On the first day of October, Martha received a phone call that sent shockwaves through the camp. She was informed by UNRRA headquarters in Munich that an agreement had been reached by the Allied countries to recognize the provisional government of national unity in Poland, which meant that DPs could now start to be repatriated. Martha was instructed to ask for volunteers to take the first train, which needed to depart before the snows arrived in Bavaria.
Kitty stared, open-mouthed, as Martha relayed the news. “But I thought the major said it wouldn’t happen before the spring?”
“He did.” Martha nodded. “But somehow it’s all been sped up.”
There was a crowd of people waiting outside the mess hall when Martha and Kitty went to pin the notice of repatriation to the wall. A map of the newly divided Poland, showing the region now held by the Russians, caused consternation among the DPs.
“Some of them are saying they can’t go back,” Kitty whispered. “They say their villages are on the wrong side of the line.”
Martha glanced around. The fear on the faces of some of the DPs was unmistakable. One old man was weeping. But others had the fire of hope in their eyes.
It’s what I’m waiting for. To find out where they have gone. Stefan’s words came back to her with stinging clarity.
The next day, Martha called a meeting of the blockhouse leaders. Stefan and Father Josef were there, too. Martha had deliberately avoided Stefan since the news of the impending repatriation had broken, knowing how desperate he was to get back to Warsaw. Why would he not want to be on the first available train? As the leaders filed in for the meeting, he took a seat on the opposite side of the room. His head was bowed, as if he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.
Martha began by asking each of the leaders to report how many in their blockhouse had volunteered for repatriation. She jotted down the numbers and added them up. Two hundred and six in all—just half a dozen more than the minimum number the army had requested. She had thought there would be more.
“There’s a lot of uncertainty,” Father Josef said. “It seems Stalin got his way in creating a puppet government in Poland. Our country is the sacrifice he demanded for what the Red Army did to defeat the Nazis. It doesn’t matter which side of the line you’re on—his men already control everything. There have been stories going around about what the Russians are doing to people who return from the West.”
“What sort of stories?” Martha asked.
“That men are being sent to labor camps in Siberia,” the priest replied.
“Why?”
“Because the Russians think they will have become infected with dangerous ideas. They have to be rehabilitated, as they put it, before they can fit in to society.”
“Is it true?”
“No one really knows. That’s the trouble—until people get there, they can’t know.”
One of the leaders began to speak. Martha caught a couple of words she understood, but he was going too fast for her to make sense of it.
“He says he has nothing left to lose by going back,” Father Josef said. “He buried his wife and son after their house was blitzed. All he wants now is to help others get home—to find their families if they can.”
Martha nodded. Clearly, for some DPs, that need was driving fear out the window. “What about you?” she asked the priest.
“It was a difficult decision. I prayed for many hours last night. They say the churches in Warsaw have nearly all been destroyed, that the Germans almost razed the city to the ground. I could go back and try to help rebuild—but I believe God wants me to wait, to be here for those left behind.”
Martha glanced at Stefan, who had remained silent up till now. “Will you go, Stefan?” She could feel her heart thudding. She had thought it would be less painful to ask him in front of other people, but as he lifted his head, her hands began to tremble. She clasped them together under the table.
He didn’t look at her. He just tilted his head toward the leader of his blockhouse. “My name is on the list,” he said.
A week of frenzied activity followed. Documents had to be prepared for every person leaving the camp, winter coats and boots had to be sourced, and they would need enough food to see them through the ten-day journey.
“They’re sending a military escort with the train,” Martha said, as Kitty came into the office with water to make more coffee. “They want a female officer on board, too.”
“You want to send me?” Kitty stopped short of the desk, slopping water over the side of the jug.