The Assignment

by Liza Wiemer

  The HUMANKIND WELCOME HERE signs are all over Riviere—a reminder and a promise. People from across the globe, displaying the sign, have sent them photos. Folding to community pressure, all but one Confederate flag came down in Riviere. Although it’s become less frequent, Cade and Logan continue to be recognized around town. Someone will whisper, Those are the kids who…Cade and Logan pretend they didn’t hear.

  “Look around,” Logan says, sweeping her arms wide. “One hundred and forty acres of beauty.”

  She’s the only beauty he wants to see. But, of course, he doesn’t say it. Scanning the horizon, Cade tries to see the acres of rolling hills, old oaks, sugar maples, and manicured lawn through Logan’s eyes. He inhales freshly cut grass and turned soil.

  Nope. He can’t do it.

  Still a cemetery with so many dead people underfoot.

  Logan seems to read his mind. She lifts an imaginary sword. “I promise, if anything grabs you, I’ll fight it off.”

  Cade laughs.

  “Come on. I have something important to show you.” Logan starts jogging down the middle of the packed dirt road. Several long beats pass before she turns around, walks backward, and waves at Cade. “Hurry up,” she calls.

  On a small rise of land, Logan opens a gate to a fenced-off area. There’s a Star of David above it. Just as Cade wonders why they are there, Logan points to a row of eight headstones. “This is why we’re here.”

  “Died at Fort Ontario” is inscribed on many of them. “They were all refugees who didn’t live long enough to experience freedom,” Logan says, leading Cade to the shade of a maple tree. She kneels, rubs the dirt off a flat stone sunk into the ground.

  The marker reads, “Rachel Montiljo. Born in Bari, Italy. Jan. 11, 1944. Died on the ship to America. Aug. 2, 1944.”

  “Her mom gave birth to her in a concentration camp,” Logan says. “Somehow, her parents escaped and brought her to Naples, Italy. They, too, were refugees on the Henry Gibbins.”

  Logan moves next to Cade and, despite her grimy palm, twines her fingers with his. She rests her head on his shoulder. They stare at the tiny grave, lost in their own thoughts. Cade focuses on the Hebrew words on the marker. He’d like to know what they say, even to read them someday. His mind drifts to his grandparents’ families. The desire to learn more about them, about Judaism, tugs on him like an invisible rope tautly tied between his past and present. Maybe after he starts classes in a few weeks, he’ll talk to the rabbi at SUNY-Lakeside?

  Perhaps. When he’s ready.

  Logan tightens her grip. “What are you thinking?” she asks. Cade remembers the last time he asked her that question. It brought their first kiss. A shiver runs through him as he remembers the snow. He sighs. “I’m thinking about how much has changed since we got the assignment. Do you think five, ten, twenty years from now, what we did will matter? Will people forget?”

  “That’s why I wanted to bring you here.” Logan raises their clasped hands, points to Rachel’s marker. “It will matter to us. We won’t forget, Cade. For baby Rachel. For your grandpa, your nana, and your family. For every victim of hate. No matter where we are or what we’re doing, we’ll remember.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Rochester International Airport, two hours before Logan leaves for Georgetown:

  Outside security, Logan wraps her arms around Cade’s waist, holding on tightly. Last night, she and her dad had a farewell dinner at the inn. It was the first time in several weeks she’d been with Cade and his family. As a graduation present, Dad gave her a trip to Milwaukee and for ten days, she and Blair hiked, hung out, and ate gallons of Culver’s custard until Blair left for freshman orientation at UW-Madison. Instead of returning to Riviere, Logan and her dad explored New York City. He understood when Logan said she wanted Cade to drive her to the airport. They needed last-minute goodbye time.

  Taking a deep breath, she inhales the smells of the inn—the rosemary-mint shampoo, firewood, cleaners, and Nana’s cooking. If only she could bottle it, bottle home. Or better yet, take Cade with her. But, for now, it’s impossible. CadeandLogan/LoganandCade will be Cade and Logan/Logan and Cade, best friends, always.

  They’d talked about it. Georgetown and Washington, DC, and SUNY-Lakeside and Riviere. A seven-hour drive. Four long years. Her new goal: getting a degree in culture and politics. For now, Cade has decided to study business and marketing and make a difference for his family’s inn. But the inn isn’t the only reason Cade needs to stay. He has no idea how many more days, weeks, years he’ll have with Nana. Lately, she’s been sharing more stories about their family in Poland. That history means everything to Cade, and he wants to be there to record every piece of it. She is also teaching him to bake, and since all her recipes are stored in her head, Cade is in the process of writing every one down.

  “Miss you already,” Cade says, pulling back.

  “Miss you more.” Logan hesitates, then adds, “What we went through with Mr. Bartley…I’m so glad we had each other. No one else will ever understand exactly what we went through, you know?”

  “I know. Can’t say I want to do battle with a teacher again.”

  Logan laughs. “For sure.” Her face grows serious. “But if we have to—”

  “—we will. And we’ll do whatever we can speak up for others facing injustice,” Cade finishes.

  “Exactly.”

  They smile at each other, holding on to that moment until Cade drops his arms to his side and takes a step back. The rectangular outline in his cargo pocket catches Logan’s attention. “What is that? Is it for me?” His expression tells her it is. She practically pounces, but Cade manages to trap her hand before she can extract the present.

  “I had planned to give it to you right before you enter the security line. I don’t want you to open it in front of me.”

  “We’re at the security line and if I hate it, I’ll regift it to my new roommate.”

  “You’re not going to hate it.”

  “Of course not. It’s from you!”

  Reluctantly, Cade draws out the gift. Logan grabs it, tears off the paper, and then says gleefully, “Oh, Cade!” She looks at him with so much love, it knocks him back another step. “This is the best gift ever.”

  She flips through the pages of the inn’s copy of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë, the same one that had been sitting on Cade’s nightstand since the first week she waltzed into his life. “You annotated it for me?”

  He nods.

  She slips it into her carry-on pocket and throws her arms around his neck, giving him a quick peck before pulling away. She hands him her car’s key fob. “Take good care of it,” she says, moving into the security line.

  They watch each other. When she turns a corner in the queue, she calls out, “Eighty-six.”

  Puzzled, Cade calls back, “Eight-six what?”

  Logan smiles. “Check your pocket.”

  Each of his cargo side pockets is empty. But in his back pocket, Cade discovers a folded piece of paper from one of the inn’s notepads. He opens it just as Logan disappears from his view.

  “Eighty-six days until Thanksgiving break. Can’t wait to see you! Love, Logan”

  Cade squeezes the note in his fist the way her words squeeze his heart. He’d had his future figured out. That is, until the assignment and those ten days turned his life upside down.

  If you want, you could leave here. Go anywhere, his parents had said.

  Cade smooths out Logan’s note on his palm. He reads it again, folds it up, and returns it to his back pocket. Eighty-six days. He imagines sitting at the inn’s reception desk, crossing off each day on a calendar. He imagines baking with and without Nana. Someday. He imagines what the inn might be like when his parents are Nana’s age. He stops, looks up at the departure board—a long list of possibilities. He miss
es Logan already, but there’s a whole world of possibilities. Who knows where they’ll be, who they’ll be, in eighty-six days?

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Dear Reader,

  A question that has been important to me is this: Can you be proud of your heritage, your faith, your identity, yet also have a strong need to protect or hide yourself from the “outside” world? That duality was something I, as someone Jewish, often lived with, struggled with, ashamedly agonized over.

  After I met Archer Shurtliff and Jordan April, two brave teens who refused to do an antisemitic assignment very much like the one depicted in this novel, I realized how much this duality had permeated my being. I felt compelled to confront the issue. This is one of the reasons I wrote The Assignment.

  I recall once, as an eight-year-old, being asked by a woman I did not know: “What are you?”

  “A girl?” I answered.

  “No,” she said. “Are you Italian? Greek? Spanish?” At the time, I couldn’t quite grasp the full extent of the bias and racism behind her question. The olive skin, big brown eyes, and nose bump I inherited from the men on my father’s side periodically had strangers asking something similar.

  “I’m American.”

  That woman shook her head. “What is your name?” she asked.

  “Liza Goldberg.”

  “Ah. You’re Jewish.” Her voice held disdain. I saw disgust as the woman pulled her daughter away. I loved my family but wished for a different last name. That moment left its mark. It also was the dawn of my recognition of the immense complexities, hostility, and hatred people of color and other marginalized groups face every day.

  I grew up in a Milwaukee suburb where Jewish people were a small minority. In elementary school, swastikas were carved into my desk. I was asked to show my tail and horns, and comments like “dirty Jew” and “Jew them down” were commonplace.

  Antisemitism was not exclusive to my youth. In recent years, my family and I have endured violent antisemitic actions. Writing this novel has brought those horrific moments to the forefront of my mind, providing opportunities to reflect.

  Two teens, Archer and Jordan, made a choice—a courageous and life-changing choice. Given an antisemitic assignment, they thought about the message it sent. They refused to blindly accept that it was okay because a teacher gave it to them. They held fast to their moral compasses and never faltered: It was wrong. Something had to be done. Their courage was the catalyst and, after meeting them, I went on to interview other activists and read about other immoral assignments and hateful incidents in our schools. All of the following actually happened, justified by educators as being done in the interest of bringing history alive for their students: In Wisconsin, students were asked to write “three good reasons for slavery and three bad reasons.” In New York, a teacher had some of the white students bid on their Black peers for a mock slave auction. In Tennessee, a student was given the role of Hitler in a living history assignment and was told by the teacher to end his presentation with the Seig Heil, which emboldened students to respond with the Nazi salute in and outside of the classroom. Fifth graders in North Carolina were given a “tic-tac-toe” assignment with different options, including drawing or building a model of a concentration camp. They also could pretend they were children in a concentration camp and write a letter to their parents. It is difficult to imagine that educators gave these assignments. Thankfully, courageous people spoke out against each one. Change was the result. The success of their actions, along with the actions of Archer and Jordan, inspired me to write this novel.

  How many more reprehensible assignments go unchecked and unreported around the world?

  In our complex global environment, we will all find ourselves facing ethical dilemmas. What to do? Follow the crowd? Find a way to defend the indefensible? Or speak out? My characters Logan and Cade exemplify young people who are vocal against hate, intolerance, and racism. My novel is a work of fiction, but it is rooted in today’s society.

  For students, speaking out against any injustice, especially when adults are involved, can be a formidable task. But it’s critical, life-changing, and perhaps even life-saving.

  Here is what I hope you, dear reader, know: in darkness, be the light. Let yours be one that illuminates the world, guided by an unwavering moral compass, courage, compassion, and love. Make your home, your school, your community a place where humanKIND is welcome.

  Stay strong,

  Liza

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you. These simple words fail to convey the impact and depth of my gratitude to the people who have been a part of this novel’s journey to publication. Friendship, kindness, patience, faith, empathy, knowledge, wisdom, constructive criticism, and love were key elements that enabled me to complete this work. I am humbled by your generosity. It is my hope to pay it forward. If I inadvertently forgot to include you in these acknowledgments, I ask for your forgiveness.

  For me, there is no other explanation for how I came to write this novel than Divine Providence, so thank you, God. The extraordinary series of events that led to meeting Archer Shurtliff and Jordan April began on July 25, 2016. High school librarian Wendy Scalfaro messaged me on Facebook, asking if I would be interested in speaking at her school. That April 2017 trip to New York changed my life. If you’re interested in the full story, please visit lizawiemer.com.

  Archer and Jordan, thank you for speaking out and for being my inspiration. No matter where you are or what you do, I know you’ll continue to have a positive impact.

  My agent, Steven Chudney, thank you for discussing the manuscript with Ralph, for changing my life with your yes, and for being such a positive, supportive force. It’s an honor to be a ChudMate. I couldn’t have a better mensch in my corner.

  I am grateful to Beverly Horowitz, my editor, for her insight, guidance, vision, unwavering faith in me, and most of all for being this novel’s champion. It’s a privilege to work with someone so exceptional, passionate, and dedicated. Rebecca Gudelis: I only know a fraction of all you do, but it’s obvious to me that you’re a Wonder Woman. Thank you for your support. To my talented and dedicated Delacorte team: Shameiza Ally, Cathy Bobak, Angela Carlino, Lili Feinberg, Colleen Fellingham, Marlene Glazer, Imani Morris, Josh Redlich, and Tamar Schwartz. Jen Strada, thank you for the A+ job on this “assignment.”

  For interviews or assistance researching the Holocaust, antisemitism, Fort Ontario and the Fort Ontario Emergency Refugee Shelter, or SUNY, thanks to: Professor Christopher Baltus, Reverend George DeMass, Jack and Renee Dygola, Rabbi Cheski Edelman, Rebecca J. Fisher, Professor Emeritus Alan D. Goldberg, Elfi Hendell, Kevin Hill, Elana Kahn, Paul A. Lear, Beth Martinez, Etzion Neuer, Louise Reed, Banna Rubinow, Raizel Schectman, Rabbi Shmaya Shmotkin, Alexa Smith, Dan Smith, the research staff at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Rabbi Yisroel Wilhelm.

  Additional interviews:

  Sarah Abrams, Erica Cameron, Hal DeLong, Molly Ellner, Liam McLean, Bill Reilly, Claudia Schneider, Amber Scruton, Ava Wales, Blair Wales, Michelle Wichman.

  Lifelines and beta readers. Thank you for input and support: Nancy Angulo; Alexis Army; Martina Boone; Shirlee and Barry Doft; Danielle Ellison; Andye Epps; Mary Evers; Amy Fellner Dominy; KayLynn Flanders; Alan S. and Cathy Goldberg; Barbara and Don Goldberg; Kelly Hager; Yitta Halberstam; Laura Harrington; Sydney Hartnett; Ana Jordan; Betsy Kaplan; Benay and Jeff Katz; Sarah Kealy; Clara Kensie; Deborah Lakritz; David and Maureen Luddy; Lizzy Mason; Rachel Muniz; Anuradha Rajurkar; Patricia Riley; Gayle Rosengren; Wendy Scalfaro; Leia, Sebastian, and Rosalie Schaefer; Sheri Schubbe; Rachel Simon; Kathryne Squilla; Marcilia Tartaglia; Payton Thweatt; Steve Waldron; Michelle Walny; Tammara Webber; Barbara Weiss; Sarah Weiss; Lynn Wiese-Sneyd; Nancy Wiese; Heidi Zweifel.

  Thank you for your hospitality or for giving me a home away from home to write: Christopher Baltus, Deborah Dof
t, Nili Doft, Marianne Fons, Alan D. and Dottie Goldberg, Banna Rubinow, Marcy and Moishe Yavor, Write On Door County.

  Special shout-outs to Erin Arkin, Jaime Arkin, Katie Bartow, Sandy Brehl, Jenny Chou, Phoebe Dyer, Becca Fowler, Daniel Goldin, Tara Jordan, Hannah McBride, Lisa McCarthy, Dee Paulson, Amy Reale, Jerod Santek, Andi Soule.

  Boswell Book Company staff, ChudMates, Delacorte Mavens, Jewish Kidlit Mavens, North Shore Library staff, The River’s End Bookstore staff, SCBWI-Wisconsin.

  To the teachers, librarians, students, booksellers, online YA book community, and readers I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in person or online. Your support has meant the world to me. Your time is valuable. I’m grateful you spent some of it with me and my words.

  My Doft, Goldberg, Katz, Lahav, Meisel, Pence, Ruminski, Schmidt, Sadan, Shul, Wiemer, Zighelboim family. Last, but never least, thank you to the loves of my life: Jim, Justin and Annabella, Ezra, Bracha, and Mendel.

  I took liberties with my description of Safe Haven Holocaust Refugee Center, especially with the photographs. Yankel’s story was loosely based on conversations I had with Holocaust survivor, Jack Dygola. Peter Franklin’s experience was inspired by World War II US Navy Lieutenant Jack Taylor’s survival in Mauthausen concentration camp. In chapter thirteen of Ruth Gruber’s Haven: The Dramatic Story of 1,000 World War II Refugees and How They Came to America, I read about the death of baby Elia (Rachel) Montiljo during the voyage to America on the USS Henry Gibbins. Her grieving parents were granted permission to bury her in Oswego. The tragic loss of this tiny Holocaust victim—so close to freedom—haunted me. I was determined to find baby Elia’s grave, to honor her memory and her parents. When I returned to Oswego in July 2017, Jordan, Archer, and Reverend George DeMass, past president of the board of directors at Safe Haven Holocaust Refugee Shelter Museum, searched the Jewish burial area at the Riverside Cemetery. Archer found the marker sunk into the ground and hidden by soil, grass, and leaves. We uncovered it. That moment left an indelible mark on me. Cade and Logan’s scene at the cemetery was inspired by that visit.