“How about we talk about something different,” I suggest. “Have either of you come up with any names for your new baby brother or sister?”
“We don’t want another brother or sister,” Isla grumbles.
“Why not? Having siblings must be the most wonderful feeling in the world. Or so I imagine.”
“You don’t have any sisters or brothers?” Marlene inquires.
“No,” I say. “Or not that I’m aware of. I grew up without a mother or father. But I had orphan siblings, and they were lovely.”
“I bet they didn’t cry all day and night,” Isla says.
“Some did. The crying doesn’t last forever. And before you know it, they’re walking, talking, and might just become your very best friend.”
“That won’t happen with Flora,” Isla says. “Mama says there’s something wrong with her.”
“And what’s that? What’s wrong with her?” I’m surprised Frau Schäfer has said something like this in front of the girls. Children repeat everything. Surely, the woman knows at least that much.
“She has a bad tummy,” Marlene says.
An hour was far longer than I expected it would take to get Marlene to sleep. The previous nights, they’ve both gone to bed right away without a fuss. They must be getting more comfortable with me, which I suppose is good, but will also become more trying, I’m sure.
The stairs to the attic feel steeper and longer. I imagine I won’t have much trouble sleeping tonight at least.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the grimness of the rainy night with dark clouds that stole the entire sky just before the sun set. Thunder rumbles in the distance and rattles the glass of the window.
I reach for the writing desk and scoop my hand into the front pocket of my apron, retrieving a tea candle, a book of matches, a piece of notepaper, an envelope, and a pencil I’ve managed to scrounge up from around the house. Most of the items were scattered along their formal dining room table, a resting place for papers and junk.
With the candle lit, I lift the chair away from the desk and place it down gently. Julia used to sit on the edge of my cot with a candle just like this one when we had bad thunderstorms. She would hum old hymns to help soothe me. I hated thunder. I still don’t care for it. She was always there when I needed her, even if I didn’t say so out loud. I miss the sound of her voice, and the way she gently combed her fingers through my hair until I fell asleep.
I write her name at the top of the paper and press my fingers to it as if it will somehow bring me closer to her. She must be so worried with how quickly I was forced to leave and say goodbye two weeks ago. Of course, I don’t have much to say that won’tmake her worry more. I’ll be vague, say enough so she can rest knowing I can handle the situation and myself.
An hour has passed since I put the tip of the pencil to the paper, and now I’m humming on and on about the amount of bourbon lacing the poor baby’s bottle. The guilt of knowing and doing nothing, or not enough, is beginning to chip away at me.
Frau Schäfer has been diligent in making sure she prepares most of Flora’s bottles before I can, which means Flora doesn’t scream or cry much at all, because she’s constantly asleep or barely awake. I’m sure she must have realized I was skipping the drops in any bottle I prepared.
I drop the pencil. For a moment, I let myself drift back to the last embrace Julia and I had—the precipice of no turning back to the only life I’ve ever known. Her words against my ear, a whisper and a reminder that “God brought us together, and together we shall be,” she’d said with a tremble of certainty, as if repeating those very words would make them hold true.
I believe them.
Her.
She’s all I’ve ever had.
And being without her—it’s as if I left a part of me at the orphanage.
The words in my letter stare back at me. How can I tell Julia about this horrible behavior and not follow it up with a way to stop it? I should be doing more to help Flora. I’m not sure if I’ve gotten through to Isla at all, and Marlene, I think she listens when I talk. I had higher expectations for myself of what I would do here and it’s becoming easier to see how irrelevant my existence is in this house.
Except for Gavriel. He notices me. I notice him. I shouldn’t, not here in this death trap of a house. But I can’t stop it from happening.
With each interaction we have, something blooms inside of me. Giving him those sandwiches earlier—the way he looked at me in return—as if I was doing more than just giving him someone’s scraps of food.
It’s one thing to make a difference with these young children, but it’s another to feel seen by someone, seen in a way I didn’t know anyone might desire.
Julia would worry more if I told her about Gavriel, and worse, what it might take for me to save these children.
I just need to do it. I seal up my letter, shove it under the mattress, then slip my hand into my suitcase to pull out the pajamas I never changed into last night. I need to wash up. The thought of going up and down the steep stairs again sends an ache through my legs.
Even the quiet creaks of the floor are louder than they’ve been. No matter how hard I try to avoid each worn spot that bends and moans, the attic stairs are the only ones I can make my way around in silence. The rest of the house seems like a minefield sometimes.
