Only Love Heals A Heart: Steamy Historical Romance

by Gray, Jessica

  He swallowed hard, murmuring something that sounded like I’m going to kill every last Nazi for what they did to you.

  “Sleep well,” she wished him, faked a yawn and retreated to her space beneath the staircase. She wasn’t really tired enough to sleep, but she needed time alone with her thoughts.

  Finding Stan had profusely confused her. Obviously she was overjoyed to see him, anyone in her position would be. She’d actually found a relative who had survived. But her current cache of turbulent emotions contained much more than happiness.

  It was more like a warm, fuzzy feeling in her heart and butterflies dancing deep in her stomach. It was so unexpected because she’d always been afraid of Stan, even when she’d fancied his twin brother so many years ago.

  Thinking about Jarek brought back old memories and a few tears slid down her cheeks as she cried for what might have been. Hitler and his cronies had thoroughly messed up her personal life, along with the rest of Europe. With a sigh she sunk onto the blanket, covering herself with the thin sheet. It wasn’t really necessary in the sweltering July heat, but she felt better to be covered from prying eyes in her small space beneath the staircase.

  As darkness settled over the land, sleep finally claimed her and she drifted away, her dreams filled with future hopes instead of past nightmares.

  * * *

  The next morning, she rose when dawn broke and smiled when she heard Stan roaming about in the kitchen. She quickly pulled on her dress, combed her hair and opened the kitchen door a few minutes later.

  “Good morning,” he said, his jaw gaping open as he stared at her. She smoothed down her faded dress, wondering what was wrong with her appearance.

  “Good morning,” she said and stepped inside the room, filled with the aroma of peppermint.

  “I’ve made peppermint tea,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “There’s no coffee.”

  “Thank you, I love peppermint tea.” She took the mug from his hands, sipping the hot liquid. “Are those leaves from your garden?”

  “Yes, just picked them on my way here.” He’d also cut bread, cheese and two tomatoes and put them on a plate. “Do you want to come to the porch and have breakfast with me?”

  “I’d love to.” She wanted to say so many things, wanted to thank him for his thoughtfulness, his hospitality, but for some reason around him the words dried up in her throat. Her mind was filled with cotton balls and her tongue seemed glued to her gums.

  They ate in silence and just when he got up to collect the dishes, she said, “Let me. Please.”

  “I can perfectly well do this myself!”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “No? You didn’t mean to shower me with your pity because a cripple can’t even carry his own dirty dishes?” The dark shadow of anger crept into his eyes and the pulsating vein on his temple indicated he was teetering on the verge of bursting into one of his infamous fits of rage. But Agnieska wasn’t about to let him scare her, not anymore. She’d gone through far worse than facing Stanislaw Zdanek.

  “Stop it, Stan. I do not pity you. On the contrary, I’m in awe. Look at you. You’re toiling all day in the field to produce food for the coming winter. I would never have believed someone could do all this with an amputated leg.” She smiled, suddenly finding the right words again. “Independently of what anyone might say, you are a hero. You must be the strongest, most valiant man I’ve ever met, even with a wooden leg.”

  “I’m not.” His face had lit up with her praise, but he still showed a doubtful wrinkle on his forehead.

  “What I wanted to suggest is my desire to make myself useful while I’m here. So you can work in the fields, while I take care of the house. I’ll clean, organize, wash, and cook.”

  Stan furrowed his brow, but after a few more minutes of brooding he finally relented. “All right, because you insist. But you don’t have to.”

  “I want to,” she said, keeping her mouth shut to the array of reasons she wanted to give him.

  She watched him walk out the door, cross the garden, and take a few tools from the shed. Her heart squeezed tight with pity; not for his physical condition, but for the way it had hardened his soul and how he wallowed in a sense of inferiority. Why couldn’t he see, that even now he was more man than a thousand others combined?

  A deep sigh escaped her throat, and she turned around, taking a good look at the mess in the kitchen. The entire place was in a shambles and wasn’t actually fit for anyone to live in, but she still preferred it to seeking shelter in one of the displaced persons camps.

  Deciding she didn’t have time to waste, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. She found a broom, brush and rags in one corner and walked to the well in the garden to fill the bucket with fresh water. Putting some of her precious soap into the water, she started to wipe down the grime from the walls, mopped the floor, dusted, and scrubbed until the kitchen shone with cleanliness.

  Exhausted from the hard work, she stretched her back and arms before she instinctively ducked her head, fearing the inevitable whiplash coming down on her for taking a break. When nothing happened, she remembered the sweet bliss of freedom. The nightmare of being a Jewish slave for the Nazis had ended. Nobody would harm her.

  Ever again.

  Her growling stomach announced her hunger and Stan must be experiencing it even more so. She hadn’t seen provisions anywhere in the empty kitchen, except for a few carrots and tomatoes on the windowsill. So she stepped onto the porch trying to figure out where Stan kept the food.

  The sun blazed high in the sky, burning down mercilessly on the land beneath. She shielded her eyes from the bright sunshine and gazed at the fields where she saw two people working side by side. A big one and a small one. Her heart gave a leap at Stan’s familiar frame, but she couldn’t make out the identity of the second person from this distance.

  In the vegetable garden, she cut a lettuce head and racked her brain over how to make an actual meal with nothing but lettuce, tomatoes and carrots, when she remembered the hidden pantry beneath the kitchen floor.

  Her neck hair stood on end as she opened the trap door and looked down into the gaping black hole. She really didn’t want to go down there. Too fresh were the memories of her and Janusz hiding in there, hearing the hateful tirades of the neighbor Mrs. Kozlow. For a fleeting moment Agnieska wondered what had happened to the vile woman, who’d been an eager Nazi collaborator. These people weren’t treated kindly nowadays.

  She shook her head, reminding herself that the days of hiding were long gone. But as much as her rational mind tried to appease her, she physically couldn’t set a foot on the ladder down into the pantry filled with ghosts from the past.

  I’ll just wait and ask Stan. Even while the thought calmed her own fear, she had to laugh at herself. She’d make him return from the field and conquer the ladder with only one leg, just because she was afraid of some unpleasant memories? If he could overcome his limitations, so could she.

  Squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath, she lit the lantern and stepped down into the threatening cave. With the flickering flame in her hand, the pantry wasn’t half as scary as she remembered it from being locked up inside in total darkness, allowed to make nary a sound.

  She grabbed several potatoes and poured two hands of flour into the bowl she’d taken with her. Today they’d have to be content with a potato soup, but she planned to make fresh loaves of bread the next day.

  After finishing dinner, she walked outside to the well to wash up, careful not to be seen by anyone. Just as she finished, Stan and a thin boy with dark hair walked toward her from the fields. She waved at them, her heart giving another inexplicable leap at the sight of Stan’s sun-bleached blond hair and the tan skin on his muscled arms.

  “Hello Agnieska, do you know Tadzio?”

  “Nice to see you, Tadzio.” She nodded, vaguely remembering the skinny, small, neighbor’s boy. But he’d grown considerably since she’d last seen him and also pu
t on some healthy muscle.

  “So you must be Agnieska, right? My mother will be so glad to hear you returned.”

  “Give her my regards and say that I’ll go and visit her tomorrow,” Agnieska said. Maybe Tadzio’s mother, whom she’d seen only a few times before, could help her with getting this household stacked with the necessary ingredients to cook a decent meal. She turned to smile at Stan, who quickly averted his eyes when they met hers. “Dinner is ready.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yes, I made potato soup and—“

  “You made potato soup?” Stan stared at her as if she were some kind of alien. “But… how?”

  “I found everything I needed in the pantry beneath the kitchen.”

  “Oh.” An embarrassed blush she couldn’t quite understand flew across Stan’s face.

  “Will you eat with us, Tadzio?” she asked, not sure whether she wanted him to stay or not.

  Being alone with Stan was so… comforting. Exhilarating. But also so confusing.

  “No, ma’am, my mother will be waiting for me.” Tadzio grinned and sprinted off.

  Stan bent over the bowl of water on the well scrubbing his smeared face and hair clean. Agnieska stared at his back, and the pronounced muscles in his posterior, before gazing further down the dirty trousers and involuntarily comparing the right trouser leg with the thin, crumpled left one. Still, he was much more glorious than he gave himself credit for.

  She held her breath while perusing his physique and when her eyes reached his shoulders again, he suddenly straightened and took off his shirt. The sight of his muscled back, crisscrossed by scars heated up the blood in her veins. The next moment he dumped the bowl of water over his head and her eyes followed the droplets running down his naked skin.

  Thankfully, he stomped off to the shed, oblivious to her presence, and as soon as he was out of sight, Agnieska hurried to set the table on the porch. Several minutes later he returned with a clean white shirt with rolled-up sleeves.

  “Thanks for making dinner,” he said, sitting down at the table, wolfing down the soup. “That was excellent. Truly excellent.” He observed her with a soft smile, one that made her insides go mushy and all she could do was glance at her hands.

  Chapter 7

  “Look at me, Agnieska,” Stan said, wondering why she was so nervous. Hadn’t he just told her the dinner was excellent?

  She slowly raised her head, and when her sea green eyes connected with his, it hit him deep down in his chest. He wanted to take her beautiful face into his hands, kiss her luscious red lips… but that could never happen. It was entirely out of the question.

  “Is anything wrong?” he asked her.

  “No. It’s just…” She clasped her hands together and confusion radiated off of her. But the moment passed and she squared her shoulders, raising her voice to say, “I have done an inventory.”

  “An inventory?” Stan leaned back in his chair, tired from the day of hard work.

  “Yes, I went through the house, salvaging everything I could. But the yield was miserable. Two pots and a few pieces of silverware. None of the dishes were still intact. If we’re going to stay here for the winter, we need quite a few things.”

  His heart jumped at the word we, but he kept his expression neutral. “What kind of things?”

  “Well, mattresses, down blankets, winter clothing, cupboards, dishes, canning pots, basically everything.” She produced a list from the pocket of her dress and read a seemingly endless list of provisions.

  “Whoa. Slow down,” Stan said. “I’m sure we need all of this, but one thing at a time.”

  “Yes, I’m worried how to pay for all of this and where to get the things we need, and I thought…“ She looked so lost, it tugged at his heartstrings. He’d felt the same way when he’d returned to the farm several weeks ago. Until he’d made the shed his home with the few things he needed and food… he never cared about food, because he paid for Tadzio’s help with produce from the garden and Tadzio’s mother always made sure Stan wouldn’t go hungry, either.

  “Wait. I appreciate what you’ve been doing, but there’s no reason to worry. Tomorrow you can ask Tadzio’s mother to take you to the market in town. There you can sell our produce and hopefully buy whatever things you need to make this place a home again.” For us. He longed to take her into his arms, to feel the softness of her body pressed against him again, but instead he shrugged.

  When she gathered the dirty dishes he didn’t protest. Ten hours of pronging the stone-hard earth had left him out of energy and all he wanted was to fall on his mattress and sleep. Minutes later she returned with a cold infusion made of lemon verbena.

  “Here, drink this. You must be exhausted.” Her smile revived his spirits and he eagerly took the glass from her hand. The accidental touch with her soft fingers sent zings of longing across his body, making him stifle a groan.

  “Thank you. It’s nice to sit back and do nothing for a change,” he said, looking at her. “I have no idea how Tadzio has any energy left to run home after working in the field for ten hours straight.”

  She broke out into laughter. “How old is he? Fourteen? You were the same at his age. Children have unlimited sources of energy, as long as they get enough to eat.”

  “He’s fine,” Stan said, instinctively knowing that she was talking about their nephew Janusz. Both of them had almost been starved to death in the Lodz Ghetto. When Richard had rescued them they’d been thinner than scarecrows.

  “I’m sure he is, since he lives with his father now.” Agnieska blinked a few times and then said, “I should go tend the garden.”

  “Let me help…” Stan made to stand up, but his swollen stump ached so much when he put weight on it that he groaned.

  “Don’t worry, Stan. It’s not hard work, and you have done enough for today,” she said.

  For a moment Stan wanted to yell at her, demanding she stop treating him like a weakling, but he thought better of it and swallowed down his rage. The garden had always been his mother’s duty. It should be Agnieska’s now.

  * * *

  Stan paused for a moment and wiped the sweat from his forehead before it could drip into his eyes. Squinting into the blazing sun, he watched the dark clouds roll in from the East.

  “Those clouds better bring us some rain, or all the work will be in vain,” he said.

  “Hmm… but first we have to seed.” Tadzio didn’t even look up from his work of planting cabbage seeds into the ground. Since they had missed the seeding season for crops due to the war, cabbage and other fast growing vegetables were the only viable option.

  “That’s what we’re doing, but we still need the rain,” Stan grumbled, doing his best to keep up with him. He envied the stamina and healthy body of the boy. If only… Stan gritted his teeth. It didn’t help to wish for his missing leg, it only made him depressive. Since Agnieska had arrived on the farm about a week ago, he’d felt lighter, happier. But many times a day he still wished for the mind-numbing effects of vodka to help bear his fate.

  “Why don’t we plant turnips?” Tadzio suddenly asked as he stretched his back and walked to the bucket to grab another handful of cabbage seeds.

  “Because I fucking hate them,” Stan snapped at him. Seconds later he felt guilt over his outburst, but Tadzio seemed so accustomed to his mood swings that he didn’t even blink at the harsh words. Stan tightened his jaw and growled at himself.

  Several minutes later Tadzio returned for another handful of seeds and said, “You know, you don’t have to eat them yourself.”

  “Eat what?”

  “Turnips.”

  “Oh, you’re still on the turnip issue?” Stan asked, controlling his voice as best he could. Despite his gratitude for Tadzio’s help, that boy had the ability to annoy him with numerous suggestions until he’d burst out into a fit rage.

  “Yes.” Tadzio stretched to his full height, puffing out his chest and setting his feet hip-width apart. “Nobody actually likes tu
rnips, but people still eat them because they fill up your stomach and can be stored for months.”

  “Aha.” Stan hid a grin at the threatening stance Tadzio had taken. It reminded him so much of himself at the same age. Know-it-all. Unwilling to accept the wisdom of older men. Sure of his own invincibility. He decided to indulge the boy. “So what do you suggest?”

  “Well, to sell the turnips of course. Not in fall, not even in early winter, but in January and February when people have nothing else left to eat, the turnips will sell like hotcakes.”

  “Hmm.” Stan knew Tadzio was right, but he hated to admit it. “Hmm. If you think that’s such a fantastic plan, why don’t you plant them in that row over there? I’ll let you have all of them and do as you wish.”

  “You would do that?” Tadzio’s eyes sparkled with joy.

  “Hmm. Now go before I decide otherwise.”

  Tadzio leapt away and Stan bent over his hoe, waiting until the boy was out of earshot, before he broke out into laughter. Tadzio could have his turnips if he wanted, but Stan wouldn’t eat a single one of them.

  Looking down the rows of completed work, he felt a sense of accomplishment. Finally. It had been a race against odds and time but now it was looking like the luck – and the weather – was on their side.

  In the distance a small person was walking up from the house toward the field. Desire flooded Stan’s system and he automatically stood more upright. Agnieska. He still got ridiculously hard every time she was around. Even now, as he observed the small figure becoming bigger as she approached him with his lunch.

  Despite his protests she’d insisted on coming out and bringing him lunch every day. He grinned at the memory of their argument.

  “I can perfectly well walk to the house and get my lunch myself,” he’d said.

  “Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to, so please let me do this for you,” she’d answered, meeting his gaze. Whenever she did this – the gazing thing – he became putty in her hands. How could he deny anything to the owner of those profound sea green eyes?