“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said, taking the mushrooms and examining them almost reverentially before looking back at her. When she finally met his gaze, she could see awe in his eyes, and it both unsettled and pleased her that she was capable of evoking such a thing. “I’m Aleksander,” he added.
“I know.” When he looked at her with confusion, she added, “I heard your friend say it.”
“Ah, Leib.”
“Don’t tell him about me. Please.” She spoke before she could think. She knew it must have seemed a strange request, but she already felt exposed. If Aleksander could keep his word, could keep her a secret a little longer, maybe she could summon the courage to introduce herself to his friend, too. But not now, not yet. This was already too much.
“I give you my word. Though he will be very confused to see me bring back so many fish, considering how unskilled I’ve already proven myself to be.” Aleksander smiled.
She returned the smile shyly.
“You haven’t told me your name,” he said after a few seconds had passed.
She took a deep breath. “It’s Yona.”
He blinked a few times. “You have a Hebrew name.”
“Yes.”
“It’s beautiful,” Aleksander said, and she could feel herself blushing again. “Thank you, Yona. For everything. I will return tomorrow.”
And then he was gone, and she found herself wondering if she should have said more, should have made sure he knew how to clean and prepare the fish. But it was too late—for both that and turning back time. Even if Aleksander and his people moved on after a few days, even if she never saw him again, she had crossed a line into a new life, one in which seeing Chana’s lifeless body—and hearing of the horrors of the ghetto—had changed her forever.
“I’m sorry, Jerusza,” she whispered into the wind, but there was no reply, not even a rustling of the trees. Still, it mattered little. No longer was the forest a sanctuary where she could live out the rest of her days alone, preserving only her own life. She had to do something to help the people like Aleksander, who were just trying to survive.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Yona hardly slept that night, and she rose before the sun. After praying for guidance, and once again speaking to Jerusza without hearing an answer, she set out toward the stream in the graying darkness, intending to get to work making rope for the kryha.
But as she approached the streambed, her skin tingled, and her hair stood on end. Someone was already there, waiting in the darkness. She could feel an ash-scented presence, something that didn’t belong. She tensed and ducked behind a tree, holding her breath as she listened, ready to run.
At first there was nothing, no movement. After a moment, though, a stick snapped, and she could hear footsteps. Silently, she pulled her knife from its ankle holster. And then, a voice cut through the darkness.
“Yona? Is that you?”
It was deep, uncertain, and she recognized it immediately. She took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the tree, still clutching her knife. “Aleksander.”
In the east, above the thick canopy of trees, the sky was beginning to pale as the earth spun slowly toward dawn. It was light enough now that she could see him standing by the water, looking for her. When his eyes met hers, he cracked a small smile, but she didn’t put her knife away yet.
“Why are you here?” She took a step forward and then another. “I thought you were with your people.”
“I was.” He took a step toward her, but he stopped abruptly when she took an instinctive step back. He held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just eager to get started this morning.”
She studied him for a moment and then relaxed. What was wrong with her, feeling suspicious of a man who was merely eager to find food? Jerusza’s words of warning rang in her ear—Men can be cruel and heartless and cold—but she pushed them away. The old woman was wrong. Humans had a responsibility to do more than just protect themselves. In the face of evil, they were compelled to save each other. It was the only way mankind could survive. “Were the fish enough to feed everyone last night?” she asked as she slipped her knife back into its spot at her ankle.
“You would have thought we were having the feast of our lives.” He smiled. “They were very grateful, Yona. It felt wrong to accept their praise myself. I wanted to tell them about you.”
She nodded. There would come a time when he would have to. If she was truly going to help, she would need to go to them, teach them how to survive. But not yet. “What do you have there?” she asked, forcing herself to take another step closer.