CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Yona had walked for only thirty minutes—tears streaming down her face, no sense of direction in the thick forest, where the moonlight was nearly lost—when she heard footsteps approaching. Her grief was pushed immediately aside by fear, and she slid quickly behind a tree, holding her breath. She could tell by the footfalls that there were only two people trudging through the darkness, both men, judging from the sound, and her mind spun. If they were Germans, there might well be others not far behind. She had a chance to stop these two, for she had the element of surprise, but what about a whole German unit? Would it be too late to protect the group?
But as the men drew closer, she heard their voices, and she recognized them immediately with a great swell of relief. It was Chaim and Zus, returning from their mission. She closed her eyes and put her hand on the tree to brace herself, weak with gratitude that they were safe. For a few seconds, she considered letting them pass. After all, she was embarrassed by the pain she knew was written across her face. But she needed to know whether they’d been successful, because if they had the mercury, she would sleep better knowing that the group would be able to eliminate the imminent threat of typhus. If not, she would have to go back, wouldn’t she?
Taking a deep breath, she stepped from behind the tree when they were just a few feet away, and she was encouraged to see that their reaction was instant; their guns were on her immediately, even though their guard had been down just seconds before. With instincts like that, they’d have a fighting chance.
“It’s only me,” she said softly, and they both blinked at her, alarm still firing in their eyes as they lowered their guns.
“Yona?” Zus asked, stepping forward. He reached out as if to touch her face and then seemed to think better of it, pulling his hand quickly back. “What is it? What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
She shook her head. “The group is fine. I just— I couldn’t stay any longer.”
In the silence between them, the words seemed to unfold without a sound, and after a pause, Zus blinked in understanding. “Aleksander. What did he do?” When she didn’t answer, his jaw clenched. “He was with Sulia?”
“You knew?” Another wave of despair threatened to wash over her.
“No, Yona, I didn’t. It was just—it was a guess. I’m sorry.”
Yona was embarrassed to feel tears in her eyes again. “Yes, well, he said I didn’t understand because I am not like him. That things were easy with her.” She delivered the words in a monotone, embarrassed by how deeply they had wounded her.
“Those are not the words of a man with a backbone,” Zus said instantly, and Yona could hear the fury in his voice. “And they speak entirely of his character, not yours.”
She looked at the ground. “Is it supposed to hurt this much?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is.” Zus frowned and then turned to Chaim and nodded. An understanding passed between the brothers and Chaim stepped several meters away, out of earshot. Zus turned back to Yona. “I didn’t know, Yona. I wouldn’t have kept a secret like that. I don’t believe in betraying the people who care for us.”
“I know.” And she did. She understood, even with her limited exposure to people, that Zus was a different kind of man than Aleksander was, with a different kind of heart. She had felt it from the moment she first met him, and it had confused her then the way it confused her now. Aleksander had seemed like everything she needed: safety, security, a place to belong. In the end, he had been none of those things, and she wondered just how blind she had been. Certainly, she had been a terrible judge of character—and terrible at discerning what lay in her own heart. She wiped her tears away. Inside her chest, sadness was fighting a prolonged battle with fury. “Did you get the mercury?” she asked.
He nodded, opening his coat to show her a large knapsack of vials. Relief flooded through her, making her knees weak. Zus reached out to brace her, and their eyes met.
“Thank God,” she murmured without looking away. “Thank you, Zus, for doing this. I know it was dangerous.”
He seemed to hardly hear her. “Where are you going, Yona?”
“Away.”
They held each other’s gaze, and for the first time, Yona had the sense that he could read her like a diary, that perhaps he’d always been able to. The thought should have unsettled her, but instead, it filled her with a strange peace, an unfamiliar sense of being entirely understood. “Don’t go. Please,” he said.