The woman turned, and Chana flew into her arms. Both of them were crying and talking at the same time, and as Yona stepped from behind the bushes, she was surprised to feel tears in her eyes. It was the sort of reunion she would never have; there was no one out there waiting for her.
After the woman let Chana go, Chana turned and pointed toward Yona, and the woman’s expression changed from one of pure joy to one of guarded curiosity in an instant. “She saved me, Mami,” Yona could hear the girl say, and after a second, the woman’s face softened, and she beckoned Yona closer.
“Is this true?” she asked, her voice deep, strong. She spoke Polish, unlike her daughter. “You saved my Chana?”
“She was injured,” Yona replied in Yiddish, the language the woman must have been more comfortable with, for it was the one she’d taught her child. “I promised to help her find you.”
The woman stared at her for another moment. “You speak Yiddish. You were in the ghetto, too? I have not seen you before.”
Yona shook her head. “I am only from the forest.”
The woman studied her for a minute more. “You know how to help people who are hurt, then? Please. My husband, he needs help. Will you come?”
Yona nodded and, ducking her head, followed the woman toward the poorly built structure, Chana tailing behind them.
“Thank you,” the woman added without looking at Yona. “Thank you for saving my child.”
* * *
Chana’s father was dying, his torso a bloodied mass, his face beaded with sweat. He lay on his back, breathing rapidly, his eyes half-open and glazed. When Chana came close, whimpering, he looked as if he did not know her, and her mother quickly pulled her back, wrapping her in a hug.
“Who… you?” he managed to ask Yona. He struggled to sit, but Yona put a firm hand on his shoulder and eased him back down.
“My name is Yona,” she said. “I brought your daughter back to you. And I will try to help you.”
He stared at her for a few seconds and then closed his eyes. “I am already dead.”
“You are still alive. And I will do all I can to keep you that way.” Yona spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel, but she had to. It was the only way she could convince herself that she might be able to save him. She looked skyward and wished Jerusza were here to help her, for the old woman would know just what to do. Then again, the mere fact that Yona was here would have gone against everything Jerusza stood for. She would have told Yona that she was putting herself in danger. And Yona knew this, knew that the longer she stayed, the higher the risk was for her. But she couldn’t simply abandon this family.
“This is a gunshot wound, yes?” she asked gently after examining the gaping hole in the man’s abdomen. She had seen dead animals left behind this way by careless hunters.
He seemed not to hear her over his own labored breathing. But Chana’s mother, who was hovering nearby, said in a raspy whisper, “Yes. They shot him.”
“All right.” Yona was struggling to sound as if she was in control rather than terrified. “Do you know the burdock plant?” Chana was crying, her face hidden in the threadbare folds of her mother’s dress.
“Yes, I know it,” Chana’s mother said.
“You and Chana must bring me some as soon as you can.”
Chana and her mother set off into the forest at a jog, and Yona realized too late that she had forgotten to warn them to be quiet. Then again, she and Chana had encountered no other signs of man on their trek here, and there was no indication that anyone was watching other than the creatures of the forest. She quickly scanned the area around her for something she could use to help Chana’s father while she waited for Chana and her mother to return, and her gaze came to rest on some tiny white flowers growing thirty yards away. Achillea millefolium, yarrow. Her heart thudding, she dashed over to grab a handful of the buds. Racing to the stream, she chose a large stick and crushed the plant into a paste, adding a bit of water. Then, the rough mixture in her hands, she hurried back to Chana’s father.
Inside the listing lean-to, his breathing had grown even more labored. As Yona knelt beside him, he didn’t even look at her. “This will hurt,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”
He grunted and writhed in pain as she turned him gently over to make sure the bullet had gone through him instead of lodging in his body. It had; there was a clean, circular hole in his lower back where the bullet had departed. She spread the paste around the outer perimeter of the exit wound, and then she turned him back over to spread it all around the jagged edges of his shredded abdomen, too, wincing at his screams. “It is going to get worse before it gets better,” she murmured once he had again fallen back into a state of semiconsciousness. “But it will be your only chance to survive.”