The Forest of Vanishing Stars

by Kristin Harmel

  Eventually she walked upstairs and entered the room he’d said was hers, a small bedroom with a squat bed covered in a lacy cream quilt. Atop it, neatly laid out, was a nightgown that appeared as if it would fit her. She closed the door behind her and picked the gown up, feeling the diaphanous fabric slip between her fingers, and then she set it back down again. She couldn’t imagine a world in which she’d wear something so impractical, even to sleep. On the nightstand was a small, clear globe with several trees inside, a dusting of snow on the ground. When Yona picked it up to look more closely, the snow shifted. Entranced, she turned it over and then flipped it back, watching the snow drift slowly, silently down under the glass dome. It made her long suddenly, powerfully, for the safety of her beloved forest.

  Finally, she set the globe down and sat on the bed, testing the weight of it. She had not slept in a bed since the night before her second birthday, and it felt strange, unfamiliar. The ground beneath a person should feel solid and reassuring, not spongy and soft, for that was false comfort. Then again, all of this was false. After a few minutes had ticked loudly by on the grandfather clock near the window, she lay on top of the covers, placing her head on one of the pillows, which was filled with feathers. After a second, she climbed out of bed and lay on her back on the floor.

  She was staring at the ceiling sometime later when there was a soft tap on the door.

  “Come in,” she said, sitting up as the door handle turned and Jüttner entered.

  “I apologize,” he said gruffly, and for a split second, she thought perhaps she’d gotten through to him, but he added, “I must remember that you were raised by a lunatic in the wilderness. It will take you some time to understand things. But you are my daughter, and I will teach you.”

  Yona didn’t reply, and after a pause, he cleared his throat.

  “What are you doing on the floor?”

  “The bed is too soft.”

  He looked at her like she was crazy. Maybe she was.

  “What will become of the nuns?” she asked.

  “I don’t know yet. But there will be no decision tonight. I give you my word.”

  She searched his eyes for signs he was lying, but she found only deep sadness and fear there. “All right.”

  “Get some sleep. We can talk more when you awaken.”

  Yona nodded, and he gave her a strange half smile before closing the door behind him. A second later, she heard a bolt click, and she knew, even before rising to twist the knob herself, that he had locked her in. She crossed the room and tried the window, which slid open readily. She shut it again, relieved that she had an easy way out if she needed it. Still, she was unsettled by the fact that he’d thought not only that he could trap her, but that he had the right to do so.

  She lay back down on the floor and closed her eyes, for she would need all the energy she could get for whatever might come next. She knew she wouldn’t sleep well, though, for she was under the roof of an enemy, even if he was her own flesh and blood.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It took Yona an hour to relax, but eventually she slipped into a strange half sleep and dreamed of Jerusza. In the dream, Jerusza was walking toward her through the woods, her eyes burning with anger, but when she spoke, the whipping wind whisked her words away. Each time Yona took a step closer, desperate to hear what Jerusza was saying, the old woman became more and more translucent, until she disappeared altogether into a spill of sunshine. She was gone, and her words—surely a warning—had vanished, too. Yona awoke with a start, her heart hammering, her forehead damp with perspiration, and for a few blurry seconds, she couldn’t remember where she was. She looked wildly around, taking in the genteel furnishings, the embroidered curtains, the plush bed she was lying beside. Her pulse slowed as it all came rushing back to her.

  Then again, this is what her life might have looked like if Jerusza hadn’t come for her all those years before. Would her mother have been alive? What kind of a person would Yona have become?

  But when life opens a door, the others behind it slam closed. It was impossible to know what would have been, what could have been, because the choices Jerusza made forever altered the future. There was no sense in looking over her shoulder. And the ghost of Jerusza could shout all she wanted into the wind, but the old woman didn’t belong here, not in this moment. She couldn’t save Yona from the past.

  Sometime later, Yona drifted once again to sleep, but this time, her slumber was dreamless, and when she awoke to light streaming through the windows, she felt well rested for the first time in weeks. She sat up, startled that she had slept so soundly. How could she have let down her guard? Quickly, she got to her feet, smoothed her dress and her hair, and headed for the door, which opened easily; Jüttner must have unlocked it when he’d risen that morning.

  “The nuns?” she asked without greeting as she entered the kitchen. “They are all right?”

  Jüttner was in full uniform, sipping a cup of coffee at the small table. He looked up and smiled indulgently, almost as if she were a child asking for an extra serving of cake. Yesterday he’d looked as if he was unraveling. Today he looked polished and unflappable. The swift transition chilled her. “Good morning, Inge. And how did you sleep?”

  “The nuns?” she repeated.

  “They’re fine, Inge.”

  But his eyes were cold and hard, and she didn’t believe him. “Show me. Please. I must see them.”

  He gestured to the seat across from him, and as she sat, slowly and reluctantly, he rose to get the silver coffeepot. He poured her a steaming cup and then sat back down. “I was just about to go myself.”

  “Take me with you.” Yona held his gaze.

  He hesitated. “That would make you happy? Very well. But first, you will have some coffee and some food. You are my guest.” Jüttner didn’t wait for an answer before pushing a hunk of bread with a fat pat of butter toward her. Yona stared at it in disbelief; she couldn’t imagine any Polish citizen had tasted butter since the start of the war. There was cheese, too, and a small platter of cold sausages. Yona hadn’t eaten since the day before, but the food, the utter bounty of it, made her stomach turn. She began to push the bread away, but then she saw Jüttner’s expression, and instead she picked it up and took a small bite, which earned her a nod of approval.

  “Thank you,” she said once she’d swallowed, though the words tasted as bitter as the bread.

  “You’re welcome.” Jüttner’s eyes slid away. “I thought you might try to leave during the night.”

  Yona bit her lip before she could ask if that was why he’d locked her in her room like a prisoner.

  “You see, Inge,” he said, his eyes returning to her. There was something softer there now, something more familiar. “It would have broken me.”

  She felt a surge of pity for him, but she wouldn’t forget who he was, what he had become. “I am still here.”

  He bowed his head. “You cannot go. I haven’t been whole since…” He paused and then stood abruptly, busying himself with carrying his plate and cup over to the kitchen counter. “It would be a humiliation.” He cleared his throat a few times, his back to her, and then he was silent.

  “The nuns,” she said after a few minutes had passed. “Please. Will you take me to them?”

  He wiped at his eyes before turning around. “We’ll leave in five minutes. Finish your bread, Inge.” He brushed crumbs from the corner of his mouth and smiled. “There are people starving out there.”

  * * *

  In the bright light of morning, the quarter where Jüttner lived was both beautiful and eerily deserted. As they walked in silence toward the church square on the north side of town, their footsteps were a conspicuous tap-tap on the stone, and Yona imagined people peering through slits in the curtains of the windows above, wondering who she was, what she was doing with a Nazi commander. They would assume she was like him. They wouldn’t know she was only here to save the women in the church.

  But it was more
than that, wasn’t it? She was also rooted in place by the familiarity of Jüttner’s face. He was a part of her, even if she abhorred the role he was playing in this war. Yona had never known what it felt like to be part of a family, and here was a man who, despite all his enormous flaws, had once loved her. Perhaps he still did. But was craving that love, even in part, a silent acquiescence to the choices he had made? Or was it simply human nature? And if that was it, how would she ever turn those feelings off? She couldn’t stay forever, but once she departed, she’d be alone again, and in the process, she might be breaking her father’s heart anew. Did she bear responsibility for the pain that would inevitably come?

  “Be careful there,” Jüttner murmured, touching her arm to help steer her around a puddle in the street. It was only as she passed that she realized the water was pink with stale blood and that there were bloodstains on the sidewalk and against the base of the storefront to her right, a butcher’s shop that had been boarded up and abandoned. Her stomach turned, and she pulled away from Jüttner, hating herself for being warmed, even in part, by his concern for her. People had been murdered here, and recently—she could still smell the metallic scent of death.

  “No need to run, Inge,” Jüttner said, a smile in his voice as he quickened his pace to keep up with her. But she couldn’t even look at him, couldn’t acknowledge the lighthearted admonition, for there was, in fact, every reason to run, to fly into the woods as quickly as her feet would take her, without looking back.

  The church was guarded by two soldiers, who straightened to attention and gave Jüttner the flat-palmed salute of the Germans, their hands tilted downward as if shielding their faces from God. He saluted back and led Yona past them and into the church. She could feel their eyes burning a hole in her back until the church door swung slowly, heavily, closed behind her, shutting out the sunshine.

  It took a split second for Yona’s eyes to adjust to the church’s dim light, and another split second to register that all eight of the nuns were lined up on the altar, all of them still alive, all of them seated with their hands bound behind them. She exhaled audibly, and the Nazi officer from yesterday, who was standing beside them, glared at her before saluting Jüttner, who saluted back.

  “See?” Jüttner said proudly, nudging Yona as they strode down the aisle toward the prisoners. She recoiled from his touch, but he didn’t seem to notice. “What did I tell you? They’re perfectly fine.”

  Yona nodded, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. In any case, Jüttner was wrong. Though the nuns were still alive, which was a great relief, they looked terrified, all except for Sister Maria Andrzeja, who was sporting a black eye and a gash on her cheek, and who looked angry and resolute. As Yona moved toward her, the Nazi officer made a move to stop her, but Jüttner held up his hand.

  “No, let her approach, Schneider,” he said. “She feels a fondness for them.”

  The other man’s eyes narrowed and then flicked from Jüttner to Yona and back. “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t need to,” Jüttner said. “She will speak with the nuns now. It is my order.”

  The man glowered at her but stepped aside and began to speak in low tones with Jüttner as Yona reached Sister Maria Andrzeja’s side. The other nuns scooted aside a bit to allow Yona room to squat there.

  Neither Yona nor Sister Maria Andrzeja said anything for the first few seconds. The nun searched Yona’s eyes, as if trying to answer a question, before finally saying in a hoarse whisper, “You are the daughter of a German commander?”

  Yona bowed her head. “By blood only.”

  Again there was silence between them. Behind her, Yona could hear the low, angry murmurs of Jüttner and the other Nazi officer.

  “You should have told me,” Sister Maria Andrzeja said at last, and Yona looked up, relieved to find that some of the nun’s anger and suspicion had faded, though the confusion remained. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t know it myself.”

  The bafflement in the nun’s expression deepened. “What do you mean?”

  “I was stolen from my parents when I was just a baby.”

  After a few seconds, she nodded, accepting this. “But then why are you here now? In this church?”

  “I needed to know that all of you were safe. I needed to know what happened. I—I want to help you.”

  The other nuns were watching her, some with suspicion, some with pity and sadness. Sister Maria Andrzeja didn’t say anything.

  “Is it true?” Yona asked after a moment. “The German officer said on the steps that you offered your lives in exchange for the hundred townspeople they planned to execute.”

  Sister Maria Andrzeja didn’t say anything for a long time. When she finally looked back up at Yona, her eyes were so full of despair that Yona felt the air knocked out of her own lungs. “We’ve been praying about this, all eight of us, for a long while now,” the nun said softly. “Praying for the safety of the town. Praying that the Germans would let us live in peace. First, they came for the Jews, and we did little to stop them. And then, last year, they executed sixty townspeople for no reason at all, among them the two pastors of the church on the other side of town, which is now closed. Since then, the town has been holding its breath, waiting. But in the silence, God spoke to us.”

  “But to sacrifice yourselves…”

  “This is the only answer. We will save innocent lives. And the Germans will feel that they’ve gotten a prize, because surely it will frighten the town to see eight nuns in their habits murdered right in front of them.” When the nun looked up and met Yona’s gaze, her eyes were gleaming with purpose. She lowered her voice to a fierce whisper. “But we also believe this might light a fire of resistance. The Germans don’t believe that Poles and Belorussians have it within them to fight back. But we do, you see. All of us do. Perhaps our deaths will inspire a change, will force people to ask God themselves what their role is.”

  “But then won’t more people die?”

  The nun’s eyes filled with tears. “People will die either way. I am hopeful, though, that fewer of those deaths will be in vain.”

  Yona touched Sister Maria Andrzeja’s arm. “There must be another way.”

  “There is not. We came here to help the people in this town, to help save as many as we could, to remind them that God always loves them. God has finally given us an answer about the role we are meant to play in all of this. The Nazis need someone to make an example of. Who better than us, if our eight lives can spare a hundred? It is the path God has given us.”

  “But…”

  “Remember, Yona? Whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world.”

  Yona sat back on her heels and stared, first at Sister Maria Andrzeja, then at the others. She could see the determination in their eyes, but there was fear there, too. “I won’t let it happen,” Yona said. “What if God sent me here to save you?”

  Sister Maria Andrzeja waited until Yona looked back and met her gaze. “Or perhaps we are meant to save you by reminding you of your goodness, of your responsibility to your fellow man.”

  “But—”

  “We accept our fate. All of us. You must do the same.” A single tear rolled down the nun’s cheek, disappearing into the wound that stretched from her nose to her ear. “Never forget, Yona, God is your father, and he is always with you.”

  Yona’s own eyes filled, too. She didn’t say anything. Jerusza had always taught her that the forest was her parent, both mother and father, and what was the forest but God’s creation, anyhow? Perhaps even when Yona had felt most alone, she’d always been surrounded by a father who loved her just as she was.

  “And the little girl?” Sister Maria Andrzeja asked after a moment, lowering her voice to a whisper. “She is safe?”

  “She is.”

  Sister Maria Andrzeja closed her eyes briefly. “Praise God.” She turned her gaze back to Yona. “Thank you, Yona. You have been brave and kind, but it’s
time now for you to go. Leave us to our fate. We all accept it.”

  Yona glanced at the other nuns. Some were watching her, some had their eyes closed and appeared to be praying. “But you mustn’t give up. I will do all I can to help. I will talk to Jüttner. My… my father.”

  The nun’s smile was sad, and she didn’t meet Yona’s gaze. “False hope is dangerous, Yona. They cannot release us now. Remember, a trade was made. Our lives for a hundred. If the Germans allow us to live, someone will have to pay.”

  “There must be a—”

  “Inge!” Jüttner’s impatient voice boomed from behind her, and she turned to find Jüttner watching her. The other officer had stepped away and was halfway down the aisle, his stiff back turned to them, his hands balled into fists.

  “Shall we go now?” he asked Yona, his tone almost jaunty, as if he’d entirely forgotten that there were eight hostages nearby.

  Yona glanced back once more at Sister Maria Andrzeja, but the nun’s eyes were closed, her lips moving, and somehow, Yona knew the nun was praying for her, which was wrong, undeserved.

  “Come on, then,” Jüttner said with a sharp edge of impatience, and before Yona could reply, his hand was on her arm and he was leading her away.

  “Yes, good day, German daughter,” the other officer said as they passed, and Yona could hear the sarcasm lacing his words, the annoyance. Jüttner nodded at the other officer, who nodded back, and then pulled Yona with him out into the sunshine outside the church.

  * * *

  “Can’t you order their release?” Yona asked as she and Jüttner walked home from the church.

  “It isn’t that simple.” He didn’t look at her.

  She thought of what Sister Maria Andrzeja had said. “Because you would have to execute a hundred townspeople if you released them,” she said flatly.