For the fourteenth time that morning, Zofia checked Patrik’s fever. No change. His forehead still burned.
She unwrapped the dirty shirt from around his calf. A red line ran from the wound to his knee.
Leaves crunched underneath Ernő’s feet as he reached them. “That doesn’t look good.”
“I’m afraid it’s not. With every passing hour, the infection is worsening. Where is Éva? We need water and medicine now.”
“She’ll be back.”
“She should have returned long ago.”
Ernő smoothed back her hair, now loosened from its pins. “It hasn’t been that long. Worry is making it seem like time is moving slower.”
“What if he dies?” She needed Ernő now, but he stood back, arms crossed.
“Doesn’t the Bible tell us not to worry about the future? You’re borrowing trouble.”
“We have to be prepared.”
“I thought you were. That’s what you’ve been trained for.” He stared at her with such intensity, she gazed away.
He knelt beside her and turned her so she had to face him. “Why? Why did you leave me?”
He still didn’t understand. “Because I love you. That’s the best answer I can give. Can’t you trust in that? Believe in that?”
“I want to. I truly do. For you, me, and our child.”
“You won’t desert us, will you?” She hugged herself.
“Nem, you don’t have to fret about that. But I can’t fathom how a wife could leave the husband she claims to love. What drove you to it?”
How did she explain it to him? “What I saw in Poland was terrible.”
“You’ve never told me, not in detail.”
“Because it’s too awful.”
He sat on the ground and pulled her beside him. “Share with me. Don’t leave me wondering about your past anymore.”
“When the Nazis arrived in my hometown, not too much time went by before they began rounding up Jews. Old men, children, the infirm. My father knew the situation would only grow worse. He devised a hiding place in the attic of our home.
“Because of my father’s work with the Polish resistance, the Germans targeted us early on. They took him to a labor camp soon after the invasion, leaving just me and Mama. Though it was dangerous, I continued Papa’s work. Each day was like waiting for a bomb to explode. You never knew when it would happen, only that it would someday.”
She closed her eyes and allowed the images to flicker across her mind, to transport her to that day she hadn’t revisited in years.
She had been out that night, working on printing anti-Nazi pamphlets. Mama didn’t know what she was involved in or why she didn’t come home at night. Maybe she guessed. They never spoke about it.
As she crept home at sunrise one day, Germans stood on the front step, their transport trucks idling on the cobblestone street. They pounded on the door. Mama passed the front window. From her hiding spot in the bushes, Zofia heard Mama’s call. “I’m not even dressed.”
“Open up, or we’ll break down the door.”
Mama cracked the door, not wearing a wrap.
The Germans pushed her out of the way with a thunk. “Ah!”
Mama lay at the threshold cradling her ankle. With her heart pounding even harder than the Nazis at the door, Zofia raced to Mama. “Are you hurt?”
“Just my ankle, a little bit. Go. Get out of here. Don’t let them see you.”
“I can’t let them hurt you.”
“My daughter, you must listen to me. Run as fast and as far as you can. I’ll deal with them. They’ll go away.”
“No.”
In a voice Mama hadn’t used since Zofia was seven, she commanded, “Go.”
There was no arguing. Zofia fled and once again hid in the hedge bordering their small plot of land.
Mama stood and disappeared into the house. Harsh shouts came from inside.
Mama shouldn’t be alone. The Nazis weren’t there for her mother. They were there for Zofia. To spare Mama, she should turn herself in. Then they would go away and wouldn’t hurt Mama.
Before she could make a move out of the hedge, someone grabbed her and pulled her back.
“What—”
The person covered her mouth. “Hush.” Their neighbor, a young man her age, Jan.
Every muscle in Zofia’s body tensed. “Let me go.”
“Not on your life. They will kill you for sure. I saw your mother send you away. I’m going to make sure you stay away.”
Jan had always had a crush on her. She loved him like a brother. Nothing more. But he outweighed her by almost double and stood a head taller. She would never break from his hold.
“Please, I have to help Mama.”
“She wants you safe. Stay put.”
Her heart almost burst from between her ribs. She shook from head to toe.
Then the voices, the boots, Mama’s cries faded. The front door slammed shut. Silence descended. Zofia held her breath.
Several lifetimes later, the door opened, and two Gestapo soldiers led her small, frail mother from the house, one on either side, supporting her.
Before she could call to Mama, Jan covered her mouth, stifling her shouts.
The Germans threw Mama to the ground and towered over her as she lay on the street. “Where is your daughter?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her for weeks.”
One of the large men kicked her in the stomach. Zofia hugged herself, still straining against Jan’s hold.
“Tell us where she’s hiding.”
“I don’t know.” Another kick to Mama’s stomach and face. She writhed on the stony road, blood pouring from her nose.
The tallest, skinniest of the soldiers pulled Mama up by the hair. Her wails tore into Zofia’s soul. She couldn’t stem the torrent of tears.
“You will tell us.” A short, stubby German raised his gun next to Mama’s head.
“But I don’t know. I don’t know.” Mama sobbed.
Tears gushed down Zofia’s cheeks, wetting Jan’s hand over her mouth, blurring the scene in front of her.
“That isn’t an acceptable answer.”
“It’s the only one I have. She’s not here, and I don’t know where she went.”
The short soldier cocked his pistol.
And shot Mama in the head.
At the sound of Reka’s high-pitched voice, Éva froze. She avoided all movement, including blinking. How had she even recognized her? She’d worn Zofia’s scarf.
Pounding footsteps sounded behind her, then huffing and puffing, the tickle of breath on her neck, the odor of cabbage. “Bognár Éva, whatever are you doing here?”
Éva didn’t turn around. She lowered her voice an octave. “You must have me mistaken for someone else.”
“Don’t be silly. I’d know you anywhere.”
“I don’t know you.” Éva took two steps in the opposite direction.
Reka grabbed her by the elbow and spun her around. “Why are you pretending not to know me?”
What did she say? How much should she tell? “Let’s go somewhere less busy.” Éva led the way to a quieter residential side street.
Reka frowned, dimples appearing in her full cheeks. “Now will you explain what’s going on? I thought I saw you on the train, but you didn’t acknowledge me, which rather offended me.”
Éva winced, both for hurting Reka’s feelings and for almost getting caught. “I couldn’t.”
“Why not, Éva?” Reka scrunched her eyebrows together.
“Don’t use that name.”
“You’re doing a lousy job of explaining yourself.”
Why couldn’t Reka let the matter go? Éva held herself back from stomping her foot. “I’ve said too much already. Please, do as I ask and pretend you don’t know me.”
“Why were you taking the train to Nagyvárad?”
What excuse would Reka believe? “I’m going to play there.”
Reka sucked in a breath. “Nem, you’re not. You’re running away, aren’t you? Taking Zofia over the border. I’ve heard of people doing that. They get the Jews to Palestine.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Zofia is missing, remember? I don’t know where she is.” Éva leaned closer to Reka and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “The man who sat next to me, he was too friendly. I was so happy to lose him when we had to evacuate. But here in town, I don’t want him to find me. That’s why you mustn’t use my name.”
“Why do I have to pretend not to know you? It’s very strange.”
“Because he recognized you from university in Budapest. I told him I was from another town. If we know each other, my story falls apart. Please, for my sake, for my safety, keep my secret. I beg you. He gives me a funny feeling.” For good measure, Éva added a note of pleading to her voice and grabbed on to Reka’s arm.
For a long moment, Reka studied Éva, her blue eyes narrow. “I suppose if it helps you out, I’ll do it. But don’t come crying to me if you need a hand.” Reka turned on her heel and marched away.
Éva sagged as Reka disappeared around the corner. How many had heard Reka call her by her real name? Anyone she’d given her false name to? Any Gestapo or police riding the train with them?
The situation had grown too dangerous for her to stand in line for bread with the horde of stranded passengers. Most important was locating a cup or mug to get water for Patrik. Even if he didn’t eat, he had to stay hydrated.
Once she’d peeked around the corner and assured herself no one else she knew was visible, she returned to the main thoroughfare. There, a block in front of her, was a little café, most of its tables occupied by people sipping their ersatz coffee as if life-and-death situations didn’t surround them.
One table was open. No one had cleared it yet.
She scurried toward the café, but before she could swoop down on the table and swipe one of the delicate coffee cups, the busboy appeared and gathered the dishes.
Oh, she’d been so close. She could sit and order a cup herself, but a little voice in her head warned her to hang on to every bit of remaining cash.
So she moseyed up and down the block as café patrons enjoyed the early morning breeze.
There, another couple stood and dropped a few pengő on the table. This time, Éva was better prepared. She dashed to the table, grabbed the gold-rimmed cup, and sped away.
“Hey, that woman just stole something from that table.”
Éva closed her ears to the accusation. Never in her life had she dreamed she would resort to lying and stealing.
But Patrik’s life depended on it. And that depended on people not knowing who needed it or where they were.
She closed her mind to everything except racing down the street and out of the village. The forest edged right up to the outlying homes, so she didn’t have to sprint far before the trees swallowed her. Once out of sight of anyone who might be following, she stopped to catch her breath. The world around her spun. How long had it been since she and the others had eaten?
And because of her run-in with Reka, it would still be awhile.
Here she was, telling more lies in the past forty-eight hours than in her entire life. Since she was little, Apu had drilled into her how wrong it was to tell a falsehood. The Bible demanded that she always tell the truth.
But what if lives were on the line? Others besides your own? What did you do when you were faced with either lying or murder?
This must be what Patrik wrestled with when he took Zofia into hiding. Either he had to lie to them or he had to put them at risk.
But was it right? Could you ever know for sure?
She moved on. Deeper into the woods, she located their makeshift camp. Zofia and Ernő came to her as she appeared in the small clearing. Her brother took the cup from her. “This will require several trips to the creek.”
“It’s all I could find on short notice. And you won’t believe what happened to me.”
“Where’s the bread?”
“There isn’t any.”
“What do you mean?”
“Reka spotted me. And called out my name.”
Behind Ernő, Zofia paled, her green eyes wide. “Nem. Didn’t you have the scarf over your head?”
“I did. The worst part is that she also spied me on the train.”
Zofia tapped her foot. “This isn’t good. We have to move.”
Éva gazed at where Patrik lay on a bed of leaves, covered with Zofia’s shawl. Sweat broke out all over her. “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”