It didn’t matter if he appeared now or not. This third attempt would be the final one, and Ava would not leave without success.
Worry etched Sarah’s features while Noah played distractedly with a small boat Ava had given him in an effort to quell his anxieties on being out on the open water. Only last month, the Serpa Pinto full of refugees from Lisbon had been taken by a U-boat, the crew and passengers all held captive. If rumors were to be believed—and many in this war were proving to be true—a baby had drowned amid the chaos.
“Everything will work out,” Ava assured Sarah.
They had become close in those last months, and it had been difficult for Ava to witness the gradual transition as Sarah moved through the phases all refugees in Lisbon seemed to traverse. The wide-eyed awe of so much food, of ready, hot showers and clothes and the freedom to walk about.
But soon that awe gave way to anxiety when visas were not promptly approved. The perpetual state of fraying nerves. If freedom could not be had in that drawn-out stage, it was then replaced with despondency and hopelessness.
Like Otto.
Ava’s heart flinched.
She waited in the line with Sarah and Noah long enough that their stomachs began to growl. It was around then that children strolled the length of the line, small sacks at their side, selling something called bolas. The Hungarian treats were sugar-crusted pastries with dough that was pillowy and sweet and had a creamy custard center. They were immediately popular once the refugees started selling them upon their arrival in Portugal and soon found their way into local cafés.
With strict rules in place to keep refugees from working in Portugal, there were few ways to bring in money. Suddenly the men who once supported their families had to sit back and allow the women to earn a living through tasks like cooking, laundry, and sewing.
Ava purchased four of the pastries. One for herself and Sarah, and two for Noah, whose stomach proved bottomless. In just the two months they had been in Lisbon, his cheeks had filled out with a healthy glow, and he’d shot up at least an inch.
The line condensed into a squeeze of people as they neared the entrance to the building, as if the sense of urgency for those few select tickets increased. For every person who emerged from the ticket office with a look of relief relaxing their features, it was one less spot open to another refugee who waited.
Sarah pulled her purse in front of her and secured it to her chest with the clamp of her arm. “What if they turn us away?”
“They will not,” Ava said with conviction.
Truly, there was no reason they should. Ava could translate from French for them, Sarah and Noah were dressed in their cleanest, newest clothes that Ava had procured for them. And their visas would expire soon.
The latter point of fact ground away at Ava every day. The ship’s passage should have been easier to obtain. After all, the JDC had provided the $375 needed for both Sarah and Noah, an exorbitant cost, generously offered by the JDC through Ethan for all the times Ava continued to assist on her days off. Not that she volunteered to curry favors, which Ethan knew, and she could not decline his offer to help Sarah and Noah. Certainly, the steep fares for passage on those ships was far more than Ava could afford to pay on her own.
That small fortune was in Sarah’s guarded purse with those precious visas.
At last, they entered the building, and the heat of the sun overhead was replaced by the shade of a ceiling. While stuffy inside, at least they were freed of the merciless glare that left the tops of their heads burning like fire.
A large American flag hung on the wall inside, the small space crowded with people though only six reception areas were available for applicants to fill out yet another lengthy form. Sarah gave Ava the wallet containing the visas and bundle of American dollars for the passage, then pulled Noah into her arms.
He squirmed. “I want to play, Maman.”