’s, came into their possession after his mother passed away. I’m sorry but I didn’t get his mother’s name. My neighbor, Sam, bought the house from a family who purchased it from Edgar and Miriam Rose.”
“How many do you have?” Oma asks.
“Two.”
“Those are the two I’ve been missing.”
“I only brought one with me today, but I have pictures and the other diary back at my hotel room.”
“I’d love to see them,” say
s Helene.
“They belong to your family. I’m the rude redhead who decided it was okay to read them.” I smile.
“I wish I could read them,” Helene says. “I don’t read or speak German. Nana told me all about her history, but it would be so much better to read her actual words.”
“I hope you two don’t think I’m a crazy person, showing up at your door and crying over Estherly. I was hoping I could find her and talk to her. Her words have made such an impact on my life.”
“I think it’s pretty neat that you came here all the way from Seattle, don’t you, Auntie?”
Oma nods. “I understand why Estherly’s story would captivate you. Have you finished both diaries?”
“No, ma’am, I haven’t.”
Oma giggles. “You do not need to call me ma’am. Oma is fine. Or, you can call me Auntie Oma, like everyone else does. Where have you gotten in Estherly’s story?”
My heart sinks, and I feel bad mentioning Anika but know I must.
“I read about the day… the day you were taken from your family when you were living in Łódź—”
“The day my sister was killed,” Oma says, saving me. “After ninety-six years of life, that’s still one of the hardest days I’ve ever lived. Not only did they murder my baby sister, but they stole me away from my family during our greatest heartache.” Oma pauses, catching her breath. “I couldn’t console my parents or grieve with my sister. They took me and threw me in Auschwitz because I could read and write Russian.”
“That’s why they came for you that day?” I ask, astonished.
“The Nazis used me to translate telegrams they intercepted, among other things.” Oma’s voice grows tired.
“Ferrin, would you mind coming back tomorrow and bringing what you have of my nana’s?” Helene asks.
My heart hurts thinking of having to let go of Estherly’s things, but I know they don’t belong to me.
“I would love to. I have so many questions.”
“You’ll find most of the answers in Estherly’s diaries. I would like you to finish her story. It’s important to me that it’s never forgotten, and while I know Estherly’s children and grandchildren won’t forget it, it’s wonderful knowing that someone outside our family now knows what my sister and my family went through,” Oma says, in a weakened tone.
“Auntie, it’s time for your medicine and you should rest for a while.”
Taking my cue, I stand. I open my arms and wait for Oma’s expression to tell me that it’s okay to hug her. When she too opens her arms, I fall into them.
“It’s like I know you so well,” I say, as I hold the old woman.
“I’m excited for you to learn more. You’ve only scratched the surface, my dear,” Oma says as she lets go of me, brings a hand to my face, and pets me.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, as I walk away waving goodbye.
Helene and I walk down the hallway and into the living room.
I turn and take her into my arms. “Thank you so much for letting me in to meet Oma.”
“Thank you for coming to find us. I’m sorry Nana wasn’t here to meet you. She would’ve loved telling you her story face-to-face. Auntie is right, though. If you’re only now reading of Łódź, you have big surprises to come.”
“My heart breaks for your nana. Did she have a good life here in the U.S.?”
“Oh, yes. I’ll see if I can get my family to come by so that you can meet them. What my great-grandma and Auntie Oma went through during the Holocaust was terrible, but I assure you, my great-grandfather provided my nana with a beautiful life, full of love.”
My smile stretches from ear-to-ear. “That warms my heart. Okay, so what time should I stop by tomorrow?”
“If you don’t mind, after 10 AM would be good.”
“I’m at your beck and call. I must tell you that your great-grandmother’s strength has made an impact on my life. I stand here today a different woman than I was when I started reading her words.”
“She had that effect on everyone she knew. It does break my heart that she won’t get to meet you.”
“Mine, too. I’m so glad I’ve met you and Oma though. Thank you, again.”
Helene walks me to the door, opens the screen, and sees me out to the porch. “We’ll see you in the morning and thank you again for coming all the way here.”
“It’s truly my pleasure.”
We say our final goodbyes, and I walk back down the stairs with an odd sense of sadness tangled with nostalgia in the center of my chest.
Back at the hotel, I call Sam at 5:00 PM on the dot. We chat for a while about me meeting Helene and Oma. I can’t help myself when I burst into tears again because Estherly is no longer with us. Sam tries to comfort me by repeating what Helene told me.
“I know, but I wanted to meet her and hug her and tell her how much of an influence she’s having on my life.”
“I know you did,” he soothes. “Try to take comfort in knowing that she survived the Holocaust. From what we’ve read, that was no easy feat.”
“Oma says we’ve barely scratched the surface.”
“That only intrigues me further.”
“Same here, but it terrifies me as well. What else did Estherly have to endure?”
“How about you grab the diary and we start finding out?” Sam asks.
I do as he says and get the book. Opening it, I brace myself for what’s to come and begin reading.
8 September 1942
I feel guilty for being alive, although everything in my heart has died. I can’t believe that this is my life now. The only good is this little one I carry in my womb. I’m lost. I wish I could go back in time to when life was simple and beautiful, where I could see beyond the dark forest.
Chapter 18 – Estherly
8 September 1942
The sun shines down on my arms and heats my skin, but inside, my heart feels cold and empty. Walking along the dirty streets, I make my way to work by taking the usual route. My mother walks at my side, looking straight ahead, not saying a word. She hasn’t said much these last few days since Oma was taken and Anika was killed. Thinking of my siblings sends shocks of pain through my entire body. The uncertainty of Gavi and Oma’s whereabouts plagues me, however the fate of little Anika haunts me. The image of her being shot plays over and over in my head.
Shaking me from my thoughts, a soldier shoves past me, almost knocking me off my feet. Looking ahead, I wonder why he is in such a rush. He stops in front of me and joins a crowd of people gathered in the street. As my mother and I near the crowd, loud yelling comes from the centre. Approaching the spectacle, a naked woman stands in the middle of the crowd, harassed by two soldiers. Her dress lies at her feet on the ground, I imagine ripped off by one of the men. She pleads with them to leave her be, but they persist. I turn my head to avoid the cruel sight and pull on my mother’s arm to move her from the scene. Walking past the crowd, we continue towards the factory.
A loud boom stops my mother and me from our stride.
“Oh, Estherly, that was an explosion!” Mother says with wide eyes, breaking her silence. Smoke billows from a rooftop about two streets over. People all around us run in every direction as another explosion goes off, this time closer to us.
“It’s a raid!” a man screams, as he runs past my mother and me.
“Mame, let’s get home. We have to run.”
“Your father,” she says, as I grab her arm and force her to move with me.
“He will meet us there. I’m sure of it.”
Another explosion erupts and yelling reverberates off the walls of the buildings. My heart almost beats out of my chest as I pull my mother behind me, and we run as fast as our feet will let us. Making it to our apartment, I push my mother inside. Gisse meets us near the door and ushers us in.
“Simon?” my mother calls, as her eyes search the room for my father.
“I’m here, love,” he says, as he comes over to my mother and me and take
s us in his arms.
“Are we the only ones who made it back to the apartment?” I ask, looking to Gisse for answers.
“So far, yes,” she says, cradling her daughter in her arms.
The sound of gunfire in the distance frightens me, and I place my hands over my ears. The five of us sit huddled together in the back room, trying to avoid the inevitable. My thoughts turn to Henry. Surely, he will come looking for me. I spring to my feet and run out the door, hearing my mother call out to me, but I don’t stop to explain myself. Making my way out the building, I stop at the sidewalk, searching through the chaos for him. The street is clouded in smoke and burns my lungs with each breath I take in. Shouting and crying fill my ears as people run past me, no doubt trying to hide from the Nazis. I can tell they are getting closer, and I worry I won’t find Henry and they will catch me here. I know I should be in my apartment, hiding with my parents, but my heart won’t let me go back to them—not until I find him. Even though I know I’m in great danger, I continue to search through the crowd for him.
Henry rounds the corner, and I sprint in his direction. Running towards me, relief shines in his eyes as he makes his way across the street.
“Estherly!” he screams, as the gap between us closes.
Reaching his arms out to me, he smiles, and my heart flutters. With all the sadness in my soul, his love brings me comfort. Even as the world around us is in an uproar, our love is unstoppable.
I sprint towards him, and he to me. His smile fades, and a look of confusion falls upon his face. Henry drops to his knees, and I stop where I am, not understanding what’s happening. A group of Jewish men stand behind him, armed with boards and what look like wooden legs from a table. Blood flows down his forehead and trickles into his eyes. Widening, his eyes fixate on mine. Lifting his arm, he seems to be grasping for me.
“You’re safe now, miss,” the man behind Henry says, as he takes another swing at Henry, knocking him flat on the ground. Waving at other Jewish men, the man beating Henry encourages them to join in. They all whack at his body, not letting up.
Remember the Stars Page 14
