“You said that before the last nanny didn’t work out,” another woman sings before scoffing.
“And the one before that,” another says.
“And the one before that,” a third adds before they all share a haughty laugh.
“We all have lapses in judgment, I suppose,” Frau Schäfer continues. “The best of help—well, it’s hard to find decent help.”
“From the sound of the crickets chirping and birds singing, it appears this woman has figured out how to keep your littleFlora from squealing up a storm. Not even you have had much luck with that.” The hens all cluck and titter at Frau Schäfer’s expense.
“Yes, well, as I said, Heinrich found the best of what’s available. Of course, only time will tell. I just hope that happens before I give birth.” Another roll of artificial laughter breezes through the air.
“Forget the nursery. You’re going to need an entire barrack just for the caregivers you discard to Auschwitz.”
Adam and I share a look, shaking our heads with disgust. We’ve made a habit of this…listening just long enough to remember why we don’t belong here. I’m convinced his silence in these moments line up with my thoughts. “A barrack full of nannies who refuse to poison an innocent baby.”
“And just to keep her from crying,” Adam adds, staring aimlessly past me.
Despite nearing a week of being here, I’m not sure Halina fully understands what she’s been forced into, but she needs to know. There’s still that spark of hope in her eyes, something so rare to find within this fortified town. And the way she looks at those little girls, the quiet devotion…It’s a form of empathy most people lost over the recent years.
It doesn’t matter though. If she isn’t careful, that compassion could mask the truth of where she is and what she’s here for.
And if it does, she’ll disappear just as quickly as the last.
ELEVEN
HALINA
Two slamming doors and a car engine in disrepair weren’t even the cause of today’s early wake-up call. It was the now familiar sound of a verbal lashing that led up to Officer Schäfer’s heavy steps marching out the front door, followed by Frau Schäfer returning to her bedroom. A repeat of yesterday morning. I wonder if she goes back to sleep.
The girls certainly don’t. Again, they found their way up to the attic and into my room where we’ve been sitting on my lumpy bed for over an hour while they talk and I listen, except for Gavriel’s intermission, and a folktale story we all enjoyed.
The explosive shouts terrify even me, never mind how much they must scare the girls. Maybe the Schäfers don’t care what they’re doing to their daughters. Either way, I’ll keep acting as if I’ve neither heard nor seen anything. It might be the only way I survive here long enough to protect them.
In little whispered voices, they told me their mother would be busy for the next hour and breakfast wouldn’t be ready for them until then. And their father, “He acts like a hungry lion sometimes and no one knows why.” The brief words were filled with sorrow and fear that painted a clear picture: they’re convinced their father despises them.
At the hour mark, and not a moment sooner, I lead the girls downstairs to the kitchen, finding a bottle prepared for Flora, waiting on the kitchen counter, and breakfast set out on the table by the same prisoner who was here yesterday. There’s also a note in the center of the kitchen table:
There will be a luncheon at noon.
Have the children dressed properly for the occasion.
–Frau Schäfer
The hours of finding ways to entertain the children have already dragged. Neither of them like board games, jacks, or dominoes. Isla prefers to read alone, and Marlene likes to talk and draw pictures with a black crayon. Neither of them likes to change their clothes, but we managed to find day dresses they eventually agreed to wear.
Just before noon, Frau Schäfer makes her first appearance for the day, strolling in as if she’s royalty, her arms out, but hands delicately wavering, her wrists and fingers dripping with jewels.
The scent of hairspray and rose oil follow her through the kitchen where we’re greeted with a surprising smile, bright eyes that speak of cheer, and large curls framing her powdered face. She looks as if she’s ready for a night at a ball, but with a casual navy polka-dotted dress.
“Are we ready?” she asks, her voice taut with sophistication. Frau Schäfer presses her hands into the small of her back, stretching out the ache she appears to have.
“Are you all right?” I ask, wanting to bite through my tongue.
“Oh yes, just pregnancy growing pains.” She sighs.
“We’re ready, Mama,” Isla says, curtsying with a smile mirroring her mother’s.
“Good. Come along,” she says, waiting for Marlene to follow Isla.
