From the roundup, they were placed into the Vélodrome where they remained for four days without additional food or properly functioning lavatories and only one waterspout to share for thousands. As they suffered through their endless wait, people began to die around her, desperate and helpless.
The close of the letter struck Ava with its bleakness and left a knot in her chest as she read those resigned, ill-fated words.
We have been told we are to go to camps to labor for Germany. I do not say this aloud to Sophie, nor even to David, who is trying so very hard to be brave for us all, but I do not think we are going to a work camp.
We have many children held here with us. Not simply youths with strong limbs and boundless energy, though even this heat has made their efforts wane. No, these are littles ones who still cling to their mothers’ legs and gaze about with mute fear. I do not know how they could work any more than the people who are in wheelchairs. Perhaps the Germans have opportunities for people to remain seated as they work. Or perhaps children can perform small tasks running items about. But there is a tension in my lower stomach, the same one I had when Oma died. I do not think…
No, I cannot put such fears to paper.
I do not know where we are going, but want to tell you I love you, my dear brother.
Ava explained the letter as she read it to Peggy, who had stopped eating her lunch, listening with rapt attention. “That’s so terrible,” Peggy said softly.
Ava swallowed at the thickness in her throat. “It’s why we need to save this as well as the publications we’re finding.”
Peggy nodded and took a distracted bite of her sandwich before gathering up the rest of her meal and departing.
In the silence of the empty room, Ava leaned back in her chair and regarded the correspondence, the very reverence with which Otto had gazed upon it now resounding within her.
Suddenly the crush of what they were up against was too much. Rage flared in her, licking white-hot at her insides, scalding her heart. The stories could be buried in newspapers, downplayed by the government and denied by those with willing blinders over their eyes, but Ava knew the harsh truth without question.
The door opened, and Mike came in, followed by Mr. Sims and Peggy.
“Are you photographing letters now?” Mr. Sims’s glare bored into her.
Ava looked to Peggy, who threw her hands up in a feeble gesture. “I told them about it. I couldn’t stop thinking of that woman’s story and mentioned it to them. I didn’t—”
“We are only allotted a small amount of space per two weeks on that clipper,” Mr. Sims bellowed. “And you’re wasting it with family correspondence?” His fleshy face reddened. “Do you have any idea how hard celluloid film is to find?”
“And a German pamphlet of a fan is so much more important?” Ava shot back, referring to some of the more ridiculous things they sent to DC and refusing to be cowed by his censure.
Mr. Sims narrowed his eyes. “It could be useful in breaking down the mechanics of other items.”
Ava stood up, evening out his advantage of looming over her. “This is important. People need to know about this.”
“They already know. It’s in the papers,” he scoffed. “It’s a letter and a waste of time.”
Anger and irritation roiled in Ava’s mind. “Mr. Sims, there’s more to it than all that,” she said levelly. “Today is ephemeral.”
His face screwed up at her effrontery. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
She was saying the wrong thing again, muddying what she meant in her urgency to defend her stance. Drawing in a deep breath, she refocused her efforts and tried again. “I mean that this present we live in is tomorrow’s history. You ask if this is important. This is the education for our future, to learn from the mistakes that have been made now and never let atrocities such as this continue or be repeated.”