“You lived,” he said, wiping at his eyes with a second, equally crumpled handkerchief.
They were back at the kitchen garden. Walter guided her to a stone bench and helped her to sit. Only then did she realize she was shaking. His arm went around her shoulders, his free hand enfolded both of hers, and he waited.
She had never said the words aloud, not to anyone, not ever. She was so tired of keeping them to herself.
“Only after the war did I learn what happened to them. They were rounded up in 1942. In July. They were sent to the Vélodrome d’Hiver. It was only a few kilometers away.”
“And then?” he prompted, his words a whisper against her brow. He was hunched over her now, protecting her as best he could.
“And then I am not certain. I doubt I will ever know. I think they probably were sent to Auschwitz.”
“My darling. I am sorry beyond words. Oh, my darling.”
“I cannot stop thinking of it. I dream of that place,” she hurried on, the words tumbling from her mouth, “though I have never been. Not before the war, nor since. I dream of that vélodrome and the thousands who were sent there. They had to have known what would happen. Papa and Maman and Grand-Père. They must have known what would be done to them.”
His arms tightened around her, so tight it was hard to breathe.
“I think about it all the time. What was it like. First in the vélodrome, then at the camps, and then the final journey to the east. I see it. I see them, and they are reaching through time and space to me. To me, so I may bear witness and tell the world the truth of it.”
“Will you?” he whispered.
She had told him so much already. Surely he would understand what she wanted to do. What she meant to do. “I have an idea . . . but I need to show you. It is too difficult to describe. May we go back to the house?”
“Of course.”
He waited while she fetched her bag from the hall, and then he led her into the library and watched as she took out the bundle she was never without, not for weeks now, and unfolded it upon the table.
It was a square of fabric about the size of a cloth napkin, and on it she had embroidered a woman standing alone, and she was made of many smaller pieces of fabric appliquéd to the backing, one by one, like so many layers of paint. The background was impressionistic, with scattered lines of stitching that hinted at close-set buildings, or perhaps they were faces in a crowd.
The woman was looking over her shoulder, her face in profile, and one arm was thrown back in warning. She wore a Star of David on her coat.
“Is it you?” Kaz asked.
“No. I never wore the star.”
“Your mother, then.”
“I think so, yes. She was so beautiful.”
“This is . . . my God, Miriam. This is the work of an artist. You are an artist. Do you not see it? You must continue this work. Promise me you will.”
“It will take a very long time,” she cautioned. “This alone took me weeks. And my ideas for it are not small. I cannot imagine how I will ever finish.”
“A long time, yes,” he agreed. “But not forever.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Heather
September 1, 2016
Heather was awake at dawn the next morning. Daniel had walked her back to the hotel after their late afternoon coffee, and after promising to talk to his grandmother, he and Heather had exchanged cheek kisses as if they were both French or, more accurately, unsure of how to behave when a handshake was too formal, a hug was too touchy-feely, and a straight-up kiss was just too much.
True to his promise, he’d called that evening.
“Mimi is keen to meet you. We thought ten o’clock tomorrow would be a good time. Her flat is on East Heath Road in Hampstead, just around the corner from the Tube. The building is called Wells Manor and the name on the buzzer is Kaczmarek. I’ll email you all of that, as well as a map.”
“Thank you. I know you think this is no big deal, but it really is. At least to me it is.”
“You’re welcome. I was also wondering if you might like to go out for dinner with me. I would’ve asked you earlier, but then I began to worry you might feel I was taking over your holiday.”
“Not at all. If anything, you’ve saved it. Were you thinking tomorrow?”
“Unfortunately, I have a department meeting at six and they usually drag on forever. Would Friday night suit you?”
“It would,” she said, feeling very glad he couldn’t see how she was bouncing around her hotel room.