by Tia Souders
Silence stretched between them. The only sign the woman had not hung up was the soft sound of her breathing. Abigail waited, hoping she might say something or at least give her a chance to ask some questions, get some information, anything.
When the woman’s voice came through the line like a brittle wind, Abby exhaled, her relief palpable.
“Your grandmother called me years ago, and I’ll tell you what I told her. Yoel Gutman, my cousin, died at Auschwitz.”
“But, are you sure? I mean, I’m sure there was probably more than one Yoel. Is there a chance—”
“Our families gathered together in the ghetto the morning we boarded the cattle cars. We were divided between cars, but when we arrived, I was wrenched away from my family, who were killed on arrival. I watched as the women who were sent to the camps were separated from the men. Yoel and I were no exception, but I caught a glimpse of him in the camp afterward. His survival gave me hope, but...”
She trailed off, and Abby wondered if the memories were so hard she could barely speak them. Much like her grandfather.
“Well, then what makes you so sure he was killed?”
“He was Sonderkommando. Everyone knew who they were. There was not a very good—shall I say—attitude toward them among the Jewish prisoners.”
Abby peered over at Kaden who waited on his haunches, squatting among the boxes. “Do you know why my grandmother was so convinced you were related? That your cousin was my grandfather, Yoel?”
“She somehow traced our tattoos with registration. Yoel and I were registered the same day, along with his two sisters who survived a short time. She made the assumption from that. In fact, I was not the only Gutman she checked up on.” A tremor shook the old woman’s voice. “But I know he’s dead. Everyone heard about his death. And there were others, too. They made sure we knew about it.”
Abby refused to believe what she was telling her, and as she wracked her brain for a way to convince her to at least meet with her, the journal flashed in her mind and a light flicked on. Ms. Gutman never mentioned why he was killed, but his having the journal was a huge risk, one she couldn’t imagine he could keep secret for long.
“Ms. Gutman, did you find out why he was killed?” Abby asked.
“I did. Yoel was both foolish and brave.”
“Was he killed for the journal? Did they discover he had it?”
A long pause stretched over the line. “No one knows about that. No one unless they were there,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “How do you?”
“Because I have it.”
ABBY PARKED HER CAR outside Kaden’s house. It was safe to be so bold with his father at work, and she accompanied him to his front door.
She wrung her hands in front of her chest as they walked, her conversation with Anna Gutman heavy on her mind. “I’m nervous about tomorrow, but this could be it. Everything might finally make sense,” she said.
Kaden nodded but avoided her gaze.
“What?” she asked. “You’ve been so quiet since we left Newberry. What aren’t you telling me?”
He exhaled, then glanced at her and pulled a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I just have a weird feeling about this. I can’t explain it.”
“What do you mean?”
Kaden stared out at the street. “It’s not the creepy uniform or the photos or journal, but after everything we found today, I can’t help but feel like we’re missing something. Something huge. It’s right in front of our eyes, and we’re not seeing it.”
“Exactly. I’m hoping she’ll help us put the missing pieces together.”
“Maybe,” he said, sounding unconvinced. “But maybe not. Even if she is somehow his long-lost cousin, what would she know of this secret we’re trying to uncover? If it has to do with Irma Mentz buying your grandfather land and blackmail, do you really think she’ll know about it? She hasn’t seen him since they got sent to the camps. And if she’s not related to him...?”
Abby threw her hands up in the air. “Well, what do you suppose I do? Forget about it? Not even talk to her? It’s at least worth trying. It’s the next step, another clue. We’ve got nothing else to go on right now. Until we get another letter, this is all we’ve got.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m sorry. I—”
“Kaden!” Sophie burst through the front door, coming to a halt in front of them. She tugged on the bottom of his t-shirt. “Daddy’s went into work, so you’re watching me. Miss Marie’s been inside waiting for you, so she can go back home.”
“Soph, I was talking. Interrupting is rude.”
“It’s okay,” Abby said, with a wave. “I see you recovered.”
“Yup,” Sophie flashed her a toothy grin below her rosy cheeks. “You can come too, if you want, but you’ll have to sneak into the house once Dad’s gone.”
Abby stifled a chuckle as Kaden glared at his sister, but she didn’t even seem to notice as she kept chattering, throwing questions at him like baseballs. “Can we play hide-and-go-seek tonight with flashlights? Or freeze tag? Or—oh, Dad said we have to go over to Miss Marie’s house again for baths.”
Sophie rolled her eyes, but Kaden frowned back at her. “Wait, I thought Dad worked a double yesterday. Tonight, he was supposed to be off.”
Sophie shrugged, her little shoulders pressing upward. “He took an extra shift, and the power’s out again, so we have no hot water, which also means no TV, so you have to play with me.”
Abby glanced to the neighboring houses, checking for signs the electric had gone out. Light shined through the windows, and the sound of the television next door trickled outside. Hooking a thumb toward the noise, she glanced at Kaden. The question teetered on the edge of her lips, but his face turned blood-red before she could get the words out. Abby’s stomach sunk with knowing.
“Fine,” he said, pressing a palm to the small of Sophie’s back, nudging her toward the door. “We’ll play whatever you want. Just head in, and I’ll be right there.”
When she disappeared inside the house, Kaden’s eyes traveled over their surroundings—the neighboring houses, his driveway, his lawn, the street—everything but her, as he said, “I guess I better go.”
“Wait.” Abigail reached out and grabbed his arm. “Why is the power out?”
“Nothing. It’s fine.” Kaden plucked her hand off his arm and pressed his lips gently against her palm before turning to head inside, but this time, she blocked him with her body, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Kaden, what did she mean?”
“Occasionally my dad gets behind. That’s all.”
“Behind?” Abby asked, frowning.
“With the bills.” Kaden exhaled, his shoulders slumping with the movement like the admission cost him. “It’s no biggie,” he said and shrugged, then cleared his throat and added, “He always gets it turned back on. Sometimes, it just takes him a few days. It’s fine.”
“Kaden, I—”
“Please. Don’t say anything. I don’t...” The muscle in his jaw worked before he continued. “I can’t have you feeling sorry for me. It’s too humiliating. Okay?”
She swallowed with effort, her throat like sandpaper. “Come over to my house.”
“No.” Kaden shook his head.
“Yes. This isn’t me feeling sorry for you. I can’t help it that my family has money, okay? I don’t care about any of that. I never have.”
“That’s because you’ve always had it. You’ve never had to care.”
She blanched, and he stepped forward, placing his hands under her arms. “I’m sorry.”
“So, this is how it’s gonna be? Any time our family or our homes or anything at all having to do with where we live or where we come from is brought into play, it’s going to be a game of haves and have-nots?” A humorless laugh bubbled in her throat. “That’s not fair,” she said, stabbing a finger at him. “I can’t help where I come from any more than you can.”
“I’m sorry, b
ut you have no idea what it’s like.” Kaden shook his head.
Abby swallowed over the lump in her throat.
He stepped forward, his chocolate eyes softening along with his voice. “You don’t know what it’s like to have to hide all of this from everyone. I mean, you’ve seen it, Abby. It’s not like I have a raving social life. Set aside the fact that I have no cell phone, no computer, or access to the internet, or that my jeans are last season and have tears in them and not because they’re fashionable but because I can’t afford a new pair. If people knew that our power gets shut off once every four months, what would they say?”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued, “Kids at our school aren’t always the nicest. If they found out my father, the police officer, has to get canned goods at a food bank three towns down just so that he’s not seen, what do you think they’d say then? Yeah, we’re not the only ones struggling, but people around here aren’t very forgiving. They don’t want to see you struggling. And when they do, they just look down on you even more than before.” His voice cracked on the words as he glanced away from her.
Abby curled her hand around his arm, wanting nothing more than to hold him, to fix this problem for him, for Sophie but feeling powerless to do so. She could see how much this admission cost him already. So, she took his acceptance of her hand and her support instead, relieved when he didn’t pull away. These were the only gifts she had to give.
“I didn’t know it was that bad, Kaden. But you don’t have to be embarrassed with me. You don’t have to hide this.” She ducked down, catching his gaze with her own, refusing to have him look anywhere but at her.
He ran a hand over his face, then returned his dark eyes to hers and said. “It’s hard sometimes. It shouldn’t matter, and it doesn’t. I hate that I’m insecure about it, and I know you don’t care, but I get so mad because my dad... He doesn’t deserve any of this, you know? I mean, yeah, he chose a profession in an area that makes it hard to make ends meet in the city where the cost of living is high, but the leftover bills from my mom getting sick is what made it impossible. It’s unfair, you know? If she were here with us, it’d be worth it. One hundred percent. But she’s not, and he has to work his butt off to pay for the fight that failed in saving her. She’s been gone for years, and he’s still catching up. Maybe he never will. With his job in the community, he can’t lose the house. And Sophie, well, she really gets the short end because she’s suffering by paying for a mom she never really even had in the first place.”
Abby opened her arms, and Kaden all but fell into them as she wrapped him in a hug.
The warmth of his breath tickled her neck as he mumbled, “At least I had time with her. I would pay anything to have more of it. I would do it all again, and I know my dad would, too. I don’t mean to sound like I wish—”
“Shhhh. I know,” Abby said, stroking his back.
After a moment, Kaden pulled away enough to kiss her, a soft brush of the lips before they parted. “Are you sure you’ll be okay speaking with Anna Gutman alone tomorrow?”
Abby nodded. “Totally. Spend some time with Sophie and your dad.”
“Looks like tomorrow will be his only day off now, so there’s no way I can get out of here.”
She pressed a finger to his soft lips, silencing him. “No worries. I’ll let you know how it goes first thing Monday.”
“Monday.” Kaden dipped his head and with a final brush of his mouth against hers, opened the door and stepped inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Adrenaline spiked her blood and mingled with the caffeine, making Abby regret the two cups of coffee she sucked down already. But there was no time for regrets now, and wishing for Kaden’s soothing presence did her no favors.
Laughter floated in the air around her, along with conversation and the scent of freshly roasted coffee and baked goods. A blueberry muffin sat in front of her, but she barely touched it, her stomach too tangled with nerves to eat.
The liver-spotted hand shook, as it clasped the journal with bony fingers. Abby wondered how many hands Anna held in her lifetime, how many backs her slender fingers had stroked, how many letters they wrote, and how many mouths they fed. But as much as Ms. Gutman’s hands told a story, the expression on her face gave away nothing as she glanced up at Abby with guarded dark eyes.
Her age-thinned lips parted, and her wrinkles cinched like plastic. When she spoke, her raspy voice trembled, a testament to how much the book Anna Gutman held in her hands meant to her.
She opened the journal and brushed her fingers over the pages like brail, capable of absorbing the words through her skin. As she paged through the entries, her mouth flattened until her lips all but disappeared.
“There aren’t a lot of entries, are there?” she asked, her accent subtle, far less apparent than Abby’s grandfather’s.
“Ten, to be exact,” Abby answered, allowing Anna time to take this in.
She nodded and continued to skim the pages in front of her until, at last, she lowered the book and settled her gaze on Abby.
Feeling the need to fill the silence, Abby gestured to the journal. “Since my grandfather survived and I believed the journal to be his, I assumed someone found it, or they were liberated before he was caught. I don’t know...” How did she convince this woman her grandfather was her Yoel Gutman?
“The journal was dangerous. His bravery cost him his life,” Anna said.
Abby cleared her throat, unsure of how to navigate these turbulent waters. “Ms. Gutman, my grandfather is the same Yoel Gutman as your cousin. The one who wrote this journal. He has to be. My grandmother found it among his things. If what I believe is true, then your cousin—my grandfather, Yoel—is alive. Whoever told you he was dead was wrong or confused or...”
“And were my eyes wrong, too?” Ms. Gutman stared at Abby, her face an impenetrable shield. “Many of us saw what happened.”
“Did you see his body, his tattoo?” Abby challenged.
“I didn’t need to.”
Abby reached out, pleading, “Ms. Gutman—”
“I would love to think Yoel is alive.” She paused, her eyes filling with tears, her voice hard. “But I do not entertain such frivolous dreams. If the war taught me one thing, it was to be a realist. I know what happened to my cousin. We all knew. You don’t forget something like that. Now, I would be lying if I said there wasn’t even a crumb of hope inside this old bag of bones when I know there is no such thing to be had. I would be lying if I said I didn’t wish what you are saying to be true, that I survived that place, not alone. But clinging to such notions are dangerous.”
“I’m confident in this.”
“Have you asked him?” Ms. Gutman asked.
Abby shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the direction of her questions. When she said nothing, the old woman repeated the question. “Did you ask him if this was his journal?” She inclined her head, waiting for Abby’s response.
“Not directly, but...”
“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Ms. Gutman narrowed her eyes at Abby like she could see straight through her. “You go through all this effort to track me down—some old lady you don’t even know—when you could’ve gone straight to him for confirmation. Problem solved.” She raised a brow, the silver arching with a knowing look. “Maybe you’re not as confident as you let on.”
Abby swallowed. What could she tell her? That she couldn’t say anything because her dead grandmother told her not to? That this was all a part of some quest for the truth she didn’t even understand?
Tension coiled in her muscles as she tried to think of a response. Something she could say that made a semblance of sense. No matter how many ways she sliced it, Ms. Gutman was right. She saw right through Abby’s manufactured confidence.
With shaking hands, Abby lifted her coffee cup to her mouth and took a sip of the now-cold brew. The liquid turned bitter in her mouth, and she wished for a fresh cup, needing something to do with her hands and her
thoughts.
Ms. Gutman shifted her gaze back to the journal. “I can tell you one thing. This Yoel—the man who penned this journal—is my cousin. I’m not sure I can say the same for your grandfather.”
“But he has the same name, the same tattoo, the time frame is right, and he has the journal. Anything else is illogical,” Abby snapped.
Ms. Gutman’s eyes widened, but she didn’t bite back. Instead, she straightened in her chair, her silent gaze her armor as she ran her finger over the soft cover of the journal. Abby struggled to contain her frustration. Why would she not even entertain the possibility? It’s the only thing that made sense.
“I have yet to read this so I don’t know what it contains, but I assume my cousin wrote about his job at Auschwitz?”
Abby nodded.
“The Sonderkommando were looked down upon by the other Jews. Maybe it wasn’t fair. After all, they were given the job by the Nazis. They were only following orders. If they hadn’t, they would’ve been killed. But they often had a better place to sleep, better food, almost a reward for their involvement in the extermination of their own people. Some wonder how they did it. Even to this day, researchers can’t fathom how they had the resolve. But most think they lay down and took their duties without a fight. They’d be wrong. Did my cousin mention the revolt?”
“I think so. Not in those words but he spoke of an uprising. One they had planned.”
Anna smiled. “Yes. That’d be it. I worked in the munitions factory. We helped them smuggle explosives into the camps. It was dangerous, but we managed. Then, the day came. The Jews lined up for the selection, and the SS officer in charge went about, separating the healthy Jews from the ones to be killed. When the leader of the revolt, Chaim Neuhof, approached him, he gave the call. They fought with everything they had—hammers, axes, clubs, beating the SS officers. It wasn’t long, though, before the Nazi’s descended on them like a swarm of bees, armed with their machine guns. By the time all was said and done, the Sonderkommando had managed to blow up one of the crematoriums. They burned two SS officer’s alive in the ovens, and they cut the fence in an attempt to flee. But there’s no escaping the Nazis. There never was. They regained control and tracked down the Sonderkommando that escaped. All but two were killed. Several of the women from munitions were executed as well for their role in it. The Germans never spoke of this incident. It was an embarrassment, after all.”
