Only Love Heals A Heart: Steamy Historical Romance

by Gray, Jessica

  Now, she was back in Stan’s house, preparing dinner for them. She’d been afraid he’d chase her off the yard for her shameful behavior this morning, but instead he’d come up to hug her as if what had happened between them wasn’t completely embarrassing, awful even.

  She resisted the urge to turn around and look at his handsome face. Guilt ate at her as she finished fixing their dinner. She did her best to behave normally as they ate, but it was impossible to forget what had happened a few feet above their heads. She shrugged off all his attempts to make her talk about what was upsetting her, until he finally gave up and excused himself as soon as they finished eating.

  “Good night. I better turn in early. There’s a lot of work to do tomorrow,” he said as he left the house through the back door.

  Agnieska longed to call him back, but that would only lead to her succumbing to his kindness. And she knew without a shadow of a doubt that the moment he wrapped her in his strong arms she’d be done for and would repeat the mistake from this morning. No, it was better to keep a distance. Actually, it would be best to leave the farm and find someplace else to live.

  She retired to bed, not able to sleep. The sheets still smelled of Stan and every wrinkle in them made her acutely aware of what they’d done. If she stayed silent and listened, she could still hear her own moans and screams echo through the room, along with the dirty words that Stan had whispered into her ear. Words that still made her flush hot and bright, setting off a chain reaction of insane desire.

  The little nub between her legs began throbbing and hurting like it had never done before – except under his fingers earlier. She pressed a hand against her core to make it go away, but that only served to get her folds slicker. Her nipples stood high and hard, demanding the rough touch of his calloused hands.

  This is insane. I have to stop thinking about him.

  But the night was long, and sleep proved elusive. When morning arrived, she had barely slept and one glimpse into the mirror showed dark circles beneath her eyes.

  Stan arrived for breakfast and she maintained her silence throughout. He had just left the kitchen, headed for the fields, when the sound of men’s voices came from outside. She peered out the window and felt her heart stall.

  A group of Soviet soldiers stood in the yard talking to Stan. She went to the doorway and when they saw her, they motioned her forward as well. Agnieska didn’t have good past experiences with men in uniform and tried to hide the trembling in her hands by burying them in the folds of her skirt.

  Stan gave her a meaningful look and then explained, “These men are asking for our papers.”

  Agnieska swallowed and asked, “Why? Is something wrong?”

  The man in charge answered her, “We are going to all of the outlying farms and checking papers.”

  Agnieska looked back at the house. “Mine are inside.”

  “Go and get them.”

  She nodded and returned to the house even as Stan reached into his pocket and produced his own. Agnieska retrieved her paperwork from where it was stored in a kitchen drawer. Outside the officer gave them but a short glimpse and nodded, before pushing them back into her hands. Then he stared at Stan and demanded to know, “Why haven’t you joined the Polish Worker’s Party yet?”

  The Polish Worker’s Party was a mere puppet to Stalin and Agnieska knew how much hatred Stan held for the communists and the Soviets in general. She tucked her paperwork into her pocket, nervously awaiting Stan’s answer to the question.

  “I wasn’t aware that everyone was expected to join the PPR,” Stan said with anger and defiance in his voice.

  “Do you have a problem with the life-changing achievements of the great Stalin and his communist party?” the officer demanded.

  Stan’s face grew cold and he stood a little taller. “And if I do?”

  The officer didn’t take kindly to his stance and stared him down. “Maybe you and I should discuss your problems with the communists further?”

  Stan shook his head. “I don’t think so. Last time I checked this was still Poland and not the Soviet Union. Now get off my property!”

  Agnieska stifled a gasp and froze in shock as she witnessed how Stan turned on his heel and the officer put a heavy hand on his shoulder, whilst the other two soldiers pointed their rifles at Stan.

  “I don’t think so. You are coming with us. Take him,” the officer demanded.

  “You can’t do this!” Stan shouted angrily.

  “I can do anything I want.”

  “What are you? A fucking Nazi?”

  The officer’s fist landed against Stan’s jaw and Agnieska cringed from the pain she saw in his eyes. Why can’t he just keep his mouth shut? The four men had all but forgotten about her presence and she silently stepped out of the way when two of the soldiers dragged Stan toward their vehicle.

  She watched the vehicle disappear with Stan, feeling desperation take hold of her. There was nothing she could do. She returned to the kitchen, washing the dishes, cleaning the floor. Then she tended to the gardens until Tadzio came rushing across the fields shouting happily, “Hey, do you know where Stan is? I want to show him something.”

  It broke her heart to tell him, so she didn’t. “He had to go to town on an urgent errand. Will you be able to work on your own for the day?”

  Tadzio nodded. “Sure. I’m almost a grown-up.”

  “That you are.” She ruffled his hair and handed him some carrots and a lettuce head before saying, “Bring this to your mother.”

  Agnieska spent the rest of the day listening for Stan’s steps in the doorway. Each noise caused her to jump in expectation of his return, but each time it was a false alarm. Her worry increased with every passing minute. By mid-afternoon, she was nothing more than a bundle of frayed nerves and tears.

  One could never be sure what happened when confronted with the authorities. He wouldn’t be the first one to be sent to a work camp in Siberia.

  Chapter 22

  The soldiers took Stan straight to the town hall in Lodz where they interrogated him. The room looked eerily familiar. Blank walls. A single bare lightbulb hanging down from the ceiling. A lone chair sat in the middle of the room, handcuffs attached to either side of the tall back.

  They shoved him down into the chair but didn’t attach the cuffs. A man in a military uniform entered together with a civilian – some local party member eager to serve his Soviet masters. Stan cringed as he anticipated the agony ahead.

  The Polish man began firing questions at him rapidly, while the Soviet officer stood there motionless.

  “It has been brought to our attention that you haven’t joined the Polish Worker’s Party. Is that right?”

  “Yes.” Stan opted for saying as little as possible.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m a farmer and was busy cultivating my fields.”

  The other man raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you aren’t a sympathizer of the traitorous Home Army?” Many of the farmers in Poland had been supporters of the Home Army that had quickly fallen into disgrace with Stalin, because they wanted an independent Poland.

  “I’m certainly not.” That was a lie. Stan had been fighting with the Home Army partisans throughout the war.

  “Where are your loyalties?” The interrogator asked.

  “With my country.”

  “And still, you resist joining the great PPR? How’s that?”

  Stan shook his head. “I’m a simple farmer.”

  “A farmer? Or a collaborator with the Nazis?”

  “I would never collaborate with those damned bastards!” Stan shouted.

  “Why don’t you like the communists?” the Soviet officer intervened.

  “I never said I disliked them.” As Stan’s anger mounted, his patience hung on a thin thread.

  “Then you won’t have a problem signing this party affiliation.”

  “I do have a problem with you forcing my hand,” Stan hissed, running a hand through his cropped
hair. How on earth had he ended up in this nightmare? Again? Last time he checked the war was finally over.

  “Look, if you know what is good for you,” the local part functionary lowered his voice to a threatening whisper, “you will sign this paper. Or…”

  “Or what?” Stan couldn’t contain his indignation anymore and jumped up. “Are you threatening me?”

  “No. We’re merely pointing out the consequences of your actions. Sign the paper and return to your farm right now or defy the authorities and find yourself on the next transport to a Gulag in Siberia. What will be your choice?”

  Those damn bastards were serious. But Stan wouldn’t be true to himself if he weren’t as stubborn as he was short-tempered. For a short moment Agnieska’s image appeared in front of his mind, but even her pleading face couldn’t make him succumb to their extortion. He’d never in his life join the communist party, just like he’d never collaborated with the Nazis. He’d rather die in a Russian work camp than betray his inner convictions.

  “I’d rather rot in a Gulag than support you bastards!” he shouted.

  “Take him to the NKVD, maybe he’ll change his mind after a few days of their hospitality,” the Soviet officer said and two soldiers jumped forward to drag Stan out of the room. The mention of the NKVD caused a shudder to run down Stan’s spine. They were the Soviet equivalent to the Gestapo and prisoners in their care rarely came out in one piece.

  But for now he focused on staying upright, because his stump had gone numb from sitting in the chair for so long. He stumbled helplessly as they hauled him forward, struggling to regain his footing.

  “Hey! Where are you taking the cripple?” a voice called out.

  Stan squinted his eyes and saw the president of the farmer’s association sitting in the dim hallway. As much as he’d tried to keep appearances up, obviously people knew about his leg.

  “What do you mean, cripple?” one of the soldiers asked, turning his head to look at Stan with disgust.

  “Came home from the war with only one leg. Don’t tell me you fellas didn’t know. Are you sleeping on your job?”

  The two soldiers looked at each other, unsure what to do. After a while one of them said, “Let’s take him back and ask the colonel.” They hauled him back into the interrogation room, where the Soviet colonel and the Polish functionary were discussing something.

  “What now?” asked the officer gruffly.

  “Sorry, sir. But this man here… he has only one leg.”

  “Stupid fools! And you believe this shit? How would he be able to walk with only one leg?” the Polish man asked.

  “We’ll take a look. Strip.”

  Stan stood there dumbfounded, hating the man who’d brought his condition to their attention. He hadn’t wanted to tell the bastards about his deformity for fear they would use it against him.

  “Strip or we will do it for you,” the officer said, pulling out a billy club and slapping it against his thigh.

  Slowly, filled with embarrassment and a healthy dose of fear, Stan removed his work pants, revealing his wooden leg and the stump it was attached to.

  Rowdy laughter broke out in the room.

  And if that wasn’t shameful enough, they forced Stan to sit down and remove the prosthetic so that they could see the pathetic remainder of what at one time had been a healthy human leg. Through it all, Stan clenched his jaw and held onto his temper.

  “He’s only half a man,” one of them burst out laughing. “What should the NKVD do with him? Cut off the other leg?” Stan wished for the earth to open up and swallow him whole, while the four men cracked joke after joke at his expense.

  “The party doesn’t want people like him,” said the PPR official.

  “Neither does the Soviet Union have use for him in one of the labor camps,” added the Soviet officer and finally ordered, “Let him go.”

  Stan silently reattached his wooden leg, dressed and slinked away with his shoulders hunched and his eyes cast to the floor. Doing anything but meet the eyes of people either ridiculing or pitying him.

  The initial relief he felt at being turned loose quickly transmuted into red-hot fury. Ire like he hadn’t felt in a long, long time took hold of him and he entered the first bar he came across with the goal of getting pissed until he blacked out.

  From experience he knew hard liquor was the only way to stop the emotions ravaging his heart and soul. He couldn’t bawl like a woman, and neither could he start a brawl like a real man, so he had to resort to the numbing effects of vodka.

  Chapter 23

  Agnieska was sick with worry. The night had long since settled over the land, casting the road leading up to the farm in an eerie moonlight. Why didn’t they let Stan go? Given his reputation for fits of rage, she could only imagine how bad it had gotten. And there was absolutely nothing she could do to help him.

  She paced the bottom floor of the house, jumping at every little noise, quickly moving past concern to full panic. Way after midnight, she accepted the futility of her pacing and went upstairs, where she finally fell into a troubled sleep. Early in the morning she woke with a start and rushed downstairs to look for Stan. Nothing. She rushed over to the shed and peered inside. Nothing.

  Despair grabbed at her heart with an icy hand. Where is he? What have they done to him? When he didn’t return by mid-morning, she took her coat and handbag and walked out of the door, determined to find him.

  Once in town, she headed straight for the town hall. Usually she avoided going to town at all costs except on market day, because she feared running into some of the persons that had worked for the Nazis and mistreated her during her time in the Lodz Jewish Ghetto. That’s over now. The Nazis are gone, she kept saying to herself as she squared her shoulders, bracing herself for an unpleasant encounter with the past.

  Nothing happened, not until she reached the big courtyard in front of the registry office, where an unusual number of people milled about, apparently waiting for something to happen. She had to work her way through the crowd to reach the entrance door. Just as she arrived at the stairs, someone recognized her. It was a Polish policeman, who used to work for the Nazis, ratting out Jews in hiding.

  “Another Jewish pig! You dare to return to this place?”

  Fear seized Agnieska by the heart and she ducked her head. Had she really survived the Nazis and all of the horrors brought about by them during the war, just to be forced to endure it all over again?

  “Haven’t you got the message that we don’t want you here?” someone else shouted.

  “I’m a Pole, just like you,” she said, trying to make her way up the stairs and inside the town building.

  “You’re a filthy Jew and you should have died along with the others!”

  “Yes, the one thing Hitler got right was ridding us of your kind,” a man spat at her and the blood froze in her veins, horrible memories rushing back at his vicious actions. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and bolted up the stairs, reaching for the door into safety, when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder.

  “Not so fast, pig,” a hateful voice said and thrashed her to the ground.

  Wincing, she protected her head as kicks and punches hailed down on her. She was sure the mob would lynch her and mumbled a prayer. As if to answer her prayer, a shot cut through the air and the mob scrambled for cover, leaving her bloodied and hurting on the ground.

  Moments later two policemen approached her with another man in tow. One of the policemen helped her up, asking, “Can you walk?”

  She bit down on her lips at the stabbing pain in her ribcage, but managed to get up and put on a brave face. “I guess so. Thanks for your help.”

  “Just glad we arrived in time, since those people are not to be trifled with.” The second man gave her a compassionate look.

  “Agnieska? What in the world are you doing here?” Stan said, stepping out from behind the two policemen.

  “Looking for you,” she answered between gritted tee
th.

  “You know this woman?” the first policeman asked, turning to look at a quite disheveled Stan.

  “Yes. She’s my sister-in-law. She’s living up on the farm with me.”

  The two men gave Stan a look she couldn’t decipher and the taller one said, “I’m Mikos and this is Andrej. We used to be with Stan in the same partisan unit.”

  “Thanks for saving me,” Agnieska said.

  “That’s our job. But anti-Semitism is still rampant around here and you better be careful.” Mikos cast a glance at Stan and added, “If you’d only join the Worker’s Party, both of you would be so much safer. The communists are grappling for power and with Stalin having their back it’ll only get worse for everyone else.”

  Stan shot his friend a dark stare, but Mikos only laughed. “You know I’m right, whether you like it or not.”

  “If you want a peaceful life, think about joining the PPR. It’s just a piece of paper,” Andrej said.

  “Over my dead body,” Stan hissed with barely concealed rage.

  “Very nearly it was over her dead body.” Mikos pointed at Agnieska, who could feel the bruises forming on her battered body.

  “Sad as it is, your sister-in-law won’t be safe in this town until she marries a good Catholic man who better be a party member.”

  “She’s a good looking woman who seems to cook well,” Andrej said after a look at Stan’s healthy appearance. “We could arrange for her to meet some eligible suitors.”

  “No!” Stan all but shouted, and Agnieska had to bite back a smile.

  They bid their farewells and then walked silently back to the farm. Every step sent a stabbing pain through her and she pressed her hand against her ribcage.

  “You sure you can walk all the way home?” Stan asked, stopping for a moment and looking into her eyes that must be filled with pain. “Poor thing.” He stood directly in front of her, his face mere inches away from hers. His glacial blue eyes softened as he reached out his hand to put a strand of hair behind her ears.