As if there are no Nazi guards standing before us, all the children, except Marlene, run for the open school door with hardly a whisper of a goodbye. Marlene turns to face me, walking backwards. “Will I be all right?”
I stop pushing the carriage, knowing I’m on borrowed time as Flora is wide awake and yet, peaceful, for the moment. “School is wonderful. You’re going to love it, and you’ll make lots of friends. You’ll become smarter every single day. It’s quite an amazing experience.” I was lost in thought about my school days, feeling like a common child among others, rather than an orphan in a home for lonely children. Marlene is walking into a Nazi supervised school riddled with an education designed by the Reich.
Marlene wraps her arms around my waist and gives me a tight squeeze. “Will you be right here after school?”
“You can count on it,” I say, placing my hand on her head. “Go on.”
“Halt!” a guard shouts as Marlene approaches the door on her own. She stops short, dust kicking up behind her patent-leather shoes. She turns to face the guard, straightens her shoulders and holds her arm out like an angled sword. “Heil Hitler,” she says meekly.
Rosalie and Celina turn their carriages around, their backs facing the school yard. I do the same, feeling a tug at my heart after watching Marlene become the newest victim to this race.
There’s so much I want to say—such anger running through my veins, and I wonder what Rosalie and Celina feel. Are they used to this life so much so that it doesn’t bother them to see what these children are subjected to?
A minute passes as we continue walking away from the school when Celina releases a heavy sigh. “That’s all there is to say,” she complains.
Rosalie’s lips pinch tightly together as if she’s holding something in her mouth. “We were real people before…this. Like you, I’m sure.” The words are uttered from her mouth, but her lips hardly move. We’re alone on a road, lined with thick forests, but I know better than to assume we’re safe to speak freely anywhere.
“What was your life like before?” I press, keeping my voice down to match her subtlety.
“Well, I was a midwife, but the family I worked for before being brought here, offered me more than I could ever ask for if I agreed to stay with them as a nursemaid for their son. The Silbergs were the most loving and warm family, treating me as if I was one of them. They were one of the last wealthy Jewish families to be torn out of their homes in the Malopolska region, giving us more time together than most had. However, when their time was up, everything happened so fast. They were there one minute and gone the next.” Rosalie’s cheeks burn red and her eyes well. “When the Gestapo came for the family, they questioned who I was in relation to them, then told me I wasn’t allowed to go where they were going. I stood there, outside of their house, debating how I could help the Silbergs, but before I could do anything, I was approached by SS Officer Weyman, and told where I would be going next.”
“I’m so sorry,” I offer. “A midwife—and a nursemaid—I can see why you might have been sought after, but you deserve better than this life.”
“They all want more Aryan babies. That’s for certain,” Rosalie says with a sigh. “It seems they have a reason for choosing who will be a ‘good’ fit to work for their families. But I’m not sure any of us want to know the truth.”
Celina releases a hand from her carriage and pats Rosalie’s back. It’s hard to believe there’s any real reason we were chosen. Heinrich certainly knew nothing about me and if he did, I don’t think I would have been on a list of candidates.
“Celina’s story is far more fascinating than mine,” Rosalie says, sniffling and pressing the top of her hand against her nose.
“Well, that might take way more time to explain than we have, and I want to know your story—where you came from too,” Celina says, her focus set on me.
I’m sure my story doesn’t compare in the slightest. “I think it might have been Heinrich’s mistake,” I say flatly.
The two of them burst into laughter, a sound of trapped joviality finally breaking free.
“Oh gosh, I like you,” Celina says. “You’re quite funny.”
My story. How can I tell them my story when all the pages were torn out last night?
“I worked at the orphanage I grew up in. One of the little girls was as defiant as they come, ran straight out the front door, through the woods, and onto the road with guard posts. That’s when Officer Schäfer pulled up in his car. I forced the little girl to go back—before it was too late for her too. I didn’t want him to know about the orphanage or where she came from.”
“Oh my.”
A cool morning breeze whips around us, blowing Flora’s blanket out of her pinched grip. The familiar sound of despair places a bookmark in the conversation between Rosalie, Celina, and me, and I welcome the opportunity to focus on something different. I scoop Flora out of the carriage and wrap her up snugly in her blanket and prop her up on my chest, leaving myfree arm to push the carriage. “Brrr,” I mumble to her. “Brr, brr, brr. It’s chilly, isn’t it?”
“B-b-b-b,” Flora mimics the b sound and smiles proudly.
“Good job. Brr!”
“B-b-b-b,” she says again.
The other two older babies begin whining when they notice Flora receiving more attention, leaving us without another moment of quiet among us.
“I need to run a couple of errands at the marketplace square for Frau Weyman,” Rosalie says.
“I can join you,” Celina offers. “Frau Drexel won’t be back home until later in the day.”
“Marketplace square?” I inquire, wondering if I’ll be sent on errands at some point too.
