Of course, Magda is right, thinks Chaya. Their houses abandoned, who will stop anyone entering and stealing their things? Not the Hlinka, not the Nazis and not her neighbours.
‘Let her do this, Chaya,’ says Yitzchak, dragging the chair to the trapdoor, just as Mrs Trac had done for Magda so many times before. ‘They’ll be safe up there.’
Yitzchak moves to climb onto the chair, but Magda draws him away. ‘It’s all right, Grandfather, let me do it. I’ve had the practise.’
Pulling herself up, Magda disappears into the tight cavity. Her head appears a moment later and she holds out a hand for the lantern and the pillowcase.
‘Mind you’re not startled by the mice,’ Yitzchak tells her. ‘Or you’ll drop the lantern and set us all on fire.’
Magda smiles when she hears a giggle escape her mother’s lips. Now, lying flat on her stomach, Magda crawls to the furthest corner of the dark space. Tucking the possessions under old clothes and crumbling newspapers, she crawls away, then eases herself back through the hole. ‘Now we can go to bed!’ she announces.
*
The next morning, mother and daughter find Yitzchak dressed and ready to go out.
‘Why are you dressed like that?’ Chaya asks. ‘Aren’t we supposed to be packing?’
‘Before we do all that, Magda and I are going to find some firewood. I need a cup of tea and so do you.’
Magda is ready in seconds. Yitzchak waits for her outside with a small cart built for the single purpose of gathering kindling.
Ever since Yitzchak moved in with Chaya, this has become a regular routine for grandfather and granddaughter, and the moment they step into the dense bushes, with the sun filtering through the leaves, Magda enters her happy place. She remembers the years Yitzchak has spent patiently teaching her the names of every bush and tree, every mushroom and flower.
As Magda skips ahead, marvelling at the summer growth around her, Yitzchak scans the forest floor for stray, dry branches. He doesn’t mind that Magda has run off into the depths of the woodland; he is just happy that today she is happy.
‘Grandfather! Come and look at this.’
Yitzchak leaves the cart and follows Magda’s voice, to find her sitting by a large oak tree. ‘I’ve found a flowering sword lily,’ she tells him. Magda is cupping the delicate, funnel-shaped flowers in her hands, the glorious purple-pink blooms nod in the breeze. ‘It’s here all on its own, just for us,’ Magda says, smiling up at her grandfather.
Magda’s simple delight touches Yitzchak deeply, but now his mind turns to his other granddaughters: how they would love to be here, he thinks. Cibi, inquisitive as ever, would be scanning the forest for other flowers, refusing to believe the lily was alone. And Livi? He would be begging her not to pick it!
‘Now I know where you hide when you come to the forest at night, my Magda! And what can you tell me about the sword lily?’ Yitzchak tests her.
‘They are a genus of the gladiolus family.’
‘And what is the meaning of the word “gladiolus”？’
‘It means strength of character, Grandfather. It means never giving up. And, it is part of the iris family, which signifies hope.’ Magda, initially pleased she is able to roll the answers off her tongue, now looks away from Yitzchak, into the trees beyond. She is thinking about the word ‘hope’。
‘Strength and hope,’ repeats her grandfather. ‘Our special, secret words. These are the finest qualities a person can have. Qualities I see in you, Magda, and in your sisters.’
Magda meets his eyes. He is her protector and her teacher. She is crying now, her tears falling onto the petals of the sword lily.
Later, in silence, they pull the kindling-laden cart home, moving slowly, each wondering whether this might have been their last excursion into the forest.
‘I was about to come looking for you,’ Chaya says, as they heave the cart to the kitchen door.
‘Magda found a sword lily in bloom,’ Yitzchak tells her, with a grin.
Chaya looks at Magda, who turns away from her mother, still lost to her thoughts. The small living room is strewn with their belongings: suitcases, clothes, books and non-perishable foods lie in piles on the floor and sofa and armchairs.
‘Strength and hope,’ she says to Magda. ‘Now I understand the secret of where you have been hiding in the forest.’
‘Yes, Mumma.’
‘We will need both these qualities in the days ahead.’
‘Yes, Mumma.’
‘I’ll get the stove going,’ Yitzchak says. ‘While you finish packing.’