Last but not least,” Mrs. Coleman called, “Mayim Winter.”
Madeline sighed and stood up. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” I said dully.
She took her haftorah up to Mrs. Coleman’s desk, leaving me alone with the diary and my unease, which had only grown from Freddy’s thoughtlessness. I probably should have waited to read on, but the next entries looked short, and it was too hard to resist.
Friday, 10 October 1941
Belle,
Two letters I got today, one from Papa and one from you! Just the sight of your penmanship made my insides turn to mush. Your letter say that Jews are now required to wear yellow stars on there clothes for identifying. You wrote, “Not the accessory I would choose, but I can make it work.” I must did read that sentence 500 times. It makes me smile even as it makes me hurt, I miss you so much, Belle. That sentence is simply you.
Apart from the stars, neither letter contains bad news, but they are both marked 10 September, a long time ago. I look at the newspaper each day, but there are never stories about Luxembourg. How I wish I could telephone! But if that is possible it must cost terrific much money, and there are no way the uncles would stand for it. At supper yesterday, we came to the subject of a lady Uncle Onion once knew. Hannah said that the lady wanted to marry him.
Uncle Onion look like that is silly idea. He said, “Why should I support some strange woman?”
Honestly!
Time for Chinese checkers.
Until later,
Anna
Later Friday Night
Oh Belle, I’m fuming with anger!
During our game, Max told me that he wanted to sponsor our whole family to come to America last year! They could have gived Mama and Papa jobs at the factory, but the uncles would not allow it. They said they could not afford the money! Max said, “That is probably true, but we would have found a way.” The opinion of Max does not matter because the uncles own the factory, so their signature needs to be on the paperwork, and they would not sign.
How I hate those uncles! If we did have sponsorship last year, it would have been easier and less money to get out of Luxembourg. We would not have need to pay a passeur at all, and I could have made the crossing with everyone! I would be talking with you right now instead of writing in this stupid journal.
I never liked those uncles. Now I hate them through and through. I HATE them. I hate them hate them hate them HATE THEM!
I slapped the diary shut, hating those uncles along with Anna. Didn’t they know that people’s lives were at stake? That they were separating a girl from her whole family just to save a little money? Like Madeline said, this wasn’t some sci-fi novel; these were real people whose lives were affected in a major way. My stomach churned as I realized that some of these real people were still alive. Grandpa Fred, Great-Aunt Janet . . . this was their mom’s life story. And here I was keeping it a secret from them. I was as bad as the uncles.
Well, not nearly that bad, but still.
How could I ask to learn more about my biological family if I was keeping secrets about theirs? I had to tell them about the diary. Right away.
“Nailed it,” Madeline sang, laying her haftorah portion on the table like a winning hand of cards. “Mrs. Coleman was so impressed, she said I can hang out with you two tonight.”
My blood was rushing through my body. I had a plan. “I think it’ll be just you and Mrs. Coleman. I need to bail.”
“What! How come?”
“I’m going to talk to my mom tonight, and probably my grandpa too.”
Madeline gasped. Leaned in. Widened her eyes. “About finding your family?”
“Maybe,” I said, and it was really true, because my plan might be the perfect segue to my next-step words. “But first”—I tapped the diary—“I’m going to tell them about finding theirs.”