A Sparrow in Terezin

by Kristy Cambron

  “Is it? And what am I thinking?”

  “You’re thinking I’m a changed man. That God has changed me. And that regardless of the fact that my father has left so much damage in his wake, I shouldn’t hate him for it. You’re telling me to think to the future, to where God wants me. That I shouldn’t hold bitterness against the father who left, even though I told him to go. And you hope that I can finally forgive him, which is something I’ve never quite been able to do.”

  “Goodness,” Sera beamed back at him. “I thought all that? I’m much wiser than I give myself credit for.”

  William touched a hand to the apple of her cheek, then dropped a soft kiss to her lips.

  “The truth is, I do forgive him, Sera. I have to. You were right before, when you said it hurts only me. And I can’t hang on to it anymore.”

  “I’m glad. For your sake,” she whispered, then ran her hand over her belly. “And for hers. She’ll be much happier with a daddy who smiles.”

  “I plan to, for you both. And for what it’s worth, I’m not ready to give in. I’ll keep trying with Katie, whether or not she’ll give her brother a second chance. And I’ll keep working on the lines of communication with my father. It’s a long shot, but—” He stopped short, kicking the sand at their feet.

  “But what?”

  “It hurts to admit, but I don’t want to be like him.” William shook his head. “I’d rather be flawed and ordinary by the world’s standards than be wealthy and respected by his.”

  “You’re far from flawed or ordinary.”

  “Nice of you to notice, wife.”

  Sera elbowed him in the side, with a little spring about it. “I’ll have you know that I fell in love with you on this beach. And even now, sitting here in the same place, it almost feels like we’ve come full circle, doesn’t it?”

  “I think so.”

  “Me too. And that’s worth a second cup of coffee on this lovely Christmas morning,” she whispered, and tilted her head toward the house. She arched her eyebrows. “With your family?”

  He stood and reached for her hand. He pulled her up carefully and brushed her long, loose braid over her shoulder.

  “Come on—let’s get you two inside.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  May 16, 1944

  Poland

  Their faces were blasted with fresh air when the boxcar doors flew open.

  Several of the children shrieked and pushed back against Kája, packing as far as they could into the back of the car. All that could be seen was the reflection of the moon against the pitch black of the night sky and fields of tall grasses and the branches of far-off trees, creating an eerie backdrop all around.

  Kája pushed the children behind her as best she could, fearing the worst. But instead of guns pointed from a cruel camp train platform, they saw nothing but night and heard only faint shouting in the distance.

  It was not at all what she’d expected to find in a greeting at Auschwitz.

  “Get out! Now!”

  Several of the children cried out, startled at the shout.

  Kája might have done the same, had she not been shocked to a stupor at the man who appeared at the side of the car. His hair was wind-swept and he wore plain traveling clothes instead of an officer’s uniform, but the eyes looking back at her were the same.

  Dane’s gaze connected with hers only for a split second before he rushed into action.

  “Everyone out, now!” he shouted, and began pulling children from the train. He set a little girl down on the ground and nudged her forward to a thick forest beyond the clearing of the tracks. “Now run. Go!”

  “Dane? What—”

  “We have no time. We have to get them off the train.”

  Kája grabbed hold of his arm as he lifted another child to the ground.

  “Dane—what have you done?”

  He looked toward the front of the train, his breaths labored as if he’d been running for miles, then looked back at her.

  “Nothing that can be undone now.” He smiled through the darkness and continued pulling another girl to the ground. He put an older girl’s hand in the younger one’s and nudged them off toward the trees. “There’s a group of us. We have a plan.”

  “But they’ll hang you for this!” Kája shouted into the night, terrified for what he’d done. “You’ll never be able to turn back. It’s not like bringing food to the school. You’ve stopped a train!”

  “Ja. With a military-issued pistol. Pretty remarkable.”

  He grinned. Grinned! At a time like this.

  Kája wished she could have smacked some sense into him. She would have, had she not been so happy to see him standing there, arms working like mad to lift children to the ground. Of all the things she’d expected to see when the doors slid open, his face staring back had been the last.

  “You told me to get someone out. You’re the someone I chose. It just so happens there are several hundred people in tow.”

  “You can tease at a time like this?”

  “We’re all dead anyway, Kája,” he shouted back. “If we don’t stand up and do something now, what’s the point? The human race will never recover from what we’ve done to your people. I don’t intend to stand before God and have to answer for a train full of children making its destination when I could have done something to stop it. If it’s selfish to have a conscience, then I guess I’m guilty of it now.”

  Their heads both turned at the indiscriminate sounds of increased shouting somewhere down the tracks.

  “Help me? Please?” His eyes appealed to her. Even in the dimness of night and the reflection of the moon outlining his shoulders, she could see their ardent plea.

  Kája nodded and flew into action. She tossed her leather satchel behind her back and grabbed up the children one by one. She handed them to Dane, who repeated instructions for them to run to the trees.

  “Run as fast as you can, ja?” A young boy nodded as Dane pushed him forward into the blackness of night. “And stay with the young ones. I’m trusting you. Now go!”

  “Here,” Kája said, reaching for Sophie. She shrunk back to the side of the boxcar, shaking her head. “Sophie, what’s the matter? It’s time to run.”

  “I don’t think she’ll go with me,” Dane shouted, and caught a young boy who’d jumped down into his arms. He dropped him by the side of the tracks and the boy ran into the night. “She knows I’m one of them.”

  “What?” She pulled at the hem of the Sophie’s dress but she recoiled sharply. “Sophie—come here this instant! We must get you off the train.”

  “Forget it,” Dane said, wasting no time in moving on. “We’ll get everyone else off first and take her with us last.”

  He moved on to assist other children that were ready to go. Several of the brave boys plopped down to the ground on their own and took off, melting into the summer night like freed birds from a cage.

  “Where will we go?” she asked, lifting another child to his waiting arms.

  “To the trees,” he said, breathing hard through the effects of the quick lifting. “There’s a village not far, that way. There’s an abandoned wine cellar.” He pointed to an indiscriminate spot out on the horizon, long past the forest, and helped the next child he could get his hands on.

  “Run,” he told a boy of possibly twelve or thirteen. “See the lights through the forest? Run to them and then keep going. Don’t stop until morning.”

  Kája squinted through the blanket of night and saw the faint dotting of gold flickering through the trees.

  “There’s a village? Who would dare take everyone in?”

  “Kája, I haven’t been able to think that far ahead. All I know is, it was this or Auschwitz. Those were my options. The alternative of tramping through a forest was better.”

  They continued rushing children from the train. Kája took care to tighten up any shoe laces that she could and offered gentle whispers of encouragement as the children were passed from her hands to Dane
’s arms.

  A telltale pop tore through the night and froze their frantic movements. Dane’s eyes connected with hers and then a second pop was followed by a third. Then a fourth and more, all in rapid succession. Machine-gun fire.

  God, no! Spare us this at least . . .

  Kája stared back at him, quite sure that the terror that came with gunshots was evident on her face. “Hurry, children!” she yelled out, frantic. She’d have tried to soften the alarm in her voice, but it would have been no use. Her heart was thundering in her chest and her entire body was shaking, causing any gentleness in her voice to vanish.

  Dane lifted the remaining few children to the ground before he reached for her. He clapped his hands together and held his arms wide.

  “Sophie,” he shouted. “You must come now.”

  She shrank away.

  The thought, the only one that came to Kája’s mind, was to give her something she could trust. And in that instant, the memory of a long-ago parting on a train platform came to mind. She remembered when her mother had taken a string of pearls and pressed them into her own hand, infusing her with courage.

  Kája yanked the cross necklace from her neck and urged it into Sophie’s tiny palm.

  “Here,” Kája whispered, kneeling down before her. “Hold on to this. It will get you through. And I am right behind you. I promise. We’ll be together again soon.”

  “Sophie!” Dane shouted. “Now!”

  Sophie looked wary, but obeyed and jumped into Dane’s arms as the popping in the background came closer.

  “Wait!” Kája halted and looked up the tracks, desperation having taken over. “My father! He’s in one of the other cars!”

  Dane shook his head with Sophie buried in his arms. “We’ve no time to go back. But I promise you he’ll get out. We opened those cars first before I came back to this one.”

  Kája shook her head as tears burned her eyes. She could not leave her father alone. Not after losing her mother.

  Dane entreated her, tugging at her elbow, pulling her toward the field grasses. “Kája, you must come with me now. It’s the only way.”

  She looked into Sophie’s doe eyes, so soft and innocent, and found that she couldn’t leave her. She said a quick prayer that God would watch over her father until she could find him again and with a burst of energy tore off to the trees. They heard shouting behind them, and the terrifying barking of deep-chested dogs as each of their steps crunched down in the tall grasses bordering the tracks.

  Kája could think of nothing but staying upright on her feet, though the night heat was unforgiving and the ground woefully uneven. Her feet nearly lost their footing a dozen times before they reached the cover of the birch forest, its dense grove of trees growing up out of the ground like skeletal appendages clawing for the sky.

  She heard sticks breaking somewhere not far off, probably from the footfalls of the prisoners running free at different points all around them. And then shouting and horrific pops of gunfire followed them as they maneuvered through the thick underbrush.

  Kája ran behind, keeping her eyes fixed on Dane’s tall form. He was fast and strong, and jumped through the obstacles quite nimbly for a man with a child in tow. She, however, felt awkward and unsure as she trekked along with a growing stitch in her side that made it increasingly difficult to breathe.

  They ran for what felt like hours, over inclines and back down the side of small hills. They wove in and out of trees.

  “Almost there!” Dane shouted over his shoulder.

  Thank you, God.

  Kája wasn’t sure how long she could continue on, for the pace was unyielding at best. She grabbed on to her side with her free hand and prayed that God would give all of them the strength to keep going, and then the provision to find someplace—anyplace to hide.

  “In here,” Dane shouted in a rough whisper, and stopped short of a sod-covered outbuilding hidden on the underside of a hill. He tore open the door and reached his hand out for her. She took it and found herself pulled inside.

  He bolted the door from the inside and pulled them into the dark.

  Kája tried her best to stand strong, though the intense run had left her weak and sputtering for breath. She tripped on something, a root or clump of earth, and felt herself tumbling down in the dark.

  “Are you all right?”

  Dane flicked a lighter on, washing his face in the glow.

  “Yes,” she breathed hard, doubled over from the pain in her side. “I fell and I just need . . . a minute . . . to catch my breath. Where are we?”

  Dane leaned in and looked at her, then whispered something to Sophie and immediately put her down. She edged back against what appeared to be a tunnel wall, staring wide-eyed at them.

  He returned and knelt down in the dirt.

  “Don’t worry about that right now. You’re safe,” he admonished, and eased in closer to Kája.

  “I’m sorry.” She shook her head, feeling the overpowering weight of weakness overtaking her. “I’m not as strong as you are. Leave me . . . behind if you have to. I’ll catch up.”

  “I don’t think you would,” Dane said, and covered her hand with his, pressing down hard on her side. She gasped, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of her.

  He pulled his hand away and turned it over, exposing his palm to the flicker of light.

  “Kája, you’re bleeding.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Kája had fallen into an unrepentant sleep for what felt like days.

  The fresh smell of earth filled her lungs.

  She awoke with a start, expecting to find herself and Dane holed up in the abandoned tunnel with Sophie in tow. There was a single candle upon an upturned wine barrel near the bed in which she slept, though it had burned low amidst a small circle of wax in the rusty holder. It offered enough light to see that she’d been placed in a cellar room with dirt walls and a drafty-looking ceiling overhead. The silvery glow of moonlight peeked in through several cracks. Wooden racks and old barrels marched up the side of the back wall. Strange metal hooks hung empty from a leather strap in the corner, and what few wooden shelves she could see were bare.

  She could only hope it was the one Dane had spoken of, and that they were safe for the moment.

  Kája felt warmth beside her and glanced down. She saw that Sophie was curled up in the bed, nuzzled up on one side, the cadence of her breathing gentle in sleep. She ran a hand over Sophie’s brow, brushing the hair back, and gently kissed her temple.

  A sound drew her attention across the room.

  Kája turned and realized in horror that someone was attempting to turn the knob on the room’s only door. She sat up and moved with careful intention, edging off the bed. A sharp pain ripped her side, stealing away the air in her lungs. She fell to the floor, gripping her middle tight as she fought to breathe.

  She reached down and felt a swath of bandages; they poked out from a hole torn in the side of her dress.

  The door was poised to open and someone would come inside.

  She couldn’t stop it now. The only thing left to do was to reach for whatever she had. Her eyes darted to the ceiling and she flew into action. She untangled a hook and slipped the end off the strap, and after blowing out the candle, huddled behind the door. She gripped the makeshift weapon until her knuckles felt frozen to it and lay in wait.

  With the screech of a rusty hinge, the door was pushed open and a trail of light washed across the center of the room.

  A figure stopped in the portal.

  There was little light, but with dread, Kája could discern one thing: the figure of a swastika shining out from the shoulder patch of a uniform.

  Oh God!

  Her insides tore at her, fear having taken over, causing her carefully controlled breathing to become choppy and unrestrained. The figure stepped inside and looked around. He turned and surveyed the sleeping girl in the bed, then shifted his focus.

  There was just enough light, she knew, to
illuminate a thin strip of her face. The figure turned, appeared to notice her. With painfully thin, worn-out arms, she held firm.

  The Nazi-clad figure reacted slowly. He raised a hand up, seemingly meant to calm her.

  “Kája. Please put that down.”

  Her insides rocked, her heart lurched, and the hook fell to the ground with a thud. Had her ears played tricks? The man in the Nazi uniform swung the door wide and they were both bathed in light.

  With a breath of hope that she’d held for the last two years, she finally exhaled, just as Liam Marshall walked into the room.

  “I said I’d come after you.”

  Kája shook her head, not believing this man could be real.

  Relief covered her and she crumbled, unashamed to sob quietly in the safety of his arms. She clung to the lapels of his coat and kissed him with every ounce of stored-away longing she had.

  He broke away after a moment, looking upon her as if he, too, needed to make sure she was real. He held her face in his hands and stared back, his own eyes glazing with tears as his fingers touched the warmth of her cheeks and ran over the side of her hair.

  “You’re alive,” he managed, his voice laden with feeling. “You’re a bit late, I’d say. But you came back to me.”

  She nodded, hiccupping over tears.

  He suddenly released her and looked down at her side.

  “You’re all right? You’re not in too much pain?”

  “A little. Not much now,” she said, shaking her head. “What happened?”

  “Here I was, thinking to look in on my sweet Kája, who’d been grazed by a bullet in the side.” His mouth tipped up at the corners in a proud smile. “But she doesn’t need looking after, does she? She’s stronger than even she knows. It’s not the first time I’ve been privy to her incredible will.”

  She sobbed against him then, in a release of pent-up exhaustion.

  “I just want to know that you’re really here.”

  “I told you I would be. Didn’t you believe me?” He tipped his thumb up under her chin. “I’m not an RAF pilot, I’m sorry to say, or I would have flown the first plane in here that I could get my hands on. As it was, British intelligence isn’t as foolproof as one might think.”