Bombs had killed her parents during Hitler’s invasion in 1939. And she’d held her dying sister, Ludmila, in her arms in the Jewish Ghetto in Lodz, but maybe some of her uncles, aunts, or cousins were still alive. Or at least someone from Peter’s family, Ludmila’s gentile husband.
A soft cry at the front of the line betrayed a young couple, the man’s arms around the woman’s shoulders as she surreptitiously wiped a tear from her eye. Another poor soul who’d exchanged hope for the dark certainty that the ones she loved had perished.
Agnieska wasn’t sure what was worse, the uncertainty or knowing for sure that death had darkened her door… When her turn came, she swallowed back the icy fingers of panic that clogged her brain and her throat, and provided the staff member the names, birth dates and last known location – in most cases some concentration camp – of her relatives. One by one. Each time the woman behind the counter searched her many lists until she stopped the finger on the name, looked up to Agnieska with a sad expression in her face and said, “Perished.”
The entire Soban family had been extinguished. Agnieska used all her determination staying in place, instead of turning on her heels and running away. But where would she go? After being given the name of Agnieska’s last Jewish relative, the woman shook her head again and said, “I’m sorry. But there aren't many Jews who have survived. Is there anyone else you’re looking for?”
“Yes. My sister’s married family. They were gentiles.”
The woman searched and searched, first for Ludmila’s husband, Peter Zdanek, and their son, Janusz, then for his sister Katrina, but shook her head. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing here. You might have to come back in a month or two. We’re still getting new information every day.”
“What about Stanislaw Zdanek? He was with the Polish partisans?”
The woman searched again, until her finger stopped on the list. Agnieska held her breath. Please. Please. Please.
“I’m sorry…” the woman said and Agnieska almost crumpled into herself, “…that’s so strange. Here’s a Stanislaw Zdanek. He was a prisoner of war in a field hospital in Berlin. But then he disappeared. There’s no trace of him since May this year.”
Agnieska puffed out a breath, swallowing back the urge to sob like the woman in the couple earlier. She stiffened her spine and gave the Red Cross woman a sad smile. “Thank you.”
As she vacated her place for the next person in line, a sliver of hope entered her heart. Since none of them were confirmed dead, they might still be alive.
In that tortured moment, she decided that uncertainty definitely was better than knowing for sure…
She looked down at her feet, avoiding the eyes of the others in line. She didn’t need to see their looks of sympathy, or worse yet, notice them avoiding her gaze so that they wouldn’t have to deal with the pain she knew was written all over her face. After the atrocities of war, the agony of the inner turmoil disallowed empathy and taking on another’s pain as your own.
Her head held high, she left the office, struggling to maintain her control. It wasn’t that the news came unexpected. She’d spent several years in the Ghetto and a forced labor camp herself. She knew the facts of life. It was a sheer miracle that she had survived.
The memories of Katrina’s boyfriend, Richard, – a German soldier no less – rescuing her from the Ghetto mere days before its liquidation came rushing back, hitting her with the force of a tidal wave. Her breathing became fast and shallow until black dots danced in front of her eyes and she quickly bent down to avoid fainting.
After a few long breaths she slowly straightened her back again and glanced into the sun high on the horizon on this hot summer day. I’m the only survivor of my family. Why me?
A shudder ran down her spine. And now? What now? She had no idea what to do or where to go next and during a short moment of weakness she almost wished to follow those who’d gone before. But then she balled her hands into fists, her fingernails digging deep into the soft skin of her palms.
She hadn’t survived six years of immeasurable hardships; she hadn’t defied the Nazis with every single breath, to leave this earth now without a fight. Life would go on. And she’d be a part of it. She couldn’t change the past, but she had a future in front of her – unlike so many others.
Her feet automatically set into motion, returning her to the displaced persons camp where she’d sought shelter for the past weeks. It looked much like the Nazi camps where she’d spent all those years imprisoned, but less crowded, and with adequate food and healthcare. But it was still a camp, which meant it was nothing like home.
She longed for a home. Some place she didn’t have to share with hundreds of strangers.
Looking at her meager belongings, she realized that nothing remained in Warsaw for her. Friends and family gone… her apartment bombed into ruins… no, there was nothing enticing her to stay.
A deep sigh escaped her throat, and then an idea entered her brain and lit up her mood like a ray of sunshine lit a room. She smiled. Yes, she’d go to the Zdanek farm in Lodz. She knew her in-laws had been forced to flee their farm over a year ago, but she hoped that if one of them had survived, they’d return home.
Maybe she could find peace of mind in Lodz. In the company of family.
She packed her small bundle that consisted of a toothbrush and baking soda, a hairbrush, a piece of soap, two sets of undergarments and one faded dress.
Agnieska made her way to the central train station, buying tickets for the next train to Lodz. She found the platform teeming with people, including uniformed Soviet soldiers. A small shudder racked her body. By the looks of it, Poland had exchanged one occupying power for another one. This is only temporary, she thought. When people have returned and all’s settled down, the Soviets will leave and we’ll be a free country again.
One of the soldiers controlling the tickets smiled at her, and her first instinct was to duck her head, like she’d done all those years. But the war was over. She had nothing to fear anymore. She wouldn’t let the past dictate her future. So she forced herself to smile back.
The soldier made a surprised, but pleased face and came over. “Where are you going, lady?”
“Lodz,” she answered, handing him her ticket. Her heart beat faster, despite her intention not to be afraid.
“Have a nice journey,” he said, and waved her through the barrier.
Squeezed like a sardine on the wooden bench in the train she allowed her mind to drift to pleasant memories of her times at her in-laws’ farm. Fourteen years ago when she was merely eleven, her family had spent a summer in Lodz with some friends. Her sister, Ludmila, six years older than her, had fallen madly in love with Peter Zdanek.
At the end of the summer, Ludmila had been pregnant. Nine months later Peter had moved to live with the Sobans in Warsaw, married Ludmila, and their son Janusz was born. Agnieska smiled. From then on she’d spent every summer with her sister and her in-laws in Lodz.
Hot days spent in the fields; afternoons in the big kitchen with mother Zdanek teaching the girls about herbal medicines, harvesting and preparing the garden’s bounty; walking across the countryside after supper, talking about the future. And during one of those summers she herself had fallen madly in love with Peter’s younger brother, Jarek. She was sixteen and he was eighteen.
War had chased away the pleasure of those days, and Jarek was killed a year ago. But Agnieska harbored a slim hope that somehow, she could find a way to recover even a small piece of the happiness from earlier days.
Chapter 3
Stan and Tadzio spent their days preparing the fields. Although Stan’s parents had been healers, he’d learned the farm work from his grandparents. If war hadn’t interfered, he and Jarek would now own and tend the farm together.
Fucking Nazi bastards.
The thought of his twin still sent a stab to his heart every single time. Stan leaned on his spade and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Pronging the dry, petrous earth was
backbreaking work. Add the scorching July sun and his missing leg to the mix and he almost despaired at the little progress he’d made. Glancing over at Tadzio, he saw that the young boy had yet again outworked him and pronged more than double the distance on his line.
Rage, mixed with helpless desperation, burnt its way through his veins as Stan stared at the wiry boy with the long, scrawny limbs relentlessly stabbing the spade into the earth. If he couldn’t even keep pace with a thirteen-year old, it solidified his status as only half a man.
“Fucking leg,” he mumbled under his breath, taking up the spade again. With the good food Tadzio’s mother cooked and the daily workout, his arm and shoulder muscles had almost recouped their pre-captivity strength. Despite being angry about his missing leg, he couldn’t help but notice that at least his upper body was up to the task.
But as the hours went by, his stump started aching fiercely and Stan relapsed into an emotional tornado of grumpy self-pity. By now Tadzio knew better than to stick around when the angry beast in Stan awakened.
“I better get home to help my Mom with the chickens,” Tadzio said, shoved his spade into Stan’s hands and rushed off before Stan could say a word. Stan glared at the boy’s back, wishing he could make someone – anyone – pay for all he’d gone through during the past year.
He gritted his teeth and after working another half an hour he called it a day, intent on drinking himself into oblivion with the vodka he’d bought earlier this week. During the day he deluded himself into thinking he was whole, but as dusk settled over the fields, the certainty of being a useless cripple settled in like a dark cloud above his head.
Why am I even trying? There’s nothing left for me on this earth. No happiness. If only… After eating the dinner Tadzio’s mother had left on the porch for Stan – she’d given up on inviting him to her house after his numerous angry refusals – he usually fell down on the mattress in the shed, downing vodka until his eyes fell shut— often wondering if it was even worth waking up again.
Slowly walking up to the house with the two spades in his hands, he noticed a small person traipsing up the driveway from the street. He squinted into the waning sunlight and saw she was wearing a skirt. He watched her for a moment and then averted his eyes to concentrate on the uneven surface.
People like her happened along every couple of days. Displaced persons looking for a place to sleep or some food on their quest to reunite with family and friends. It seemed like half of Europe was on the move these days. Waves of refugees going from East to West, countered by those going from West to East. Floating leaves in a sea of destruction.
As he drew closer, he glanced up, surprised to see she’d rounded the house and let herself into the vegetable garden. She had her back to him, the faded grey-blue dress bagging on her skinny frame. Most everyone was skinny these days, especially the tormented people who’d miraculously survived the death camps, so he had no idea, why her frail figure tugged at his heartstrings.
Observing her slow movements, something stirred in him and he felt a peculiar connection to her. He’d ask her if he could somehow help her along. Maybe she needed some food and water. Stan closed the distance in a hurry; strangely afraid the frail woman would vanish in front of his eyes.
When he was just a few feet away from her, his foot kicked a stone and the noise startled her, causing her to turn around sharply and face him. The spades fell from his hands and his jaw dropped to the floor. She was his sister-in-law.
“Agnieska? Is it really you?”
Her expression softened and she flung herself into his arms, pressing herself against him with such a force, he almost feared she’d crack his ribs. “Oh Stan… you’re here. I found… someone.” Her voice cracked and he couldn’t help but brush her long dark hair with his calloused hands.
“It’s alright. You’re safe with me,” he said, holding her tight as a strange excitement built up in him. It wasn’t joy about finding her alive, no, his entire body heated up, burning with uncontrolled lust. But as soon as he realized his feelings, guilt assailed him. He should be ashamed. No woman deserved to be with a cripple like him, especially not Agnieska.
But he couldn’t drag himself away from her, as he should. Not when he relished her nearness, the warmth of her tiny body in his arms. The scent of soap on her hair. Another embarrassing thought caused him to cringe. He’d been out working in the fields all day in the scorching sun and probably smelled like a mountain lion. The thought of getting naked and washing up didn’t help to subdue his arousal. On the contrary, long neglected parts of him sprung to life. Embarrassed at his lack of self-control, he quickly took a step away from her.
She gazed up at him from under her long black eyelashes and Stan watched a blush crawl up her neck and into her cheeks, before she looked down and straightened her dress. “I’m sorry for jumping at you like this… it’s just… I thought…”
He knew exactly what she was going through. Hoping, praying, to find someone alive. The relief. The emotions bubbling over. A wide grin spread across his face and he cleared his throat, trying to put her at ease. Stan had never been good with people. That had been Jarek’s job. But Jarek wasn’t here. So he said the first thing that came into his mind. “You must be hungry.”
“Always.” She met his eyes shyly and the small smile on her face nearly undid him again.
“Me, too. There’s soup. Let me heat it up for you.” Stan ushered her into the kitchen and began to stoke the embers in the stove. Too afraid to give away his reaction to her presence, he turned away and said, “Make yourself comfortable on the porch. I’ll serve you the soup.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but shrugged her shoulders and left the kitchen. Suddenly he could breathe again. Back when they were still youths, he’d never seen anything in her but a friend. Even when his twin had this crazy crush on her, he couldn’t understand what Jarek liked so much about the shy, quiet girl who never said or did anything to hurt another person.
Unlike him. He’d been the rebel not only of the family but the entire town. His volatile temper was well-known all round and had been the cause of many thrashings at school or in church. Rebel. I was one of the admired partisans, fighting for my country against the Nazi bastards, and look what became of me. An embarrassment.
Through the kitchen window he watched how she settled on the rickety chair on the porch. Just last week Old Jakub had helped him to organize a table and two chairs, but since the weather was so hot, he’d decided to leave them outside for the time being.
His gaze wandered around the big kitchen and he suddenly wished he’d taken greater care to try and clean up the house. So far he’d concentrated on salvaging the fields and had only done the bare minimum inside the house. When the soup came to a boil, he poured it into two bowls and carefully walked outside, balancing one bowl in each hand.
As soon as he reached the porch, her sweet scent attacked his nostrils and his heart raced faster than normal.
“Here’s the soup,” he said, putting the bowl down and leaving her again to fetch a jug of water and two glasses. On the way inside, his dick strained painfully against his garments and he took a few seconds to will his erection to go away.
“Thank you,” she said as he handed her a glass of water. Then she wolfed down her food with a speed he hadn’t witnessed before.
“Hungry much?” he asked on a grin.
Again, the cutest blush appeared on her checks as she said apologetically, “Bad habits. Eat your food before someone else does.”
Stan wanted to stretch out his hand and touch her arm. Wanted to chase away the pain in her eyes. Wanted to tell her everything would be all right again. But he inhaled to stop himself from blurting out his feelings and instead, he silently spooned the soup into his mouth.
When they’d both finished eating without exchanging a word, he leaned back and said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
An array of emotions flitted across her gaunt face. He knew about the Ghetto
and her escape, but he didn’t know what happened after he’d organized fake gentile papers for her and she’d left for Warsaw with his nephew Janusz. He feared she’d had to endure more ordeals, but while he wanted to know, at the same time, he feared bringing up dark memories for her if he asked.
“Me, too.”
Silence ensued again, until he couldn’t take it anymore and said, “I returned a month ago.” She didn’t ask, but her eyes the pale green of sea glass bore into him with so much tenderness he wanted to melt into them. Squinting his eyes for a moment, he decided to give her only the short account of his own ordeal, skipping the part where his leg had to be amputated. He didn’t want her pity.
“The Nazis captured me when I was fighting with the Red Army and sent me to a POW camp in Germany. When the Russians liberated Berlin, I disappeared and lived with Peter’s new wife and her family for a while.” If she was surprised about Peter having married again after her sister Ludmila had died, she didn’t show it.
“That explains it,” she murmured.
“Explains what?”
“Why the Red Cross didn’t have any information on your whereabouts.”
“Why should they?” Stan rubbed his beard. He’d never even considered registering with them.
“I went to the Red Cross in Warsaw inquiring about my family,” she said with a feeble voice, curling over on herself, wrapping her arms around her thin frame. It broke his heart to see the stark suffering on her face when she raised her eyes to him. “All dead. Every single one. Except me.”
Stan could see the tears forming in her eyes and despite his intention to stay away from her; he reached over to hold her hand. An electric current passed between them and went straight to his groin. Agnieska must have sensed it, too, because she withdrew her hand and put it into her lap, her eyes big with confusion.
After a while she continued to talk. “Then I asked about your family, but they didn’t have information on anyone. I decided to come here looking for survivors, because I thought as long as a person isn’t confirmed dead, they might still be alive.” A small smile lit up her porcelain face framed by chestnut hair. “I found you.”
Only Love Heals A Heart: Steamy Historical Romance Page 2