It was just before eight when Martha popped her head around the door of the cabin. “Want some coffee?” Delphine called out.
“Yes, please.”
“How are they all this morning?” Delphine came out of the kitchen with a mug in her hand.
“Fine.” Martha took a sip of coffee. “The girls are playing with some of the children from blockhouse five. They’re not as shy as they were when they first came here.”
“And Stefan? How’s he getting on?”
“Okay, I think.”
“You think? You haven’t asked him?”
“There’s not much chance to talk.” Martha cradled the mug in her hands, looking down at it. “I don’t like to ask how things are, with the girls in the car.”
Kitty came down the stairs, still in her pajamas. “I don’t mind babysitting one evening, if you and Stefan want to spend some time together.”
“That’s kind of you—but . . .” Martha trailed off with a shrug.
“You’re worried about what people will think?” Delphine said. “No one needs to know.”
“It’s not just that. I . . .” She hesitated. “I’m not sure if Stefan would want to.”
“Has something happened?” Kitty sat down next to Martha.
“No, not really.” Martha sighed. “I guess I’m just afraid to push things.”
“You can’t go tiptoeing around each other forever,” Delphine said. “He’s probably as nervous as you are.”
“Have you told him you’re getting a divorce?” Kitty asked.
“That would sound as if I was expecting something, wouldn’t it? And anyway, I can’t, can I? Because I’ve got no chance of getting one unless I can track Arnie down.”
Delphine frowned. “You haven’t told Stefan how you feel?”
“It didn’t seem right. I think it has to come from him.”
“You’ll end up going round in circles, then, won’t you?” Delphine sighed.
It was nearly a week later when Kitty came up with the idea of inviting Lubya and Halina to join in her art class. So, on that day, Martha didn’t take them with her when she went to pick Stefan up from the base. He’d agreed to Kitty’s suggestion, but Martha felt awkward when he got into the car. It was the first time they had been alone together since the day he’d come back from Poland.
She pulled onto the side of the road a little more than a mile from the camp. His cabin was inaccessible by car. Usually, she would let him and the girls out at this point, then drive off. Now that it was just the two of them, she didn’t know what to do. She kept the engine running, not wanting him to think she was expecting to be invited to his new home.
“Will you come see what I’ve done?” He turned to her and smiled. “You haven’t come for a long time.”
It was true—she hadn’t seen it since it was just a pile of logs stacked in a clearing. Some of the men who had worked with Stefan on the lumber detail in the early days had helped him build the cabin. Martha had kept away during the construction, aware of what the men might think if she was hovering around.
As they made their way along the path, she caught a glimpse of it through the trees. “Oh, look at that!” It was like a woodcutter’s hut out of a fairy tale. It had a shingle roof and shutters at the windows. There was even a little porch with a rustic wooden bench.
He opened the door. “It’s dark in here.” He went in ahead of her. “No glass in the windows.” He opened the shutters while she stood in the doorway. “You can come in now,” he said.
The dappled sunlight shining in from outside revealed two beds like the ones in the blockhouses, made of sacking stuffed with straw. Army-issue blankets were neatly folded across them, and on the pillows of the larger bed sat the two rag dolls Martha had commissioned from the camp sewing class: one with plaits of yellow wool and the other dark brown. Hanging from hooks on the wall were the dresses and cardigans Martha had helped the girls choose from the clothing storeroom.
Apart from the beds, the only other furniture in the room was a table made of wooden planks. On it were a camping stove, a kettle, three tin cups, and three plates. Beneath the table was the suitcase Stefan had brought back from Poland and an apple crate containing an assortment of tins and jars.
“Shall I make coffee?”
“That would be good,” she said.
Martha watched him light the camping stove and place the kettle over the flame. She wondered where he was getting water. There were streams in the forest that fed into the river. Or perhaps he filled a container at the army base?