by Amy Sorrells
Peter scooted closer to Jakob, who was glad to feel his brother’s arm around his shoulders.
The man came toward them, and as he bent near, the boys could smell the thick scent of alcohol on his breath. “I was getting tired of only one around here.” He nodded toward the girl and laughed in a way that caused Jakob to shiver. The man paused for a moment, as if in thought, rubbing his chin with his gloved fingers. “You can stay, I suppose, but there’ll be chores as long as you’re here. For starters, skin that rabbit.”
Peter nodded. “Do you have a knife, sir?”
“Right here.” He pulled a blade from beneath his pants leg, and the metal gleamed against the glow of the coals in the stove. Just as it looked like he was going to hand it to Peter, the metal flashed, and the man had the tip of the knife pointed against the side of Peter’s neck.
Peter stiffened, not daring to move.
“Don’t be getting any ideas, little Jew. This is my barn, and I decide who goes and who stays. For the time being, you two are staying.”
“Yes, sir,” Peter said.
Galya whinnied from the stalls in the large section of the barn.
“Ah, so you have a horse. We’ll make good use of him too.”
The man pulled the knife away from Peter’s neck and handed it to him. Peter skinned and cooked the rabbit, and the three of them ate in silence while the girl still hid under the table. The man offered some rabbit to her, but her countenance did not change, nor did she move. He threw a chunk of meat at her. “Have it your way, little miss. I don’t care much now if you starve, seeing as how we’ve got company. Worthless little Jew whore.”
Eventually the man drank until he passed out, and Peter and Jakob made a warm nest for themselves in the straw. “Do as he says for now, Jakob. We’ll leave as soon as the storm stops,” Peter whispered as he held Jakob close.
Peter began to recite the evening Shema, and Jakob tried to listen, to find comfort in the words, but he was unable to keep his eyes open. It was the first time he’d been warm in days.
What seemed like minutes later, he awoke to the sound of the girl whimpering. Jakob sat up to see what was the matter, but Peter pushed him down into the straw. “Stay there. Close your eyes and don’t get up again. Don’t move.”
Peter inched in the direction of the sound, and Jakob couldn’t help but look and see what was the matter, though he soon wished he never had. The man was on top of the girl, still under the table, her bony leg pushed to one side at an impossible angle, and he thrust against her in a way that made bits of the rabbit supper come up into the back of Jakob’s throat. Jakob saw Peter grab a shovel and continue to move toward the man, who was working too hard at whatever awful thing he was doing to her to notice.
“Stop now, or this goes into your skull!” Peter yelled.
The man rose so quickly, apparently forgetting he was under a table, that he hit his head and cursed.
Peter brought the shovel down hard in the direction of the man’s head, somehow missing entirely and slamming the shovel onto the floor. The man began to laugh, a sick, throaty laugh. Peter grew all the more angry, until the man turned over and pointed a gun at his head.
“You’re no match for lead, boy.” He cocked the trigger.
Peter backed up a step and dropped the shovel.
The man stood, pulling up his pants with his free hand.
The girl pulled her shirt over her knees and scurried back farther under the table, so far the darkness caused her to disappear from Jakob’s sight.
“Over there.” The man nodded toward a post at the corner of the empty calf stalls.
Peter obeyed, and the man grabbed a rope and ordered the girl out from under the table to help him tie Peter to the post. The girl’s black hair fell in strings around her face, and though her face showed no emotion, new tears had washed the dirt away, leaving trails of clean skin in their path. She tied Peter’s hands, then his ankles as the man continued to bark instructions at her and hold the gun to the side of Peter’s head. She stayed close as the man walked across the room to get the knife Peter had used to skin and clean the rabbit, and before he returned, Jakob saw her whisper in Peter’s ear, then kiss him, her thin lips like the wings of a butterfly against his face. Then she hurried back to her spot underneath the table.
“I should kill you, but you could come in useful. Instead, I will teach you the place of a Jew.” He moved behind Peter with the knife, and spread the fingers of Peter’s hand flat against the post. “I was thinking one finger, but there are three of you here. I will take one for each of you, so you will know what will happen to them, too, the next time you try to protect one of them.”
That was when Peter’s screaming began, as the man sliced through Peter’s fifth finger. If it hadn’t been for the snow, the screams would’ve awakened anyone within three kilometers of the barn, for certain. When the man started on Peter’s fourth finger, Jakob clambered through the straw across the room and under the table to where the girl cowered.
All Jakob could do was close his eyes and cover his ears as the man sliced and laughed like a madman, moving on to the third finger. The knife, though shiny, was quite dull, and he hacked more forcefully. Peter screamed on and on, Jakob curled into himself as he had in the cupboard in Chudniv.
The girl nudged Jakob with her foot, startling him. She said nothing, only nodded toward Jakob’s right, where the shovel Peter had intended to use lay half hidden under the straw. She nudged him again and nodded; then Jakob grabbed the shovel as the man focused on riving and holding down Peter’s struggling arm. She took the shovel slowly from Jakob so as not to create a sudden movement the man might see. Surely she wasn’t thinking of using it, Jakob thought. He’d never seen anyone with arms and legs so thin and pale. But she was on her feet before he could take another breath, tiptoeing behind the man, who was still laughing like a lunatic.
Jakob squeezed himself tight against the wall beneath the table as the girl raised the shovel without a sound. She lowered it as hard as her small arms could toward the man’s head. As she did, the man turned. The sharp edge of the shovel embedded itself in the man’s temple, and he crumpled to the ground.
She dropped the shovel and stared at the unmoving man. For what seemed like forever, Jakob watched as she stood and the man lay still in a heap at her feet.
“He’s dead,” Peter gasped.
Jakob knew this already, too familiar with the unmistakable slump of flesh in the absence of a soul. But it did not make him brave enough to come out from under the table. Once again he’d hidden and done nothing while someone else he loved was hurt. He thought of Faigy and how she’d whimpered so, her cries for Mama choked by the darkness closing in around her when the man in the black robes stuffed her under his cloak. Jakob had done nothing then, and he’d done nothing to help Peter either.
Peter sagged against the post, sweat and splatters of blood and tears of his own running together down his neck, blood pooling on the floor under his hand. He struggled to lift his head and look at the girl. “You saved our lives.”
The girl moved toward Peter, grabbed the knife, and began cutting the ropes on Peter’s wrists and ankles. Only then did Jakob run to Peter and cling to him.
“My name is Raisa,” she finally spoke as she wrapped Peter’s hand.
“Thank you, Raisa.”
“I’m the one who should thank you.” A flush of color rose to her cheeks, the only sign of emotion she’d shown besides silent tears since they found her. She continued bandaging Peter’s hand with scraps of the dead man’s shirt. “When the bleeding slows, I know how to sew up and clean a wound.”
Peter’s pain didn’t keep him from helping Raisa pull the dead man from the barn. The snow still fell in a near-whiteout torrent, so Jakob held a lantern at the barn door to make sure they found their way back from the edge of the woods where they dragged him. Lat
er, by the warmth of the potbellied stove, Raisa made strips of bandages and boiled them in lye and water. She sewed the gaping holes over Peter’s knuckles as gently as she could and spread a poultice made of dried yarrow over the sutured wounds, then wrapped it all with the clean cloths.
“How do you know how to do this?” Peter asked.
“My mother was a medicine woman in our village.” She nodded in the direction of where they’d dragged the man’s corpse. “He kept me from running, but he didn’t pay attention to anything else I did. I collected herbs in the fall when I had the chance.”
“Where is your family?”
She stopped wrapping and met Peter’s eyes. “I am the only one who survived.”
Raisa went on to explain how she ran when the raid began, as far and as fast as she could, and how she’d watched from a distance as the whole village burned. She had nothing, of course, and this man had found her and seemed kind at first when she came upon him and the barn. He’d provided her with food and basic clothing. But when the winter set in, he began to rape her, and it became obvious she couldn’t leave unless she wished to die either from him or from exposure, since she had no horse or warm clothes or shoes (he’d made sure of that, burning them in the fire one night when she’d tried).
“Come with us, Raisa,” Peter said. “We can at least take you to the next town, somewhere with a safe family.”
She agreed, and the three of them stayed in the barn until the snowstorm broke, eating all they could, mending themselves and their tattered clothes, altering shoes and valenki2 for Raisa. Even Galya eventually appeared rested, happy to munch on the straw and a couple of stray bags of oats the pogromshchik left behind.
The snow stopped and the sky turned blue again, and though it was cold, the world appeared clean and new.
1994
South Haven, Michigan
CHAPTER 14
“Coming!” Nel hollered at the ringing phone, sure she’d hear the sound of the nurse or Jakob’s physician on the other end of the line.
“How are you, Nel?”
“Oh, Sam. Hi.” She tried to catch her breath.
“Were you out running?” he asked.
“No, no, just running to get to the phone. I thought it might be the hospital. I talked to the nurse earlier, but I thought you might be the doctor. Dad’s not doing well at all.” Did he sound annoyed with her? They’d only spoken a couple of times between the funeral and the day Jakob fell, but that couldn’t be helped. She tried to ignore the hurt in his voice. “I’m so glad you called. I was wondering if you might help Matthew send some of my supplies out here.”
“So you need your supplies but not me?” His emphasis of the word hurt. He knew about her deadlines. More than that, he knew all she’d lost, and now with her dad in such bad shape … was he really that self-centered? Or had she simply not realized that about him before?
He had actually offered to come out there and be with her the day Jakob fell, to find a partner to cover his cases for a few days, but she’d refused, telling him she was too stressed and needed to handle it on her own. She was glad now that she’d declined. She didn’t have the energy or patience to assuage whatever insecurities or needs he had at the moment.
She paused, trying to maintain her composure. “Never mind about the supplies. I’ll have Matthew send them. It’s just that Sandra’s on my back about these deadlines, and the doctor said yesterday that Dad has a long road of recovery ahead of him. I don’t even know if he’ll make it out of the hospital at this point. But I’ve got to at least finish the bracelets for Anna Wilds and get those necklace prototypes to Sandra before the end of the week.”
Sandra was Nel’s tireless but demanding agent. And Anna Wilds was a Hollywood producer who’d paid a hefty advance for Nel to make a set of six matching bracelets personalized with inlaid birthstones and unique engravings representing each of the six members of her family.
Sam sighed on the other end of the line. “So you don’t know when you’re coming back?”
A part of Nel wondered if she would be coming back, but she didn’t dare tell him that. “No. I’m sorry—I just don’t know. Dr. Weiss said recovery could take a long time. Regardless, I can’t wait to work on my orders.”
Sam was silent.
Nel couldn’t contain her impatience. “What is it, Sam? Just tell me. Just say it.” She knew he was still frustrated with what she’d said during the argument they’d had the night before she left for South Haven. That night she’d thought perhaps she could calm herself down by meeting Sam for a couple of drinks before having to face the reality of flying home the next day for her mom’s funeral.
“The usual?” Sam had asked Nel when the waiter came to the table.
“Yes, the usual, thanks.”
“I’ll have the same. Thanks, Stu.” Sam, on a first-name basis with the staff, unfolded his napkin with a flip of his wrist and laid it on his lap. On the Half Shell was the nicest seafood restaurant in Santa Fe and had been the site of their first date. Sam’s cordial pleasantry faded, and he had looked at Nel in a hard way that caught her breath. “This might not be the best time to bring this up, but I need to talk to you.”
Stu set a plate of raw oysters, condiments, and two martinis on the table.
Sam poured a generous amount of Tabasco on one of the jiggly creatures and let it slide off the shell onto his tongue before he swallowed, then followed it with a soda cracker. “It feels like you run from me every time I try to get close, Nel. And you’re running more and more. Now you’re going home for the first time in how long? Two years? And I guess before you leave, I feel like I need to be sure of you.”
“Sure of me, how? You have me most every night, Sam.” She unfolded her napkin, spread it over her knees, and smoothed it down.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I care about you.”
She nodded, sipping her martini.
“I don’t know if I can do this whole ‘without strings’ thing anymore. We’re not getting any younger.”
“What am I not giving you? What’s not enough?”
He leaned toward her, reaching under the table to grab one of her hands. “A lifetime.”
Nel sat back and crossed her arms. “That’s not something I feel like I can give.”
“Why? What’s really keeping you from diving in?”
“Sam, as much as I enjoy our time together, you’ll get tired of me and you know it. If you’re asking me for honesty, at least be honest with yourself.” He’d had as many, or more, short-term relationships as she had over the years, his reputation for wooing nurses widely known, even outside the hospital community.
“My point exactly.” He sat back, crossed his arms as well, and smiled provocatively at her.
“Exactly what?”
“Your sass. You’re making me fall in love with you.”
Nel, incredulous, studied him. His perfectly shaved face. His strong, handsome features. His forehead, wrinkled with sincerity. “Did you say what I think you said?”
“And what would that be?” He reached across the table and offered her his hand. But she stayed where she was.
“Love. You said love.”
“I did. And?”
Nel was speechless. Disappointed, more than anything. She cared about him, yes, but she didn’t want to marry him.
He sat back, looking resigned. “I’m sorry, Nel. Really. This was too much to put on you, especially with your mom’s funeral. I’ll get the tab and we can go.”
Frustrated, Nel didn’t argue. She pushed the chair away from the table and headed out to the restaurant’s patio, which backed up to the black desert, the mountains barely visible as looming shadows in the moonless, starless night. She felt Sam behind her and turned.
“Go take care of things with the funeral and with your dad. We can figure this out later.” Sam lea
ned in to kiss her forehead.
Nel stepped past him and headed toward her car in the parking lot.
“Good night, Sam,” she called over her shoulder. Her breath turned to mist in the air that had chilled considerably.
Now, on the phone hundreds of miles away, Sam’s voice held an air of entitlement. “I’ve thought a lot since you left. About me. About you. About us. About the best decision of my life.”
“Which is?” Nel was glad he couldn’t see her cringe on the other end of the line.
“Deciding I want to marry you.”
The phone line crackled faintly as Nel twisted and twirled the cord around her fingers.
“Don’t you get tired of it, Nel? The one-night stands? The loneliness? The thought of never having children or a legacy to leave behind? Life’s got to be more than that.”
“Yes. I mean, no, I’m not tired of it. I don’t think about it. I haven’t had time. Why are you pushing for this so much right now? I can’t even think straight with everything that’s happened in the past month—” She stopped, the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks. “Who is she, Sam?”
“What?” He sounded incredulous.
“You’re giving me an ultimatum because you want out. There’s someone else, and you want out, right?”
He was silent for a moment too long. “Look, Nel, it’s not that simple.”
Unbelievable. “Sure it is. You knew I would say no, and you need out, but you don’t want to be the bad guy.”
“Come back to Santa Fe, Nel. There’s nursing homes and home health services in South Haven, people you can hire out there to take care of your dad. Just come back and let me love you.”
“You essentially admit to me there’s another woman, and in the same breath you tell me to come back? When Dad’s near death in the hospital? Not to mention Mom dying?” Outside the window above the kitchen sink, she watched David as he stood alongside a couple of sawhorses he’d fashioned into a workbench in Mattie’s side yard. He sliced through a long piece of trim.