They were still walking. Martha kept silent. She hated the thought of him parting with precious cigarettes—very likely the only currency he had—in a vain attempt to get a letter to her. She sensed from the staccato sentences and frequent pauses that he was bracing himself to reveal what that letter had contained.
“I slept in the warehouse next to the river, where I stored timber before the war. My house . . .” He drew in a long breath and blew it out again. “Is gone. The Nazis destroyed the city. They hate the Polish way of life. They burned schools, universities, churches, castles . . . everything.”
For a while, he went quiet. Their feet crushed pine needles as they trudged deeper into the woods. “My wife, she worked in a library: the Zaluski Library—the oldest in Poland.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “I went to find out what happened to her. But there was nothing there. They said German soldiers made a fire with all the books.” He stopped and leaned against a tree, pressing his forehead against the bark.
Instinctively she reached for him, clasping her arms around his back. She could feel his body shaking. “Don’t try to talk anymore,” she whispered. “Just let me hold you.” He turned around, knocking her cap to the ground as he buried his head in her hair. The only sound was the rustling of the breeze in the branches overhead. She closed her eyes, rocking him like a child.
She had no idea how long they stood there. She became vaguely aware of a cold, wet sensation on the side of her face. She thought it was his tears. It was only when she opened her eyes that she saw the raindrops pattering onto the pine needles. She guided him into the shelter of the nearest tree, taking off her jacket to hold over their heads.
“Lubya will worry where I’ve gone,” he murmured. “When I found her, I told her I would never leave her again.”
The rain eased as they began to walk back. Stefan helped her back into the jacket and brushed off the needles that had stuck into her cap. She was careful not to look at him, pressing her lips tight to contain the questions buzzing inside her head.
Kitty had a plate of bread and sausage waiting for Stefan in the dining room. Lubya and Halina were already eating theirs. When she caught sight of her father, Lubya rushed from her seat and hurled herself into his arms.
“They’ve been very well behaved,” Kitty said, as he sat down. She glanced at Martha. It was a wary, quizzical look. Martha’s face couldn’t convey the maelstrom of emotion the walk in the woods had brought on.
“Father Josef is on his way.” Kitty turned to Stefan. “He’s had to go to the hospital, but he’s longing to see you. He said that if you need somewhere to sleep, you’re welcome to use the chapel.”
Stefan looked at Martha. “I don’t want to make trouble for you.”
“He said it doesn’t count as army property because it’s a church,” Kitty said. “So, you wouldn’t be breaking the rules.”
Martha wondered if Stefan had some other plan, whether he’d simply called at the camp to draw a line under things before moving on to some other place. “Do you have somewhere to stay?” she asked him.
“I asked the farmer who gave me a ride here. He said we could sleep in his barn if I worked for him.”
“What about the girls?” Martha said. “Who would look after them?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t worked it out yet.”
“They need to go to school,” Kitty said. “They could come to lessons at the camp, couldn’t they?”
“They could have their meals here, too.” Martha nodded. “There’s nothing in the rules to prevent that: they’re DPs and they’ve never lived here.” She fixed her eyes on the table to hide the sense of helpless frustration rising inside her. “It’s inhuman, that they could live here but Stefan is barred.”
“Well, the chapel might be the answer—just until you decide what you want to do.” Kitty leaned across the table to pour water into Stefan’s glass. Martha looked up, catching her eyes as she lifted the jug. There was a glint of conspiracy in Kitty’s expression. She seemed to understand the complexity of the situation without knowing any of the details. She had grasped that what Stefan needed was time and space, a sanctuary in which he could begin to unburden himself. It was something Martha would never have thought of—offering the chapel as a temporary home. Thank you, she mouthed, as Kitty moved back across the table.
That night, when the girls were asleep, Stefan came to find Martha, who was sitting on the log pile outside the chapel. It was a still, clear night. A crescent moon hung over the trees, and the scent of the wild garlic growing by the river was in the air.