The Jewish people is the people of the Devil. It is a people of criminals and murderers. The Jewish people must be exterminated from the face of the earth.
—Article in the Nazi tabloid, Der Stürmer, July 1933
“What do you mean the girls are not here?”
Ida could not believe what she was hearing, and she stared at the woman in front of her as though a head had sprouted from each of the woman’s ears.
“Just as I said, Mademoiselle Jeanne,” the woman said with as much apology in her tone as possible. “The girls are not here any longer.”
Ida pressed her tongue to the top of her mouth and to a few of her molars as she debated screaming at the woman, strangling her, or releasing a string of Yiddish curses that would mean nothing to her, but would cause Ida’s ancestors to wake from the dead to scold her.
“Well,” Ida said slowly, trying for patience in spite of herself, “if I didn’t order their transference, and none of my superiors did, which I am certain of because I received no reports of such, then how, exactly, did two of the children I myself placed here suddenly disappear from the premises?”
The woman’s eyes widened at Ida’s tone. “The parents came to see them and took them away.”
That was not the answer Ida had been expecting. “I beg your pardon?”
“The parents came,” the woman said again.
“Yes, I heard that,” Ida snapped. “What I want to know is how exactly the parents knew the girls were at this orphanage.”
Color began to drain from the woman’s face, and it made Ida more satisfied than she ought to have been. “The girls . . . wanted to send letters . . . so we allowed . . .”
Ida turned from the desk and rubbed one hand over her face, exhaling loudly. “Why did the parents take the girls back?”
“Well, because of the state they were in, of course.”
The what?
Ida slowly lowered her hand and turned back to face the woman, almost shaking now. “The state they were in, madame? What state?”
What was it about panic that made people rustle through papers as though they were just remembering that they were in possession of some requested information?
This woman did so, frantically. Considering she was in charge of the orphanage, she ought to have ready access to all of the requisite information without much effort. Yet much effort was being exerted, and Ida noted such.
“They had been diagnosed with scabies, I see,” she told Ida, completely businesslike apart from the faint sheen of perspiration that was forming. “And they were infected.”
“The scabies?” Ida asked, more out of irony than anything else, keeping her tone clipped.
“Yes, mademoiselle.” There was a faint throat clearing before she continued, “And possibly infested with lice. You know how they are.”
Ida raised a brow. “Lice? Or children?”
“Jew children.” She shook her head. “None of the other children have lice.”
“Lice can’t tell a Jewish head from a Christian one,” Ida told her, her jaw tensing against her rolling fury. “And it would seem that your treatment of the children might have contributed to the state of them, if not caused it. Show me where you had them sleeping. Now.”
The woman’s eyes went round. “It’s been cleaned and filled with new children, mademoiselle.”
“And was it cleaned before the Jewish girls were sleeping there?” Ida shook her head, huffing in disgust. “You claim to be a facility of charity, you claimed you wanted to do your Christian duty, and yet you hold the same opinions as the Nazi barbarians we are hiding the children from.”
“I beg your pardon,” the headmistress snapped. “We would never hunt down children.”
“No, you would just let them develop scabies, lice, and probably anemia, because negligence is so much better than death.” Ida scoffed and turned. “Consider your charity invalid and your work with our organization terminated. Good day.”
She did not stay to listen to whatever rebuttal might have been forthcoming.
It was always possible that children, regardless of race or religion, could become infected with lice or scabies or any other childhood affliction, particularly in places like orphanages and schools, which was why Ida and the rest had set up an inspection process. But there were so many places and increasingly fewer CDJ members to make those visits as frequently as needed. And those two little girls had paid the price for it.
But they were with their parents again, for better or worse, so that must have been some comfort to them.
How they were going to remain safe from the Nazis as an entire family unit was another issue entirely.
Ida would have to reach out to them or have Yvonne or one of the others do so, to see what help they could offer.
If they still wanted their help.
It was entirely possible that they’d blame the CDJ for the state their daughters had been in.
Ida would have a hard time not blaming herself, so she could understand that.
But now she had to focus on her next task for the day.
Ironically, it involved showing a hidden child to a relative.
The case had been brought to the head of the CDJ not long ago from a distraught grandmother whose entire family had been sent to the camps apart from herself and one grandson. The grandson had been under the CDJ’s protection, attending a summer camp in the country, and would be sent on to a new location for the duration of the war, if not longer.
All that this grandmother wanted was to see her grandson and know that he lived.
No one was unmoved by the request, so as she was leaving Brussels on a separate train, they would have the grandson snuck between two trains to show her that he was well and whole. Then he would be placed on his train with one of the escorts and taken to his place of safety.
It was a risky undertaking, there was no question, but they could not forget what was at the heart of this entire enterprise.
Family.
If they could not help to maintain those ties when all was lost, what were they doing? The CDJ would retain the information to allow the family to get in contact when the war was over, but until then, there would be no additional information or access given. The boy would be as safe as any other child hidden by the CDJ.
His grandmother would know that he, alone, of all her grandchildren, still lived.
According to her letter, that would be enough for her to continue living.
It was an unremarkable return journey to Brussels, but Ida felt the agitation from the encounter at the orphanage twisting her stomach and pricking her heart as though it had been encased in thorns. She could not move but for scratches upon the surface, could not breathe but for the tender flesh being torn. It wasn’t often that she dwelled on the situations in which the children they hid were living, or on how their conditions affected them, but she could not get the little girls out of her mind.
They had suffered in a place where they ought to have been safe. Where they had been promised they would be safe. How confused they must have been! How sad and longing for their home and family! The only comfort they would have had would be each other, knowing they were not wholly alone but had their sister beside them.
She could see those sisters in her mind’s eye. Could see them standing hand in hand, scabies, lice, and all, with silent tears rolling down their still infant-like cheeks. And, in her mind, their haunted expressions accused Ida as though she sat in a dock of some courtroom.
How could she bear this? How could she bear to place one more child without taking on stricter measures to ensure health and safety? Or to ensure that those who housed them did not view them poorly?
Would it be enough to work harder in any of those areas? Did they even have time to consider all of those things with the demand they were working under? It didn’t seem possible, and yet it had to be. When help was offered, if from a trusted source, it had to be accepted. If they felt strongly enough to offer aid in these times, they must have been better than the alternative.
And yet.
And yet.
There would always be a yet somewhere. Nothing was perfect. Nothing could be, until the world was perfect.
If the world ever could be.
Disembarking from her train, Ida followed the crowd of other passengers off the platform before looping back around the porter’s office toward the trainyard. She counted freight cars as she crossed over the corresponding tracks. After the fifth one, she turned and followed the tracks to the second of the connected boxcars.
Claire stood there with the boy, his small suitcase beside them, his shoulders squared, his flat cap in place. He was as neat and tidy as could possibly be hoped for when presenting a child to his grandmother, and the appearance of his legs and kneecaps told Ida that he would not be a child much longer. He was gangly, and would no doubt soon grow taller than not only Claire but all of them. He was already at Claire’s shoulders, and his eyes held all too much understanding.
An adult already in so many ways.
Ida had to think quickly to remember his name. “Are you ready to see your grandmother, Francois?”
He nodded, but his set features could not hide the bob of his throat as he swallowed.
This was not just for the grandmother, Ida realized. Francois needed to see her as well. He didn’t know anything specific about the rest of his family, which was extensive, as far as the letter had indicated. Parents, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles. He might suspect what had happened, given they were allowing him to see his grandmother, but he wouldn’t know for certain.
He needed to know that he was not alone in the world either.
If only they could have sent him with his grandmother! But with the borders being controlled as much as they were, with the risks involved in so many aspects, they had to remain separate. If they both survived the war, God willing, they could be reunited and move forward together.
Claire looked at her watch. “It should be ready at any moment. As soon as they blow the whistle, we’ll move.”
Ida nodded and put her hands on Francois’s shoulders. “I know you will both want longer than we can give you. But for your grandmother’s safety, and your own, we will only have a few moments. You must treasure this. You must replay it over and over in your mind until it is impossible to forget. Engrave it upon your heart. Do you understand?”
Francois dashed away a quick tear from one eye, sniffling before nodding. “I mustn’t show my bubbe my tears. She’ll never leave if she sees me cry.”
Ida bit the inside of her lip hard as her own eyes began to burn. “You are the bravest boy I have ever met, Francois. And when her train is gone, if you want to cry, Mademoiselle Catherine and I won’t tell a single soul.”
A conductor whistle blew then, and Claire took Francois’ hand. “Let’s go.” She tugged him around the boxcar, Ida hard on their heels as they raced across the series of tracks.
They moved around one train still boarding, then raced alongside it and scanned the windows of the train opposite.
Two-thirds of the way down the cars, an open window dropped further still, and an elderly woman appeared, her wrinkled hands gripping the window as though it were her lifeline. Her eyes were opened wider than her visage should have allowed, but tears flowed freely, her smile threatening to extend beyond the constraints of her face.
“My darling one,” she cried out, following the CDJ’s condition to refrain from names or Yiddish. “You’ve grown so tall!”
Francois waved at her, grinning madly. “I’m almost as tall as my uncle now, I think.”
His grandmother chuckled and reached a hand out as far as she could. “Touch my fingers, my love, so I know you are real.”
Claire and Ida moved to help lift him up to touch her fingers, delight rampant on both faces of the family.
“H-how was your camp?” his grandmother asked, her fingers running over his. “Was it enjoyable?”
“Yes, it went well,” Francois replied, his words growing tighter. “And now I’m off again. I will . . . write to you when I can.”
His grandmother nodded rapidly, her free hand wiping at her cheeks. “Please do, my love. You will be in my prayers every morning and every night.”
Francois kissed his grandmother’s fingers quickly. “And you in mine, Grandmother. I love you.”
The train whistle sounded, and the gears of the wheels began to turn, moving the train slowly forward. “I love you as well, my sweet. I love you so much. I am proud of you.”
Their fingers separated as the distance became too great.
“Don’t forget me,” his grandmother called out, waving at him.
“Never!” he called back, returning her wave.
Then she was gone, the train picking up speed and rounding the turn to take them out of the yard.
Francois continued to wave, then hiccupped as his tears refused to be restrained, his face crumpling like the little boy he deserved to have been. Claire immediately pulled him into an embrace, and he buried his face into her shoulder, his entire frame shaking as he cried.
“Come on,” Ida whispered, allowing herself to cry as well. “Let’s get back before we get you prepared for your train.”
Claire moved with him, not letting her arms slacken even the slightest around him. Ida stepped closer and rubbed a hand across his shoulders, and the three of them made their ungainly way back around the train cars.
When they had the privacy they sought, Claire murmured something to Francois that Ida couldn’t hear, but Francois nodded and released her, moving to sit on the step of a nearby freight car, putting his head into his hands.
Ida watched him for a moment, then leaned closer to Claire. “What did you say to him?”
“I asked if he wanted some time to himself,” Claire said simply. “He and I will have a lot of time with each other before we reach Ghent. He deserves to grieve privately before he’s stuck with me.”
“You have such a way with them,” Ida murmured, shaking her head. “Children, I mean. It’s in your nature, almost like the color of your eyes.”
Claire gave her a look. “And you have the capacity to care and to sacrifice like no one I’ve ever met. What is bothering you?”
Ida glanced in her direction but did not quite meet her gaze. “Why should something be bothering me?”
“The way you said that I have a way with children. It was more mournful than complimentary.” Claire shrugged, folding her arms. “I inferred, that is all.”
“You infer correctly.” Ida sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her morning. “I’m so tired, Catherine. Not with what we are doing, but with everything. Two girls were removed from an orphanage by their parents, who had been given their address by other parties. They were in such a weakened physical state that the parents took them back.”
Claire clucked her tongue sadly. “Poor darlings. We can’t inspect more than we already are, and what’s to stop places from showing us one thing and the children living another?”
“You see why I am tired, then. Esta had such a way of managing things, and I find myself asking over and over what she would do, and I just don’t know anymore.”
“That’s because you’re not Esta,” Claire said simply. “You’re Jeanne. And you can only run it the way Jeanne runs it. Stop trying to be Esta and just be Jeanne.”
Ida smiled slightly. “Jeanne isn’t my real name.”
Claire laughed once. “And Catherine isn’t mine, but here we are.” She cocked her head playfully. “We’re all doing the best we can with the situation we’re in, the provisions we have, and the skills we possess. We can’t extend beyond the possibilities at hand. But maybe we can create new possibilities.”
That was a weighty thought, encouraging though it was, and Ida exhaled very slowly. “Do you want to take over this job?” she asked with all the innocent hope in the world.
“No, I do not,” Claire said with a laugh. “Please don’t make me.” She checked her watch again, sighing. “Time to find our train and get aboard if we want to avoid running. Will you be all right?”
Ida nodded her assurance. “Of course. New requests and new opportunities are coming. I’ll have a better update after my meeting in a few days. You’ll be contacted.”
“Always am.” She nudged Ida slightly, smiling with a wink before moving over to Francois. “Sorry, darling. Afraid we must go. Can you be ready?”
“Yes, Mademoiselle Catherine.” He wiped at his eyes, looked up at Claire, and took a hefty breath. “I am ready now.”
He wasn’t, but at least he did not look as though he had been crying overly much. He got up from his step and brushed off his knees.
Ida smiled at him. “Good luck, Francois.”
He nodded. “Thank you, mademoiselle. You as well.” He held out his hand to shake, just like a man would have done.
He had grown up completely and entirely before her very eyes.
There was something profoundly sad in that.
Ida shook his hand firmly. “You will do very well. And remember what I told you.”
Again, Francois nodded, but said nothing more. He turned to Claire, picked up his suitcase, and followed her around the box car.
If a boy such as he could continue going, in spite of all the losses and grief, then so could Ida.
There were many more children she could help, and help them she would.