“Wolf picked some of these for me in the first week we were here.” Delphine reached out to pluck one of them. It was the color of old parchment, the edges tinged brown. She held it up to her nose. “Amazing!” She smiled as she held out her hand to Martha. “Can you believe it still has its scent?”
The petals were fragile. A couple fell away in Martha’s fingers. She brought what was left up to her face. “Mmm . . . it smells lovely: like . . . vanilla . . . and honey.”
“Isn’t it strange, that it’s still there? I think it’s even more intense than when it was in full bloom.”
Martha stared at the papery petals in her hand. Yes, she thought, it was strange that something that had flowered and died could still smell so magical.
“I kept one of those roses Wolf gave me,” Delphine said. “I put it in a book and pressed it under the mattress. I told myself I’d take it out and look at it when I felt really low.” She reached out, running her finger along the contours of one of the remaining flowers. “But I haven’t had to. Maybe it’s because we’ve been so busy.”
“Maybe,” Martha replied. She thought it was more than that: having Wolf and the other children under her wing had given Delphine a new family. But to suggest that anyone could replace a cherished husband and beloved son would have sounded insensitive. “Perhaps you’re just stronger than you think,” she said.
“That’s what Father Josef told me when we went to Dachau. I don’t feel strong, though.”
“Nor does this.” Martha traced the outline of the faded rose. “But it still has power. It’s just hidden inside its heart.”
CHAPTER 24
Three weeks after Christmas, the supplies in the warehouse were almost exhausted. With no idea how much longer the freezing weather was going to last, Martha had no option but to cut the daily ration. Now there was not even one meatball floating in the cabbage soup. The Spam and canned fish had run out. Watery porridge was the only thing available for breakfast when the last sack of flour had been used up.
Kitty found Martha crouched over the desk in the office, crying, two days after the announcement was made.
“It feels like this is never going to end,” Martha mumbled. “A woman from blockhouse four was just in here. She says her little boy is anemic. Dr. Jankaukas told her to give him raw liver. We don’t even have any of the paste left—let alone fresh meat.” She fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief and blew her nose. “I feel like telling the men to go out and take whatever they can: steal cows, sheep, anything they can lay their hands on. But then I think about the local people, living on God-knows-what after all the food we’ve taken from them. It wouldn’t be fair, would it?”
“I think things are probably even worse outside the camp,” Kitty said. “Before Christmas, Charlie told me that some of the boys at the base were trading food for sex with the local girls. They call cakes and chocolate Frau bait.”
Martha shook her head. “It all seems hopeless. And I feel absolutely useless.” It was so bleak, so dark. The lack of food, the short, bitter days, the wall of snow outside the gates. As if everything were closing in.
“You’re doing your best. You didn’t start this war. None of this is your fault.”
Martha felt a hand on her shoulder. It was the first time Kitty had ever reached out and touched her. It felt like a pinprick of light in a dark, dark tunnel.
It was not until the last day of January that the thaw finally set in. The first inkling of a change in the weather was the steady drip, drip of the blanket of snow on the roof of the cabin beginning to melt. Martha jumped out of bed and rubbed a hole in the condensation coating the window. The trees had lost their mantle of white. She could see the gravel path that had been concealed for weeks beneath compacted snow.
Then she heard the throaty rumble of an engine and caught sight of an army jeep. She threw on her clothes and ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time. She had to get to the warehouse before the jeep, so she could get Kitty out of Charlie’s room before the relief detail came banging on the door.
She took the shortcut through the trees, splashing her trousers in the puddles of melted snow. With a bit of luck, the jeep would stop off at one of the kitchens to cadge some breakfast.
“Kitty!” She banged on the door of the guardroom attached to the warehouse. “Wake up! The army’s here!”
There was no response. She went to the window and rapped as hard as she could without breaking the glass. A corner of the net curtain shifted and Kitty’s startled face appeared.