A sudden wail from outside made all three women turn their heads to the door. There was a single knock, then it opened to reveal one of the trio of mothers from next door, a crying baby cradled in her arms.
“Potrzebuj? mleka w puszce.”
“She’s asking for more of that canned milk,” Kitty said.
“I’ll go and get some.” Delphine disappeared into the kitchen.
As Martha watched her go, she wondered what memories had caused Delphine’s hand to shake like that. And Kitty—who was now chatting with the mother in Polish so fluent, it could have been her first language—what had been going through her mind in the seconds before they were interrupted?
She sensed that each of them had buried something of the past when they had pulled on those ill-fitting gray uniforms and sewn on their UNRRA patches, that like her, they were wary of revealing the twists of fate that had brought them to this place.
Wary? Or plain scared? It was scary, Martha thought, to peel off your shell and expose what lay beneath. Now they knew that she was a runaway, a poor judge of character, a failure as a wife. Would that knowledge diminish her in their eyes? She hoped not.
CHAPTER 5
When Martha woke the next morning, her heart was pounding. She’d been in a deep sleep, dreaming about Arnie. In the dream, he’d come to Germany to find her. He was standing outside the gates of Seidenmühle, shouting to the guard to let him in.
She took in a long breath and let it out slowly. The sight of the other women, still fast asleep, was comforting. Delphine, in the bed opposite hers, was gently snoring. The lines on her face seemed to disappear when she was asleep, making her look younger. Kitty slept on the other side of the room. Her hair covered the pillow. Each night she undid the braid she wore and spent a few minutes brushing the shiny black waist-length locks. Usually, she braided it again before getting into bed, but last night—probably due to the effects of the cognac—she hadn’t.
The beam of sunlight penetrating the gap in the bedroom curtains told Martha that the rain of the previous day had cleared. Very quietly she slid out of bed, took her clothes from the bedside chair, and made her way downstairs, trying to avoid the places on the treads that creaked. Sneaking out of the house like this, she couldn’t help being reminded of running out on Arnie. The dream had rattled her. She couldn’t ignore the guilt it stirred up. She tried to picture what he’d be doing at this moment. Probably he was still awake, sitting up late with a bottle for company, or playing cards in his favorite bar on Wythe Avenue. She wondered if he really had tried to find her, if he’d gone to the homes of any of her friends, banging on doors and demanding answers. She hoped not. She hadn’t told anyone she was leaving, just in case. It had hurt, not being able to say goodbye to them. In a week or so, when the dust had settled, she would write letters.
Making her way along the path through the trees, Martha headed for the entrance to the camp, struggling to banish images of Arnie and focus on the day ahead. She hadn’t had a chance to explore the place properly. Getting up before everyone else was the only way to make the time to do it. When the gates came into view, she swerved left, away from the main route through the camp, taking a track that led down to the river.
She knew from the map on the wall of the office that the Amper River formed the eastern boundary of the camp. She’d glimpsed it from the road when they’d arrived at Seidenmühle, but the view from the opposite bank was very different. Fingers of mist hung over the water, lit by the early morning sunshine. A heron stood, still and elegant, in the shallows. Swallows flitted over her head, diving so low they skimmed the surface. To her left was the mill wheel, strewn with weeds that hung like tangled hair from the splintered paddles. Beyond it she could see two figures, standing up to their thighs in the water. Fishermen. Up and about their business even earlier than she was. She wondered if they were from the camp or were local men from one of the farms. They looked innocent enough, but she couldn’t help remembering what the major had said about Nazis on the run. The thought of them hiding out in the woods outside the camp sent a shiver down her spine.
As she watched, one of the men started to pull vigorously on the rod he was holding. She saw the silvery body of a sizeable fish flapping about in the water. A joyful shouting erupted as the man landed his catch. German words—or Polish? She wondered how long it would be before she could tell the difference.
She followed the river until she came to the edge of the forest that formed the southern boundary of the camp. Through the trees she caught the glint of something metal, high up. Stepping off the path she saw that it was the cross on the roof of the chapel Kitty had found when she’d gone looking for the priest.