* * *
Jüttner’s hand was coarse and cold, but when he glanced back at her, he must have seen the fear on her face, for he loosened his grip slightly. “All will be well,” he said as he led her past the line of soldiers who had been set to execute the nuns just a moment earlier. Now they all stared at her in confusion.
“Wait,” she said, stopping abruptly, which forced him to stop with her.
When he turned around, his expression was a strange blend of tenderness and impatience. “Yes? What is it?”
“The nuns. How do I know they will be safe if I come with you?”
He glanced at the soldiers, all of whom were watching, and she could see a shadow cross his face. “Because I am in charge here. My men do what I say.”
“The nuns haven’t done anything wrong. They don’t deserve to die.”
He looked as if he was about to protest, but instead, he frowned and tightened his grip on hers. “You don’t understand yet.” He turned sharply, leading her up the steps of the church. He shoved the wooden doors open, sending a burst of light into a sanctuary that had been destroyed.
Pews were tipped and splintered, and the scent of ash lingered in the air. In the corner, the eight nuns stood holding hands and praying while the officer who’d been about to order their murder watched from several feet away, his face still the color of a summer beet. A soldier stood guard nearby, his gaze flicking uneasily between the nuns and the gold crucifix that hung over the altar.
Yona could feel Sister Maria Andrzeja’s eyes on her as Jüttner pulled her past the destroyed rows of pews, to the other officer.
“What is this, then?” the man asked, staring hard at Yona.
“This is my daughter,” Jüttner said, his voice catching on the last syllable. Sister Maria Andrzeja’s eyes widened, and a few of the nuns exchanged glances.
The officer’s upper lip curled. “Your daughter is a Pole? What, you screwed a Polack whore twenty-odd years ago, Jüttner?”
“My daughter is a German,” Jüttner said sharply, and the other man took a step back and looked at the floor for a second. “You will not disrespect either of us.”
When he looked back up, the doubt in his expression was obvious. “Yes, well, what does she have to do with this?”
“Until I return, you will keep these nuns safe.” It wasn’t an answer. “You will not proceed with the execution.” He said it as casually as if he was telling the other man not to order dinner without him.
“But—”
“Do you understand?” Jüttner’s voice rose to a bellow, and the other man looked away. “I have given you an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
Satisfied, Jüttner nodded and looked down at Yona, whose hand he still grasped. “Come.”
Yona looked once more at Sister Maria Andrzeja, whose eyes were narrowed now. Yona could imagine what the nun was thinking—that Yona had deceived her, about her name, about everything. Perhaps she would have the chance to explain it all to the nun one day, to make her understand that none of it had been a lie, that it was possible to be two people at once, and that what mattered was what lay in one’s heart. But there was no time for that now, and so Yona turned away as Jüttner led her out of the church and back into the sunshine, where the square now stood empty, the crowd having dissipated quickly after a reprieve they didn’t understand.
Wordless, Yona followed Jüttner, whose hand was still wrapped around hers like a vise.
* * *
Jüttner led her on a brisk, winding walk to a grand stone house in the center of town that had obviously been commandeered from a once-wealthy villager. “My home,” he said brusquely, without looking at her. He nodded to two soldiers stationed outside, then he released his grip, unlocked the front door, and led her inside. The windows were swathed in heavy crimson curtains, the walls painted a delicate eggshell white, the white furniture well-made and immaculate. Rugs that looked as if they had come from another land covered the polished wooden floor, and on the walls along the staircase there were faded rectangles where Yona imagined family pictures must have hung. What had happened to the people who once called this place home?
Jüttner hesitated after closing the heavy door behind them, enclosing them in the dim light of the foyer. “You will be needing a bath,” he said, and for the first time, Yona was conscious of the thin layer of grime coating her skin, which usually didn’t bother her. She looked at the floor as he added, “You’ll find a tub in the back room, just there, already prepared by my maid for the bath I had intended to take. The water will be cold, but a cold bath braces one’s constitution. I will get you some clothing from the closet. There was a girl who lived here once, about your size.”