He hesitated. ‘Miriam Leske.’ His earlier confidence in her was visibly dwindling. ‘Why ask this?’
She nodded, her mind made up. ‘In case I lose this.’ She put the documents inside the lining of her coat. ‘I want to look for her real family and tell them she is safe when the war is over.’
His eyes brightened. ‘You will take her?’
‘How can I not? I can’t leave her for the Russians to find. They want revenge and they are killing children too. As you said, they won’t care who is German or Jewish or Polish when they come.’ The church bells began to ring again. They had little time left.
‘I’ll fetch her,’ he said.
Elsa listened to the pastor’s footfalls on the stairs. She looked around the room. The house was so quiet and singular in comforts — how was it possible a five-year-old child had been living here for almost a year? In the silence, doubts flooded through her again. She was about to expose a child who had spent her entire life in hiding to a long journey across the country. How would she react? How would Elsa keep her identity hidden in plain sight? What would she do with her if they ever reached Bremen? The enormity of her task loomed large before her. Perhaps she should tell Pastor Bähr she had changed her mind.
The pastor appeared in the doorway with the young child. Dark shoulder-length hair framed brown eyes and a wary expression. She was dressed in a coat, scarf and hat, with gloves and thick woollen tights. From her rosy heated cheeks, the pastor had already prepared her for the freezing temperatures outside before Elsa had even entered the house.
‘I heard that you were leaving today. I knew I could trust you, Elsa.’ He eased the girl forward with a slight touch on her shoulder. ‘This is Klara Scheider. Klara, this is your new aunt. Smile, Klara.’ He nervously tapped her shoulder. ‘Smile.’
The frightened child stepped forward and forced a smile. Her face looked uncomfortably flushed and Elsa suddenly felt guilty for keeping them both waiting.
‘You are going to live with Auntie Elsa now,’ the pastor went on. ‘She will look after you. She is kind. There is no need to be afraid.’
Klara’s gaze lowered to her shoes. How many times had this vulnerable child heard those reassurances before? Elsa stepped forward and crouched down before the little girl. Years of teaching had honed her skill of understanding children, yet now she was out of her depth. This child had not lived a normal life and she could not promise her it would get any better. In fact, it would get a whole lot worse. She reached for Klara’s gloved hand but thought better of it. The child must be feeling as if she was being sent away again... rejected... and in a child’s egocentric mind she would think she was to blame. Elsa’s heart broke for the girl.
‘Hello, Klara.’
The child continued to stare at her own shoes.
Elsa tilted her head to see the girl’s face. ‘I’m so pleased you are coming with me.’
Klara’s gaze lifted slightly to the scarf around Elsa’s neck.
‘We are going on an adventure.’
The child remained silent.
‘We are going to ride on a wagon and in a train. We are going to see rivers, trees and maybe even cows.’
The girl’s gaze lifted to meet her own.
‘We might even see goats,’ Elsa went on. ‘I hope so. I like goats. Do you like goats?’
Klara said nothing, her face empty of expression.
Elsa pulled her woollen hat a little lower and tucked her dark hair inside it. ‘Such pretty hair. I’ll tuck it inside to keep your head warm. It’s cold outside.’ The child remained passive, not aflinch, not a question. How many times had a stranger tried to comfort her with nervously spoken words that no longer rang true? Elsa felt her throat thicken. She swallowed, stood up and turned to the pastor. ‘It’s time we left. I have a lift in a wagon arranged.’ She realized she would be leaving the pastor alone. ‘You should come with us. Please come with us.’
He shook his head and hugged Klara. ‘I made up my mind a long time ago. I will stay here.’ He accompanied them along the hall.
He stopped at the front door and took the moment for a perfunctory prayer to keep them safe before opening it. The freezing air swept into the hall like a wild animal. It chased around their legs as if to mock their prayer and snatch away any confidence they had. As if guessing at her unease, the pastor grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
‘Thank you, Elsa.’ Before she could reply he embraced her. ‘May God be with you,’ he whispered hoarsely.
She nodded, suddenly frightened, before breaking away and guiding Klara outside. It was only when the freezing wind burned a trail of ice onto her cheeks did she realize she was crying. She took Klara’s hand and noticed her cheeks were dry. Did the child understand the enormity of what was happening? Perhaps she understood it all too well and had no more tears to shed.
* * *
‘I’m not getting on that wagon,’ her grandfather said. ‘It’s not right, the woman is in bed.’
Elsa gritted her teeth. It was true that in the high-sided wagon, filled with furniture and clothing, was a large, thin mattress and a frail elderly woman propped up against pillows and covered in blankets.
‘She’s not in bed, Grandfather, she’s on a big cushion. Look at all the blankets to keep you warm. Frau Fellhaber doesn’t mind.’ It was a lie, of course. The woman was as bewildered at leaving her home as Gustav was.
