by Mary Wood
Without answering her, he rang the bell on his desk. ‘Come and sit over here with me, Elka dear. I have ordered tea.’
Quivering with the effort it took not to break down, Elka did as he bade.
‘I am shocked to hear the truth, and I find Petra’s action in stealing you both detestable. I did know that your real mother was still alive and looking for you, but in not engaging those men in conversation and saying that I knew nothing of you, I preferred to think she had given you willingly to Petra, but had changed her mind and wanted you back. Thinking that appeased my conscience, as did knowing the heartache it would cause your mama to have you leave. But what you tell me is appalling – outrageous! How can one woman steal another’s children? And Aleksi, I cannot believe he allowed it. He must have been duped by Petra, too. She deserves to be punished for her actions.’
‘No! No, I couldn’t bear that. Please don’t call the police. Let’s deal with it in our own way. Please.’
‘Don’t distress yourself. I will only do what you want me to, my dear.’
It was so strange to hear Dziadek Gos speak to her with such endearments, and to feel such warm feelings towards him. Elka felt as if she was being given a consolation prize, for she had always loved her grandfather and had wanted his love.
The door opened and gave her another surprise. Jhona walked in carrying a tea tray.
Her whole body wanted to surge forward and go into his arms the moment he put the tray down and looked up at her. But something in his expression stopped her. ‘You knew?’ she asked.
‘Not until after your mama died, and I couldn’t speak of it then. I respected Dziadek Gos and Babcia Miriam’s wish to wait until Petra had told you the truth. I am shocked and very sorry for what you must be going through, although I must confess to feeling a selfish happiness that things are so. Forgive me, Dziadek Gos, but may I have some time alone with Elka?’
‘Of course, my boy. And I am very happy about what you have told me, and hope all works out for you.’
The door had hardly closed on Dziadek Gos when Elka found herself in Jhona’s arms. His embrace gave hope to what had seemed impossible. It made her feel extreme happiness, as she let this love that she could now acknowledge pour through her. Unexpectedly her joy turned to tears, as the tight knot into which she’d tied her emotions whilst she cared for Ania released itself.
Jhona held her sobbing body. His strength was unyielding, his words of comfort a balm to her sore heart. Wiping her face with his huge handkerchief, he told her, ‘Let it all come out. I love you, Elka, and will always be here for you. Once you have come to terms with what you have learned, we can go forward, knowing we will not be sinning. I think we would have taken our feelings to another level, no matter what. But now we are able to be open and honest. I love you, Elka. You are the completion of me.’
Her happiness won. She smiled through her tears, and then knew the bliss of having his lips on hers. The kiss didn’t last long; it couldn’t, as her body wouldn’t stop heaving with sobs, but while it lasted it sealed their love. Elka felt her heart beginning to open to feelings that held a promise of so much more to come.
When she came out of his embrace, it was to find that Jhona wanted to speak urgently about the future. ‘We have plans, as a family. We’re going to America. And very soon. I don’t want to leave you behind, Elka. I cannot leave you behind.’
‘But I must go to France. I have to find a woman that my mother looks upon as an aunt. Her name is Marianne, and I have an address. This woman knows where my real mother is. Oh, Jhona, I have so much to tell you.’ They sat together while she revealed the full story. ‘So, you see, I have no choice. I need to go to France. But I need Ania to be well, as I cannot go unless she does.’
‘Ania has to decide for herself. Please don’t say that your decision rests on hers. I couldn’t bear to leave you, now that we have found each other properly. I will go to France with you, and I want us to be married.’
‘Oh, Jhona, I want that more than anything in the world. When are your family planning on leaving?’
‘Within the week. It has to be soon, as the borders will close and travelling will become very difficult. We can go with them, as they plan to go to England first and get a passage to America from there. We can go to France instead, then we can join them later, after you have found your mother.’
‘Yes, that is an excellent plan. I will go home at once and prepare, and I will try to persuade Ania to come, too.’
Doubt shuddered through her. In her waking moments, Ania had talked of forgiving Petra, and wanted to stay with her and protect her. Elka’s heart felt heavy as she accepted that she might have to leave her beloved sister behind. The hatred she felt for Petra compounded this thought. That selfish woman should make amends and leave Poland, too.
A small part of her understood the feeling Petra had expressed, about not wanting to leave her daughter and her husband behind. She felt the same, having just buried her mama, but her parents were dead now. They were at peace, but if they were alive they would understand. Why can’t Petra see the pull she has on Ania? Why can’t she forget her own needs for once and ensure Ania’s safety?
As the carriage rocked from side to side and the gentle clip-clop of the horse’s hooves lulled her, Elka tried to equate the part of her that felt a huge amount of happiness with the deep sense of loss for her mama, which was going to be even harder to bear if she was soon to be separated from her sister.
Looking out of the windows, she watched the familiar scenery of the wide streets of Krakow slowly pass by, with the beautiful architecture of its tall buildings. People were going about their business. Shops displayed their wares – a kaleidoscope of colour, enhanced by the hot summer sun beaming down on their windows. Poland was a country of contrasts. Summertime scorched it with long, hot hours of sunshine, and yet its winter months were freezing cold. Both seasons were beautiful, but what came to mind now was the fun to be had on the ski slopes.
Would they ever return to those days? Would she and Ania, and Isaac and Jhona, ever again make the trip to the alpine town of Zakopane, which nestled below the Tatra Mountains, and feel carefree and happy again?
A shudder shook her body, as if her blood had turned to ice. She couldn’t think why this should be, but suddenly the stunning Tatra Mountains seemed to loom in her mind as a sinister place, a place of terror. Telling herself she was being silly, Elka let her attention be drawn to the sparkling diamond shapes that the sun was casting on the Vistula river.
‘Driver, pull over, please. I’ll walk from here.’
Alighting from the carriage, Elka walked over to the low wall that edged the river and sat down to gaze at the Vistula, letting the sound of the lapping water soothe her.
A couple walked by. She recognized them, as she had played with their children when she was a young girl. She went to greet them, but the man pulled his wife away and spat on the ground in front of her, before hurrying off. Elka watched them go, not letting herself react to the feelings of fear and humiliation that shrouded her. She wanted to shout out, ‘I’m not a born Jew’, but she would never betray her people in that way.
Whether born Jewish or not, she was a Jew. Determination entered her as she watched their retreating backs. She knew that her resolve was linked to the sinister feelings that had trembled through her a short while ago. Whatever it took, if she was given the chance, she would do all she could to defend her faith and protect her people.
Within that category, she counted all Polish people. They were a part of her – non-Jewish Poles and Jewish ones – and that is why the chasm opening up between the two groups hurt her so much.
One day it would all come right again, although something told her it wouldn’t be soon, and she feared what it would take to make it right.
5
Edith
London, July 1939 – Life’s Pattern Changes
As Edith walked towards the bottom of the garden a soft wind played with the t
endrils of hair that had escaped her bun. Here, in the grounds of her home in Holland Park, in West London, she should be able to find peace, but always it eluded her.
The scent of the unfolding rosebuds wafted over to her. Breathing in deeply, she let the aroma calm her. Her late mother, Lady Muriel, had designed the garden and taken particular pride in the rose bushes, seeking them out in catalogues, having great planting ceremonies and even undertaking the pruning of them herself, not trusting her precious roses to the gardener.
Oh, Mother, how I miss you. What a comfort you would be to me now.
Seeking a distraction from the encroaching doldrums, Edith idly pulled a dead head off the bush of Mexican daisies that nestled in a bed next to the path, before turning and looking back at the house. Something in her hoped it would work its magic on her as it had done in her childhood, but it was no longer the sprawling three-storey dwelling that she had grown up in, as it had now been converted into two apartments.
Despite the passage of time, the legacy of the war hung heavily in the house. Edith’s brother Christian, who lived in the downstairs apartment, and her husband Laurent both had to cope daily with the physical injuries they had sustained, whilst for her the memories of the events leading up to the birth of her children, and then having them torn from her, weighed heavily. Nevertheless, the three of them ploughed on, attempting to get on with their lives and find happiness as best they could.
The familiar sound of the wheels of Laurent’s wheelchair rumbling over the paving stones surprised her, for she had thought he was still in the house. He must have been in his shed at the bottom and to the left of the garden; it was concealed by bushes on this side, but opened up a view towards Holland Park on the other. It was a place Laurent loved, and where he channelled his inventive talent into all sorts of wonderful innovations to help his own disabilities, and those of others. She turned towards him with a little trepidation in her heart.
The air between them had been tense this morning and he’d breakfasted alone in their bedroom. After all these years he couldn’t get used to his failing, as he termed his impotence. Most of the time they jogged along happily, Laurent’s attentions to her during their love-making bringing her fulfilment. She would always assure him that their intimate time together was enough for her, but sometimes he would hope they could go further. She dreaded these moments and, when they happened, prayed fervently that at last he would be able to enter her fully. He never had. The moment he tried, he lost the ability. Such an occasion had taken place this morning and had left him frustrated and angry.
Laurent’s hand stretched out towards her. Edith smiled down at him, taking his hand in both of hers. His mouth opened as if to speak, but she shushed him. Their eyes held for a long moment.
‘Are you all right, darling?’
‘I am, Laurent, my love. I’m just gathering my thoughts before I go along to Jimmy’s Hope House to do my morning surgery. I told you that I was on a late at the hospital afterwards, didn’t I? I haven’t any operations scheduled, unless anything comes in, so I should be back home for eleven.’
‘Yes, you told me. Sit for a moment with me.’
She perched on the low wall and was now level with him. He hadn’t put his prosthesis on, so didn’t attempt to rise from his chair.
She looked into his beloved face. He was still handsome, despite the scar that twisted his cheek on one side, where plastic surgery had covered the hole that had left his jawbone exposed. His dark eyes glinted with love, but also with anguish. She hoped he wasn’t going to talk about the intimate side of their marriage. They had never done so, away from the bedroom – and then only when triggered by incidents like this morning.
‘I am getting increasingly concerned about world affairs, darling.’
She sighed inwardly with relief. This was safe territory. ‘I know. Do you think that Hitler will go further? Poland even?’
‘It’s a possibility. But unlikely, as he knows Britain would intervene.’
Laurent was aware of Edith’s worries; knew of her certainty that her girls were in Poland. And she knew that he didn’t really believe what he was saying. Somehow she found a smile and patted his hand. Neither of them spoke. A peace settled around them. Laurent broke it. ‘We don’t know for certain that your girls are still in Poland, darling.’
‘I know we don’t, but the not knowing is worse.’
‘I’m so sorry. I feel so much for you, losing your babies; and then I was never able to father—’
‘Don’t! Don’t torture yourself. All I ever wanted was to be with you. Nothing else matters.’
‘It does matter, Edith. I may not be able to perform, but I so want to make you mine.’
‘I am yours. We have been together in a loving relationship for twenty years. That counts for a lot. Your way of loving me fulfils me in every way. Yes, I wish we could make love fully, but you have never left me wanting, or feeling selfish for needing your attention in that way. I’m so sorry it haunts you that you cannot go further, my darling.’
The conversation seemed to have turned away from war very quickly, but she suspected that underneath he’d wanted to air his feelings about their experience that morning.
‘Edith, whilst we are talking about it, I have something I want to tell you. I have been making some enquiries. There is a therapist—’
‘Oh? I – I . . . You mean, it may be psychological and not physical? I – we – have never given that a thought!’ A white lie, she thought to herself, but a charade I have had to keep up.
‘And you are a doctor! But, you know, I have always thought that my case was hopeless, otherwise you would have suggested help for me. In a way, you not suggesting it has prevented me from seeking help.’
‘I – I don’t know what to say.’
‘No, don’t say you are sorry. I shouldn’t even be discussing it right now, after asking for your forgiveness. But I had to tell you sometime. I have been afraid that whatever I said would make it seem I was accusing you.’
‘Well, you are. You are saying that me being a doctor has stopped you seeking help.’
‘Don’t! Don’t do this. Edith, it has been so difficult for me. Twenty years of hell.’
She felt more hurt than she’d ever been by anything that had happened between them so far. She thought about the times Laurent had been so low that he’d not spoken to her for days, and the way he could cut her off and become cold towards her. Slowly she felt the tears she’d denied herself smart her eyes.
She had spent many years wondering whether Laurent’s problems were a result of psychological damage. But how do you tell your beloved husband that you think he has a mental-health issue? That he needs counselling? Would he have believed that she truly thought everything he’d been through – his injuries from being blown up, losing his leg and half of his face, and what he’d witnessed in the bloody trenches of Verdun and Ypres – could have an effect on him, sexually? She doubted it. He was far more likely to think she blamed him, or wasn’t satisfied with what he could achieve; or that she thought him inadequate. And that would have made things worse. She’d even been afraid to mention it to their doctor, a man who embodied old-fashioned ideas and abhorred female doctors.
She composed herself and squashed the desire to pummel Laurent with her fists. ‘What made you decide to seek out a therapist?’
‘I finally plucked up the courage to speak to Dr Frieth. I told him everything. He said he had wondered the same thing, but, as I am married to a doctor, felt sure that if there had been a problem, you would have dealt with it. He said that some women were very cold and frigid, so they were quite happy not to be bothered by their husband. When I told him that wasn’t you, he just said, “Selfish then.” And that made me wonder . . . Edith? EDITH!’
Ignoring his shouts, she ran towards the house. Somehow she found her handbag, despite the blinding tears. Humiliation stung her. How dare Dr Frieth say such a thing! Even worse, Laurent thought there might be some truth
in it. Storming out of the front door, she felt a small amount of satisfaction at slamming it behind her, and with such force that she heard something crash to the floor.
Wiping away the tears, she fumbled in her bag and found the key to her car, hoping against hope it would start and not need cranking with the starter handle, because that would mean she would need help. Straightening her clothes as she sank into the deep leather seat gave her a moment to compose herself. The engine responded to her first pull on the starter. Thank God.
Taking a deep breath, she steered the beautiful, dark-green Wolseley away from the kerb and allowed the feeling of pleasure that she always experienced when driving to soothe her frayed nerves.
‘Morning, love.’ Ada jolted Edith out of her thoughts, as she walked into the surgery in Jimmy’s Hope House.
Everything is as normal, then? My whole world isn’t falling apart, even though it feels it is, with the accusations Laurent has made. Has he really thought all these years that I’ve been selfish? She shook the thought away from her. ‘Good morning, Ada. Another nice day?’
‘Eeh, Edith love, what’s to do? Has sommat happened? Come on, lass, the world hasn’t ended yet. There’s time for a pot of tea and a natter, afore it does.’
As always, Edith knew Ada was right; but a little of her world had died, with the cruelty of what had been simmering in Laurent’s head, and she wondered if their relationship would ever again be as it had been previously.
She was brought out of her thoughts by the chink of tea being poured and the smell of freshly brewed tea leaves. Ada hadn’t spoken while she’d set about making the tea, but now she demanded, ‘Reet, lass, what’s on your mind? A trouble shared is a trouble halved, thee knows.’
Hiding the real reason for her distress, Edith chose to put the focus on her usual troubles. ‘Oh, you know: all this talk of war, thinking of our loved ones having to go through what we did and . . . well, it looks likely that Hitler will invade Poland.’