I’m drenched by the time I make my way up to the attic of the Schäfers’ house. My boots are coated in heavy mud and the rainis plunking against the tarp like falling marbles. I turn into the alcove, a hidden space I’ve built into the framed beams, and grab the gas lamp used on low-lit days like today.
Before I can move again, frantic steps draw my attention to the open doorway, wondering who is rushing up here. Halina bursts by the expansion and into her room, not pausing before she reaches to her side, yanking the zipper of her dress down. The black fabric slips to ground exposing her porcelain skin and a figure that steals my breath.
I can’t…I can’t look away.
Where is my head?I spin around, my rapid breaths suffocating me. I shouldn’t have been watching. I should have made a sound, so she knew I was there. She should have closed the door…
“Halina, I’m sure you can find something under the bed in the attic. Surely the last nanny left something behind, or perhaps the one before that,” Halina mutters, mimicking Frau Schäfer in a curt tone. “That woman doesn’t have a shred of compassion left in her veins.”
I nudge a wooden plank among the pile of others, just to make my presence known.
She gasps and spins around, grabs the dress from the floor, and clutches it against her chest. “Oh my—you could have said something,” she breathes, her cheeks crimson. “I didn’t know you were—never mind. Of course you’re up here.”
I peer toward the open door where she stands half-hidden, her shoulders bare, ribbons of golden hair, loose from her braid, fluttering over her silky skin—beautiful.
“You could have closed the—never mind…Is everything all right?”
She eyes me narrowly. “What do you think?” Her response is raw, but by the look of it, justified.
“Can I get something for you?” I offer, uselessly, glancing around the sawdust covered boards surrounding me.
“Marlene is sick from drinking out of Flora’s bourbon-laced bottle. She’s been vomiting since last night. I avoided being the target until now. I don’t have anything else to wear.”
I understand the weight of her struggle. None of us at Auschwitz have more than a layer or two ourselves, and it’s usually soiled with the unthinkable. I’ll keep that thought to myself.
The door creaks as she disappears again, shuffling beneath the bed. I turn away, giving her privacy, and trying to keep myself occupied while being painfully aware of her presence just steps away.
A quick dash across the hall reclaims my attention, finding her in a female Auschwitz uniform—a blue and white striped dress that swallows her petite frame, the fabric billowing behind her as if hanging from a clothesline.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you. I didn’t sleep and I’ve been cleaning up vomit?—”
“I’ve been snapped at for less.”
She fumbles with the shoulders of the uniform, which drape indiscreetly. “What happened to the person last wearing this?” she asks.
“I—” I don’t want to tell her.
“Tell me,” she says, already knowing the answer, I’m sure. She gestures to the jagged hole and dried blood stain on the back.
“Schäfer threw a bottle at his wife. The nanny stepped between them. They replaced her with someone—someone…like you after that.”
“A servant.” She bluntly suggests the proper term.
“Right. Servant.”
Halina’s fingers graze the bloodstain. “Where were the children?”
“I wasn’t here yet. Someone from Auschwitz told me what happened.”
She turns to face me straight on, her eyes glistening with disdain and sorrow. “How can I walk back down to those girls wearing this?” Her voice breaks as she tugs at the loose fabric on her shoulder. “How can I act as if this is normal?”
“I have an idea.” I step in closer but pause for a moment. “May I?”
She gives a faint nod and nips her bottom lip, wary but agreeable as she sweeps her braid over her shoulder, exposing her back. Her trust unravels something inside of me.
I loosen the fabric belt at her waist and gather the extra fabric at the back, retying it snug so the bloodstain vanishes into the fold. “There. No one will see it now.”
She turns, her eyes catching mine for a flicker before her lashes dip and her cheeks blush. Then she rises onto her toes and wraps her arms around my neck, her small frame molding to mine as if we were meant to be this way. “Thank you,” she whispers, her lips brushing over my ear.
