Patrik wound his way through the streets of Budapest, the Buda castle rising above him. No direct route for him to Tóth Asszony’s flat today. Bad enough that Éva had tailed him. He couldn’t risk anyone nefarious doing so.
After numerous twists and turns, he set course for the apartment building. Even before he rounded the corner onto the street, he glanced over his shoulder several times to be sure no one stalked him.
Good, all was clear. He slipped into the building and climbed the stairs to the flat.
Zofia opened the door before he had a chance to knock.
“How did you know I was coming?”
She ushered him inside to the lounge, with its collection of crocheted lace doilies covering every chair and table, and they sat. “I spotted you from the window.” She pointed to the lace-covered panes in the center of the main wall.
“I thought I told you to behave.”
“No one in this sleepy neighborhood saw me.”
“What about that soldier who was watching the building?”
“I haven’t seen him for the past couple of days.”
“You can’t be too careful. The people in this building may have nothing better to do than to snoop on others.”
“Where’s my lipstick?”
“Trying to change the subject, I see.” He pulled the tube from his pants pocket and handed it to her. “One Éva left at my place a few weeks ago. A little used—”
“But a tube of lipstick.” She jumped up and scooted to the gilded mirror above the ornate fireplace. As she did so, the green dress Tóth Asszony had provided for her clung to her midsection. Did Patrik detect a slight bulge?
He got up and stood behind her as she colored her mouth. Come to think of it, she was pale and the rest of her was thinner than usual. “Zofia, do you have something to tell me?”
She smacked her lips. “What do you mean?”
“Are you …”—how did he ask such a delicate question?—“are you with child?”
If possible, she paled further, the red of the cosmetic standing out even more.
“You are.” A pregnancy was usually a happy event, but this was a complication that they didn’t need. If all went well, the Soviets would liberate them before the child made his appearance in the world. If not, hiding not only Zofia but also an infant might be next to impossible. Bram needed to speed up those papers.
Zofia spun to face him but couldn’t look him in the eye. “This is especially why I must see Ernő. He doesn’t know. I was going to tell him but then I had to hide. I can’t keep him from his child. Imagine the joy I’m depriving him of.”
“If the Gestapo finds you and knows you are with child, that gives them even more leverage to get what they want. Your pregnancy has made matters worse, not better.”
“What if you bring me to him on some dark and stormy night? One when the police and patrols won’t be out. Or won’t be interested in anyone who is.”
“They’ll be particularly curious as to why someone isn’t inside by their cozy fire. Nem, it’s bad enough about Éva. We don’t need Ernő coming to harm too.”
“Éva?” Zofia clung to the back of the davenport.
He related the information. She collapsed in his arms, and he led her to the settee.
“Will she make a full recovery?”
“I hope so. I’ve told you all I know, and I don’t expect to hear much more. Bognár Asszony has banned me from seeing her daughter. My guess is that’s fine with Éva.”
Zofia shook her head, a red curl escaping from the pins that held it rolled against her scalp. “See, even without us in their lives, bad things happen to Ernő and Éva. My staying here isn’t going to change their circumstances one way or the other.”
“Never.”
Zofia fanned herself. “Could you do me a favor and get me a glass of water?”
He rose from the chair and rummaged in the kitchen until he found a glass then filled it from the tap. When he reentered the lounge, Zofia stood in the middle of the room, grasping a bunch of papers in her hand.
She passed them to him as she took the water. “I’ve been working on this during my free time, which is all my time. Tóth Asszony does nothing more than nap and go out to play cards with her friends.”
He glanced at the title, “The State of the Persecuted in Hiding.”
“A little light reading for those who find themselves in the same situation as me.”
He skimmed the content. Well written. Sympathetic. Obviously composed by someone with a price on her head. “What is it you want me to do with it?”
“Take it to be printed, of course.” She rubbed her small, round belly.
He thrust the papers in her direction. “Nem, I won’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“What happens if the Gestapo finds this? They will double or triple their efforts to locate you.”
She didn’t take back the pages. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Especially if I have to be cooped up in here.”
“Think about this unborn child. That needs to be your primary concern. For the baby’s sake, you must do everything in your power to survive and make sure his father lives.”
She licked her red bottom lip, then bit it. “I must have something. My husband and my music have been taken from me, leaving me with nothing.”
“This child isn’t nothing.”
She drew in a deep breath and let it out little by little. “What about the world my child will grow up in? What about all the Jewish children huddled out there now in the elements, nothing to eat, no one to care for them, their lives disposable? Someone has to do something for them. Why not me?”
True. All true. But at what cost? Was the price too high? Was there a point at which you had to say no to the greater good for your own good? “You are the most stubborn, most frustrating woman I’ve ever met. How does Ernő put up with you?”
“He loves me as much as you love Éva. Don’t you want to make the world a better place for her and the family you will have someday?”
The thought almost ripped his heart from his body. “We will never have children together. I’ve lost her, Zofia. I’ve lost her.” His throat swelled.
“All you have to do to get her back is tell the truth.”
“Nem.” He croaked out the word.
“Then do this for me.” She gestured toward the papers he clutched. “Print that, and have Bram distribute it to the Jews and the trustworthy Christians in the city. Give them hope.”
“And if you’re caught?”
“Then I trust myself to God.”
Éva sat in the yellow-flowered chintz armchair beside the tall window, the summer sunshine warming her shoulders. After a dismal and chilly spring with far too much snow, summer had come in all its glory.
She snuggled into the chair and relished her homecoming as much as she could, even though she was already bored, which made it difficult to ignore her headache. Her cracked ribs had yet to fully heal, so playing her clarinet was out of the question. It was still hard just to take a deep breath, let alone push air through an instrument. She had music playing on the portable phonograph Reka brought, but it wasn’t quite the same as making the music herself.
A slip of paper on the end table beside her drew her attention. What was this? She unfolded it.
“What would you like me to make you for lunch?” Anya’s call came from the kitchen. “I’ve been saving my coupons the entire time you’ve been in the hospital, so I can make you something wonderful for your homecoming. Gundel palacsinta, perhaps?”
Walnut-and raisin-filled crepes with chocolate sauce. Éva’s favorite. But she was exhausted from the trip home. “Maybe something later. Right now I’m not hungry.”
“Are you sure? I’d been planning to make it for Zofia’s homecoming, but now that we know she’s in hiding, she won’t be back anytime soon.”
Éva sat up as straight as she could. “How do you know she’s in hiding?”
Anya entered the lounge. “Oh dear. Perhaps I said too much. Your brother received a note. Just a line in what appeared to be Zofia’s handwriting saying she was safe and in hiding.”
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t know. Zofia is alive, apparently, and didn’t bother to tell anyone she was going into hiding. Ernő went to talk to Patrik about it. He believes your former fiancé has something to do with this. You’ll have to ask your brother more about it.”
Anya spun toward the kitchen, probably to cook, even though Éva had said she wasn’t hungry.
Éva clutched the chair’s scrolled armrest.
When he’d visited her in the hospital, Ernő hadn’t said a word about it. Did he know what Zofia was involved in? Whisperings swirled on the streets about a Zionist Youth movement, Jews with Aryan papers laboring to spirit as many of their brothers and sisters as possible out of the country and to Palestine.
What did this mean for Patrik? Perhaps he had been telling the truth when he said he had nothing to do with Zofia’s disappearance. Or maybe he helped her into hiding.
Could that be it?
But what about that German she saw him with?
Other than the clanging of pans and the scrape of a whisk against a bowl, the house fell silent. Once upon a time, the place had been filled with love, laughter, and music. Now, it was nothing more than an empty shell.
If only she could play her clarinet. Its sweet richness would help her forget the topsy-turvy world they occupied.
One thing was for sure. She would no longer sit here and do nothing to aid people like her sister-in-law. As soon as she healed, she would return to Kistarcsa with more bread. Would the little girl in the maroon coat still be there? Or had she left for Poland weeks ago?
Well, sitting here like this wouldn’t help her regain her strength. Little by little, she raised herself from her chair and shuffled in the direction of the stairs. How good it would be to sleep in her own bed tonight. No more lumpy hospital mattress. No more nurses waking her in the middle of the night. No more crowds of moaning, dying bomb victims.
She hadn’t gotten very far when the front door opened, and a burst of fresh air filled the room.
Ernő stood on the threshold. “Welcome home, little sister.”
“Ernő!” She closed the distance between them, and he wrapped her in a gentle hug. “I have a question for you.”
“Can’t you let a man get all the way in the door?”
She allowed him to enter, and he stooped to untie his shoes. Once they were off and he had settled in the chair she had vacated, she pounced on him. “What about the note you received?”
“Anya shouldn’t have told you. It’s not from Zofia, if that’s what she said.”
“It’s not?”
“I believed it to be at first. But she would have given me more information. Told me what was going on with her, where she was. The handwriting may be a little familiar, but the words aren’t hers. Someone trying to forge her writing, perhaps.”
“I’m not convinced.” She sat on the davenport, in the spot closest to his chair. “Maybe that’s all she was able to tell you. All Patrik allowed her to say.”
“The note didn’t come from him. He’s the one who convinced me it wasn’t from her.” He gasped.
“Of course he would say that. Don’t tell Anya or Apu, because they would only scold me for sleuthing about, but I snuck behind Patrik the day I had my accident. I saw him speaking to a German soldier. Laughing with him. Following him into a building. He’s connected to Zofia’s disappearance. All we have to do is figure out how.”
The entire mess intensified her headache. Patrik wouldn’t have helped Zofia if he were involved with the Nazis. But how else could she be alive and well, since they were spotted together the night she disappeared? Maybe she had escaped from him.
“Nem.” Ernő’s brown eyes darkened. “You will rest and recuperate. Already, you’ve been injured while spying. Let me handle it.”
Éva reclined a bit more, a position that didn’t cause her ribs so much discomfort. “I have to be able to help her. Please, don’t shut me out.”
“You are in no physical shape to handle this.”
“What about Patrik?” Éva’s tongue raced ahead of her thoughts. Somehow this all must be connected. She just couldn’t put the puzzle together.
Ernő shook his head. “I have no idea.”
Well, Éva had every intention of finding out.