When the Heart Sings

by Liz Tolsma

  The melody covered them for a moment. The guard broke the magical spell. “That’s enough. The nurse has arrived. Time for you to go back to work.” They grabbed Teodor by the elbows. She gasped.

  They led him through the door.

  She scraped back the chair. “Dziękuję Ci, for all you did for the boy. Take care. Please, take care.” She couldn’t keep the pleading from her voice.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, pursed his lips as if he kissed her, and then mouthed I love you.

  She mouthed the words back. Over and over until he disappeared downstairs and the door banged shut. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She turned to the doctor. “Dziękuję Ci.” She could say no more.

  He flashed her a sad smile. “When I found out who they were, I had to bring you here. I knew it would mean the world to you.”

  “It does.”

  “Then why do you grieve?”

  She wiped her face, though fresh tears rushed in to wet it. “Will I ever see him again? To touch him as I did just now? This might have been the last time. I may never hold him in my arms. I may never sleep beside him through the night. There have been too many good-byes in my life. Was this another one?”

  Dr. Bosco knelt beside her. “None of us has assurance of tomorrow, war or no war. All we can do is place our lives in God’s hands and live them to the fullest.”

  “But how can I live that way when I’m so empty inside?”

  “My dear girl, just allow the Lord to fill what is missing in your heart.”

  His words penetrated her ears, but not her inmost being. To be complete, she needed Teodor. Needed him more than she needed food or water.

  And she needed Zygmunt.

  She shook her head. Right now, she had to focus on today, on getting through the next forty-eight hours. “May I stay with my brother until your wife returns?”

  “My wife won’t be back anytime soon.”

  His meaning was clear. “Oh. You understand.”

  “But you do need to return to the Fromms. They’ll miss you.”

  “Pan Fromm is entertaining the visiting dignitaries, so there is cooking and cleaning to be done. And he wants me to sing.” She gazed at the boy sleeping off the trauma of his ordeal.

  With a tenderness she’d learned from her mother, she brushed a lock of hair from Zygmunt’s eyes. “And what about him? We can’t allow him to return to that awful place. It’s bad enough for my husband. Teodor is grown. Zygmunt is nothing more than a little boy. He has no one else. He needs me. Please, help me to help him.”

  “The Nazis know where he is. If he suddenly disappeared, they would hunt for him until they found him and killed him.”

  Dr. Bosco didn’t have to finish that thought. Saving Zygmunt would cost him his life. But what kind of life did he have in that factory? Did he have any chance for survival? How long until something else terrible happened?

  “Please, I beg you. Do you have children?”

  The doctor nodded. “I had a son.”

  “Then you understand my need to get my brother out of there. I’m the closest thing he has to a mother. I would not be doing my duty if I allowed those monsters to lay their hands on him again.”

  He swallowed. “I’ll do what I can.”

  She turned to him. “Dziękuję Ci for giving me this moment with my husband and my brother. I will lock it in my heart and hold it there forever. Never will I forget the kindness you’ve shown us.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

  A few minutes later, she ambled in the direction of the Fromms’ home. Her breath hung in puffs in front of her. The cottages along the route huddled together, closed against the winter’s chill. A chill that ran deep into her bones.

  Leaning over the injured boy, Pawel clasped his hands together. Children, Lord? Has this world gone so crazy that children are now hunted like animals? Treated no better than machines?

  The child slept peacefully. He would survive. For now, anyway. Once he returned to the factory, it was anyone’s guess how long he would live. There had to be a way for Pawel to help him. Protect him like Pani Palinska had begged him.

  He rubbed his furrowed forehead. Up to this point, he hadn’t participated in anything more nefarious than forging documents. Dangerous enough in itself. But spiriting away a child from a prison camp escalated his involvement in the underground to a new level.

  What would Antonina say? Her image appeared before him like a picture show. In the softness of her gaze, he caught the empathy she would have for Zygmunt. And then she would narrow her eyes, a mother’s fierceness in them. Willing to do anything to protect one of God’s precious children. Like she would have protected Józef if she had the chance, even though he was a young man when he was ripped from them.

  Her likeness faded. Tak, he would have to help this boy. But how? The Germans knew he was here. If he disappeared, Pawel would be the first one blamed. And if they discovered he was Pani Palinska’s brother, she would be next.

  His heart pounded and the throbbing in his ears matched it. Nie, wait, that was the door. An insistent, persistent knock. Pawel shoved back his chair and went to answer it.

  Pan Fromm stood on the porch step, then strode into Pawel’s home, his hands behind his back, the angles of his face hard, his eyes cold. Without warning, he spun on his heel. “Where is the boy?”

  “Sleeping in the upstairs bedroom.”

  “Wake him and bring him here. He needs to return to work.”

  “Impossible. The child just lost a finger. His body must heal, and the wound must be kept clean. He’ll stay here for at least a week.” Pawel swallowed hard at his bold words.

  Pan Fromm spoke through clenched teeth. “Perhaps you didn’t understand me. The boy is returning to the factory with me. Now. I didn’t ask for your personal or professional opinion. I’m a busy man. Bring him to me this instant.” Fromm’s voice rose until his words rang in Pawel’s ears.

  “I object. Chances are he won’t survive.”

  “That’s not my concern.” Fromm waved away Pawel as if he swatted a fly. “He is a prisoner, not a boy to be coddled.”

  “Coddled?” Pawel’s head might just explode. “He’s eight.”

  Fromm struck Pawel across the cheek, his jaw shifting. “I will not tolerate impertinence. The child is plenty old enough to work. Get him. Now.” Fromm reached for the weapon in the holster on his hip.

  What choice was left? Pawel lifted his glasses and rubbed his forehead, then climbed the stairs, taking as much time as he dared. While the precious seconds wouldn’t ensure Zygmunt’s survival, Pawel had to do whatever he could to delay the boy’s return to the factory, even if it was only a minute or two.

  Pawel woke the sleepy child and helped him down the steps. “I don’t feel good, Doctor.” Zygmunt’s face was whiter than any winter’s snow.

  Blood loss. Nothing Pawel could do about it. They reached the front hall, Zygmunt swaying on his feet. He collapsed into a pile on the floor.

  Fromm scooped him up and carried him from the house.

  The world swam around Teodor as he pulled the drill press down and the bit ate through the metal piece. The whirring of the machine lulled him until he nodded off, awakening a second later with a jerk as a gun was cocked next to his ear.

  “Wake up.”

  He bolted upright. His tongue was thick.

  The Nazi remained expressionless as he backed away. He should have shot Teodor, like Fromm had shot his fellow prisoner. Why hadn’t he? Did this one possess an ounce of mercy?

  Today the inspectors were expected. The day the Germans anticipated showing off how well the factory ran, how well the laborers worked, how much they helped the fatherland.

  The day Teodor planned his most dangerous sabotage. If he could remember what he was going to do. If he could pull it off without falling over.

  A movement out of the corner of Teodor’s eye caught his attention. Untersturmführer Fromm led three black-uniformed SS officers onto the fa
ctory floor. Teodor returned his attention to his work. His heart pounded. He finished the piece and dropped it in the box, glimpsing the German quartet leaning over one of the presses.

  A whistle blared, startling Teodor out of his stupor. As soon as it quieted, so did all the machines in the area. Lunch. Time for some lukewarm broth and a break for their aching necks.

  “Achtung.” Untersturmführer Fromm’s bellow stopped the men in their tracks. “Get back to work.” The way he narrowed his eyes and set his jaw silenced them all.

  The foursome resumed their inspection of the department.

  Jerzy leaned over. “Now what?”

  Teodor shrugged even as his stomach dropped. His thought had been to pour the dirt into the workings of the big machine in the middle of the room while the men were eating. As it was, the time was tight. He didn’t want to be missed. Now Fromm disrupted his plans before he even put them into motion.

  If he wanted to go through with the scheme, he would have to do it with Fromm and his cast of characters still in the room.

  He couldn’t wait until later in the day. If he did, the inspectors might be gone. For the shutdown to have maximum effect, he needed to gum up the works while the Germans were still here.

  “Palinski.”

  He jumped at the sound of Fromm’s voice in his ear. “Tak.”

  “Show these men your dexterity with a drill press.” He turned and spoke to his comrades before returning his attention to Teodor. “I told them you were a leader in the shop. They are eager to see your skills.”

  Teodor swiped his damp hands on his dark-blue work coveralls and picked up an undrilled metal piece. He drew in a breath as he set the template into place and pulled the lever that drove down the bit. “That’s all there is to it.”

  One of the officers, his black uniform pressed to perfection, his pants ballooning from the top of his boots, stepped forward, his broken Polish halting at best. “We have wrong pieces come from here.”

  Teodor’s heart revved up more. “Wrong pieces?”

  The man, much smaller and wirier than Fromm, said a few words in German.

  With a gleam in his eyes, Fromm translated. “They don’t fit. The holes are drilled wrong. This is a repeated mistake, on about 5 percent of what comes from this department.”

  Teodor swallowed hard. Had they caught him? He crossed his arms, mostly so they wouldn’t see his hands shaking. He needed an excuse. Fast. If only his sleep-deprived mind would work. “Sometimes the template slips. It’s impossible to detect with the eye, but it could render the piece unusable in its application.”

  Fromm relayed the message.

  The man slammed his fist into his palm and bellowed. Teodor didn’t need a translation. The sabotage was doing its work.

  Fromm turned to Teodor. “This is unacceptable. And I’m holding you, as the leader of this group of pigs, responsible. Clean up these mistakes.”

  “With all due respect, the men are exhausted. With little sleep come small mistakes.”

  “This has been happening for weeks.” A vein bulged on Fromm’s neck. “Long before we upped the quota. I will not listen to excuses. The work must be done properly. We can’t waste materials. See to it that there are no more improperly drilled holes, or you will think this place is a palace compared to where you end up.”

  Fromm stomped off, the three visitors trailing him.

  A line of sweat worked its way down Teodor’s spine as he resumed his drilling. He concentrated on slowing his breathing. After several minutes, his heart rate returned to normal.

  Jerzy bent down to pick up another piece. “Too bad your plan won’t work today.”

  “Nie, I’m going through with it.”

  Jerzy widened his eyes. “You are?”

  Teodor motioned for him to be silent. They worked for several more minutes. All the time, Teodor watched the group of Nazis make their way around the room. Soon, they would be in a position with their backs to the machine he intended to disable.

  He couldn’t afford a single mistake, or Fromm would have a reason to make good on his threats.

  The Germans moved to the far corner of the room and circled a man. They focused their attention on him.

  Careful not to scrape his stool back, Teodor came to his feet. Ducking behind his coworkers, all the while hushing them, he zipped to the largest machine in the room. Earlier this morning, he had informed the operator of the plan. Keeping the overseers in his line of vision, he dug into his pocket for the dirt while the operator opened the oil line.

  Teodor poured in the soil. Nothing happened.

  The operator nodded, and a lazy smile crossed his face.

  Teodor scurried in the direction of his drill press.

  “Palinski, halten sie.”

  Fromm.

  He froze.

  “What are you doing away from your station? Did I not direct everyone to stay put during the inspection?”

  “I had to use the lavatory. There were no other guards to ask, and you were busy.”

  Fromm reached him in four giant strides. “Step out of line again . . .”

  At his low, slow words, the hair on Teodor’s arms stood straight. Fromm didn’t need to finish his threat.

  And with that, the big machine screeched to a halt.

  Teodor rocked on the ocean, an ocean he had never seen, with black water and black sky all around. The wind whipped his hair, his shirt, his pants, so hard that he bent sideways. A piercing cry reached him, but he couldn’t understand it.

  And the rocking, the motion tossing him to and fro, never stopped.

  “Palinski, wake up.”

  He jerked to consciousness and sat, almost bumping his head on the bunk above him. Sweat bathed his entire body. He’d fallen asleep as soon as the machine ground to a halt and the foreman had let the men retire early. “What . . . what is going on?” He rubbed his eyes.

  Untersturmführer Fromm wrenched Teodor’s arms behind his back. “Let’s go.”

  Teodor writhed and struggled to stay on his feet. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Schnell.” Fromm led him from the room. A sudden iciness chilled Teodor’s damp skin. He staggered.

  His turn to be interrogated. Again.

  Fromm pushed him into the wooden chair in a corner of the office. The Nazi paced in front of him, cracking his knuckles. “We know what you did.”

  Teodor crinkled his forehead. “What are you talking about?”

  Fromm reached behind his desk and pulled out a whip. Teodor had never even used one on his stubborn oxen.

  Crack. The whip struck the desk. “Next time, I will strike your back. It will go easier for you if you confess. We will get the truth out of you, no matter what it takes. You were responsible for the machine shutting down, weren’t you?”

  “Nie.”

  Fromm jerked him to his feet and shoved Teodor against the wall. “You embarrassed me in front of my superiors, made me look incompetent. My father-in-law will never recommend me for a promotion now. And it’s all your fault. Because of you, my career is ruined.”

  The whip met his back. He bit back a yelp as tears sprang to his eyes. He swallowed.

  “You sabotaged the machine.”

  “Nie.”

  Crack.

  “And you are the reason the pieces sent to Germany do not fit. You lead this group, telling them to make mistakes.”

  “Nie.”

  Crack. Teodor gripped the concrete block wall with everything he had. Pain shot from his back to every part of his body.

  “You are nothing but a dirty Pole. A vile swine. If you tell me the truth, I may let you live. Were you involved in this sabotage?”

  “Nie.”

  Crack. Teodor’s knees trembled, and he locked them to keep from slumping to the floor. Something warm and sticky trickled down his back.

  “Why do you continue in your lies? Do you not know that I hold your life in my hand? I have no reason to keep you alive. There are plenty
more where you came from. The sooner we are rid of you, the better for Germany.”

  Teodor slouched against the cool wall.

  Fromm pulled him upright. “This is your last chance. The last time I will ask. What was your role in the sabotage?”

  “None.”

  Crack. “Wrong answer. I warned you.” Smack. Smack. Smack.

  Teodor choked on his own scream. He fell to the cold hardwood floor. Darkness niggled at the edge of his vision.

  Fromm stood over him, a sneer lifting his Hitler-like mustache. “You wife is a beautiful woman. You love her, don’t you?”

  This was a ploy to get him to admit to his guilt. How could he live if they touched her?

  “You’re devoted to her. You would do anything in the world for her. Wouldn’t you?”

  Fromm made a circuit of the room before returning to hover over Teodor. “Just as I hold your life in my hands, I hold hers. I control what happens to her. And what doesn’t.”

  Bile rose in Teodor’s throat.

  “What a pity for such a pure, innocent woman to be sullied. Or tortured. Or killed. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?”

  Could he take that chance? God, what can I do to save her?

  Fromm was right. He would do anything to ensure that nothing happened to his beautiful, beloved Natia.

  Fromm slapped the whip against his palm. “I’m running out of patience, Palinski. Don’t think your death will be fast and easy, for it will not. And don’t believe hers will be either.”

  Every muscle in his body tensed. He couldn’t draw a deep breath.

  He clutched his chest, the same way Mama had when the Nazis had ransacked their house for the fun of it. And Teodor had stood by and done nothing.

  Natia’s song broke into his consciousness. All else faded. She was there, in his mind’s eye, her chestnut hair drifting over her shoulder as she came to him. Sang to him. Loved him.

  Hark’ning, and hoping that thou may persevere,

  Naught else desiring, forever, forever.

  If he didn’t confess, if he didn’t say the words, Fromm would silence her song.

  “I did it.”

  Elfriede flounced into the kitchen dressed in a grass-green chiffon gown, diamonds sparkling in her ears and on her wrists, a pair of black patent-leather peep-toes on her feet. Her hair, usually rolled all around, hung down tonight, soft waves cascading over her shoulder.