His dark eyes widened as he looked up. “You will be my mama?”
She nodded. “If you want me to.” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat.
“You can do this? Tomorrow?”
“Not tomorrow. I must write letters first. But soon, I hope.”
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, as if he never wanted to let go. She could feel his tears in her hair. She was crying, too.
CHAPTER 26
Operation Carrot had an immediate impact on morale in the camp. Within a couple of days, Martha was only a handful of people short of the target the major had given her. The names on the list were mainly young single men. There was almost no one over the age of forty. On the last transport there had been many older people—all of them desperate to be reunited with relatives in Poland, but the older DPs who remained at Seidenmühle knew there was no one waiting for them. Whatever nostalgia they had for the place they once called home, they didn’t have the heart to return to a place inhabited by ghosts—and no amount of extra food was going to change that. But staying behind was only a temporary solution. The DP camps would have to close eventually, and no one, including Martha, had any idea how or when that would be accomplished.
She was relieved to see that Aleksandra and Marek had not volunteered for the transport. She hadn’t sought them out, because she felt it was wrong to try to influence them. But the thought of them taking little Rodek to Poland was chilling. She knew that one day, she would have to wave goodbye to her little godson. But she wanted him to grow up in a place of hope, not fear.
She took the list to show to Father Josef. She wanted to know what he thought of the bribery the army was resorting to. He was in the chapel, clearing the altar table after Mass.
“It feels all wrong,” she said, as he scanned the names. “I wonder how many of them would have signed up without the extra rations?”
“Probably no more than a few dozen,” the priest replied. “Everybody’s worried about what life will be like when they get back there, but the thought of having two months’ worth of food gives them courage.”
“Do you think it’s wrong?”
He hesitated before replying, rubbing his beard with his fingers. “It’s not a simple matter of what’s right and what’s wrong. There are thousands of DPs across the occupied territories. They all need feeding and housing. It can’t go on indefinitely. And with other countries refusing to take them . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m not saying I like what the army is doing—but I understand why they’re doing it.” He glanced at the list in his hand. “These people have made their choice. No one is being forced to get on that train.”
“But it feels like I’ve failed them, sending them to a place where they could be worse off than they are here.”
“That’s understandable. The trouble is there’s no way of knowing what daily life is like there now. It’s almost impossible to get firsthand information. I’ve written countless letters to the bishop’s office in Warsaw, but I never get a reply.”
Martha’s insides clenched. Was that why she’d heard nothing from Stefan? Was it possible that he had written to her, but his letters had never arrived? The thought of that was unbearable. “Do you think letters to the West are being intercepted? Censored?”
“Yes—both, I should think. And the Communists want to crush religion. I don’t even know if the bishop’s office still exists. I don’t suppose the government would want a person like me knowing what was going on.” He shrugged. “I’m probably on some blacklist.”
Martha nodded. No doubt he would be seen as a troublemaker, this priest who had been sent to Dachau for his outspoken views about the Nazis.
“So, you can’t go back?”
“Well, I could, of course. But it’s likely I’d be arrested the moment I stepped off the train.” He pressed his lips together, the tuft of gray above his chin coming up to meet his mustache. “Don’t misunderstand me—I’m not afraid of going to prison. But I think God would rather I was here, doing what I can for the people who are still in the camp.”
“Does it worry you to think of there being no church for the DPs to go to back in Poland?”
“I think of little else. When I listen to the radio, I get a sense of real evil coming from the mouths of men like Stalin. I’ve been trying to prepare people for what it might be like when they go back, encouraging them to meet in each other’s homes for secret fellowship if the churches are closed.” His eyes ran over the altar table, where the empty chalice sat, along with the plate scattered with bread crumbs. “It’s all too easy to lose your faith if you’re trying to practice it alone. It’s like a coal falling out of the fire: it soon goes cold.”