At the superior officer’s name, the stout man on the steps turned, sneering at the crowd as he searched for the source of the voice. But Yona wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at her father, who had finally found her in the throng. He was staring at her, slack-jawed. “Stop this, please,” she said, and now, as he drew closer, she was speaking only to him. “You can do that, can’t you? Please. I am begging you to spare the lives of the nuns.”
“Inge?” When Jüttner spoke, even his voice was familiar to her, so familiar that it tugged at a corner of her heart she thought had been closed long ago. Without looking behind him, he gestured to the officer on the church steps, telling him with a single wave of his hand to pause. Yona had been right: he was the senior officer here. Shaking his head in disgusted disbelief, the officer on the steps signaled to the eight soldiers as Jüttner began to walk again toward Yona, who had to force herself to stand still, though it went against her every instinct. But if she ran, the nuns would die.
The silent crowd parted like the Red Sea as the tall Nazi officer moved through them, stopping just inches from Yona. The other officer, the one who’d seen her yesterday, was scrambling behind him. “You see? It’s just like I told you! Her eyes! Just like—”
“Enough.” The world around them fell silent as Jüttner stepped so close to her that she could feel his breath on her cheek. His uniform was creaseless, his gaze appraising and guarded. He stared directly into her eyes, as if trying to see into her soul, and then, without a word, he picked up her left wrist and gently turned it over. As he stared down at it, she watched him. The dark dove throbbed as he brushed it with his thumb, as if making certain it was real. Something changed in his eyes, a vanishing of doubt. When he looked up at her, his eyes were filled with tears. “Inge?” he whispered. “Is it really you?”
It had been her name once upon a time, before Jerusza crept from the shadows and spirited her away. Slowly, she nodded. “Papa,” she murmured, her first word so long ago, a word she hadn’t uttered in more than two decades. She struggled with how to think of this man before her; he was the father of her hazy memory, but now he was a stranger in a Nazi uniform, a stranger who had allowed the murder of a priest, who had been about to oversee the execution of eight innocent nuns.
“How are you here?” he asked, and when she looked back at the church steps, his eyes followed hers, to where the red-faced officer was staring at them with confused disgust, and to where Sister Maria Andrzeja was watching, her mouth agape. “You have been alive all these years?”
She took a deep breath. “I will tell you everything. But first you must stop this. Please. The nuns have done nothing. You’ve already made your point with the priest.”
He nodded slowly, as if in a daze, and turned to the officer standing inches behind him, who’d been watching their exchange with wide eyes. Jüttner murmured something, and though the man looked perplexed, he nodded and hurried up the church steps, where he repeated the command to the red-faced officer who’d been about to order the execution. The officer looked furious, but he nodded curtly and ordered the soldiers to stand down. Then he barked an order at one of them to lead the nuns into the church and to guard them until the situation was resolved.
Yona watched until Sister Maria Andrzeja vanished inside, shooting Yona one last look of confusion and terror. And then, as the officer on the steps disappeared inside the church, too, and the crowd continued to shrink away from her, she turned back to Jüttner. “Danke,” she said, thanking him in German.
“It is only temporary, until I understand what you are doing here.” He stared for a moment longer. “My daughter,” he murmured to himself. As he took her hand in his, his long fingers crushing hers as he began to lead her away, her stomach churned. The nuns had been granted a reprieve, but for how long? And what would be the price for their salvation? This time, when Jerusza’s words spoke to her on the wind, they were unmistakable. You fool. What have you done?
* * *
Jüttner’s hand was coarse and cold, but when he glanced back at her, he must have seen the fear on her face, for he loosened his grip slightly. “All will be well,” he said as he led her past the line of soldiers who had been set to execute the nuns just a moment earlier. Now they all stared at her in confusion.
“Wait,” she said, stopping abruptly, which forced him to stop with her.
When he turned around, his expression was a strange blend of tenderness and impatience. “Yes? What is it?”
“The nuns. How do I know they will be safe if I come with you?”
He glanced at the soldiers, all of whom were watching, and she could see a shadow cross his face. “Because I am in charge here. My men do what I say.”
“The nuns haven’t done anything wrong. They don’t deserve to die.”
He looked as if he was about to protest, but instead, he frowned and tightened his grip on hers. “You don’t understand yet.” He turned sharply, leading her up the steps of the church. He shoved the wooden doors open, sending a burst of light into a sanctuary that had been destroyed.
Pews were tipped and splintered, and the scent of ash lingered in the air. In the corner, the eight nuns stood holding hands and praying while the officer who’d been about to order their murder watched from several feet away, his face still the color of a summer beet. A soldier stood guard nearby, his gaze flicking uneasily between the nuns and the gold crucifix that hung over the altar.
Yona could feel Sister Maria Andrzeja’s eyes on her as Jüttner pulled her past the destroyed rows of pews, to the other officer.
“What is this, then?” the man asked, staring hard at Yona.
“This is my daughter,” Jüttner said, his voice catching on the last syllable. Sister Maria Andrzeja’s eyes widened, and a few of the nuns exchanged glances.
The officer’s upper lip curled. “Your daughter is a Pole? What, you screwed a Polack whore twenty-odd years ago, Jüttner?”
“My daughter is a German,” Jüttner said sharply, and the other man took a step back and looked at the floor for a second. “You will not disrespect either of us.”
When he looked back up, the doubt in his expression was obvious. “Yes, well, what does she have to do with this?”
“Until I return, you will keep these nuns safe.” It wasn’t an answer. “You will not proceed with the execution.” He said it as casually as if he was telling the other man not to order dinner without him.
“But—”
“Do you understand?” Jüttner’s voice rose to a bellow, and the other man looked away. “I have given you an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
Satisfied, Jüttner nodded and looked down at Yona, whose hand he still grasped. “Come.”
Yona looked once more at Sister Maria Andrzeja, whose eyes were narrowed now. Yona could imagine what the nun was thinking—that Yona had deceived her, about her name, about everything. Perhaps she would have the chance to explain it all to the nun one day, to make her understand that none of it had been a lie, that it was possible to be two people at once, and that what mattered was what lay in one’s heart. But there was no time for that now, and so Yona turned away as Jüttner led her out of the church and back into the sunshine, where the square now stood empty, the crowd having dissipated quickly after a reprieve they didn’t understand.
Wordless, Yona followed Jüttner, whose hand was still wrapped around hers like a vise.
* * *
Jüttner led her on a brisk, winding walk to a grand stone house in the center of town that had obviously been commandeered from a once-wealthy villager. “My home,” he said brusquely, without looking at her. He nodded to two soldiers stationed outside, then he released his grip, unlocked the front door, and led her inside. The windows were swathed in heavy crimson curtains, the walls painted a delicate eggshell white, the white furniture well-made and immaculate. Rugs that looked as if they had come from another land covered the polished wooden floor, and on the walls along the staircase there were
faded rectangles where Yona imagined family pictures must have hung. What had happened to the people who once called this place home?
Jüttner hesitated after closing the heavy door behind them, enclosing them in the dim light of the foyer. “You will be needing a bath,” he said, and for the first time, Yona was conscious of the thin layer of grime coating her skin, which usually didn’t bother her. She looked at the floor as he added, “You’ll find a tub in the back room, just there, already prepared by my maid for the bath I had intended to take. The water will be cold, but a cold bath braces one’s constitution. I will get you some clothing from the closet. There was a girl who lived here once, about your size.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need—”
“You will be dining with me. You must be presentable.” He softened his tone a bit. “It is better for you. You will feel better.”
“All right,” Yona said, but she didn’t move, and neither did Jüttner.
“Is it really you, Inge?” he whispered after a moment.
She looked up at him and met his gaze. She could see him searching her unusual eyes, confirming what he already knew. “It is,” she said, and his gaze traveled once more to the dove on her wrist. “My name is Yona now.” He stared at her wrist but didn’t acknowledge her words.
“Go. Clean yourself up.” It was an order, and Yona found herself walking away, down the hall.
Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the washroom, where she’d bathed in a deep, white clawfoot tub, leaving a ring of dirt behind, even though she tried to wipe it away. Wrapped in a white towel, she opened the door to find a chair sitting just outside, a cream day dress draped over it. She lifted it carefully, examining it with wonder, for she’d never worn anything like it. The fabric swirled like a waterfall and was impractical in every way, but as she retreated back into the bathroom and slipped it over her head, she found that it fit almost perfectly and fell to the floor, covering her knife and her ankle sheath neatly. Still, in something so feminine and foolish, she felt naked, exposed.
Her hair was still wet when she walked into the sitting room a few minutes later. Jüttner, still in his full uniform, was pacing with a frown, and he jumped when she entered. “I’ve brewed us some coffee. Do you drink coffee? And I’ve fetched us some biscuits made by my housekeeper, Marya. She comes each day. She will launder your things for you tomorrow. You will sleep in the bedroom at the top of the stairs.” He seemed to realize he was babbling, for he quickly clamped his mouth closed and gestured to one of the sofas, which was so stiff it looked as if it had never been sat upon. “Inge, join me. Do you take cream?”
Yona shook her head as she crossed the room and carefully sat down, the many layers of her dress swishing as she did. As he poured her a cup of steaming black coffee and then fixed one for himself, with generous splashes of cream and sugar, she marveled at the casual decadence of it. Most of the people in this town likely hadn’t seen cream or sugar since the start of the war.
His hands shook as he raised his cup to his lips. “I don’t know where to begin.”
Neither did Yona, and so she bought time by taking a sip of her own coffee. It was like nothing she’d ever tasted before—smooth and black and fragrant—and she coughed, choking it down. She’d only ever had pale acorn coffee in the woods.
“How did you know who I was?” he finally asked. “After all these years?”
She searched his face. She wanted to hate him for what he was now, but she couldn’t stop her mind from spinning back, back to a different time, a different place. Even his scent, cedarwood with a touch of lavender, triggered latent memories. She tried to push the familiarity away, but it was impossible. “I have never forgotten.”
He looked away, and when he turned back a few seconds later, his eyes were wet. “One of the other officers told me he’d seen someone with eyes like yours, the right age…” He paused and shook his head. “I never imagined it could really be you. I thought he was crazy. So many times in that first year, after you disappeared, your mother swore she saw you. But she was always wrong.”
The words sent a stab of pain through her heart. In her foggy recollections, her father had been distant and removed, but her mother’s face had shone with warmth. Once upon a time, Yona had been loved. “My mother.” She said the words carefully, tasting the strangeness of them on her tongue. “Is she still in Berlin?”
Jüttner’s expression turned hard. “She died two years after you were taken. The doctor said it was grief, a broken heart.”
Tears stabbed at Yona’s eyes. “I’m very sorry,” she said, and though none of it had been her fault, she felt the heavy burden of responsibility.
“But where were you, Inge?” Jüttner asked after a minute, his voice cracking. “Where have you been all these years?”
His voice had fallen to a desperate whisper. “My name is Yona now,” she told him again, and again, he seemed not to hear her. “I was taken by a woman named Jerusza.”
He studied her, digesting this, his features twisting in confusion. “And she took you here? To Poland?”
“Eventually.”
“But where did you live? Where have you been?”
“Nowhere. Everywhere. The forest.”
“A village near the forest, you mean?” Perspiration gleamed on his brow.
“No. Never a village. She—she didn’t trust people. We lived off the earth, built shelters to sleep in at night, foraged for our food.”
“But how do you speak such perfect German if you were raised by a savage in the wilderness?”
“Jerusza wasn’t a savage. She was…” Yona trailed off, for how could she explain the old woman? Words could never be enough. “She believed that the more knowledge we possess, the better prepared we are to face the world. She taught me things. How to survive. Many languages.”
“And this—this woman? She harmed you, Inge?” The anger in his voice was barely controlled. “Where is she now?”
“She died. And no, she never harmed me.” But wasn’t that a lie? She had stolen a well-cared-for child from her home and made a desperate, hungry warrior out of her.
“But what, then, was her motive?” His face had reddened, and a thick vein bulged in his neck now. “Why us? Why you?” Yona didn’t say anything for a moment, and at her silence, her father sat heavily on one of the sofas and put his head in his hands. “Why?” he whispered. “Tell me why.”
“I don’t know.” Yona hesitated before adding, “She always said she was saving me.”
He looked up in astonishment. “Saving you? From what? A warm, safe home with parents who loved you?”
The words sliced into her deeply. “Did you?” she asked in a small voice. “Love me?”
“Of course I did. I’m your father.” His voice broke, and he stood abruptly. He began to pace. “She destroyed us, Inge. She made a fool of me.”
“Jerusza said…” Yona paused and swallowed. “She said you were bad people.”
“We were bad people?” He choked out a strained laugh. “She kidnapped our child! That’s a bit like throwing stones in a glass house, no?”
“But here you are now, overseeing the murder of many innocents. So perhaps she wasn’t so wrong.”
Anguish washed over his features. “The orders are never mine, Inge. You must understand that.”
“But you carry them out.”
“What choice do I have?”
She held his gaze. “You always have a choice.”
He stood quickly and began to pace. “No. It is easy for you to say that. You do not know what it’s like. To go against commands I’m given would be to lose my life.”
“And instead, thousands of people should lose theirs?”
“You don’t know!” His eyes were alight, almost feverish, as he whirled on her. “You don’t understand! There will be peace here the moment they all stop fighting back!”
“And the Jews?” Yona asked softly. “There will be peace for the Jews, too, in this world you im
agine?”
“The Jews?” He seemed to choke on the word, as if the taste of it was vile. He began to pace again. “The Jews worked against Germany in the Great War, Inge. Do you understand that? The German army was winning, and it was the Jews who destroyed it all at home. It was the Jews who brought war upon us in the first place, too, you realize. They control everything, the banks, in and out of Europe. You understand? If we allow them to gain the upper hand again, they will destroy Germany. The Jews are a poisonous race who live off German wealth and weaken us. We must destroy them before they destroy us.”
Yona stared at him. “That’s nonsense, all of it. You think that thousands, maybe millions, of people deserve to die so that Germany can rise? You believe that there’s any God who would condone that?”
“You were raised in the wild by a madwoman. You know nothing of God.”
“Yes, I do.” She waited until he looked at her. “You do, too. You know in your heart that what you’re doing is an affront to him. I can see it in your eyes.” She knew she had gone too far, but still, she pressed on. “Won’t you do the right thing and release the nuns?”
He stared at her in disbelief. “Again with the nuns? You ask as if any of us has a choice. You ask as if fate is in your hands or mine.”
“But it is. Isn’t it?”
He opened his mouth as if to respond, but then he shut it again and stormed abruptly out of the room, heading for the stairs. A moment later, she heard the slam of a bedroom door.
Yona looked to the door of the house. If she left now, if she could somehow slip past the soldiers out front, she could run for the woods and be gone before Jüttner knew she was missing. But in doing so, she would seal the nuns’ fate. Jüttner had said that if she came home with him, the nuns would be safe. She needed to stay, at least until she could figure out a way to persuade him to order their release. But then what?
The Forest of Vanishing Stars Page 20
