“What?” I’ve remembered so much already, I can remember one more thing.
“Always be polite. The very first day they arrived, they took our livestock. I was polite and I followed directions. Since that time I’ve had no problems.” He leans in close and sniffs. “You smell like a pine tree.”
I forget about the soldier for a moment and grin. “I climbed higher than the house, almost up into the sky.” I hold up my sap-covered palms.
“Climbing in trees and conversing with soldiers. Anna, is there no end to your daring?”
If he only knew. “I’m afraid of the soldiers,” I admit.
“And what about trees?” he asks. “Are you afraid of them?”
I shake my head. “Only the first few times, when I was small.” I remember the enormous apple tree at the park by my home.
“Still, you spoke to the soldier even though you were afraid. And that first tree, you climbed it again, enough times until you weren’t afraid.”
I nod.
Stephan claps his hands once, like he’s just won an argument. “That, Anna, is called bravery.”
Chapter 30
Sophia wakes me before the sun. “Come, Anna. Busy day ahead of us.”
I dress quickly and glance at myself in the mirror. A bowl of cool water and a brush and comb are on my dresser.
Sophia and I take the last two pieces of bread with us as we walk to town.
“Where are Jerzy and Stephan?”
“Work.”
“Work? But Jerzy’s only fourteen.”
Sophia gives me a sidelong glance as if she’s surprised by my question. Then she surveys the dark road as if someone might hear her answer. “He’s tall for his age. Big enough to be sent to Germany to work if he doesn’t have a suitable job here.” Sophia pauses and her eyes look far away. She shakes her head as if erasing a picture from her mind. “He works with a tailor, he does.”
“A tailor.” I like the sound of it. He takes one thing, cloth, and turns it into other things: trousers, dresses, even coats. I think of Papa’s shop, the stacks of wood, machines in a large room with half a dozen men. They took ordinary-looking wood and made it into wonderful furniture.
I’ve never heard of people, children too, being sent to work in Germany. I should have cried like Klara to stay with the nuns. I’m not smart enough to survive out here. I don’t know how to be Anna Karwolska.
“Does Stephan work with a tailor too?”
Sophia picks up her pace. “Didn’t you notice his left hand?”
I shake my head.
“He hides it well. Stephan’s hand was crushed when he was at the front. He has a medical excuse from working.”
The sun is coming up, casting a pink light between the tree branches. Stephan was on the front lines like Papa and Uncle Aleksander and thousands of other men who tried to stop Germany from invading Poland. “But he wasn’t at home when we left.”
Sophia lets out a sigh and then smiles. “He . . . Stephan meets with his friends to see if anyone needs help.” I think of the tall German soldier Stephan was talking to last night. Are they friends? Is that who Stephan helps?
When we make it to town, there’s already a line in front of a building. We take our place in the back and others queue up behind us. I recognize the long, low shape of the building; it is exactly like the one I walked my cousin Jakub to for a year, where I had three days of first grade before the war. “This is a school!” I can’t keep the excitement out of my voice.
“It was a school,” says Sophia, shaking her head. “Now it is an administration building.” I have no idea what an administration building is, but I can tell by Sophia’s voice it is nothing to be happy about.
The line is made up of elderly people and young women who have small babies. Many of them glance our way. They talk to one another. I’m afraid they are talking about me. Before long, four German soldiers stroll down the block to the door of the building, unlock it and step inside. It takes over three hours to make it to the front of the line. I’m sweating as we get nearer the soldiers. There are no other children my age. I stand out too much. I shouldn’t be here. What if they think I’m big for my age? What if they want to send me to Germany to work? How I wish I could work at the tailor’s with Jerzy.
Fortunately, the soldier who takes my paperwork from Sophia appears bored with his job. He asks me my name and my birthday, barely glancing my way. He hands Sophia my booklet of new ration cards, updated with Stephan and Sophia’s address.
“Now let’s hope that some of the shops are still open.”
After four more hours of standing in line at three shops, my knees ache and my feet are sore. We make our way home with a half loaf of bread, six cabbages, three carrots and a bottle of milk.
“Don’t worry, Anna,” Sophia says. “Standing in line isn’t the only way we can get food.”
Chapter 31
Jerzy sets a big pencil and three sheets of brown paper beside me after dinner. “Go ahead, draw something.” He begins sketching on his own paper. I try to see what he’s drawing but he’s leaning forward, blocking my view.
The house is quiet. Sophia and Stephan have gone outside. I slowly let my pencil glide on the page. A flower emerges. And a rainbow. A single star shines at the top of the paper. Soon other stars come out to fill the sky and the moon appears in the corner.
A honking sound makes me jump up from my chair. In an instant I’m under the table, shaking. Jerzy sits on the floor opposite me. He meets my eyes between the chair legs. “Anna, what’s wrong?”
“That sound.” I know it wasn’t a car motor, but it was out of place, frightening.
“That’s Old Ella, our cow. We share her between three families. She only comes out at night.”
A cow? I crawl out from under the table feeling foolish.
“We keep her hidden. Or they would take her. She’s still a good milker and usually she knows to be quiet.” It doesn’t make sense. How would a cow know to be quiet? “Do you want to go outside and meet her?”
I shake my head.
He reclaims his seat at the table and looks at my paper. I glance at his. It’s a sketch of a person, a little girl’s face. She has wavy hair and her lips almost smile.
My drawing of a flower, a moon and stars is plain. The rainbow looks like the work of a first grader. I put my hand over the images, but it’s too late. I trace a circle around the flower, then the rainbow and finally the stars. I know Jerzy is still watching me. My chest constricts and my throat starts to tickle. “I haven’t drawn anything in a long time. My pictures remind me of a poem,” I say. My throat is closing up and my voice shakes when I say, “A poem my father told me the last time I saw him.”
“Tell me the poem.”
“I don’t remember it all. Just a few lines. I wouldn’t say it right.” I fold my arms and put my head on the table.
“There’s no reason to be sad, Anna.”
Jerzy’s trying to be kind. But I want to disagree, to tell him that there are reasons to be sad, so many reasons. Instead I say, “Yes, I know.”
“Do you have brothers or sisters?” Jerzy asks.
I’m surprised by the question. This is something everyone talks about, but we never practiced. Anna Karwolska is an orphan. But that only means her parents are dead. Why does everything have to be so confusing? I decide Anna Karwolska is an only child, like me. I look up at Jerzy and shake my head.
“You’re staying with us now. So you have a brother.”
I nod. I have—Anna Karwolska has—a brother.
Just then Sophia returns. Jerzy tells her that we heard Old Ella, but he doesn’t mention how the cow frightened me. “And you have to help Anna find a poem,” he insists.
I tell Sophia what I can remember of the poem:
“A bright flame of truth grows.
With every secret you learn.
Your soul is greater still.
“It was so long ago. There were many more words. The last line wa
s about stars fading away.” I trace my finger around the stars I drew.
“It does sound familiar,” Sophia says.
“She is a teacher. She will find your poem,” says Jerzy. He turns to Sophia. “It’s a poem her father told her.”
When Stephan joins us, Sophia makes an announcement. “Anna’s been part of our family for four days now. Tomorrow we will attend church together.” She looks at me and holds out her arms. “Anna, I made this for you.” Sophia is holding up a beautiful dress. The white material is so new, it shines. Thin green stripes are woven into the fabric. The dress is perfect in every detail, including a tiny crisp green bow on each sleeve.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
Sophia beams. “I’ve worked on it every night since we knew you were coming. Try it on for us.”
I hold the dress carefully as I climb the stairs. It feels delicate, like something that might break. I put it on without looking at myself in the mirror. Instead, I hurry downstairs to Sophia.
“It fits perfectly.” Sophia holds her hand to her heart. “Look, Stephan. Look at Anna.”
“I see,” he says. He’s looking at Sophia, who is looking at me.
Jerzy looks up. “Nice dress.”
Suddenly it feels like I’ve fallen and had the wind knocked out of me. I sit down on a chair. They all look at me with such attention. I open my mouth to tell them how much I like the dress, but instead I start to cry, to really cry. Their faces change from smiles to concern. I cover my face with my hands, partly to hide myself, but mostly so I won’t have to look at them. I would never want to make them upset. My hands are wet. I’m actually crying for the first time in years.
“What’s the matter, honey?” Sophia asks.
“It’s just . . . it’s just . . . ,” I mumble into my hands. I’m out of words. “I can’t believe I’m crying.” They don’t know me. Don’t know that I haven’t cried—not when bombs fell, not when people died, not when I left my family, not when Rachel was taken away.
“Can we help?”
I wipe my eyes, but it doesn’t stop the tears. “I just . . . I feel . . . strange being part of a family again.”
“I’m sure you do,” says Sophia. “Come, I will help you get ready for bed. Church tomorrow.”
It’s dark and the house is quiet. But I don’t turn back the clock and remember being Anna Bauman. Instead, I stare out the window of my new home. I think about the girls from the orphanage, the other fourteen who left the same day I did. Were they all as lucky as I? I remember Klara’s scowling face, her whispers in my ear and her fear of leaving the orphanage.
I place my palm against the cool window, close my eyes and try to imagine Papa standing next to me, his finger tracing the outline of my hand. I climb back into bed. How I wish I could talk with my parents. I’m sorry. I take a deep breath and try to calm the feelings wiggling around in my chest. I’m not their daughter. They are trying to make me feel like I am their daughter. How can they care about me so much after only a few days?
They care about Anna Karwolska. But how would they feel if they knew my secret? Could they care this much about Anna Bauman? Will I ever get to be myself, my real self, again?
There are no voices inside my head. No more questions and, worse, no answers. I can’t remember a time when my mind has been this quiet. Usually it is a jumble of thoughts, so many thoughts I can’t keep them straight. Warm tears slip out of the corners of my eyes. After all this time without tears, I’m crying twice in one night.
Chapter 32
Before church, Sophia offers to braid my hair. As she stands behind me, crossing the strands, I close my eyes and remember Mama. I should be Anna Karwolska; it’s daylight. At any moment a neighbor, even a soldier, could come through the front door and start asking questions. But Anna Bauman and especially Mama and Papa are slipping so far away from me. Sophia’s careful with my hair and quiet. I try to pretend she is Mama. But Mama used to tug my hair tightly and twist it as she braided, humming to herself all the while.
Other families dot the county roads as we walk to church, strolling to the city center. We pass beside a black iron gate. Inside, tombstones stand in a line, cold and still. Something blue flashes between rows of grave markers at the other side of the cemetery. The movement is quick, like an animal. But I know I saw a blue dress. I look back at Jerzy and Stephan and up at Sophia and the lady she’s chatting with, but none of them seem to have noticed.
When we turn the corner, the giant church bells start clanging and chiming.
“Right on time,” says Stephan.
The church is directly in front of us. I stop when I see two soldiers standing at the front door smoking. Jerzy steps on my heels. “Sorry,” he says. I walk next to him, behind his parents. Why are the soldiers here? Do they check everyone’s papers as they enter the church? Will they question me?
We start up the walkway to the church. The soldiers are smoking and talking to each other. I hold my breath as we walk past.
After we’re seated, I can’t resist; I turn and look for the soldiers. They’ve put out their cigarettes and are walking inside, not only two but three soldiers now, all in uniform. They file in, two rows behind us. As they sit, I realize that they are here to worship, just like the rest of us. And they will be able to watch my every move.
Finally, Mass begins. Mass here is just like morning service at the orphanage, but they have a man nun in place of Sister Maria. The prayers are the same and the order we do things is the same. I even know the songs. I could do this in my sleep. After Mass, we make our way outside. We’re instantly surrounded by more friends. After smiling for a bit, I pull on Sophia’s hand. “Can I walk around the churchyard?”
She gives me a smile. “Don’t go far.”
I march to the far end of the cemetery where I saw the girl in the blue dress. I search all the way to the back fence, but there’s nothing. I pace between the gravestones slowly, looking for clues. Maybe I imagined it.
As I turn to walk back to the church, something metal catches my eye. I bend down and find a small spade. Scanning the area, I notice a tiny shed tucked under a tree by the side gate. I hear shuffling inside as I approach the door. “Hello?” Only silence. “Hello?” No answer.
I push the door open. A teenage girl sits on the floor in the corner, her knees pulled to her chest. Her coat is long and gray. She’s not the girl with the blue dress. She doesn’t make a move or say a word, but her eyes are fixed on me.
“Hello?” I say again. I walk in hesitantly and put the spade on a table.
I hear a creak behind me and the girl’s eyes flick to the door, alarmed. I turn. There’s a boy of about five. His hair has grown into his eyes and he wears a long light-blue coat. The boy pulls the door shut behind him and makes his way to the girl. She stands and puts an arm on his shoulder protectively. They look alike. I decide they are brother and sister.
“Hello.” I try again. “My name is Anna.” I touch my chest and repeat my name. “Anna.”
With each of my words they take a step back as if I’m pushing them away. So I back up until my heels hit the door, giving them space.
The girl is shaking her head, speaking softly in a language I can’t understand. The boy pulls on her hand and speaks rapidly to her. I understand a few of the words he says, food and luck and good. But I can’t manage to put it all together. She shakes her head at him and her finger at me. She’s scared. The little boy’s frightened too, but he has more hope, and more hunger, than he has fear.
I suddenly know why they are hiding. And what would happen to them if they were caught. And what will happen to me if I’m found with them.
I turn and put my hand on the doorknob, and a familiar memory gathers around me like a warm blanket. I know some of their words because they are speaking Yiddish.
As I pull the door open, I hear a high-pitched sneeze. I’m not sure if it was the girl or the little boy. I speak without turning around. “Vahksin zuls du tsu gezunt.” May
you grow in health. The words my grandmother always said after a sneeze.
I rush out and pull the door closed behind me.
Chapter 33
The next day, as we walk home from the shops, I can’t get my mind off the girl and boy. I wonder who is hiding them and why they picked the shed in the churchyard. It’s out in the open and not even locked. It’s a very poor hiding place.
Sophia tells me that many of the stores in town are closing and others will only open two days a week instead of three. “I will be spending nearly the entire day waiting in line. I’ll need your help at home.”
“Of course.”
“We have chickens, hidden in the forest. They need to be fed and their eggs gathered.”
“I can do that.”
Sophia nods. “And you’ll be milking Old Ella as well.”
I cough. “I’m . . . I’ll . . . I just . . .”
“What is it, Anna?”
“I’ve never milked a cow before.”
Sophia chuckles. “There’s nothing to it.”
“I’ve never even seen a cow before.”
This stops her in her tracks. “What’s this nonsense? Of course you’ve seen a cow. Everyone has seen a cow.” I shake my head. She sighs. “There used to be cows everywhere.” Sophia looks out into the distance. “And pigs and chickens too. Not to mention at least five times as many horses pulling carts. Had to really watch our step if we were on foot.” She’s talking about before the war. Like Papa. “We didn’t stand around trading three eggs for ounces of butter, either. Or pull apart a sweater in order to have yarn to knit new socks.”
At home we find Old Ella in the small shed, and Sophia instructs me in milking. There isn’t much milk at first and Sophia closes her fingers around my hand to help. Old Ella helps by staying quiet and standing still. Each little squirt of milk adds to the pail. When we’re finished, my fingers are tight from the effort and Old Ella has provided half a pail of rich white milk.
The Safest Lie Page 9