by Pam Jenoff
Helena. Her sister could never know. Would the soldier tell her? Ruth’s body ached in a way she had never before experienced, magnifying her shame.
She started forward once more. Her feet slid from under her and she landed on her bottom with a thump. Mud soiled her dress, icy dampness soaking through the fabric. This indignity was more than she could bear, and she burst out in tears, not caring who heard her racking sobs as they echoed through the trees. From a branch above a starling called back its own sad tale in refrain.
Finally, Ruth stood up, brushing the tears from her eyes, then the dirt from her bottom. She resumed walking, her sadness turning to anger once again, indignantly burning low and intense in her stomach. She had given the soldier everything and he had cast her out, wanting only Helena. Who did he think he was?
As she reached the edge of the forest, Ruth slowed, willing herself to breathe normally. She smoothed her hair. Coming from the forest would be remarkable enough, and she did not want to heighten any curiosity by appearing hysterical, as well. She started toward home. Soon the cottage nestled in the valley came into view, smoke billowing from its chimney. The barn doors, which had been closed when she’d left, were flung open now. Helena must have begun her chores. Usually, her sister’s presence filled her with a quiet relief. But Ruth wasn’t ready to face her yet, and she did not want Helena to see her visibly distraught.
Ruth gazed at the cluster of village rooftops, thinking of the green tarp awnings that filled the market square. Stopping at market would give her a bit of time to compose herself, and she could buy something to support her story, in case Helena asked where she had been.
She skirted the edge of the farm, fighting the urge to crouch down so as not to be seen. Past the edge of their property, she relaxed slightly. “Ruti!” A soft, lyrical voice pulled her from her thoughts. It was Michal, who had seen her coming from the hills and run out the door after her. He stopped at the fence. “What are you doing?”
“Going to market.”
His brow crinkled and she waited for him to ask where she had been, if not to market already, or to notice she was not carrying her basket. “Helena and Dorie are working in the barn. Let me come with you.”
Ruth hesitated, looking for an excuse. Usually she enjoyed Michal’s calm, easy company, but right now she just wanted to be alone. “Who’s watching Karolina?”
“She’s asleep.”
Ruth studied his face. Michal was her favorite, or would have been, if she permitted herself to admit that she had one. She’d known him instantly the second he’d been born. With the other children it was different—they were these strange squalling little creatures with open mouths and balled fists. But the first time she’d seen Michal he had looked up at her with calm eyes that bespoke a wisdom of ages. In that moment, even though Mama was there, well, it seemed that the baby was hers, a foreshadowing perhaps of what was to come, and the role that would someday be thrust upon her.
“Fine,” she relented, too weary to argue. Michal fell in easy step beside her, not speaking. As they neared the village center, Ruth held her breath, remembering the man hanging from the makeshift gallows a few days earlier. She did not want to have to explain that to Michal. But someone had cut him down.
Ruth’s relief was short-lived: something about the village was different this morning. A covered truck sat parked at the corner, large and looking out of place. A handful of men she did not recognize—crude laborers in striped overalls—swept the street under the supervision of a policeman (thankfully not the same one who had been to the house, Ruth noticed). A chill ran through her. It was as if the town was being prepared for something...or someone. The Germans were coming, just as Helena had said. Nowhere was too small to be overlooked anymore—not even Biekowice. She swallowed as the realization set in. Once there had seemed a tacit promise—keep your heads down and we will not bother you. But that agreement was now gone.
Ruth forced herself to keep moving. “I’m going to the bookseller,” Michal announced when they reached the market.
She gripped his shoulder, as if letting go of him might mean imminent danger. Then she released him, not wanting to cause alarm by acting strangely. “Don’t go far,” she cautioned. “And come when I call for you.”
She walked to the vegetable stall. In front of her making purchases stood a willowy young woman with lush raven hair pulled neatly into a knot at the nape of her neck. A French knot, Ruth had heard it called. She would have dearly liked to try such a style with her own hair if she ever had the time to spend on it.
“And some parsley, if you have it,” the young woman said to Pani Kowalska. At the sound of the familiar voice, Ruth stifled a yelp. It was Maria, Piotr’s fiancée. Although they had not met, Ruth had seen her once in town shopping with Piotr’s mother. That time, Ruth had ducked behind a wagon to avoid the awkwardness of the encounter. She looked around now, desperate for an escape.
The woman turned from the stand, clutching her parcel of vegetables. Ruth gasped, outwardly this time. Beneath the gap in her coat, Maria’s stomach swelled with a slight yet unmistakable roundness.
Shock sliced through her, making her dizzy and causing her to stumble. “Are you unwell?” Maria asked kindly.
“You’re Maria,” Ruth blurted. The woman cocked her head, puzzled but polite. She did not know who Ruth was. “Piotr’s fiancée.”
“Wife,” the woman corrected quickly, giving off a faint hint of rosewater. “We were married a few months ago.” Ruth did the math. The pregnancy would not have occurred while Piotr was still with her, she observed with relief. But it had come quickly after that, and certainly predated the marriage. Normally, news of the rushed wedding would have burned through the town like wildfire. How had Ruth not heard?
That might have been me, Ruth thought, wistful for a moment as she took in the woman’s glow and contented fullness once more. Of course, Maria was not so much better off than herself, pregnant with a husband off fighting at the front. But she was a wife and she would have his baby even if something happened to Piotr. Whereas Ruth... She stopped, unable to finish the thought. Her shame burned moist between her legs.
Maria followed Ruth’s gaze. “It’s the baby,” she explained, thinking that Ruth was staring at her basket, which contained an enviable quantity of cheese and milk. “The state gives us a few extra coupons because of the pregnancy.” Ruth considered concocting a story of a fiancé of her own, but feared Maria would see right through it. There were no men left—they had all gone off to the fighting and few had come back.
Then Maria pointed down at the hem of Ruth’s dress where dirt and leaves clung to the fabric. “Did you fall?” she asked. Her tone bespoke genuine concern, but in that moment all Ruth could hear was Maria’s superiority pointing out all that she was—and everything Ruth was not.
Ruth blanched; she did not want this woman’s sympathy. She followed Maria’s gaze to the mud and leaves that clung to the hem of her skirt, tangible proof of what had happened between her and Helena’s soldier. The memory of their encounter burned so bright from within Ruth she was sure that Maria could see her betrayal. Ruth was more furious than ever at the soldier for coming here, for loving her sister and putting them all in this position.
“No, actually, I was in the forest searching for acorns,” Ruth replied, the lie flowing so easily from her lips she might have believed it herself.
“Oh? I would have thought the ground picked clean by the squirrels.”
Ruth cursed her own inexperience with the outdoors. “There’s a patch in the woods just above our house that still has a few beneath the snow,” she added, warming to the story. “But something startled me.”
Pani Kowalska popped up from behind the vegetable stand, her gray head barely visible above the crates. “What was it?”
Ruth took a deep breath. “A man.”
Mar
ia’s eyebrows raised high. “Someone from town?”
Ruth shook her head. “No one I’ve ever seen in these parts. A foreigner.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she had done, the finality of not being able to take them back. “At first he’d startled me. But then...” She stopped again, realizing her error.
“He could be a Jew.” The old woman leaned in, her eyes gleaming. “They say the Germans pay good money for those.”
Ruth saw a shadow cross Maria’s face. Maria might be her rival for Piotr’s affections and the one who had won him, but she had a good heart, and was troubled by the notion of turning anyone over to the Nazis.
“They’ll be here soon.” The old woman jerked her head in the direction of the street sweepers. “The Germans are setting up quarters in the town hall. You should tell them, if you think he’s a Jew.”
“I don’t know,” Ruth said, suddenly loath to discuss the topic any longer. She picked up a handful of potatoes, passed her ration coupons hurriedly to Pani Kowalska. Then she turned abruptly away from Maria. “Let’s go,” she said to Michal, who had grown tired of looking at books and appeared behind her.
As she walked hurriedly from the village with Michal in tow, she caught Maria’s startled expression, the hateful glint in the eyes of the old woman. A cool sweat broke out under her dress, making her skin clammy. What had she done?
“You saw a man?” Michal asked.
Ruth’s vision cleared. “You m-must have misheard,” she stammered, caught off guard.
But Michal was no longer a child, and too old to be fooled by a simple denial. “Who is he?”
“A soldier. But it’s complicated, darling, and dangerous. We can’t get involved.” Which was exactly what she had just done by alerting the women at market to his presence. What would happen now? Surely the old woman, if not Maria, would tell someone. There would be questions, not just about the soldier but about the Nowak girls—how long they had known about the American, whether they had done anything to help him. By revealing his whereabouts, she had implicated herself and Helena and put the whole family at risk. She thought of the poor soul she’d seen hanging from the playground. If that was the penalty for hoarding, what might they do to those who helped the enemy? Helena was right; they would never be safe here. No, they needed to leave, now.
She turned to Michal. “You won’t say anything to the others, will you? I wouldn’t want to worry them.”
He blinked. “I won’t.”
They soon reached the cottage. Inside, Helena was trying to help Karolina eat over her insistence that she do it herself. Helena appeared cross and out of her element, as she always did when left to care for the children alone.
“Where were you?” she asked tersely, not looking up.
Ruth tried to decipher whether there was a note of accusation to her sister’s voice, then decided that there was not. “Market. I heard that there were extra apples to be had. There weren’t.” She waited for her sister to take in the lack of a basket and see through the lie, but Helena persisted in feeding the baby. The smell of Sam and their coupling seemed to ooze from Ruth’s pores, filling the room. How could Helena not notice?
Helena looked up suddenly, cocking her head. “Are you all right?” Helena asked. Ruth realized then that despite her best efforts to compose herself, her cheeks were flushed, her hair disheveled and pulled from its knot at the edges. Hours later and she looked as though she had only just left the soldier’s embrace.
“Y-yes, just a bit tired.” She waited for her sister to suspect the truth—surely she would know that something was different. But Helena turned back to helping the baby.
“I was thinking about what you said,” Ruth began. “You were right. We should go as soon as possible.”
The spoon fell from Helena’s hand, clattering to the floor. She did not pick it up, but stared at Ruth, puzzled by her sister’s sudden change of heart. “Are you certain?”
Ruth walked to the kitchen and handed Helena a clean spoon. “Yes.”
“Maybe we should wait a few weeks.”
She was thinking, Ruth knew, of the soldier, wanting him to be strong enough to travel, rather than abandoning him. Ruth’s anger flared. “Don’t you see, we have to go now? You said yourself that if the heavy snows set in it will be impossible.” A sharp wind whistled against the cottage walls, as if to underscore her point.
Helena bent to pick up the spoon. She was torn, Ruth knew, between asking about her change of heart and simply accepting her much-sought acquiescence. Quickly, Ruth recounted the preparations she’d witnessed in the village. “They say the Germans will be here anytime now,” she added, stretching the story. A look that she could not decipher crossed her sister’s face. “Of course, I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Ruth hastened to add. “All of our papers are in order and it’s not as if Michal is old enough for the labor details.”
Helena’s hand, always steady, was trembling now. “What is it?” Ruth went to her sister and took the spoon from her, brought her hand gently to her lap. There was a furtiveness in Helena’s eyes that suggested whatever secrets her sister was keeping were far worse than her own—though an hour ago she would not have thought such a thing was possible.
“How soon are they to be here?” Helena’s voice wavered.
Ruth shrugged. “I don’t know, but it could be any day.”
“You’re right, of course,” Helena relented, reaching for her coat and bag. “I’ll go to the soldier and figure out the best way for all of us to go together.”
“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 s
omething 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.
