“Good afternoon, ladies.” He didn’t look pleased to see them. “There’s a problem, I’m afraid. Something wrong with the engine.”
“Should we come back later?” Martha hadn’t meant it to sound sarcastic. But she was struggling to suppress the anger she felt inside. There had been no apology for the panic this morning’s phone call had triggered. There was not a shred of empathy in the way he behaved.
His eyes narrowed. “Better not—they shouldn’t be too long.” There was a glimmer of surprise in the way he looked at her.
“Where are they coming from?” Martha held his gaze. She wasn’t going to be pacified. She wanted details.
“Czechoslovakia,” the major replied. “A place called Pilsen, about fifty miles west of Prague.”
“But they’re Polish, aren’t they?” Kitty said.
“With a few Balts in the mix.” He nodded. “Most of ’em worked at the Skoda plant. Czechs used to make cars there; Germans turned it into a tank factory.”
“How long will they have been traveling when they get here?” Delphine asked.
“Four days. Should’ve taken two—would’ve, if we’d been running the show.” He shook his head. “Can’t run the damn railroad without Germans, and don’t they just hate doing anything to help these folks.”
“I hope they’ve at least had food and been able to get some sleep,” Delphine said.
“Food, probably,” the major said. “There are Red Cross outfits at most of the big stations. As for sleep—well, I guess those stock cars aren’t too comfortable.”
“Stock cars?” Martha echoed. “You mean cattle wagons? Surely they . . .”
“No choice, ma’am.” He cut her short. “Listen, I gotta go make a call; no point in the trucks getting here until there are people to transport. I’ll catch you ladies when the train comes in.”
“Major McMahon, wait just a moment, would you?” Martha followed him along the platform. “Is there any news on the fiancé of the girl at the camp? You were going to find out where he’d gone.”
“Yeah, I did that,” he called over his shoulder. “The engagement was a fantasy. Frank has a wife in Boise, Idaho.”
Martha stopped dead. A wife. How on earth was Jadzia going to take that?
While they waited for the train, the women tried to work out how to break the news of Jadzia’s betrayal.
Delphine was worried about the effect such a shock could have on a pregnant woman. “It could bring on premature labor,” she said. “The baby might not survive.”
“But what are we going to tell her?” Martha frowned. “She’s bound to come asking if we’ve had any news from the base.”
“We’ll have to make up some story about them having trouble locating Frank since he got back to America,” Kitty said. “Play for time.”
“But wouldn’t it be worse to wait until she’s had the baby?” Martha replied. “Imagine how much more vulnerable she’ll be feeling then.”
The debate was still going on when a piercing whistle came down the tracks. A plume of steam shot into the sky before the engine chugged into view. Then they saw the cattle cars.
Kitty watched, mesmerized, as they glided along the tracks toward the platform. They were exactly like the photographs she’d seen in the British newspapers. Huge wooden containers with no windows. The only difference from those harrowing shots of the concentration camp transports was that the doors of these wagons were open. Faces stared out. There were no smiles, no waves of greeting. Even the youngest looked weary.
When the train came to a stop, people began to jump onto the platform. Young men and women, some carrying children, were the first out. Then Kitty saw older people—women, mostly—being helped off the train by the younger ones. Gigantic bundles were passed down to waiting hands and set down on the platform for the children and old ladies to sit on.
An American soldier stumbled out of the front of the train. When he reached them, he looked as if he barely had the energy to raise his hand in a salute to the major. “Three hundred and ninety-four passengers, sir.” His unshaved face was haggard. “We lost five along the way: one climbed onto power lines and was electrocuted, four disappeared when we stopped at the border.” He dragged the back of his hand across his forehead. “We delivered a baby boy last night, and there’s a woman about to pop in car four. Have you got a doctor?”