By the time the dance came to an end, Martha was desperate for a drink. It was water, not vodka, she wanted. As she made her way back across the floor, she saw that Delphine had moved to sit by Stefan.
“Sorry.” Delphine got up when Martha reached her. “I’ve just come to take Rodek. I promised his mother I’d give him a bottle.”
“You want me to fetch it for you?” Stefan stood up.
“No.” Delphine smiled. “I don’t mind—honestly. It’s a bit noisy for me, and I really need to get back to the hospital, so I’ll take him with me.”
Martha could understand how difficult such a celebration must be for Delphine. A wedding was bound to bring back memories—as well as reminding her of what might have been if her son had lived.
“Would you like me to come with you?” Martha asked.
Delphine shook her head. “Absolutely not. You haven’t stopped since we took over this place; it’s about time you had a chance to enjoy yourself.”
Martha watched her take the sleeping Rodek from Stefan’s arms. He looked almost reluctant to hand the baby over. Perhaps the wedding celebration was as much of an ordeal for him as it was for Delphine. Martha hoped he hadn’t come just because she’d asked him to—as a duty he felt he couldn’t avoid.
“I could do with a glass of water,” she said when Delphine had gone. “I can’t see any, can you?”
He looked along the table. “Only vodka, I think. I can get some from the kitchen.”
“I’ll come with you.” She fanned her face with her hand. “It’s getting pretty warm in here.”
She waited outside while he went into the kitchen. The sun was still high in the sky, blindingly bright. There was no one about. Those who were not at the wedding had gone indoors to escape the heat.
Stefan came out with a jug in his hand. “No glasses. All taken for the wedding.” He offered her the jug. “You mind drinking from this?”
“No, I don’t mind.” She smiled as she took it from him. If he hadn’t been there, she would have poured some of the water on her head.
“It’s hot out here,” he said. “We can sit under the trees if you want.”
She followed him to a log pile at the edge of the forest boundary. Beneath the canopy of branches, it felt much cooler. “Sorry,” she said, looking at the half-empty jug. “You haven’t had any.” She wiped the rim with the sleeve of her dress.
“You are funny.” He grinned as he took it from her.
“Why?”
“You wiped the jug. Like you have a bad disease.”
She huffed out a chuckle. “I hope not!”
He set the empty jug down on the ground. “Why did you come here?” he asked. “Why did you want to leave a nice place like America?”
She saw that he was looking at her hand, at the ring glinting in the dappled light that penetrated the trees. She thought that perhaps the vodka had melted his reserve. He’d never asked her why she wore it, but he must have wondered. What would he say if she told him she’d walked out on her husband? She didn’t like the idea of him knowing that about her. And the realization that she cared so much what he thought sent a frisson of something through her, like a nettle sting or a mild electric shock.
“Why do you ask?” It was all she could say—a delaying tactic to give her time to think.
“If I lived in America, I would never leave.” He kicked at a loose chunk of bark on a log that had fallen from the pile.
“I came here because I wanted to do something to help. There was a report in the newspaper; it said they needed people to work in the camps. There was nothing to stop me from coming, so . . .” She ended the sentence with a shrug. Nothing to stop me. It wasn’t really a lie—just not the whole truth.
“Not easy for you, to come to a place like this.” His eyes searched her face. She wondered if he could see the thin scar on her cheek beneath the dusting of powder. “You are a good person.”
His words shamed her. She couldn’t look at him. It felt as though the trees were closing in on them, wrapping them in a cocoon of branches. She could smell his skin, warm and earthy, overlaid with the scent of the forest. All she could think of was how it would feel to lay her head on his shoulder and trace the hollow of his neck with her lips.
Are you insane? Grandma Cecile was hissing in her ear. But Martha didn’t want to listen. All she wanted was to lose herself—to forget, just for a moment, that she was the boss of this place, that Stefan was one of her charges, and that she was still married to somebody else.