Martha tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat.
“Let me get you some water.” Delphine shifted in her chair.
Martha shook her head. “I’m okay.” Her voice was croaky. She coughed and tried again. “I was always afraid to ask him about his life before the war. And as time went on, I guess I pushed it to the back of my mind.” She squeezed Delphine’s hand, as if holding on for dear life. “It could never have come to anything, could it? Even if we were both free. Can you imagine what they would have said in Munich? The woman running the camp getting involved with a DP?”
Delphine’s face was unreadable. “That’s what you’re going to have to keep telling yourself for now. But we don’t know what he’s going to find when he goes back. And you won’t be running the camp forever. One day, there’ll be no need for this place.”
PART TWO
CHAPTER 17
September 1945
As the nights lengthened in Bavaria, the mornings turned colder. Sometimes a mist crept over the river during the night, giving the entrance to the camp a ghostly look—as if, in passing through the gates, you were leaving one dimension and entering another. Martha was no longer certain which one felt more real to her now: the camp or the world outside.
Much had happened in the last weeks of summer. To everyone’s amazement and delight, the young boy Edek Dijak had found his father in Munich and brought him back to Seidenmühle for a joyful reunion with the rest of the family.
That same week, the Japanese had surrendered, which had triggered wild celebrations at the military base down the road. A group of single women from the camp had been invited to the Victory Dance, chaperoned by Kitty. When they returned, Kitty had had a look in her eyes that Martha hadn’t seen before—a look that had persisted long after the effects of half a dozen bottles of Budweiser had worn off. Despite the weight of worry about her missing parents, she had a radiance about her. But subtle questions about who might be the cause of it had yielded nothing. If Kitty had fallen for someone, she was keeping it to herself.
After V-J Day, movement in the American zone had become a little easier. Most of the mothers and babies in the cabins next door had been transferred to a camp in the British zone. And Jadzia had moved to Frankfurt, due to another small miracle worked by Father Josef. He had contacted a fellow survivor of Dachau—a German priest—who had offered Jadzia a job as a housekeeper.
On the day she left the camp, Jadzia had looked very different from the young woman who had burst into the office demanding a translation of the note from the army base. She had cut off her beautiful blond hair. The short spiky style made her look more like a child than a woman—especially as she had lost so much weight after giving birth. But, thanks to the care given to her by Delphine and Father Josef, she was well enough—both physically and mentally—to start a new life. She would never forget what she had done, but they had given her the strength to cope with the guilt and the grief.
Not all the single mothers had left the camp. Dr. Jankaukas had married Anka in the chapel in the woods and was planning to adopt Mikolaj, her little boy. They were living in one of the vacant cabins, while Wolf had moved into the other, sharing the place with the other young medical auxiliaries. It was easier for Delphine to have them close by, and she looked after them the way a mother would.
Having the children next door had helped Martha learn some Polish. In the evenings, they all sat outside together. Sometimes Aleksandra would come by with little Rodek, and Martha would bounce him on her knee or give him his bottle. These nights reminded her of her grandma’s house in New Orleans, when all the neighbors gathered on their stoops until darkness fell.
Her new language skills meant she relied less on Stefan’s assistance in the day-to-day running of the camp. She hated distancing herself from him, but it was the only way to keep her feelings in check.
Martha’s days never had much of a routine—life in the camp was far too unpredictable for that. The one constant was going to collect the mail, which arrived at eleven o’clock each weekday morning. This morning, a bigger pile than usual had been dropped off at the guardhouse. She riffled through the letters as she made her way back, hoping to see Arnie’s familiar scrawl. She had written to ask him for a divorce.
“Anything interesting?” Kitty looked up as Martha stepped into the office.
“Just the same old same old.” Martha dropped the mail onto the desk. “And a few letters for the DPs.”
Kitty began to sort them into piles. “There’s one here for Father Josef.” She picked up the envelope, studying the postmark. “It’s from Vienna.”