by Pam Jenoff
No, her sister had been right, Ruth realized. Even if they had done nothing and the truth about their family had not come to light, it still would have come to this eventually. The Germans would not have spared them if they stood quietly by. And it did not matter who was to blame. In just minutes, the men at the house would realize the family was gone and fan out, searching. She could not wait. She turned and ran up the hill, in her mind willing Helena and Sam to move faster with the children.
Soon, though, her gait slowed. Her legs—her right leg more precisely—inexplicably began to burn. The air was bitingly cold now and snow began to fall more heavily in icy daggers against her face, cutting into her cheeks. She could feel her cracked lips begin to bleed. In the distance, a noise like thunder crackled, though of course, that was impossible. This sound was sharp, but she wouldn’t let herself think about guns and bullets. The wind whipped harder, as though it had a will of its own, trying to prevent her progress.
An image of Mama flashed into her mind, the secrets she had kept buried for so many years. Ruth was suddenly angry—she had thought herself closer to their mother than anyone, yet her mother had kept this enormous lie from her. All of the emotions she’d managed to sequester for so long welled up, threatening to burst forth. Ruth fought back her tears. She considered, for a moment, simply giving up.
Something pulled at her stomach then, like the love she’d felt for Karolina and the others, only deeper and more intense. “No,” she said aloud. It was about more now than just herself, about even more than Michal. Joy surged through her, eclipsing her anxiety like a great wind snuffing out a tiny flame. She had this one thing, and it was wholly her own. A feeling rose in her, strong and maternal. There was new life inside her—she knew that for certain now—and she could protect this child. But to do so, she had to survive. Her child had no future here. Their best—and only—hope for safety lay not in the one place that had always been shelter, but in going to the unknown. She owed it to her baby, to all of them, to try.
Should she have told Sam that she was pregnant? No, Sam had blocked out what had happened and moved on. Soldier that he was, he knew he had to focus on their survival—which was exactly what she needed to do now. Ruth turned back, shoulders squared, steeling herself. Michal was out there in the woods somewhere, alone and undoubtedly scared. She was the only one who could find him. Now she was needed. She had a purpose, a place.
Something slammed into her from behind without warning. She flew into the snow, breastbone thudding against an unseen tree stump. A wolf, she thought fleetingly, remembering the warnings Helena had given. But then a voice snarled in her ear low and deep. “Gdzie idzie?” Where are you going? It was the policeman, Wojski, all pretense of courtesy now gone and his grip vicelike on her shoulder.
Ruth glanced desperately out of the corner of her eye. Had the men in the jeep reached her so quickly? But the policeman was alone, his mission personal. His hands traveled lower. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out. She remembered the knife Helena had pressed her to take. If only she had it now. Her hands flailed, and she desperately grasped handfuls of snow and ice as he reached for her skirt. She managed to rise to her hands and knees and kicked backward, her foot tangling in her cape. Her boot grazed the policeman, who let out a wild cry, inflamed by her attempt. He reached beneath her skirt, pressed his weight upon her. She pushed back, swinging wildly.
Ruth fell forward again, slicing her cheek against something sharp. She reached for it; her fingers closed around a rock, swinging backward but missing. The policeman slammed her face into the snowdrift with an angry grunt. Closer now, he pressed his forearm against the back of her neck. She gasped for breath as ice filled her mouth and nose. She prayed that she would lose consciousness before the assault. “Kurwa,” he snarled. Whore.
Something snapped in her then. Ruth swung blindly with the rock a second time, letting forth her rage, and connected with a sickening crunch. The policeman fell away from her and was still. She pulled herself up, shaking. Wojski lay on the ground, a halo of blood fanning out around his head and seeping into the snow. Whether he was breathing, she could not tell. Her vision blurred. Standing, she wiped at her cheek and ran farther into the forest.
When she had gone another twenty meters, she looked back. The policeman had not followed her. Her stomach spasmed. Something warm trickled down her leg and she found herself praying it was not blood, for she now desperately wanted to hold on to this life inside her. She had to keep going. Gulping for air, she started again with new vigor, more determined with every step. She could do this. Her limbs were strong from lifting children, eyes keen from protecting them from the worst.
Ruth forged ahead, pressing into the wind. The ground shook and in the distance behind the house the sky glowed red, filling her with terror. How close were Helena and the girls to the fighting? She pressed on, more desperate than ever to get to Michal.
At the fork, she paused, wishing Michal might have left a clue as she did in the game she played with Dorie. Helena had explained that the path divided, but she had not told Ruth which way to go, leaving that judgment to her in the moment. The chapel was much closer, so she could check there first. But if she was wrong, the detour would put her even farther behind Michal.
She peered into the woods ahead. Something flickered, so faintly she might have imagined it. It was a light, coming from the direction of the chapel. Of course—Michal had known about the chapel from Helena and must have gone there to take shelter. She imagined him sitting by a small fire, waiting for her. She had found him, and the first part of the journey was over.
Above the chapel in the trees, Ruth envisioned Sam and Helena with the children, starting a new life. But she did not feel angry or sad now, just contented that she had put things right. She had her own child to think about now. And Michal was waiting for her, waiting for her to bring him home.
26
Helena paused to catch her breath. She released Sam and he slumped to the ground beside her, resting on one knee. Though a light snow still fell, the wind had eased. In the distance the sky began to brighten, pink against the dark silhouette of the low station, signaling equal parts hope and despair. They had nearly made it, but as the sun rose, their cover would be lessened, worsening their chances and making discovery more likely.
“Come.” She pulled Sam, willing him to go faster, though she herself could not. “When we get over the border...” she began. There was a slight tug at her hand as he faltered. A strange look crossed his face.
“What is it?”
He shook his head. “Let’s just get to the train.”
Minutes later they neared the station, approaching slowly from behind it. It was nothing more than a freight depot where logs could be loaded, a simple building, now mercifully deserted.
Helena scanned the platform hopefully for Ruth and Michal. “They aren’t here.”
“They will be.” His voice wavered.
Helena was not comforted. She and Sam, already slowed by the children they had to carry, had been delayed by the detour and the unexpected necessity of taking to the water. She had hoped, almost expected, that her sister would have found Michal quickly and gotten here first.
“Would she have been caught behind the field where we heard the shooting?” he asked.
Helena shook her head. “They should have been able to go around.” A pit formed in her stomach. “I should have been the one to go. I’m so much stronger.”
“You’ve gotten these two here. Come.”
She took his hand once more. Then she released it as something wet and warm seeped through her mitten. Blood. She remembered how he had risen to shield her as she ran across the field. “You were shot?” Not waiting for an answer, she pulled back his coat and sweater to reveal a small hole at his waist that oozed red with each breath he took. How could he have not said anything... How could sh
e not have noticed?
“It’s nothing,” he protested, but there was a paleness to his face that said otherwise.
“You’re hurt,” she said, feeling the pain as though it were her own. Her panic rose. Sam’s earlier breakdown had been more than just shock at seeing the bodies—his wound must be deep and the growing pain almost too much to bear. “We have to get you help.”
Before he could reply, a train whistle sounded long and low in the distance. Now Sam, seeming to find new strength, was pulling her as she half carried and half dragged the girls to the platform. She scanned the tree line behind her, willing her sister and brother to appear. “I never should have let her go,” she repeated desperately. Ruth, despite her protestations, was not strong enough to do this alone. Something, Helena knew, had gone terribly wrong.
She willed the train to slow down to give them more time. But its lights appeared in the darkness, a threat as well as a promise. “We have to go back,” she said desperately as the train neared the station, lights like two giant eyes, searching.
Sam grasped her firmly by the shoulders. “Lena, don’t you understand?” he panted, with more breath than voice. “There is no going back.” His words were an echo of her own weeks earlier when she refused to let him push her away. He looked down at the children. “People will have noticed you gone by now,” he added more softly. “They’ll be at the house.” They. “You can’t undo things, darling, as if they never were.”
“We could hide here until the others arrive.” Even as she said this, she knew it would not work.
Sam shook his head. “The Germans have already closed most of the borders. The trains won’t run for much longer. And the army will be here soon, and then the passes will be worthless.”
The train screeched to a stop, drowning out his last words. Sam pulled them hurriedly into the shadow of the station as the engineer stuck his head out. When it was clear, Sam opened a door to one of the freight cars to reveal a gaping black hole. Helena hesitated. She had not expected a parlor car, exactly, but the massive cargo space, dark and cold, terrified her.
Sam helped Dorie up into the car. “Take care of your sisters,” he ordered, and the girl nodded, wide-eyed.
Realization dawned on her then. Helena stared at Sam in disbelief. “You’re not coming with me, are you?” He had known he was going back and had kept it from her, knowing she would not go without him. “You lied.”
“Lena, I’m going back for your sister and brother. I’ll find them for you.” Helena waited for him to say he would find her, as well. But he would not make that promise. They had found each other once, no twice—and such a miracle would likely not happen again.
“You can’t possibly keep going. You’re shot.”
“It’s just a flesh wound. I’ll be fine.”
“But my leg,” Helena protested. If his wound would not dissuade him, then perhaps her own. “I can’t possibly go on without you.” She stopped, hearing how weak and desperate her own voice sounded. She hated herself for it. But she would do anything to make him stay. “Without you, how am I to get to the partisans?”
“Once you are over the border, head toward the town of Polomka. In the woods to the east you’ll find a small encampment. Tell them you’re my wife and that I sent you.” Sam paused, his eyes betraying doubt that his plan would work. In that moment of hesitation, she knew that she could persuade him to come with her. But Ruth and Michal were still out there, and Sam was the one person who might be able to find them. The others needed him if they were to have a chance to survive.
Yet still she persisted. “I don’t have my pass.” The ground rumbled then from an unseen explosion and Helena clutched Karolina tighter as she struggled to maintain her footing.
“I know, but you’ll think of something. You’re smart, resourceful. Look at everything you did in Kraków. You’ll manage. You have to. Don’t you see—I’m going back for you. You saw it,” he said, his voice hushed. He was talking, of course, about the mass grave. Seeing it then, she had understood everything he had tried to shield her from. Now she could not deny the truth that awaited them if they stayed. She had Dorie and Karolina and she had to get them out; she owed it to them to take this chance and not turn back, no matter how painful.
“Here,” he said, pressing the gun into her hand, its cold steel now familiar. This time she did not argue, but took it and slipped it into her pocket. “Take these, too.” He pulled the chain from his neck and handed it to her. “My dog tags. If you make it to the Americans, these should mean something.”
“But then you won’t have them with you if...” She couldn’t bear to finish the thought.
“That’s not gonna happen,” Sam said, his voice full of bravado. He reached out to touch her cheek. “I’m coming back to you, Lena Rosen.” She blushed as he gave her his surname. Then taking in the red sky behind her, his voice grew serious once more. “You can do this.”
“Fine,” she managed. He took a step away.
“No!” It was Dorie who cried out this time, her voice high and plaintive and dangerously loud. “You aren’t leaving us, are you?” Her lip quivered. She had known Sam for only a few hours, but she trusted him as immediately as Helena had herself. Dorie had lost her father and mother and the war seemed to be chipping away at the rest of her family. This additional break was too much.
“He’s just going to get Ruti and Mischa,” Helena said. “Then we’ll all be together.” She forced certainty into her voice. Sam turned to go. “Wait.” Helena clung to his arm desperately, knowing that if she let go, it would be the last time. She would never see him again. She wanted to beg him to stay with her, to hold on to this moment they had only just found. But Ruth and Michal appeared in her mind. Sam was their only hope. And she could tell by the fierce look of determination in his eyes, his grimly set jaw, that there would be no changing his mind now, even if she wanted to.
He pressed his lips against the top of her head. “Just get them to safety,” he murmured. Looking at Dorie, something broke open within Helena then. She had been keeping the children at a distance for so long. She had convinced herself that she had been tough for their own good, but it had been as much for her, the distance a means of self-preservation. They were no longer just her siblings, or even her own children, but a part of her, and a part that must survive.
Still, she could not let Sam walk away. “No,” she cried as the full realization of what was happening unfurled before her. She pressed herself against him as though she might make them one being, inseparable.
He wrapped his arms around her and breathed in her ear. “Save me a dance, okay?” She nodded, unable to answer. “Until then, I’ll see you in my dreams.” He kissed her long and hard, then broke away. Then he took Karolina from Helena and placed her into the boxcar where Dorie took her hand.
Helena started to reach for him, then stopped. She looked desperately across the horizon. She could not bear leaving Michal and Ruth, but going back now with Dorie and Karolina meant certain death for them all. The three of them at least still had one another. Helena owed it to the children to try. Reluctantly she boarded the freight car.
Sam ducked from sight in the shadows of the station and Helena pulled the children farther into the car as the driver stuck his head out to inspect the train again. A whistle sounded. Helena traced the air in front of her, as though Sam still stood before her. She stared out at the dark silhouette of the trees against the barely lightening sky, a scene she had known her entire life but would surely never see again. Smoke amassed in a cloud to the east. Ruth and Michal were out there, somewhere, though whether together or alone, safe or in peril, she could not say. They were torn and scattered, their one promise to Mama broken.
As the train began to move, Helena sank down, clutching tightly to the children as if they, too, might disappear into dust. The children sat down on the floor of the bo
xcar, too unfamiliar with trains to expect seats. There was no heat and a fine glaze of ice covered the door frame. The smell of rotting grain and manure hung heavy in the air.
She looked down the platform, hoping in vain to see one or both of her missing siblings. A faint ray of sunlight peeked through the clouds, illuminating the fading smoke above the hills. Helena thought of Alek and the other resistance fighters. But for the children, she might have stayed and helped them, maybe even fought herself. But Alek would not have been able to save her family. Sam, a different type of hero, had put them first. Now, she would do the same.
Helena wrapped her sisters tightly beneath her coat. They clung to her, Karolina to her neck and Dorie to her hand as if she were Ruth, and Helena understood in that second that something had changed forever. She was both mother and father to them now. She rocked Karolina the way Ruth said, singing to her in a low voice as she never had before, surprised as they relaxed into her at the comfort she had not known was hers to give.
As the station disappeared from view, Helena gazed one last time at the tree line. In the distant direction of the chapel, the sky glowed bright orange. Her stomach skipped a funny little beat and then the light slipped from view as they pulled away.
Epilogue
New York, 2013
When several seconds have passed without my responding, the woman with the ponytail turns to the police officer. “I think we’re all set here,” she says brightly. The policeman turns, eager to be dismissed.
“There,” the woman says when he has gone. “That’s better, isn’t it? I only brought him to help me find you and make sure I could visit,” she adds apologetically. I nod. It has been decades and I still cannot see a policeman or hear a siren without wondering if they are coming for me. I am shaped irrevocably by all that happened. But I’ve been changed for the better, too, like the way that seeing a young American soldier in uniform on the street still fills me with a sense of nostalgia.
