“You’re certain of this?”
Sophie nodded.
Kája exhaled, then walked over to the work table and took a scrap of paper and pencil in hand. She scrawled a note, folded it, and kneeling before Sophie, she slipped it in the girl’s pocket.
“Leave this note behind when you take Ingrid out. Make sure it’s under the bed. Understand?”
Sophie nodded again.
Kája buttoned the top of Sophie’s coat and tied the green scarf over her ears like a kerchief, trying not to cry over the fact that Sophie had said more in the past minute than she’d uttered in the past few months.
“I suppose we are partners, then.” She stood and looked to Adina. “You’ll have to stay here and be our teacher when the other children come in. Just until I come back. Can you do that for me?”
The little girl nodded, face animated with the opportunity. Kája took off her apron and laid it across the work table, then reached for her own coat from the hook. She shrugged it up over her shoulders and quickly buttoned the front.
“But what do I tell them, Miss Makovský?”
“Ask them to paint a new world for me,” she whispered, and tapped a finger to the end of Adina’s pert nose. “You tell them I want to see butterflies and songbirds in every color of the rainbow. We’ll write a story about them when I return. And mind that the boys don’t use up all of your favorites colors, hmm?”
With an arm tucked round Sophie’s shoulders, they stepped back out into the icy cold air.
They avoided the bench with the woman in her purple scarf. They passed by the ghosts as they hurried along toward the other side of the camp. She prayed with each step through the streets that they’d have something bright to hope for in the midst of the dark morning. A cough and a fever were never a good thing, not anywhere, and certainly not in Terezin. She’d seen the same thing over and over in the past months. A cough, fitful sleeping, and fever were the precursors to death.
Dear God, please don’t let any more of the children die.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Well?” Kája whispered from the foot of the bed they’d made up in the supply room, keeping her voice low so the other children wouldn’t overhear them.
She chewed on her thumbnail, then turned to peek over her shoulder.
The children were seated around the long work table in the front room, all focused on their painting project for the day. Sophie and Adina, though, had their eyes keenly fixed on the room in which they stood. Kája gave them a smile, fake though the effort was, and turned back to Ingrid.
Kája toyed with the cross necklace between her index finger and her thumb. She made sure to keep it hidden beneath the collar of her dress, always out of sight. But still, it offered comfort, serving as a reminder of the moments they’d shared in a nursery car once, looking after children while the world fell down around them.
She absentmindedly ran her thumb over the tiny lump in the fabric as her father assessed little Ingrid. After several minutes of listening to her breathing and checking her pulse, he finally eased the stethoscope from his ears.
She lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper. “What is it?”
He shook his head, still kneeling by the side of the cot. He ran a hand over Ingrid’s brow with a lovingly soft hand. “I’m sorry.”
His body seemed to groan over weak, tired limbs as he pushed up to stand.
“This little girl has typhus.”
Kája closed her eyes and downturned her head. “No.”
He, too, lowered his voice. “She has a high fever. Cough. A rash on her trunk. All classic symptoms. And with all the vermin in this place, we can’t know how quickly it will spread. People are coughing everywhere. The winter has been harsh.”
“But she can’t go back to the barracks. She’d never survive.”
The weight of sending her back, walking through the streets—it wasn’t humane. Ingrid had barely been able to stand when she’d arrived at the door. It wasn’t likely that she’d have enough energy to get back to the barracks, let alone survive through the night.
“Yes,” he agreed, and began packing wares into his medical bag. “I think you’re right. I’ll have to take her to the hospital with me.”
Kája shook her head immediately. “No. Please. She’d never make it there either. The conditions are worse there than in the barracks.” She stood tall against the idea. There was only one option. “She’ll have to stay with us. I’ll nurse her.”
“And you don’t think they’d notice her absence in the barracks?”
“I don’t. I gave Sophie a note to leave for her mother. And the guards have long since stopped strict nightly counts with so many people packed in here. I think this is her chance and I’m willing to try.”
Kája knew her father might have questioned her once.
He’d been unwavering in his overprotectiveness when they’d first arrived. He’d never have allowed her to walk past someone who sneezed from hay fever, let alone nurse a child sick from the typhus epidemic. But life in Terezin had melted into something different than it was before. There was no protection from death. No compassion either, unless one of the prisoners saw fit to extend it to another.
She judged him able to recognize that because he nodded, just once, and began packing up his bag.
“You understand the risks?”
“Yes.” She nodded and knelt down at Ingrid’s side. She brushed a gentle hand over her cheek. “I don’t want her time to be over yet. I believe she has more to live for. They all do.”
He looked past her to the group of children seated around the work table as they painted in silence and nodded.
“I’ve never thought to question you, my Kája. Not even when you came back to Prague. I was angry at God to see you there, but somewhere deep inside I knew you would walk through our door again. There is a light that guides you through this life, my daughter,” he whispered, eyes glazing with tears. “It is Christ-like in its beauty. And because of that, I’ll not question you now. Your strength will carry these children through the days ahead. I believe it is your calling now. This has been your journey.”
Kája bit her bottom lip over the emotion his words generated.
She’d hoped her calling was to pass through life at Liam’s side as his wife. And as her father looked at her now, she couldn’t speak of it. Not when he’d offered such praise. She rested her hand over the necklace at her collar, burying the remembrance that she’d been engaged once, and considered that God’s path for her might have shifted in the way her father had said.
“And how is Matka?” he whispered into the room, his voice weighty. “I could not see her yesterday. There are too many sick at the hospital and I feared bringing illness in her weakened state.”
“She is sleeping more.”
“Is she? And what does she say when she’s awake?”
“I remind her of the way things used to be. She listens to my stories. ‘Remember the parties?’ I say. ‘The dancing on the portico over the river?’ She likes those memories, though I doubt she truly remembers any of them. Maybe just hearing a voice beside her brings comfort, even if she no longer knows the face it comes from.”
“Her heart is still there, despite the mind.”
Her father placed a hand on her shoulder and paused on a tight squeeze. She covered his aged fingers with her palm. He sniffed loudly as he walked past, giving away his emotion in the moment.
“I’ll return tomorrow. Make sure you work to keep the fever down. Bathe her in water, or ice if you can gather any from outside. And ensure she receives extra nourishment if she’ll take it.”
“I haven’t much to give her,” Kája answered, thinking of the rail-thin children in the front room and ration lines that never seemed to end. “Handfuls of old potatoes boiled in stale water.”
“I know. But give it to her if she’ll take it. And pray with her,” he offered, having reached for his coat and put his hat on his head. “Pray with her a
nd with Matka. Surely your voice will chase the shadows away.”
Kája thought about Ingrid as the funeral wagon drove by.
The young girl had fought hard and survived the fever when so many others perished. But not long after, her number was called for transport and both she and her sister were lost to a camp in the east. She wondered now what had become of them as the horse-drawn carriage lumbered on the dirt road to the back of the prison complex. It was stacked some twenty coffins high and came to a stop where the graves had been dug.
She and Sophie kept their heads down with the others who walked along.
SS officers were there to watch over how the Jewish guards controlled the marched procession. They allowed it to proceed, standing back with mild interest. But oddly enough, one officer stuck out from the rest. She noticed that he’d removed his hat and stood, with what looked like a measure of respect, as the mourners ambled past.
It was so unexpected an action that she stared, unable to ignore it.
The unmistakable light green of his eyes reminded her of an incident that had occurred months before. She’d not seen him since, but Kája recognized him as the officer who had risked his life to pick up a fallen Jew. When the wagon passed by, only then did he replace his hat.
Kája watched, stunned by the silent action.
It didn’t help ease the pain. It didn’t eliminate the transport of children to the east. And it did nothing to comfort the line of tear-stained faces that ambled along with her. But for a moment, Kája was certain that the sun had come out. The officer’s gesture brought light breaking through the clouds and for once, she didn’t feel entirely alone.
God . . . , she breathed out, grateful for the fleeting glimpse of something humane. Surely you are here.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Sera rolled up her clothes and uncaringly shoved them down into her suitcase.
William opened the door and came into the bedroom. She looked up after his shadow cast lines across the floor. She could see the concerned look in his eyes even in the dimness of the lamp-lit room.
“What are you doing?” He closed the door with a soft click behind him, as though dealing with a jittery, caged animal. “Sera?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” She tossed a pair of jeans in the suitcase and moved over to the bureau. She began dropping the jewelry she’d discarded there into a tissue she pulled from the box nearby. “I’m leaving.”
“You’re leaving tonight?” he asked, and took several steps in her direction. “I just got here. You can guess I was already on my way when we spoke this morning.”
“I thought you couldn’t come to London.”
“I couldn’t,” he answered, still standing just far enough away that she could collect her thoughts. “Until our lawyers argued that I needed to come here to aid in my defense. The prosecutor relented.”
“Well, I’m out of here. After all, I’d hate for your father to have to give me the news that my husband has in fact lied to me.”
She bypassed him and dropped the tissues in the suitcase, then stormed over to the closet. She pulled several garments from wooden hangers, jumbling the fabric in her arms. The hangers clanged together and swung there for a moment, making the only sound in the room until she marched over to the bed and began stuffing her suitcase again.
She zipped several pockets closed while he watched, dumbfounded.
“Did you—”
“Find Katie? Talk to her? Of course I did.”
He exhaled and ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, there’s not much we can do about that now.”
“Sera, you can’t leave this way. Please—”
“Why, Will? You obviously don’t need me here. I’m not even sure why I came all this way except to be hurt all over again.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asked, the ache evident in his voice, and reached out to grasp her elbow.
She yanked it from his fingertips and stood, chest heaving with pent-up breaths storming in and out. “I believed in you! I trusted you no matter what the charges. I even defended you to Penny when she questioned your innocence.” She shook her head, knowing that the pain in her heart had shifted to a look of disgust on her face. “Now I can’t even look at you.”
“Sera, please.” William edged closer to her and chanced reaching out, with arm in slow motion, and grazed her shoulder with his fingertips. “Let me explain. I can’t lose you too.”
“Oh—all of a sudden you want to talk?”
“I’ve wanted to talk about it since we met. I just didn’t know how.”
“You’ve had two years to do it. And I think I’ve been a patient wife. I haven’t demanded that you tell me what’s in your past, why you hate the thought of your father so much that you’d lie to cover it up.”
William’s features melted some. She guessed it was shame. Or guilt. He was caught, and the proof of it was showing all over his face.
“I shouldn’t have to pick up the pieces of who my husband is from fragmented conversations with his long-lost father and sister. We have to walk into that courtroom in less than a month and now I don’t know whether you’re innocent or not. You tell me you are. And I blindly believed you. But, Will—” Sera stared back at him, head shaking and eyes wide, battling tears, and whispered with emotion raw, “After all of this, I don’t know. Who are you?”
“It’s not what you think,” he pleaded, eyes studying her face as she looked up at him.
“Oh good, because there are about a thousand theories floating around in my mind right now. Thank goodness it’s none of those.”
“When I met you I swore I’d turn my life around. I didn’t want to go back. I’d never go back to who I was. And then we got on this road of looking for a painting and I didn’t care about the inheritance anymore. I didn’t want that life because all I could see was a life with you.”
He placed a hand over hers, freezing it to the suitcase.
“Please don’t go. Not like this.”
“You may have changed, Will. You may even profess that God has changed you.” She paused to pull her hand free. She zipped the side of her suitcase without daring to look back at him. She pulled the suitcase from the bed and it plopped down on the floor at her feet. “But as your wife, I think you owe me the truth. All of it. And unless you can give it to me right now, I’m walking out that door.”
Silence had never been so painful.
Sera waited, standing before her husband with her heart bleeding. She stood there, hand fused to the grip of the suitcase handle, and prayed that whatever he had to tell her wouldn’t rip it out completely.
William studied her for a moment.
“Please stay.”
She turned from him, praying he wouldn’t see the tears streaming down her face.
“I can’t. And I don’t know where I’ll go just yet, but when you finally do come home from all of this, don’t expect me or our baby to be there waiting.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
William looked as though he’d been blasted with a splash of ice water to the face.
Sera closed her eyes on the harshness of the admission, instantly regretful that she’d told him about the baby in such a way. She stood, fused to the hardwood, waiting for him to reply.
“What did you say?”
She exhaled and opened her eyes. “I didn’t mean to tell you like this.” With the notch of her chin a little higher in the air, she confirmed, “I’m pregnant.”
He started forward, as if on instinct.
Will’s heart was a good one, she knew. She could see the joy in his face, the surprise and the pride that were all mixed into one embattled crease of the forehead as he crossed the room to her. It was so like him, tall and strong, to want to take her in his arms and protect whatever they had left. But for the pain of feeling forced into the admission when all she’d wanted from the beginning was honesty between them, Sera backed away.
She edged
back, step by step, toward the door.
“Sera.” He paused, shaking his head at the way she’d responded.
“No, Will. Not this time. I won’t live with secrets anymore.” She raised her hand out to form a gentle barrier between them. “We have more to think about than what we want, what we feel. We’re bringing a child into the world in a matter of months and so help me, I don’t know how to do that if I’m alone.”
“I won’t let you go, not like this. We have so much to talk about. There’s so much to say.”
“I know.” She nodded, feeling the heat of fresh tears stinging her eyes. “I know there is. And maybe, in time, we’ll both be ready to. But not right now. You need to stay here, in London, with your father. You need to fix this—repair yourself before you come back and try to work on us. What you need to do is focus on the case. And I need to go.”
“You can’t think I’d just let you leave now, after this?” Will’s shoulders sagged, as if pained by the very thought. He let out a deep exhale. “For a long time I was angry at a lot of things, but mostly at my father’s absence. Always traveling, building wealth—his whole world was growing an empire out from under my grandfather’s shadow. And I rebelled against his consuming need for business. I flunked out of three Ivy League colleges in two years. I eventually managed to slide by at a state school and barely earn a business degree. But by the time I woke up at twenty-five and realized I’d spent half of my adult years with a hangover, spending my family’s money, my father was already ashamed of me.”
“William.” She hurt for him. Ached that he’d run for so long and that now, even at thirty-five, was still so wounded. She dropped the suitcase and walked over to his side. Her hands melted over his. “You could have told me this. I wouldn’t have thought any worse of you. We all make mistakes.”
“It was more than that,” he said, and pulled back as if burned by her touch. “More than mistakes, Sera. He had to clean up our family name. He had to pay off my debt.”
A Sparrow in Terezin Page 25
