by Pam Jenoff
Sam continued. “The first thing I’m going to do when I get home is take Scoop—that’s his name—out of the city for a swim down at Johnson’s farm and...” He stopped as her expression fell. “Lena, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Helena pulled her hand away, stiffening. Sam sounded so excited about leaving. She could hardly blame him for not wanting to stay, cold and in danger, thousands of miles from home. But the idea still nagged at her stomach. She had gotten used to Sam being here and he was going to leave, just like Piotr had left Ruth, and Tata had left them all.
Suddenly she could not hold back. “It’s just that when you go, I’ll be sad.” He did not answer and she felt foolish for having said anything. “You must go, of course, and it’s all very selfish of me, but I’ve gotten rather used to our visits.”
“Have you?” He smiled brightly. “I would have thought you’d be glad not to traipse halfway up a mountainside with food.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then saw that he was teasing. “Not funny.” She reached out to swat at his arm playfully, but he caught her hand and intertwined his fingers with her own, sending tiny shocks of electricity through her. “When do you think you’ll go?”
“Soon.” The word cut through Helena like a knife. “I’ll wait long enough to let my leg heal a bit more and then make a break for the border,” he replied, so quickly she could tell he had been thinking about it for some time. That couldn’t be terribly long, she calculated, judging by the ease with which he’d moved outside the chapel today. “I’ve got to get out before the heavier snows fall.” She nodded. He could never survive the winter in the chapel, even with the provisions she brought. And at some point the trail would become impassible, either for him to get out or her to visit. Helena had wondered about that even before finding Sam, how she would get to her mother when the weather got bad. She would have to leave extra food, bribe Wanda or one of the other nurses to make sure Mama got some of it. “Probably in another week, maybe two,” he added.
“So soon!” she cried out before she could stop herself, the immediacy of his planned departure a blow. She had not realized until that very minute how much these visits—and Sam himself—had come to mean to her, the space they had taken in her life. She looked away, not wanting him to see the tears that welled up uncontrollably. Anger rose unexpectedly within her. She had been just fine before he had come here and made her want things that without him she never would have missed—things that simply could not be.
“Lena,” Sam said, the use of the pet name familiar now. He grasped her hand once more.
Astonishment replaced her anger. She swallowed, sensing a moment coming that she had lived a hundred times in her dreams. “Y-yes,” she managed, looking up at him.
He lowered his head, bringing his lips to hers, warm and rough. She froze, caught off guard by the tingling sensation that seemed to envelop her all at once. His lips tasted improbably like apples just a day too ripe. She leaned in, eager for more.
Then just as quickly, he pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he said, flustered. “I never should have done that.”
“I don’t mind,” she replied breathlessly, reaching for him, still light-headed. Her skin tingled.
But he straightened, moving farther from her. “No, we can’t.”
“Why not?” She stiffened at the sudden rejection, then stood up, eyes burning.
Sam leaned forward and caught her hand, sending the dog scurrying from his lap. “Helena, wait.” He pulled up to one knee, grimacing, and drew her back down. “I’ll be leaving,” he said, and his words slammed into her. He cupped her chin in one hand, his lips so close she could smell the sweetness she had tasted a moment ago.
“But you’re here now,” she protested.
“At some point soon, though, I’ll have to go and...” He clutched her fingers tighter in his own. “And I don’t want to make this harder on either of us.”
Helena stared hard at the wall, too proud to push the matter further. “I wonder what it would have been like if we’d met somewhere else.” Then hearing the unintended weight behind her words, she blushed. “Not that we would have, of course.”
“I think about it all the time,” Sam replied quickly, sensing her discomfort and hastening to ease it. “If we’d met back home, I would have asked you out. Courting, my mother says.” He laughed. “No one our age calls it that anymore. I would’ve taken you to Nickel’s soda shop for an ice cream soda, or maybe an egg cream. They have a television and everything.” Helena had seen a film once, on a projector in the town hall, but television had not come to the village. He continued. “And then maybe I might have worked up the guts—I mean, the nerve—to ask you to one of the dances they have at the lodge on Saturday. Nothing fancy—just an old guy on a piano, and the ladies’ auxiliary sells punch and cookies.” He stopped speaking and she wondered if he was lost in memories. But then he stood with difficulty, leaning on his makeshift crutch and extending his hand down to her.
“Shall we?” She hesitated. Did he really mean for them to dance, right here? Then she stood, her body about a foot from his, looking at him uncertainly. She had whirled Dorie around the room in play and she had seen her parents dance once many years ago when they thought no one was watching. But she had not, in fact, ever done it properly herself.
“Here.” Sam reached out and took her hands gently, placing one on each of his shoulders. Then he put his own hands on her waist, just above the hip. “Is that okay?” She nodded, suddenly unable to find her voice. “Good.” He inched nearer to her. “I might even come closer, if the chaperones allowed it,” he joked. She did not respond but instead rested her head on his shoulder, surprised at her own boldness, and at the same time feeling she had been doing this her entire life. The damp stone of the chapel walls and Sam’s unwashed smell and the liquor that clung to Tata’s coat melded together into a kind of cologne.
He began to hum a few bars of a song she’d heard on the radio, before they’d stopped playing music. “I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places...”
A minute later, Sam stopped humming. They stood motionless, not quite dancing but swaying, bodies pressed close. His face was just inches from hers now, his breath warm on the rise of her cheek, and she wondered whether he might kiss her again, what he would do if she kissed him.
“Well, I guess that’s it,” Sam said a moment later, a note of reluctance to his voice. He straightened and she pulled away. Helena was suddenly chilled, as though the fire in the stove had gone out. They sat down again. “Of course, if we were back home I’d have competition.” She cocked her head, not understanding. “Other boys, wanting to ask you out and dance with you. I’m sure it’s no different in your village.” She stifled a laugh. If only he knew.
“I dated, of course,” he confessed, though she had not asked. “The usual sorts of things.” Helena had no idea what that meant—and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Had he taken girls to dances or movies or had it been something more? Such things, which Ruth spoke of longingly, once seemed silly to Helena. Now she was fiercely jealous of the faceless girls who had been there with Sam—and who would be there again after he went home.
He continued. “But it wasn’t like this. I like you, Lena, and I think—” he swallowed “—that you like me, too.”
“I do.” The words came out too bluntly, something Ruth said was a particular flaw of hers. Helena had to be honest, though, especially now staring into Sam’s rich chocolate eyes. “But once you go, this will all be gone, too.” She waved her hand around the chapel, then between the two of them to clarify.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “You could come with me.”
She inhaled sharply. “Me?” He had mentioned imagining them somewhere else, but she had not thought him serious.
“It wouldn’t be easy, but there are ways. We have to get to th
e border.”
We. Her breath caught as she comprehended the audacity of his idea. He was talking not just about leaving, but about leaving with her. A portrait unfurled in her mind of the two of them living together in a modest house, although where she could not fathom. The very idea of it filled her with happiness. She saw it in that instant, she and Sam walking from the chapel, not looking back. But how could that possibly be? Mama and her siblings and all of the reasons they could not be together came crashing down upon her then, water dousing a flame.
“I can’t leave my family.”
“You could go first and send for them.”
“My mother would never be well enough.”
Sam pressed his lips together, his silence confirming the grim truth. There was nothing he could say that would give her hope, and he would not lie to her. “Then I won’t go, either,” he said stubbornly. “I won’t leave you.” He wanted to protect her, she knew. The notion that, trapped in this chapel, he could prevent any danger seemed ludicrous. But just his being here made her feel safer somehow. “Not after all that you’ve risked for me.”
“You can’t stay,” she countered. Every day he remained here made his discovery more imminent.
He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again, unable to argue. The air fell flat and silent between them. A pigeon fluttered in the rafters above.
“The timing,” he said. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.” Timing had never been on her side—Mama taking sick, then losing Tata, leaving them alone as the war worsened.
“Goddamned war,” he added ruefully, forgetting not to swear.
“But if it wasn’t for the war, we never would have met,” she pointed out.
“Well, I’m not going just now,” he said, forcing a smile. She nodded—whatever time they had together would have to be enough.
“Do you have a photo?” he asked. “Of yourself, I mean. I should like to have one.”
“I’ll look for one.” Did he mean for now to keep company in the chapel, or to take with him when he was gone?
“I don’t want to know,” she announced suddenly. He cocked his head, confused. “When you’re planning to go, I mean. Just leave. To say goodbye...I couldn’t bear it.” She brushed at the stinging of tears in her eyes, ashamed. He did not answer, but drew her into his embrace. Nestled in the warmth of his arms, she felt a safety and comfort she had not known since childhood, or maybe even then.
“It’s late,” she said, noticing through the window how the sun had dropped behind the trees.
“Too late for walking. You should stay.”
In an instant, she could see it, a night lying beside Sam under the coat, huddled close for warmth. But she shook her head. “I must get back.” She had never been gone overnight before. Ruth would be beside herself with worry.
“Here,” he said, holding up his flashlight. He fiddled with the object and it gave off a faint yellow beam as he pressed it cool and hard against her palm.
“I can’t take that.” Without his flashlight, he would be alone in the darkness of the chapel.
“I insist.” Her hand brushed his as it closed around the metal. “You need some light to make it home.”
“Fine,” she said, relenting somewhat. On this point, she could see that he was right.
At the door to the chapel she wondered for a second if he would try to kiss her again. Instead, he drew her close to his chest, his arms forming a fortress around her that she never wanted to leave. A moment later, he released her. Helena stood motionless for several seconds, wanting to hold on to everything between them in case it did not come again. “You need to go now, before it gets any darker,” he said.
Reluctantly she turned and started through the woods, the air away from Sam colder than ever. Even with the light, it was almost impossible to see and she moved more slowly, taking care not to catch her feet on the tree roots. Her skin still tingled from his last embrace. Thoughts leaped through her mind, colliding with one another midflight: Sam cares for me, too... I could go with him... I cannot.
For the first time in her life, Helena wanted something that was real and something for herself. She could not have it, though, without betraying those closest to her. She pushed down her thoughts, trying to focus on the path before her. But she could not contain her sadness. It was only a matter of time before she came back to the chapel and found him gone.
8
Helena arose late the next morning. Gray light was already filtering in through the yellowed curtains and a clattering in the kitchen told her she was the last one to rise—something which almost never happened. The room was colder than normal, as if the fire had gone low. Helena drew the blanket up to her neck. She closed her eyes again and lay still for a moment, pretending that she was at the chapel, Sam beside her. Her breath grew deeper as she imagined his hands on her waist.
A loud bang drew her from her thoughts. Reluctantly she stood and dressed. She walked from the bedroom. Ruth was struggling to get the large washtub up the ladder from the cellar. Cold air whooshed in through the open door. Helena groaned inwardly. She had forgotten that it was washing day. Laundry was one of Helena’s least favorite tasks, made more onerous in winter by the fact that they could not do it outdoors. But Ruth persisted in gathering the bits of soap that remained to clean their clothes and sheets.
“Help me,” Ruth said, holding out her hand before Helena could escape again. Helena turned to look for Michal, but he was engrossed in play with Karolina. And Dorie was too small to be useful. Helena scampered down the basement stairs and pushed the tub up to Ruth, who pulled it into the room. Helena climbed back up, brushing the dirt from her sleeves, and added more wood to the fire to take away the chill.
There came a sudden yelp from the bedroom. Alarmed, Helena rushed toward it. Dorie, who had been trying to help with the wash by removing the bedding, sat on the floor, a fresh red scrape on her right arm. Helena brought out the kit that held the salves and bandages. As she cleaned the wound, she was taken by her sister’s arm, which had a shape reminiscent of Mama’s and seemed to have lengthened overnight. The children grew quickly, like weeds sprouting in the garden after a soaking rain. They had changed so much in the past several months, Mama and Tata would hardly have recognized them.
This thought, more than any other, saddened Helena. Sometimes, recalling Tata’s face was so immediate it was as if he was just here and had gone out hunting. But then she remembered everything that had happened since he was last here, all of the growth and changes in the world, and it was as if he were very far away, or perhaps had never existed at all.
“There.” She pressed a bandage firmly against Dorie’s elbow, grateful that at least for this one thing she could help.
“Here, let me.” Ruth rushed into the bedroom with a damp towel, then stopped as she looked down at the wound, which Helena had already tended. A hurt look erased her surprise, as though Helena had taken something that was hers.
But Dorie raised her arms to Ruth, seeming to forget Helena and the aid she had just given. Ruth scooped her up with effort and murmured into her hair. “There, there, little one.” It was the comfort more than anything else that the child had needed. Helena closed the kit and took the sheets from the bed, then followed Ruth from the room.
“Ruti...” As Ruth filled the tub with water and began to submerge the clothing, Helena considered once again if she should tell her sister about Sam. It had been easier to say nothing when it had just been one or two visits. But each time she saw him, the secret grew, burning inside her. It was more than just guilt—Helena wanted to tell someone about Sam, talk about him aloud and make him real. Despite their imperfect relationship, Ruth was the closest thing she had ever had to a confidante. Ruth would be angry she had kept the truth from her for this long, though. She would demand Helena stop seeing Sam. No,
Helena could not risk ruining everything now. She swallowed the secret back down, an insufferable lump in her throat.
Ruth wrung out a shirt, then turned toward her expectantly. “What is it?”
“N-nothing,” Helena managed. Then another thought occurred to her. “With everything that is happening, maybe we should pack some bags.” Dorie had gone back to the bedroom to get the pillowcases, but Helena spoke low so that Michal would not hear.
“Bags?”
Watching her sister’s eyes widen, Helena realized just how outrageous the suggestion must have sounded. They had never spent a single night away from the cottage. “Just in case.”
“In case what?”
Helena faltered, not at all sure. In case the Germans came, she wanted to say. In case they had to leave. But the ideas seemed far-fetched, like the wild speculation and dramatics for which she had so often chastised Ruth. “I don’t know.”
“And where would we go?” Ruth said impatiently, and turned back to the wash. Again Helena had no answers.
Helena looked at the pile of laundry, which seemed to regenerate itself each time Ruth washed a garment, instead of growing smaller. “I need to tend to the animals,” Helena said, more eager than ever to escape the chore. Not waiting for an answer, she grabbed her coat. Outside she gazed wistfully into the forest. It felt so much longer than a day since her last visit to the chapel, perhaps because they had talked about him leaving. She did not have a pretext to go again so soon, though, without making Ruth suspicious. Her insides grew warm as she pictured Sam. What was he doing right now? Was he thinking of her?
If she couldn’t go see Sam today, at least she could check the trains again. Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching from the house, Helena walked into the barn. She hitched her skirt and climbed up the ladder into the hayloft. She and Ruth had played here often as girls, creating mountains and oceans out of the stiff, browned grass, games that only the two of them understood. One day Ruth had minded how it got in her hair and declared it too scratchy. She had not played there with Helena again. It was not she, but Ruth, who had changed, trying to act ladylike and look nice for boys. She had left Helena behind. But now Piotr was gone and Helena had something with Sam, though what she was not sure.