Seeing the emptiness, she let out an involuntary cry. Michal was not there.
23
Hands shook Ruth from sleep. “Mischa’s gone.” Helena’s voice, low and urgent, cut through the darkness.
Ruth sat up, banging her shoulder on the bedpost. “Don’t be silly.” It was usually Helena accusing her of being melodramatic, not the other way around. “He probably just went to the water closet.”
“No, I already checked. He’s gone.”
Gone. The word reverberated in Ruth’s head as she searched for a plausible alternative explanation. In daylight, Michal might have been tending to the animals, or fetching wood if he had not done that yesterday. But even then, he would not have left without telling one of them.
“I’ll go find him,” Helena whispered, and hurried out of the room. She was trying not to wake the other children, or Sam. If he awoke he would surely insist upon helping with the search, instead of conserving his strength for the journey ahead.
Ruth dressed quickly. In the main room, Sam slept peacefully by the fire on the bed of blankets Helena had carefully made. His head was nestled in his arm exactly as it had been that morning she had gone to the chapel. Averting her eyes, Ruth went to the window and watched as Helena strode across the field and disappeared behind the barn, holding a lantern aloft before her. Another thick snow had fallen overnight. Ruth’s mind raced. Like herself, Michal was not suited to the rugged terrain, and he seldom ventured farther than the edge of the property unless necessary. She had awakened in the middle of the night and felt Michal sleeping soundly beside her. He could not have been gone more than an hour.
Helena returned twenty minutes later, breathless and alone. “I looked everywhere—the barn, the fields.” She did not bother to lower her voice now. “I even went as far as the pond.” Fear sliced through Ruth. Other than Helena’s trips to the city to see Mama or to the chapel, the five of them had always been together—until now.
Sam stirred then beside the fire. “What time is it?”
“Just about three.”
He struggled to stand, grimacing. “We should go.”
“There’s a problem. Michal’s gone.”
Sam’s frown deepened. “Any idea where he might have gone?”
“There were faint tracks headed toward the forest. I think—” Helena glanced nervously between her sister and Sam “—that he’s gone to the city...to get Mama.” Even as Helena spoke the words, Ruth knew she was right. Michal, not knowing about Mama’s death, had been clearly distressed at the idea of leaving without her.
“We should have told him the truth,” Ruth lamented. But who knew what he might have done then?
“The train is leaving in two hours,” Sam interjected gently. “This is our only chance.”
“We can’t go without him,” Helena insisted. Ruth shook her head in firm agreement.
“I understand. But if we don’t leave now, none of you will get out. This is our only chance,” he repeated. “I’d send you both ahead and go find him myself, but you’re going to need me to find the partisans.”
“You take the little ones to the station with Sam,” Ruth blurted out. “I’ll find Michal.”
Helena’s brow furrowed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t possibly do that.”
Hearing Helena’s dismissiveness, Ruth’s resolve hardened. “I’m perfectly capable.”
“But you’re so much less familiar with the forest. You’ve never been to the hospital on your own.”
Ruth looked away, avoiding Sam’s direction. She couldn’t tell her sister that she had been through the woods more recently than she knew, on her secret, ill-fated trip to the chapel. “I can do it,” she replied firmly.
“Let me,” Helena protested again. “I’m stronger.” Once that might have been true. It should be Helena going through the forest, Ruth caring for the children. But Helena had grown so much weaker during Sam’s absence. It was almost as if they had traded places in the past few weeks, Ruth drawing on her strength where Helena’s had failed.
“No, I can do this. Anyway, you’ll need to carry Dorie if she gets tired. I can’t manage both of the little ones all the way to the train station. You can. I’ll meet you there.”
Helena opened her mouth once more. “There’s really no time to argue,” Sam interjected. “The Germans are getting closer.” As if on cue, a rumbling came from the distance, low and ominous, shaking the ground beneath them.
“Fine,” Helena relented. Their eyes met in silent agreement: this was the only way. She would let her sister help.
Ten minutes later they stood in front of the house. Together she and Helena had bundled every conceivable piece of clothing onto the younger girls, who stood like plump little balls of wool, scarcely able to move. Ruth had hurriedly extinguished the fire, but left a light burning, as though they might be back in an hour. She looked over sadly at the mule they had never bothered to name. Helena had pitched the last of the feed into his bin, but it would last a day or two at most. Then what? They could not ask anyone to care for him.
Helena closed the door to the house. “You can’t wear that,” she said, taking in her sister’s blue cape. Her disdain for the impractical garb amplified all of the reasons why she considered Ruth ill-prepared to make the journey up the mountain, why she thought she should be going instead. “You’ll trip, and it’s too easy to see you in that.”
“But I love it.” To Ruth, Mama’s cape was a kind of armor that would protect her against the dangers and hardships ahead.
“Wait,” Helena instructed, then ran back into the house. She emerged a minute later with Tata’s old brown hunting jacket and put it on over the cape, large and bulky. Helena tucked the hem of the cape into Ruth’s boots then straightened. “That’s better. At least the color will make you harder to spot in the woods.”
Helena pulled Tata’s hunting knife from her pocket. “You should take this, too.”
But Ruth shook her head. “I could never use it.” They both knew it was true. Helena tucked it back in her pocket. “Are you taking the rifle?”
“It’s too bulky. Anyway, Sam has his gun.” Ruth noted with a touch of envy the confidence in Helena’s voice that she and Sam would be together and that he would protect her.
Ruth handed her sister the small bag in which she had gathered whatever food had been left in the house that might be eaten on the trip. “Remember that the baby needs...” she began, then stopped herself. Helena knew these things and she would take care of them.
“Here,” Sam said, holding out his hand to Ruth. Clutched in it were a card and one of the pieces of paper. “The paper is for the youth transport. And the card...” He hesitated, turning slightly to Helena, who nodded. “The card is for you.”
Ruth took it. It was a pass bearing her sister’s photograph and granting transit to Helena Rosen, wife of an American soldier. Her jaw dropped slightly. “Helena, you’re not married, are you?”
Helena flushed. “Not formally. Not yet, anyway. But this pass will get you across the border.”
Ruth stared at the card uncertainly, not moving. “But it’s yours.”
“It’s ours,” Helena corrected. “We were always going to leave together.”
So Helena had not planned to leave her, after all. Guilt washed over Ruth as she remembered all of her suspicions about Helena, and the awful things they had prompted her to do.
“Take it,” Helena insisted. “No one will notice the difference between us.” As the card passed from her hand to her sister’s, a kind of healing forged between them, like the oplatek wafer on Christmas Eve, but much stronger.
“What about you?”
“Sam will get me over the border.” There was a confidence in her sister’s voice, a certainty that the man she loved could protect her, would not let her down. Ruth coul
dn’t help the envy that formed in her stomach.
“I’ll find Michal and meet you at the train station.” Helena nodded. Ruth could travel more swiftly with just him and catch up with them. Ruth lifted her head, meeting Sam’s eyes directly now, her concern overtaking any lingering awkwardness between them. “Take care of them,” she ordered.
He nodded so gravely she thought he might salute. “I will.”
“And, Helena, you get those children on the train no matter what.” Ruth stared deep into her sister’s eyes, understanding for the first time how inseparable they were, two halves of the same being.
“I will. We both will.” Her confidence sounded forced now, like a line from a book she had been told to read aloud.
Sam stepped up and put his hand on Helena’s shoulder. “We should go.”
They all walked past the barn and through the gate wordlessly. At the base of the hill, they stopped.
Helena pointed up into the forest. “You know that the path splits farther along. The fork goes to the chapel and you can keep on that way through the woods, or you can follow the main road toward the city.” She faltered, her eyes darting back and forth, as if trying to figure out what other guidance she could give. But who knew which way Michal had gone, or how far he had gotten? He could not possibly make it all the way to the city, and if he did there would be nothing there but certain danger. “If you stay close to the brush by the side of the road you should be safe,” Helena finished lamely.
They looked at each other, any last remaining bits of acrimony fading and disappearing in the wind. It simply did not matter anymore. The sisters were one breath, inhale and exhale, and how could one exist without the other?
“Quickly!” Sam growled in a low voice, looking anxiously over his shoulder across the open field toward the Slomir farm. They could not afford to be seen leaving.
But Ruth hesitated, kneeling by Dorie. There was a quiet fear in the child’s eyes that said she understood what was happening. Ruth straightened Dorie’s collar and closed the top button of her coat, biting her lip. Tears had always come too easily to her. “You listen to Helena,” she managed, fighting to keep the urgency from her embrace.
“No!” Dorie clung to the hem of her coat. “I want to go with you.”
“I’ll meet you at the station in a little while.” Her eyes flickered and she wondered if Dorie believed her. Then she picked up Karolina and handed the baby to her sister. “She likes to be patted to sleep this way,” she said, moving her arms in a slow circular motion, unable to resist one last bit of advice.
She started to turn, but Helena grabbed her arm. “Please...” she said. “Find him, Ruti. Because I don’t think...” Ruth nodded, understanding. She, too, would not be able to go on without their brother.
“I promise.” Ruth pulled away.
Then she turned and disappeared into the woods.
24
As Ruth vanished into the cover of the trees, Helena turned and looked out over the horizon. Above the birch forest to the south, the bare branches slashed together like barbed wire. She swallowed over the lump that had formed in her throat, then reached down and pulled Dorie’s hat lower against the wind, which was bitingly cold. The predawn sky was pale gray with the threat of more snow.
Sam touched her arm, his hand strong and reassuring through the fabric of her coat. “We need to get to the station. Which way?”
Helena gestured southwest. “Through the woods.” His eyes traveled in the direction she was pointing. The open field adjacent to the Slomir farm lay between the spot where they stood and the cover of the trees. Their eyes met uncertainly. She shook her head slightly, in response to his unanswered question as to whether there was a less exposed path. “Let’s go,” she said, forcing a note of brightness into her voice for Dorie’s benefit.
Sam squared his shoulders and took her hand, his glove-clad fingers intertwining thickly with her own. “Quickly, then.”
They started across the field in silence. Above, the clouds shifted and the nearly full moon peeked through, illuminating the snow-covered field. Helena snuck a peek over her shoulder at the cottage. She had wanted to leave this place a thousand times. Now she was actually going for good as she had dreamed, with Sam. But it felt ominous, their future uncertain.
“Where’s Michal?” Dorie asked, too loudly, her voice billowing across the field.
“Hush, Dorie.” Where indeed? Helena wondered how swiftly Ruth was going, and how she would know which path to choose when the road forked. “You know how he’s always dawdling,” Helena whispered, trying to make her voice light. “Ruth’s gone to hurry him along and then they’ll meet us.” She held her breath, not expecting the answer to satisfy ever-curious Dorie.
Helena shifted Karolina higher up on her hip. Sam held out his free arm. “Do you want me to take her?” Helena shook her head, not wanting to wake the now-sleeping child.
Beside her, Dorie’s awkward gait crunched loudly against the frozen snow, every second step seeming to reverberate through the air. Helena cringed, not wanting to rebuke the child for something she could not help. With each second, she felt the cold more intensely. Though she had been walking through the forest for months, it was somehow different trudging through the unbroken expanse of white fields. A dull ache seeped through her boots, clutching at her feet like iron bands. It was a sensation she remembered from playing in the snow as a child. But then, there was a fire to come inside to, Mama’s hands to rub her feet and warm milk for her insides. Now there were only miles of cold stretching endlessly before them. Soon her feet went numb and it was as if she were walking on nothing at all.
When they finally reached the trees on the far side of the field, Helena looked back, half expecting to see someone coming after them. But the frigid expanse was empty. Taking in the edge of the still-sleeping village, she remembered what Alek had said about the war ending someday. What would this place look like a hundred years from now? Time and life would go on here, but they would not be here to see it.
They pressed forward through the birch forest. At least the route to the railway was mercifully flat, Helena reflected. But as they took cover in the trees, she almost wished for the hills. Here there was no worn path and lifting her feet from the soft, sodden earth required great effort. The tangle of roots and brush, obscured by the snow, threatened to trip them with every step. The trees were thinner, too, narrow rods of birch, their bare branches offering scant cover compared to the lush pines in the hills above.
Helena pulled away from Sam and took Dorie’s hand to make sure the child did not fall. She looked over her shoulder hopefully, as though Ruth and Michal might magically appear. But the trees had closed in, eclipsing the life that they had left behind. “This way,” she said, trying to make her voice sound confident once more as she led them through the low brush. Though she struggled to see in the near-darkness, the terrain was familiar to her, letting her guide them in a way that Sam, even with all his military training, could not.
They trudged along through the woods without speaking. Helena’s arms ached from carrying Karolina, who in her bundle of warm clothing seemed twice as bulky and heavy to hold. She regretted not taking Sam up on his earlier offer to help with the child. Beside her, Dorie clung hard to her hand, seeming to pull her downward. The child stumbled over a large tree root, going slower even as Helena silently willed her to make haste. “I’m tired,” Dorie announced suddenly, her sharp voice breaking the silence once more. Helena cringed as though someone might hear, but the sound disappeared into the trees.
Before Helena could respond, Sam knelt. “May I carry you?” he asked gently, holding out his hand grandly and patiently, as though offering a dance. Helena started to protest: How could he possibly carry a full-size child with his own leg scarcely mended? Though Dorie was emaciated as the rest of them, she was still nearly fifty pounds. Dorie look
ed up at Helena uncertainly. “You can ride on my back, like a horse,” Sam added gamely, turning away from the child. Dorie climbed on his back and, in that moment, Sam irreversibly became one of them—a part of their family they had never expected, and until then had not known was exactly what they needed. A part they simply could not do without.
Helena smiled gratefully as Sam straightened, trying not to grimace from the effort. He reached out and squeezed her fingers quickly, then dropped them again, too soon. He had a way, even now, of making things seem all right. She started walking again with newfound strength.
A crackling sound broke the silence ahead. “Hide!” Sam whispered, pushing them low into the bushes and onto the icy ground. Awakened by the sudden movement, Karolina squawked and tensed up in a way Helena knew meant she was about to bawl. Desperately, Helena pressed her forearm against Karolina’s mouth, stifling her cries, and trying to leave just a bit of space for air. The child squirmed for several seconds, then seemed to relax. Helena squinted through the trees, trying without success to identify the source of the noise, which was too loud to be an animal.
Footsteps, she realized. They grew louder now, branches breaking under them. A girl, older than Karolina but younger than Dorie, appeared between the birch trees, running in the direction in which they were headed, heedless of who might hear her. She was nearly naked, but for a thin cotton shirt and torn rags where her shoes should have been. Watching the child, vulnerable and alone, Helena’s heart tore. She could not possibly survive long in these conditions. In her hand, she held something balled. A red plaid scarf, Helena could see, with some sort of gold emblem on it.
Helena started to stand. She wanted to call out to the girl, for the child could not keep going alone in such a state. “We must help her.”