The Winter Guest (22 page)

“I’m afraid,” she confessed, more openly than she should have to this man she barely knew.

“You are wise to fear. Only the fool doesn’t. But don’t hide from your fear. Wear it like a cloak of armor.”

“Thank you,” she said. She wanted to ask him if there was anything else that might be done, so that she would have some morsel of information for Sam, some hope to give him.

Sirens whirred, growing louder in the distance. Helena turned toward the sound. “Run!” Alek hissed behind her. When she turned back, he was gone and she could not tell in which direction he had fled. It was as if he had disappeared before her eyes. The wailing grew louder, filling her ears, the danger almost upon her. Then obeying his words, she ran, too. The pounding of her soles echoed against the pavement and she kept going, heedless of who heard, desperate to get away. She ran until the city disappeared and the sirens faded into the wind behind her.

17

Ruth breathed in deeply as she walked past the barn,
taking in the crispness of the air. Tonight was Christmas Eve and Helena was
home, instead of traipsing off into the woods. Her muscles relaxed slightly, as
they always did when they were all together and in one place. It was nearly
noon, though, and market would be closing early for the holiday. She quickened
her pace. She needed a bit of smoked trout, and some dill, if there was any to
be had.

Then she stopped and cried aloud, her voice echoing into the
emptiness of the field ahead. Mama was dead. Yet here she was planning
Wigilia
dinner, as though it still mattered. Suddenly
her own breathing, carrying on when Mama could not, seemed disloyal. She looked
upward at the sky, wondering where Mama really was now. Once she might have
thought she knew the answer, but her faith, everything she once believed, felt
shattered into pieces too small to reassemble. Perhaps they should not have the
holiday at all. But she thought of Dorie’s face, so excited as she explained to
Karolina the tiny gifts that would be coming that evening. The children needed
Christmas, and so she would keep going for them.

Fifteen minutes later, Ruth neared the village. At the corner
by the school, she stopped, raising her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry.
Hanging from the wooden frame where the children’s swings had once been was a
rope—a man dangled from the end, neck curved in a grotesque angle. Though his
face was twisted, she recognized him vaguely as someone she had seen at market.
She had always imagined death to be peaceful and slumberlike, but the man who
hung from the makeshift gallows here had his mouth open and contorted in a
silent scream. His pants were soiled front and back, perhaps the greatest
indignity.

“What happened?” she asked aloud to no one in particular over
the nausea that rose in her throat. People hurried by pretending not to see, as
if nonplussed by the scene that had turned the peaceful square into a horror
novel. Did they fear his cruel death was somehow contagious?

“Hoarding,” a woman beside her whispered as she passed. Ruth’s
blood froze. The very crime of which the policeman had accused her—and which
Helena had, in fact, committed. Reflexively, Ruth crossed herself. If the
Germans would do this just for hoarding, what might the penalty be for stealing
food for an American soldier?

Ruth forced herself to press onward, pushing the image of the
man from her mind. Market was closing when she arrived, the sellers packing away
their remaining foodstuffs and returning home early to enjoy the holiday with
their own families, at least as much as they were able under the grim
circumstances. The fishmonger was already gone. She would have to make do with
what she had already purchased. Dejectedly, she turned away.

She turned toward the church at the top of the square, elevated
slightly above the rest of the town. A good-size building and larger than the
town might have needed, it had an unbroken sandstone facade, rising to a rounded
cupola. Church bells no longer rang out as they had in past years but a slow
line of parishioners streamed from the front door of the church, leaving an
early mass. Ruth watched longingly. She had loved going to church as a family.
Huddling together in the warm close pew, she had felt for a brief time like a
part of something.

Even after they had stopped attending Sunday service, Ruth had
made a secret weekly pilgrimage on her own until Helena had found out. It seemed
ironic—confession itself being a secret. She had gone persistently, though in
truth she had nothing new to say because nothing worth confessing ever happened,
not here. She felt selfish, taking time away from her chores just to talk about
herself. That was why she had hidden it. But it was the one time she could be
sure that someone was listening.

Ruth moved closer to the church now, noting that the nativity
that stood out front in past years was missing. Her eyes rose to the simple
metal cross atop it and she thought of kindly Father Dominik, who had patted
their heads and given them the occasional sweet as children. She passed the
small graveyard that wrapped behind the church. The too-close stones lilted
toward one another, as if being pushed from the ground below by unseen hands.
Her stomach tightened. She had insisted on the proper stone for Tata over
Helena’s objections, using too much of the little money they had to pay for it,
rather than allowing him to be buried in a pauper’s grave. And she had chosen a
spot by the edge of the cemetery deliberately, hoping that space might remain
beside him when their mother’s time came. Now that would never be.

Ruth walked against the tide of departing parishioners into the
emptying church. Her eyes traveled to the front pew where Piotr’s family sat on
Sundays, toward the confessional. Once, the pouring out of her sins, even the
little everyday ones, had brought her much solace. But it seemed pointless now.
Instead, she went to the knave and lit a candle and she was praying then, for
Mama’s soul and for them all.

She looked up, wiping away a tear. The door leading to the
rectory was open. Pushing Helena’s admonition from her mind, she walked toward
it. The gray-haired priest looked up, his expression instantly guarded. “I’m
sorry,” Father Dominik said as she neared, “but the charity baskets were given
yesterday.”

“I’m not here for charity,” she said, struggling not to sound
indignant. Her cheeks stung. She pulled her hood back. “It’s me, Ruth Nowak.”
Had she really changed so much?

His watery eyes blinked once. “Yes, of course.” She waited for
him to rebuke her for not having come to church in so long. “How can I help you,
my child?”

She swallowed. “My mother died.”

His brow furrowed. “I had not heard. I’m so sorry.”

“It only just happened.”

“Death is very hard to make sense of...” he began, resorting to
platitudes. “She was in the Jewish hospital, wasn’t she?” His tone made it sound
as though that had somehow contributed to her death. “Well, she is with God
now.”

“Do you remember her when she was younger?” Ruth was hungry for
information, memories that might add to her own now that she could no longer do
so.

“Your mother moved here not long after I came to the parish.
She was from the north, I think. Your father had been on an errand there and had
been taken by her beauty.”

Ruth smiled at the familiar story. But how had Tata approached
her mother, a strange woman he did not know? And how had he persuaded her to
leave everything to go with him?

Remembering the man who hung from the swing set, anxiety
flooded her once more. “Do you think we should leave?”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Do you think it will be safe for people here in the village?
Like that man who was hoarding...”

The priest raised his hand, willing her to be silent. A guarded
look flickered across his face. “Each must follow his own conscience.”

Isn’t that what you are here for?
Ruth wanted to ask. “But if one wanted to go, surely there are ways.” She
searched the priest’s face, pleading.

His eyes widened. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking
about. I will call around to see your siblings,” he said, in a way that
suggested they were finished. Ruth opened her mouth to tell him that was not
necessary. She was the only one who put stock in the church, and if the priest
visited the house Helena would realize that she had come here against her
wishes. Looking at his face, though, she knew she had nothing to worry about.
There would be no visit. Her charitable side wanted to believe the priest was
too busy with the work that the war had made for the church, so many needing
help. But even without the war, the orphaned Nowak children were not a priority
for the parish.

“Thank you.” She walked down the aisle between the pews. The
Virgin Mary seemed to stare down at her, demanding repentance. Ruth slipped from
the church into the cold and dark and made her way to the edge of town, heading
toward home.

As she started across the open field, her skin prickled with
awareness. She turned sharply. A figure appeared from behind a tree, then
disappeared from sight, dark and shadowy. The policeman. Surely he had better
things to do than follow her. He was watching her, though, as if waiting for
something to happen that she herself did not quite yet know. She quickened her
step, praying that he would not come after her. When she reached the gate by the
barn, she glanced over her shoulder. He was not there. But her relief was
short-lived. Surely he would come again.

Calming her breath, she walked into the house. She was touched
to see that Michal and Dorie had set the table and lit the candles, giving the
room a merry feel. Michal’s eyes dropped to Ruth’s basket, which was as empty as
if she had not gone to market at all, then darted quickly away.

“Where’s Helena?” Ruth asked, looking around the
quieter-than-usual cottage.

Michal shrugged. “She went out. Said that she would be back
soon.” Ruth’s indignation rose. Helena must have gone to see the soldier again,
on Christmas Eve no less. Struggling not to comment aloud, Ruth took off her
coat and set about finishing the
babka
cake she’d
made earlier with a dusting of sweetened flour.

A few minutes later the front door burst open. “Merry
Christmas!” Helena strode into the cottage, her arms filled with a small
evergreen.

“A tree!” Dorie exclaimed jubilantly as Helena set it in the
corner and fetched the stand.

“Tee!” Karolina echoed, toddling toward it.

“But...” Ruth looked at her puzzled. “We agreed just to
decorate the mantel.”

“I know, but I thought...” She gestured toward the children,
who jumped up and down merrily.

“You did what you wanted. Again.”
And now
you’re the hero for it.
Resentment welled in her. Then watching the
children, she softened and walked to the cedar chest. “Here.” She handed Michal
the box containing the few glass ornaments Mama had collected over the years.
“Be careful,” she admonished as the children set about hanging them quickly. In
other years it would have taken hours to decorate the tree, but they could not
spare the fruit and nuts they had once strung. The tree looked naked with just
half a dozen or so ornaments. The children did not seem to mind, though, as they
danced around it with excitement.

Helena went to the stove and lifted the lid on the pot that was
simmering there. “
Golabki?
We always have carp,”
Helena said pointedly.

“There was none to be had. So tonight,” Ruth snapped, “we are
having cabbage rolls.” The children watched, the tree forgotten, consternation
on their faces. There was a level of acrimony between the twins they had not
before seen, unheard of on the holiday when fences were to be mended. “Why don’t
you go look for the first star?” Ruth suggested, and they scampered to the
window. By tradition, the
Wigilia
meal could not
commence until they had seen the first star. She turned back to her sister,
trying to find a way to ease the tension. Quarreling on the holiday was a poor
omen for the year to come. But the gulf between them was too wide to bridge.

“I see it!” Dorie cried a few minutes later. “The first
star!”

“’Tar!” Karolina echoed, pointing and jumping.

“Then let’s sit down.”

They all came to the table. Ruth produced a single
oplatek,
which she divided into pieces and gave to
each of them. The breaking of the thin wafer between two people was a Christmas
Eve ritual intended to symbolize forgiveness and letting go of the past. She
reached across the table to Helena and extended the wafer. “Peace,” her sister
said as they broke the tiny piece between them. But the words were hollow, the
kiss on her cheek stiff. How could one cracker heal so much division?

Ruth went to the kitchen and picked up the serving dish. Once
Wigilia
had consisted of more than a half dozen
different seafood recipes. Now the only dish was
golabki.
She had boiled the last few cabbage leaves, which she had
feared would be too tough for eating, then filled them with a savory mixture
made from the apples she’d purchased at market and some ground nuts. She had
been quite proud of the result, a plate of delicious cabbage rolls.

“No sauce?” Helena asked mildly when she had set out the
feast.

Something burned white-hot in Ruth then and she stood, knocking
several of the
golabki
from the plate beside her.
“How dare you?” The children’s eyes widened in surprise. Ruth hated for them to
see this side of her, especially now. But she had slaved to make the best meal
she could. She walked into the bedroom, trembling.

Helena followed, closing the bedroom door behind her. “Ruti,
let’s not fight on Christmas.”

But Ruth was too far gone for that. Suddenly, it was about
something much bigger than her cooking—or Helena’s lack of gratitude. “You saw
him again, didn’t you?”

Helena’s cheeks flushed. “I didn’t mean to. I even left a note
telling him I wouldn’t come again. But then everything happened with Mama, and,
well, I was so sad I just couldn’t bear it.”

“So you went to him.” Helena had a man’s arms in which to seek
solace, Ruth realized with resentment. “Once or more than once?”

Before Helena could answer, Michal knocked tentatively on the
door, then opened it. “Please don’t... That is, it’s Christmas and you’re
upsetting the girls.”

“We’ll be right out,” Helena replied, waving him away. When
Michal had closed the door again, she turned back to Ruth. “I have to help him,”
Helena said, her face animated in a way Ruth had never seen before. “His work is
so important to the war.” Then her expression grew serious. “But it’s more than
that... The soldier, he’s Jewish.”