A Sparrow in Terezin

by Kristy Cambron

  Kája looked from him to the other beds, her gaze scanning the room.

  She saw beds filled with patients who must have been like her—dazed and unsure of what had happened. Women in white uniforms bustled around with trays, rolls of bandages, and clipboards tucked under their arms. There was a small group of people standing over a bed at the end of the corridor. She couldn’t see much, but the lump on the mattress was only big enough to be a small child. A man’s shoulders were hunched over and he cried, holding a woman who looked to have crumbled in his arms. If one had to judge the scene, it would appear they’d just lost a child.

  The despair was unmistakable, both powerful and heart-wrenching. Kája’s memory of her fractured family on a train platform flooded back, washing over her muddled senses. The feelings must have shown upon her face, for Liam sat up straighter, nearly rising from his chair.

  “Try not to look,” Liam suggested, his words soft and feeling.

  “But I can’t look away,” she whispered. “It can’t be happening, not here too.”

  He didn’t question what she’d meant but must have assumed she spoke of Prague. He responded by edging his chair over so her view was obstructed by his shoulders. She closed her eyes, still seeing the image. No doubt the parents’ tender moment would be burned upon her heart forever.

  “You’re not in pain, are you? I can find the doctor.”

  The chair creaked and she opened her eyes, seeing Liam poised to stand.

  “No—please?” she asked. “I’m all right. Really. I’m just trying to remember what happened. I think I understand what you’re telling me . . . the bombing last night? All these people are here from that?”

  “You’ve been here for nearly four days, Kája, and we’ve been bombed in all of them.”

  She blinked back at him.

  Had it been four days since the bombs had first fallen on their Saturday-afternoon walk? How could she have slept that long and not remembered anything? And how could the skies have rained bombs for so long?

  “But that can’t be.” She shook her head on the words. “I remember walking through the flower market with you and . . . the sirens went off.”

  “Yes.”

  Kája bit the corner of her lip.

  Thinking on the frenzied events as the first bombs fell triggered a memory of a kiss they’d shared, and she wondered if it was real or a creation of her own mind. She’d passed by him in the newsroom too many times, had walked with him through the London city streets. They’d worked together at the office, never exchanging anything more than pleasantries until one late night, a connection between them had sparked an unexpected friendship. And now, an attachment had grown in her heart. Though she’d fought hard to ignore it, Liam Marshall had found a way into the most carefully protected parts of it.

  “They called an all-clear after the first bombs fell. I thought to go home but stayed on to help in the East End. And the sirens started up again and hundreds showed up. I went back because I thought that’s where you’d come looking for me. And without warning, bombs started falling again in the dark.”

  Then a memory resurfaced. Of a familiar, embattled voice in the darkness. One she knew. One that had spoken over her with such care. Of arms that had swept up her lifeless body and somehow had carried her to safety. She remembered them around her.

  “Were you . . . there?”

  “Kája, we don’t have to talk about this now. You should rest.”

  She tried to sit up straighter but fell back on the pillows again. “No—you were there, weren’t you? In the shelter. I remember now. I remember hearing your voice over me. You were telling the other men what to do.”

  Liam looked pained, but nodded nonetheless. “Yes. I was there.”

  “But how ever did you find me?”

  “I was on my way back to Columbia Road when the bomb hit.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I got there not long after it happened. They think a bomb came right down the air shaft, exploding in a direct hit on everyone there.”

  “How bad was it that night?”

  He looked up, eyes beset by what he must have witnessed.

  “Bad enough to not mention it here, not while you and all of these other people are in hospital beds. But I can tell you that sites all over the city have been bombed. Homes. Churches. A school in Bermondsey took a direct hit the first night. And there have been fires everywhere you can imagine. Half of London is charred black.”

  “What about the girls from the office? You said they were here so they must be okay.”

  He nodded.

  “All fine, though Fleet Street has taken a few hits. It’s set everyone’s teeth on edge, to find bombs falling around the Telegraph. But I looked in at your flat, along with Trixie and some of the other girls who live near you. Your building was damaged but it’s still standing. They collected your things for you, as much as they could carry.”

  Kája nodded, sated with the fact that none of the others had been injured or worse.

  “Luckily, Westminster and St. Paul’s are both standing in the heart of the city. Smoke surrounded them on all sides but the flames didn’t get them. And Churchill gave a radio address today, as a matter of fact. He mentioned the ‘spirit of the British nation.’ Makes a chap feel a bit defiant about it all, that our greatest landmarks stood against the flames. That we’re standing against Hitler together.”

  “Yes. I suppose . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Defiant? It was the one thing she didn’t feel. She was wounded and weak, waking up to a world that had been torn to bits.

  “So it’s over? The RAF will protect us now that we know for certain the Luftwaffe can reach over the Channel.”

  Liam shook his head. “London’s been bombed nearly round the clock since Saturday. There’s reason to hope it’ll be over soon, but we still must be prepared for the worst.”

  “What do you mean?” A breath escaped her lungs—one she hadn’t even known she’d held. She looked around at the full beds and asked, “Is this hospital safe?”

  “Kája,” he said, with such care laced in his tone that she could scarcely breathe. “I think the Germans want us to believe that nowhere is safe—not with Hitler sending fire from the sky. But we’re Londoners, and we’ll never give in. We may be battered but we’re not beaten. Not by a long shot.”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “And I hope you hear me when I say how sorry I am.” He paused, then cleared his throat. “Had I known there was a chance the shelter could be hit—”

  “I don’t blame you—” she protested, cutting in.

  Liam shook his head. “No—let me say this. I need to say it. Defiance as a whole is one thing. We Britons can pull that spirit together on our darkest day. But the view I see from inside this hospital—and by this bed in particular—is different. It’s made me realize what could have been lost in the midst of what already has been.”

  Kája wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he continued, not giving her the chance to cut in.

  “My father’s dead, Kája.” He looked away from her to a point outside the nearest window. “We buried him yesterday.”

  “What happened?”

  “He worked at the Surrey docks,” he answered, his tone hushed. “Long as I can remember. They were bombed that first day. I just didn’t get there in time is all.”

  Liam said the words with such ambivalence that one might have thought him a man without emotion. But she knew better. She’d seen the fear in his eyes before he left her, had seen the passion that drove him through the smoke-filled streets to the burning banks of the Thames. And now she knew why.

  “And you didn’t get to say good-bye?”

  Liam’s hand rested on the side of the bed. She moved her fingertips until they just grazed it, drawing his attention back to her. It felt natural, almost like a sense of coming home, to have her hand brush his.

  “It’s not your fault,” she reiterated, hoping to offer him any small gli
mpse of comfort. “You tried. I’m sure he knew that.”

  “Yes, well.” He cleared his throat and moved back away from the side of the bed, his hand leaving hers cold and alone on the sheet. “There’s nothing to be done about it now, is there?”

  “Liam, I . . .”

  She diverted her gaze to the ceiling, then closed her eyes for a few seconds, hoping to infuse herself with courage over the blast of emotion that was looming. She was angry. Angry at war and the audacity of the Nazis to take everything from them. Desperation flooded her heart; she needed to know her parents’ fate. She needed to feel a lifting of that guilt for having left them behind. And now, even as she lay in a hospital bed, she felt that determination fire up in her soul again.

  “I want to do something.”

  “You can.” He nodded agreement. “You’ll heal. Turn your nose up to the lot of them by getting better.”

  “But I want more—to fight back, maybe? You said that Churchill spoke of Britain’s spirit. Well, I’m here. Now. I’m a Londoner, at least for a while anyway. And I want to be a true one. If that’s standing up to Hitler’s barrage, then I mean to do it too.”

  Liam seemed to notice her embattled will and began attempting to talk her down at once.

  “Now is not the time, Kája. You need to get back on your feet first.”

  “Is it time for you? Tell me—will you be called from Bletchley Park to fight on the front lines?”

  Liam paused, then swallowed hard and answered, “Maybe.”

  “Then there you have it. If you’re fighting, then I want to as well. With your connections, surely you can find something for me.” She inclined her head to the parents sobbing at the end of the corridor and lowered her voice. “Tell me that scene over there means something to you too.”

  “God in heaven, Kája. Of course it does. Do you think me a monster?”

  “No, never. I just want you to understand why . . .”

  “What do you intend to do, Kája? You must heal first. I cannot tell you how close you came to . . . They wheeled you into surgery, and it was only then that I realized I was standing there with your blood all over my hands.”

  He stopped short, clearing his throat.

  “I have no wish to frighten you into submission, but you nearly died in that blast. I didn’t even know your sister’s name or how to contact her about your injuries. It’s by God’s grace I’m even talking to you right now. And with your family so far away, I feel”—he paused for a moment, as if choosing his words ever so carefully, then continued—“after what happened at Columbia Road, I feel a responsibility that you’re not put in harm’s way again. If there’s anything I can do to prevent that, I must. So the answer to every question you’re asking must be no.”

  Kája had heard what he said, but she felt numb, her heart broken and bleeding like the injured parts of her body. His words held depth, but not enough to make her forget the desire to do something more than just leave the hospital alive.

  All she could think of now was the pain of running away. She’d left her family, left Prague behind out of fear. And still war had chased her to an ARP shelter in the heart of London. How could she run again? Something mattered in standing up to fight this time. It felt like she’d been given a second chance to make things right.

  Liam sighed, a heavy-laden exhale that sounded as though it had been pent up for days. Perhaps all of London sighed at the moment. He clapped hands to his knees and lightened his features.

  “There’s no need to talk about all this now. Besides, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “Yes. What is it?” Kája answered, refusing to let her eyes produce the tears they so badly wished to. She raised her good arm up to her brow and rubbed at her aching forehead. It served as a poor distraction.

  Liam reached down to retrieve the book from the floor and slid it across the top of the bedside table to her. “Have you considered taking up some new reading habits? I hate to say it about a fellow British bloke, but your Dickens isn’t nearly as gripping as Shakespeare.”

  “Dickens?” How had he remembered that? The first time they’d met in the basement archive had been months ago. Surely it meant nothing to him? “Is that what you’re reading?”

  “Little Dorrit.” He rolled his eyes and leaned in to whisper, “But you’ve managed to sleep through the entire book thus far so it can’t have been much good. I suggest we read Julius Caesar next time—much more exciting for a young journalist to find her inspiration.”

  The sentiment wasn’t lost, even though he was trying to interject humor into the crux of a horrible situation.

  “You read to me?”

  Liam shifted in his chair, a bit sheepishly she would have judged, and shrugged it off.

  “Yes, well. Only to pass the time until you woke up. Don’t let those busy nurses fool you; it’s quite boring around here, actually.”

  A defiant tear managed to escape and slid down her cheek.

  Liam brushed it away with the knuckle of his index finger.

  “Now—what was that question you asked me when you woke?” he asked, and issued one of his heart-stopping smiles.

  Kája couldn’t be mad at the authoritarian air in his voice.

  To the outside world, he appeared as the office chatterboxes said: an ace reporter with fire nipping at his heels. But what stood out now, what surprised and even humbled her as she lay in a hospital bed, was that he revealed the man underneath.

  Kája began to consider how wrong she might have been about him.

  “I wondered how Smalls knew to find you at the flower market. It’s not a normal place for you to venture, is it?”

  “Ah, that.” He sighed. Liam smiled and, pulling a poppy that had been in a bud vase by her bed, whispered, “I told him of Miss Makovský’s fondness for flowers. I’d asked the other secretaries after her Saturday plans, so I knew I’d run into her there. I heard tell that Columbia Road has the prettiest poppies in all of London and I wanted her to have one.”

  Kája took the flower from him with her good arm and smiled softly.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I used to paint these, when I was young.” She twirled the flower between her fingertips. “I had a studio. A small little corner of the world. The room overlooked the river and I could see Prague for miles. I painted our neighbors’ gardens.”

  “That’s why they remind you of home.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “But . . .”

  Liam tilted his head to the side, eyebrow arched, and asked, “But what?”

  “I’m just relieved you didn’t bring chrysanthemums. In Prague, it’s traditional to put them on graves.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Well, our suspicions were right, Mrs. Hanover.” The doctor came into the room and set her file on the nearby counter. “Congratulations. You’re nine weeks along.”

  They were words Sera was overjoyed—but terrified—to hear.

  The bouts of nausea and lightheadedness, she’d explained away. Her life was a bower of stress at the moment. She’d expected to receive a lecture about how to manage it and encouraging her to focus on nutrition and getting enough sleep. And the exhaustion that continued plaguing her—she thought that could be explained too. It was normal to need some time to transition from the East Coast to West Coast. Of course she’d be tired.

  But pregnant? Now?

  In the midst of everything?

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Hanover?”

  “Yes,” Sera answered, attempting to cover the near squeak her voice threatened against the word. She sat in the exam room chair and feeling dizzy all of a sudden, dropped her head between her knees. “I heard you. It’s just—”

  “A surprise, I’d gather.”

  Sera’s heart fluttered. “Something like that.”

  A surprise?

  That was an understatement. After the roller-coaster ride they’d been on through the previous year, she wondered if anything would be
mundane again. Surprises were overrated when they came prepackaged on your doorstep every day.

  Sera tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked up.

  “And you’re sure that’s what it is?”

  The doctor smiled with compassion in her eyes, then glanced down at the laptop on the exam counter and began typing away.

  “Yes. I am.” She kept clicking away on the keyboard. “I’d like to see you back here in a month. In the meantime, I’m writing a prescription for prenatal vitamins and ordering you to get as much rest as possible.”

  Sera’s eyes misted. She couldn’t help it.

  She’d imagined that someday, long in the future when the legal troubles were just a distant memory, they’d have a family. She and William would grow old together, watching from the row of rockers on the porch as their grandchildren played in the yard. They’d take their family for walks on the beach, or through the streets of Manhattan where she’d been happy for so many years.

  But it had always been someday.

  Now someday was colliding with the turmoil of their present circumstances and heaven help her, but Sera was terrified all over again.

  “We can keep this quiet, can’t we? From the media, I mean. After everything Will’s been through over the past few months and with the court proceedings”—Sera pictured throngs of paparazzi following her to and from childbirth classes and shuddered—“ I just don’t want him to be hurt anymore.”

  “Mrs. Hanover, we’ll help you in any way we can,” she said, and paused to drop her hands into her lab coat pockets. She retrieved a pad of paper and pen, then scribbled on it and tore off the top sheet. “Here”—she handed the paper to Sera—“take my cell phone number. This will bypass the after-hours emergency line. You can call me day or night, for whatever you need. And I assure you this is confidential. Try not to focus on what’s happening out there and instead focus on what’s happening right here. Your husband won’t learn of this blessing until you’re ready to tell him.”

  Sera nodded, finding strength in the doctor’s reassurance.