The Winter Guest

by Pam Jenoff

  “A pleasure,” he said, starting to stand, but Helena put her hand on his shoulder, not wanting him to overexert himself. “You never mentioned that you had a twin,” he said to Helena, his voice less surprised than it genuinely should have been. Helena glanced out of the corner of her eye at Ruth to see if she was angry at having been left out, but her face remained impassive.

  Sam reached for her hand, but Helena stepped back, still stung by his betrayal, the scars deep from the weeks of worrying. She had been so certain he had left for good. She wanted to hit him, pound on his chest.

  “I thought you’d been arrested or killed.” Helena could not keep the pain and accusation from her voice as all of the uncertainty of the past few weeks finally broke free.

  “I know. And I’m sorry for that. But they came for me, you see.” Her eyes widened. “Your attempt to reach the partisans worked,” he said. Her jaw dropped slightly. Alek had seemed so certain he could not help. “They came for me without warning and said we had to go right then.”

  “Alek found you?”

  “Not him personally.” No, of course not. To Helena, Alek was the face of the resistance. But in reality it was so much bigger than that. Sam’s eyes darkened. “The partisans undertook some sort of action against the Germans. There were reprisals and, well, Alek is nowhere to be found.” Helena’s stomach twisted as she thought of strong, brave Alek, who had seemed to represent hope for them all. Sam continued. “The messenger who came for me was a young woman actually.”

  Helena looked at him levelly. “See, I told you that the women help, too.” She was struck with more than a twinge of envy for this unseen female who had been able to do for Sam what she could not.

  He ignored her remark. “She said that Alek had high praise for you and your bravery.” Helena flushed, trying not to enjoy too much the note of jealousy now in Sam’s voice. “He was able to radio the partisans and find their location. But I had no choice—had to go with her then, and I had no warning or way to get word to you. It was too dangerous to leave you a note. I tried to arrange the stones in a way you could recognize.” So the pattern on the ground had been a message to her, after all.

  “I understand.” Helena’s forgiveness was instant and complete.

  “I buried the other items,” he added apologetically. “The cups and such. They’re all still there.”

  Helena waved her hand. Such things did not matter at all. “So what happened then?”

  “We made it over the border.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” Surely his mission had not brought him back.

  “I came for you,” he said simply.

  “You found the partisans and then just left again?” His courage loomed before her, larger than ever.

  “They’ll be none too pleased with me when I return,” he conceded. So he had disobeyed orders, risked everything to come back for her.

  “And the other men from your unit?”

  He shook his head sadly. “Not yet. There are rumors of some Americans, though, in the partisan camps farther south toward Bratislava. They offered to take me there.”

  “But you didn’t go.”

  “I told you that I wouldn’t leave you. Here.” He produced a tin of meat from his coat pocket.

  Dorie and Karolina gathered hurriedly around the feast. “Slowly,” Helena cautioned, breaking off pieces for them, which they devoured just as quickly. Only Ruth hung back. “You don’t want to make yourself ill.” She looked over her shoulder into the bedroom where Michal, always a sound sleeper, lay undisturbed by the commotion. Deciding against waking him, she found a cloth in the kitchen and wrapped a few pieces of meat in it so he would not miss out.

  She turned back toward Sam. Joy and longing rose in her and she fought the urge to throw herself into his arms. Instead, she put a hand on his shoulder, holding on tight so he would not disappear again. “They’re coming,” he said to Helena in a low voice as the children ate. “The Germans—I sensed something different from the aircraft I saw going overhead, and the partisans I met confirmed it.”

  “They’re already here,” Ruth offered, stepping closer. Her eyes traveled to Helena’s hand where it sat on Sam’s shoulder and a small frown of disapproval crossed her face. “They’ve set up an administrative bureau in town.”

  “I mean the German army,” Sam clarified. “Tanks and troops are headed this way.”

  So the countryside would no longer be spared. “Why now?” Helena asked.

  “The Russians. Relations between Hitler and Stalin are deteriorating and there’s bound to be war to the east.” Helena processed this, remembering his comments months ago about Russian barbarity that made the Germans look almost civilized by comparison. “The Germans coming through, shoring up their position—and looking for any possible pockets of resistance.” He turned to Helena. “We have to go now before they arrive. All of us.”

  “You’re right.” Helena stepped away from Sam and the children toward Ruth. Her sister’s mouth was open, ready to protest. “Ruth, surely you can see that he’s right?”

  Ruth looked out the window over her sister’s shoulder at the desolate expanse of night, the snow that stretched endlessly out to the horizon. “But we promised Mama we would stay.”

  Helena stared at her, puzzled. Weeks earlier, Ruth had agreed to go, had even urged her to get Sam’s help. But now she was rooted and fearful once more. “No, we promised her that we would stay together and keep everyone safe—and we will. But to do that, we must go. Everything is different now. Even if the Germans are gone someday and we manage to survive, the Russians will follow and God only knows what they’ll want with us. We’re the parents now, Ruth, and we have to do what we think is best. I know that it’s scary out there. But we have to take the chance.”

  Ruth did not respond, but shifted Karolina to her other hip. “Don’t you see?” Helena exploded, forgetting to keep her voice low. “There is no safety in standing back and not taking a side.” Dorie stepped closer to Ruth, whose expression remained unconvinced. Helena took a deep breath. “I’m afraid there’s more to it than that. You know that Mama was in a Jewish hospital, right?”

  “Of course. Tata said that they took her in for the money, even though she wasn’t Jewish. He had promised to do some odd chores to pay for part of her keep.”

  “He lied.” Helena swallowed. At the time it seemed a kindness to withhold the truth about Mama from Ruth, forestalling yet another chink in the fairy-tale armor her sister had constructed. But now it was her best—and only—hope at persuading Ruth. She had no choice. She prayed it would not be too much for her sister to bear. “Mama was half-Jewish.”

  Ruth barked out a laugh. “That’s not true!” she said in a patronizing tone. “Honestly, Helena, how can you say that? She was the most religious of all of us—she went to church every week.”

  But Helena shook her head. “The nurse told me after Mama died. She had papers.” Helena thought of the Kiddush cup she had sold. She wished she had the cup now so that she could show it to her sister. The Hebrew lettering would be physical proof, undeniable. “It’s true. And sooner or later, there will be questions.”

  “No,” Ruth insisted, but Helena could see the truth taking hold.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Helena whispered softly. “But with Mama gone I was afraid it would be too much. It’s quite a shock, I know. But if the Germans check records and figure it out...” Helena did not finish the sentence.

  “The Germans are very thorough,” Sam chimed in. “In their eyes, a Jewish parent makes you Jewish, and if there’s information in your mother’s file they’re going to know.”

  Helena tried again. “There’s nothing left for us here. So you see now why...”

  “We have to go.” Ruth finished her sister’s sentence decisively.

  Helena s
tarted. “You understand now.”

  “Yes, we need to go as soon as possible,” Ruth relented. Behind her, Helena felt Sam exhale. Ruth straightened. “I’ll go gather our things.”

  But Sam shook his head. “There’s no time for that. We have to go now or it will be too late. Just get everyone dressed, no more than the clothes on their backs, and perhaps a bit of food if it fits in their pockets.”

  “But, Sam, you need to rest. You’ll never make it otherwise. Just a few hours,” Helena soothed. “We’ll leave before first light.”

  There was a creak from the bedroom door as Michal appeared. Before Helena could stop him, Sam rose with effort, then stepped forward. “You must be Michal.” He held out his hand, offering a piece of meat that the girls had not yet devoured.

  The boy gazed up at the tall man, his face a mixture of confusion and awe. He looked like such a child in his nightshirt beside the soldier.

  “It’s okay, Michal,” Ruth reassured him. “This is Sam and he is a friend.”

  But Michal continued to stare at Sam skeptically, not convinced. Sam knelt down. “Do you like dogs?” he asked Michal, and the boy’s eyes widened. “I have the most wonderful dog waiting to play with you.” Dorie came to Sam’s side then and slipped her hand in his. Helena knew then that all of the risks she had taken had been worth it and her instincts to place her faith in him correct.

  “We’re going on a trip with Sam,” Helena added gently.

  “But what about Mama?” Michal asked. Ruth and Helena exchanged uneasy looks over his head. They could not risk telling him the truth now, and have him break down right as they were about to leave.

  “Mama wants us to go,” Helena replied, regretting she did not possess the belief in the afterlife that might make such a statement more true. “She’s fine where she is, and we’ll send for her as soon as we’ve gotten settled.” She hated lying to him, but there was simply no other choice.

  “But we should go get her,” Michal began again. “We can’t just leave her all alone!”

  “No more questions now,” Ruth said firmly. “Back to bed, so we are all well rested for the journey.” She started toward the bedroom, then turned back. “How are we going to get there?”

  Helena faltered. She did not even know where “there” was, much less have a plan. “I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out with Sam, okay? Trust me.”

  When Ruth had ushered the children back into the bedroom, Helena set up a bed of blankets for Sam close to the fire. “Thank you,” he said as he took the pillow, fingering it with a reverence that said after the weeks of laying on the ground this simple comfort was heaven. Helena berated herself silently that she had not done more to make the chapel more pleasant for him during the time he was there.

  She sat down beside him. Despite her admonition that he needed to rest, she could not bear to leave him yet for fear that it was all a dream and he might disappear again. Seeming to read her mind, he pulled her to him and put his arms around her, pressing her close. “Lena,” he whispered.

  “I thought you’d gone forever.” Her eyes filled with tears and she brushed them back. A single drop escaped and ran down her cheek.

  “Not me. I knew I would find my way to you.” He kissed the tear, catching it midflight with his lips. He kissed a trail up her cheek to her eyes, across her forehead, down toward her chin. He finally reached her mouth, but then hesitated, pulling back, his lips nearly grazing hers. A worried expression crossed his face, then disappeared.

  “What is it?”

  He shook his head, then pressed his lips to hers, and for a moment it was as if they were back in the chapel. But they weren’t, she reminded herself. Ruth and the children were in the next room. She pulled back, forcing her desire down.

  He straightened. “I saved a bit of food for you,” he said, pulling some meat wrapped in paper from his pocket. “Because I knew you never would for yourself.” She started to protest. “Eat it. You need your strength, too. Lena, you’re starving.”

  She started to say that she was fine. But he was right. Day to day she did not notice it. Hunger was so much the default state, the gnawing in her stomach omnipresent. She was a little more tired perhaps. But she saw herself now as he did—after weeks apart, the change was more visible to him, how her cheeks were sallow and sunken. “It’s the rations,” she confessed, taking the food he offered gratefully.

  Warmth surged through her blood at the unexpected nourishment. “What’s the plan?”

  “The partisans have a base camp not far over the border.”

  “But Alek had said that his entire southern route might be compromised.”

  “It’s true. There’s no clear path anymore, so we will just have to make our way. It will have to be by foot.”

  Helena looked out the window, imagining the peaks which stood jagged and menacing between them and the destination he had indicated. Then she shook her head, gesturing slightly toward the bedroom, thinking of Dorie. She could not remember if she had told Sam about her younger sister’s limp, or if it had been apparent before the children had gone to bed. The mountains would have been difficult even just for the two of them, but impossible with the children. “No,” she said slowly. “Some time ago, you said something about trucks.”

  He shook his head. “The roads are closed now, and even if the trucks could get to us, we’d never clear the checkpoints. They’re all but taking them apart looking for stowaways. No, it’s the only way.”

  She wondered if he had any idea the enormity of the risk or how difficult the journey might be. Of course he did—he had just come that way. But there was no other choice—what awaited them here was surely that much worse. “There’s a train station about nine kilometers to the southeast,” she began slowly, still thinking. “If we can make it there by 5:00 a.m., there’s a freight train that stops. It will take us across the border.” She had seen the train weeks earlier from the loft in the barn as she watched for him in the predawn hours.

  “East,” he echoed. Then he lowered his voice. “Lena, no. The German army is headed that way, and getting closer by the second.”

  “We can make it, Sam. We must try.” It was as if they had switched places, her strength bolstering his.

  “Fine,” he relented, brushing her hair from her forehead. She tilted her face upward, drinking in the touch for which she had longed these many weeks.

  “Tell me more about the partisans,” she said. “That is, if you’re not too tired.”

  “That morning, before dawn, someone came for me, a young woman with dark hair.” She tried not to feel jealous this time. “And she took me over the border to the partisans. They wanted to move me farther south to reconnect with my unit, but I knew if we went that far there would be no turning back. Three days, I begged. Three days to come back and find you. I told them how you had helped me and how much I owed you. They refused, said the effort could not be held up for any one person. So I left.” She tried to fathom what he had gone through making the dangerous crossing not once, but twice.

  “I was afraid I wouldn’t make it,” he confessed, and she heard real fear in his voice. “The path was even worse than you described. But I could not bear to have you think I’d just left you.” His words filled Helena with deeper consternation, for if he could barely survive the trip on his own, how would they manage with the children? “And I know where they are—or at least where they were—and I have the passes.” He pulled out a folded card. “This is a temporary passport, identifying you as my wife and granting you an entry visa to America.”

  “How did you...?”

  “I lied. I told them that I wouldn’t go back myself if they sent back papers for all of you. They have forgers—artists, really—quite remarkable at making documents, especially under such primitive circumstances. But I couldn’t be sure they would follow through, so I took the
documents and left.”

  Recognizing the photo she’d given him, now affixed to the card, she laughed. “So that’s why you wanted my picture?”

  “Just in case. But I didn’t want to get your hopes up—or argue with you about not going.” He held up another document. “And these papers will put the children on a youth transport out of Czechoslovakia. We don’t necessarily have to send them, of course. But the papers will give us the pretext to get them over the border.”

  “And what happens when we get to Czechoslovakia?” Her doubts redoubled. “That’s occupied, as well.”

  He dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “True. But the border is much more porous, and closer to the west.”

  “And Ruth?”

  Sam’s expression fell. “Nothing yet. But we’ll take her with us, of course, and I’ll think of something.” His face bore the same grim determination she had seen when he talked of escape and she knew he would not relent until he had gotten them all across the border to safety.

  Helena looked over his shoulder out the window. In just a few hours it would be light. “You should rest.” She fought the urge to lie beside him as she had in the chapel. But it would not be proper and the children might see. “Good night.” She bent to kiss his cheek.

  Sam closed his eyes with the ease of someone who had become used to spending nights in strange, uncomfortable places. Helena adjusted his blanket, her hand lingering on his back. She crept back to the bedroom, feeling Sam on the other side of the wall as though he were beside her. She crawled in among Ruth and the children. For this one night, they were all together under one roof, just as it should be. But it would be their last time together in the giant bed and she could not help but wonder where they would next lay their heads, or if they might all sleep together just like this again somewhere else. From the other room, Sam snored faintly and she breathed in unison with him, trying not to imagine the treacherous road that lay just ahead.

  In spite of herself, her eyes grew heavy. Sometime later she awoke with a start, cursing herself for drifting off. But the room was still dark. She turned to reach for Ruth to tell her it was time to wake the children. She felt beside her to an empty spot, a coolness on the sheets where there should have been warmth.