by Mary Wood
‘I’m sorry. So very sorry. I only did what I thought was best for our country. Can you ever forgive me?’
Knowing that her feeling had shown in her face, Edith felt shame wash over her. ‘No, it is for you to forgive me.’ She could say no more and didn’t have to, as Brendan once again opened his arms and she went into them. This time, as he held her, she could feel his strength, but it didn’t stop her patting his back as if he were a child. The action bonded them once again.
Once Brendan had released her, he sat down heavily on the seat reserved for patients. ‘Aunt Edith, my life doesn’t seem worth living at times. I can’t seem to rid myself of the memory of my mother and of Ada’s final moments, no matter how I try. And I have caused so much pain to you—’
‘No! You have caused nothing. It is this bloody war, and the actions of your mother, that have brought so much for you to bear. You are doing your best to play your role. No more can be asked of you. I’m shocked and saddened about Jhona, and terrified for Elka and for Ania, but none of that is your fault.’ Edith’s heart was ragged with pain, but she had to try and help Brendan, and get him to believe in himself and remain strong. Her experiences had taught her that, no matter what transpired – whether it was good or bad news – life went on. You just had to lift yourself up and carry on. That was never more apparent than in wartime.
‘I’m wrestling with what I am asking of others every day. You know, Aunt Edith, recruiting and training can be worse than being out in the field. That carries a badge of heroism, whereas my job carries heavy guilt.’
Yes, she could see that. Recruiting, preparing and then sending young men and women on missions that might lead to their death was such a personal involvement. Especially when those you recruited were dear to you. Her earlier antagonism left her. All the love she had for this young man flooded through her. ‘I wish I could protect you. But you have a job to do, and you have shown that you are willing to do it, no matter what. It is that kind of grit that will see us the victors in this war, as it did in the last. So hold your head up, Brendan, and be proud of what you do, not ashamed.’
A knock on the door interrupted them. Eloise entered the room. Leah followed her in, and then stood transfixed as Eloise ran towards Brendan and hugged him. Over Eloise’s shoulder, Edith saw Brendan look towards Leah. Both held the other’s gaze as if they would never look away. They didn’t look as if they had never previously met. And yet Brendan had not mentioned that he knew Leah.
What Brendan had been saying now hit Edith in the gut. If France is invaded, there are plans, he said. Plans for what? To send people on these dangerous missions that he’d spoken of? Does he mean Elka, as she can speak French? Or is he thinking of beautiful, fragile Leah, who is French and wouldn’t have to pretend, or even try to blend in? No. He wouldn’t. Would he?
As Eloise chatted to Brendan, Edith kept her eye on Leah and Brendan, hoping that she would be proved wrong about the chemistry she’d seen flowing between them. But, far from it: Leah gave the impression of a little puppy waiting for a morsel, as she stood watching him, and when their eyes met again they held each other’s gaze.
It was a mystery to Edith how they had met and nurtured such a deep feeling for each other without her suspecting anything.
But as small talk went on around her, it wasn’t long before her thoughts turned to Elka and Jhona’s plight. Brendan had said that Elka was being brought back home. Home to be told that Jhona was missing. Dear God, how will Elka cope? Edith trembled as if someone had walked over her grave.
Brendan felt like a man locked in a cage as he left Jimmy’s Hope House. The moment hadn’t presented itself when he could speak to Leah about his feelings for her. She’d slipped from the room whilst Eloise had him engaged in conversation. Leah closing the door behind her had given him a strange feeling of loss, and it was as if the light had gone from the room.
After going through the anguish of Jhona’s disappearance once again with his Aunt Eloise, he’d changed the subject by asking what it was about his Aunt Ada that Aunt Edith had been thinking, when he’d first walked in. The answer wasn’t a surprise. Aunt Edith had wanted to honour Aunt Ada in some way. Talking about this had provided a distraction for them, but didn’t lighten the way he felt about the desperate plight Jhona might be in, or the anguish he held in him for the way Elka would take the news.
Several suggestions were made, but eventually they came up with the idea of building a special unit, which they would call Ada’s Sanctuary. It would provide shelter and help for women who had been oppressed and battered by their husbands, as Ada had been in her first marriage. They planned to place a plaque on the exterior wall of the building. But it was a project for the future, as Aunt Edith had said she didn’t have the funds to do anything at the moment, and didn’t see any of the banks approving a loan for expansion, at a time when her income was drying up.
Funny how life went on. Ordinary life, like deciding on memorials, when deep inside themselves people were being churned up and hurt, and their lives torn apart. He marvelled, too, at how he could do this when his own life had been not only turned upside down, but gutted, leaving a void that he knew only one person could fill.
‘Brendan, Monsieur Brendan.’
The accented voice calling his name stopped him in his tracks. A raindrop plopped onto his cheek as he turned round to face Leah. Another followed, and soon a deluge gushed from the sky. Running towards Leah, he grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the high wall that surrounded Jimmy’s Hope House. There they ducked under the overhanging branches of a tree that stood on this side of the wall and spread its thick foliage in such a way that a secluded shelter was formed.
They didn’t speak for a moment. Brendan’s heart held the hope of his feelings being returned, as Leah gazed up at him. It swelled, too, as he took in how much better she looked. In French she said, ‘You know nothing about me.’
‘I don’t need to. I – I love—’
‘But I have had a baby. I have worked as a street girl. I do not know which of the men fathered my child. I . . .’ Her tears of anguish mingled with the few drops of rain still dripping from her hair, and her eyes held the pain of the helpless. Brendan pulled her to him. These revelations hurt; not because he saw her as tainted, for he’d known most of it anyway, but because he could see her raw pain.
‘None of it matters. I – I mean, none of it matters as far as we are concerned. Of course it matters that you have suffered, my beautiful Leah. I’ll help you to recover from it. My love is strong enough to do that for you.’
A look of disbelief crossed over her face and her head shook in a sure way, as if she didn’t think that possible. Pulling from him, she ran back towards the house.
Bewildered, Brendan leaned against the wall. His emotions were tangled. He wanted to run after her, but thought better of it. He would talk to his Aunt Edith. Tell her how he felt, and ask her how carefully he should tread with the fragile girl that was Leah. The girl he wanted to make his own, no matter what had gone before.
21
Ania
Krakow, Late May 1940 – Despairing of the Future
Leaflets blew along the gutter as Ania made her way to the store. The bitter thought came to her that these pamphlets should have brought hope, but instead had become fodder for German reprisals. Yes, it had been good to know that the British were intending to help and were sending aid to the Freedom Army, but many people had been rounded up and searched. If they were found to have a leaflet on them, they were shot.
For Ania, seeing the leaflets brought the heartbreak of knowing that her sister had been over twice on missions and yet she hadn’t seen her. The first time she had been in hospital, following the attack by Herr Guthridge Vandrick, an SS officer. After the fitful sleep she’d fallen into that day, she’d woken with a fever. Unable to get out of bed, she’d lain there until someone came. One of the office girls had been sent to find her. The next thing she knew, two ambulance men came and t
ook her to hospital. She’d been found to have pneumonia, and had been lucky to come back from it. Only one nurse asked about her wounds and how she got them, telling Ania that she was one of Baruch’s contacts and would let him know.
Ania had waited and waited, hoping that Baruch would now get her out, but her heart told her that although he would want to, she was too useful to them. So she resigned herself to continuing with her mission.
When the nurse had spoken to her again a few days later, Ania’s heart had broken to hear that Elka had been over. The shock had been great, but had further intensified on hearing that Elka was working for the British Secret Service and had been forced to leave on schedule and was unable to wait and see her. Worse than that, Elka had been over to Poland again; but this time, even though she was well enough, Baruch hadn’t let her know until after Elka had left. Ania didn’t know what he’d told Elka, to stop her sister contacting her, as without doubt Elka would have wanted to do that.
Ania feared for Elka, knowing that she was a spy, just like herself. And knowing, too, the terrifying risks they both took. She’d been happy when she’d been able to think of Elka with their mother, safe from harm. Now she wouldn’t have a moment’s peace.
Besides this worry, something in her wondered if Baruch had changed: whether he still loved her, now that he knew of her defilement, or whether he just couldn’t face seeing her. Thoughts like this brought her low. Even lower than the continued abuse from Herr Vandrick.
Herr Vandrick considered Ania to be his mistress. No, that wasn’t the word. Mistresses commanded a certain respect, but Vandrick gave her none. He hadn’t shown her any brutality since that first time, but – to Ania’s disgust and extreme pain – had brought as many as three soldiers with him on occasions when he visited, and had watched as each man had raped her.
Each day she had to remind herself that she was a worthy human being. That no matter what they did to her, she had dignity inside her soul and would one day regain it outwardly, too. But the defiling of her in this way wasn’t the only thing Vandrick did to her. He played mind-games with her too.
Thinking of this sent a tremble down her spine, making her feel fearful in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. It was as if he wanted to control her and, in doing so, make her weak. Sometimes she thought Vandrick knew what she was up to, and this thought petrified her. But somehow she had to stay strong.
Reaching the store, she felt inside her pocket. The coded message for Stefan, in the guise of a shopping list, crackled under her grasp. Holding it in her hand, she wandered into the shop and, as if reading from it, ordered what she wanted from the shopkeeper. Most of the things the store hadn’t got, but this didn’t surprise her.
When the bell on the shop door rang, Ania turned around, expecting to see Stefan come through it. Her throat tightened when she saw it was Herr Vandrick. He nodded his head to her. Holding herself together, she acknowledged him in the same way, forgetting protocol and not moving out of his way.
Anger deepened the lines around his mouth.
‘I beg your pardon, Herr Vandrick.’ As Ania stepped back, she could see that speaking in German had surprised the woman behind the counter. The kindness the woman had shown her, since the day of the forced repatriation, drained from her expression. A look as cold as steel took its place.
Herr Vandrick stepped forward, shoving her as he did so. Over-balancing, Ania fell and landed on a sack of potatoes that was leaning against the wall. From the corner of his mouth, Herr Vandrick told her that he would deal with her later.
A sick feeling entered her as she pushed herself up, but not before stuffing the list into the sack. Her legs wobbled beneath her as she stood up. The doorbell rang again and hailed another shopper, taking away from her the attention of the shopkeeper and Herr Vandrick. Stefan had walked in. This time she remembered protocol. Stefan was classed as a German, and Ania knew she had to give precedence to him and give up her place in the queue. Why hadn’t she remembered that when Herr Vandrick came in?
Stefan stepped in front of her. Herr Vandrick kept his eyes on him for a moment and then looked around the shop, using his cane to prod things. Taking a small knife from his belt, he began to cut through the linen sack of rice that stood next to the potatoes. The contents trickled out. Ania held her breath, releasing it when he bypassed the potatoes and sliced into a bag of flour, which was leaning against the other side of the sack of rice.
The shopkeeper stared in front of her, not protesting. Ania glanced towards Stefan. Tension weighted the air. Ania jumped as Herr Vandrick turned suddenly and asked, ‘Do you know this man?’
The challenge was an accusation. Unsure what to do or say, Ania froze.
‘I asked you a question, whore!’
Ania nodded. And, finding her voice, croaked out that she had known Stefan as a passing acquaintance before the invasion, although they had never been on speaking terms.
‘You, have you been with this whore, eh?’
Stefan stiffened at this question directed at him, but didn’t display the fear that Ania had shown.
‘It is as she has said: we have never spoken.’ Stefan’s learning of the language had him making errors in his speech. Herr Vandrick scrutinized him. Stefan held strong, not letting any fear that he might feel show.
‘Would you like to fuck her? Look at her: she is scrawny. Women should have meat on their bones, to cushion us when we pound them, but she has none. Her joints crack and it is like mounting a skeleton. She gives no pleasure, only takes. Oh yes, she enjoys having a man – any man – stuck up her.’
Appalled, Ania kept her eyes facing ahead. What is the meaning of this? What does Herr Vandrick hope to gain?
Stefan laughed. ‘There are meatier offerings in the brothel. You should give up on her and go there to find a juicy mistress.’
Herr Vandrick didn’t laugh. Once more he scrutinized Stefan. If it had been possible, Ania would have said the tension in the store had increased. Her eyes caught those of the shopkeeper; in them she saw a bewilderment. Thank God she didn’t understand what was going on. But then Ania understood the words being spoken and yet she still did not know the true meaning of what was taking place.
Without warning, Herr Vandrick’s hand snaked out. His cane sliced her cheek. Her breath caught in her lungs at the stinging pain. Instinctively her hand went to the wound. The wet and sticky mess told her that he had ripped open her skin. But worse than that: the horror of realization hit her. He suspects me!
A protest and tears of anguish came from the shopkeeper, only to be rewarded by a similar blow, causing the woman to fall down behind the counter. Stefan stood still. Not a nerve of his body moved. His eyes stayed on Herr Vandrick.
‘So, you’re happy to see the whore hit, eh?’
‘It is nothing to me.’ Stefan shrugged.
‘I believe it is.’
Stefan’s expression still didn’t alter. He and Herr Vandrick stood facing each other, like two bulls ready to fight. Ania held her breath. Herr Vandrick turned on his heel. ‘I will find out. Somehow information is getting out. One of the girls who works in the office will be shot every hour on the hour, until the traitor confesses to me.’
The door slammed behind him.
The sobs of the woman behind the counter filled the space around them. Stefan turned to Ania. In Polish he asked, ‘Is it you, whore?’ Unable to answer him, she watched him bend and pick up some of the potatoes. ‘I came in for some of these, but they are rotten. I will go to a better shop.’ As he turned towards the door he looked at Ania. She couldn’t read his expression. ‘It could be you. You work in the headquarters of the Gestapo. You should save the lives of those innocent girls.’ He left the store, taking with him the coded message.
Ania didn’t move. Why has Stefan taken the message? If Herr Vandrick is outside waiting for him, how will he explain it? And why did he say what he did, about me saving the girls? Confused and dazed, she sat back down on the sack of potatoes, willing an
answer to come to her. But none would, and neither would a solution. Should she confess to being the one getting information out of the Gestapo office? Is that what Stefan really wanted? Oh, dear God, help me – help me.
Getting up, she bent over the counter. ‘Are you all right, madam? Do you want any help? Can I fetch someone?’
‘No. Just get out of my shop and never return – you’re not welcome here. GET OUT!’
Taking all her courage in both hands, Ania opened the door. The rush of warm air hit her. The shop was always cool. Stepping outside, she stood still for a moment, then looked to her left and right. The street was empty. Nothing other than the leaflets drifting about in the warm breeze gave any indication of the turmoil this beloved country of hers was in. The sun glinted on the many windows of the buildings. A hush settled everywhere. Ania felt that she was alone in a deserted world, until a scream penetrated the silence. A gunshot rang out, cutting off the scream. Ania leaned against the wall. Sobs racked her. ‘No. No . . . Noooo!’
Her legs buckled under her. She sank into a squatting position, feeling desperate and alone. At the sound of a door opening, she looked across the road and saw a hand beckoning to her. A trickle of hope seeped into her. Looking up and down the street and not seeing anybody, Ania fled across to the open door and flung herself inside. ‘Stefan! Oh God, Stefan, what is happening?’
‘I’m sorry for what I said, but I had to attempt to deflect suspicion from me. And then what I said afterwards in Polish was for the benefit of the old woman, so that she could not spread the rumour that we were friends. But now we have to get you out of Krakow and into hiding, with Baruch. How did Herr Vandrick come to suspect you so strongly, and why does he link you to me?’
‘I don’t know. He plays mind-games, and he tricks me into saying things. I try to be careful, but he terrifies me. He is insane. Look how he whipped me that first time, because he thought I still had the devil of Friedrich in me. Help me, Stefan, please help me.’