“Yes.” I think my last statement was enough of an answer to his question.
“The timing is stunning,” he says, scratching his manicured fingernails along his chin. “I promised my wife I’d find someone like you today: a young Pole, working-class age, able-bodied, and capable of speaking German. We need a caretaker for our children—the last one just…parted ways with us.”
“I already have a job,” I remind him for the third time. “And I should get back to work—make sure the little girl found her way back.”
The man shakes his head and snickers before all hints of emotion leave his angular face. “I don’t have time to go searching for another caretaker today. You understand this, yes?” He doesn’t let me respond before continuing. “Good. Good. You have two choices…” He speaks casually, as if he hasn’t already begun to threaten me. “You will come with me and serve in my home and tend to my children.”
I clench my hands into fists by my sides, my nails piercing the flesh of my palms. “I—I already said?—”
“And the second choice is, I arrest you for loitering, begging, and withholding papers. You go to the prison labor camp. This should be an easy answer.” He shrugs, then grins, making itknown I have just as little power as every other natural-born citizen in this country.
The wordprisonreplays in my head. Prison must mean Auschwitz.
There are many rumors about Auschwitz, most of which I hope aren’t true.
I can either look after Nazi-born children or surrender to imprisonment in Auschwitz. These aren’t options.
Any child raised by a Nazi has already been taught to hate. Taught that they’re a superior race, and that others are disposable. I’m sure he’ll expect me to support the beliefs and mindset of the regime.
I won’t.
I’ll do the opposite. In silence and with caution, I’ll be the crack in their solid foundation. I’ll unteach what’s been forced into them. Maybe I could stop just one child from becoming this man standing in front of me. From becoming a monster.
The Reich has already stolen the freedom I never really had. I won’t let them steal my beliefs.
If I have to avoid prison by serving this Nazi family, it will be on my terms.
“I’ll serve.” But if he thinks I’ll be grateful, he’s wrong.
“Come along then,” he says, jutting his head toward his car.
I look to my side, where the labyrinth of trees spills out onto the road—where I sent Eva just before the officer approached me. “I need to gather my belongings and papers.” I must make sure Eva made it back to the orphanage too. And Julia—I need to tell her what’s happening. I might not have parents, and she’s no longer considered my housemother as I’ve been working for her, but she’s been the closest thing I have.
This man isn’t going to let me go anywhere. I can see it in his narrowing eyes.
“Fine. Lead the way.”
What have I done?
This is why the church-turned-orphanage still looks abandoned on the outside. With overgrown brush and nestled tightly between trees that have survived every known war in this country, we’ve been left alone.
I take hesitant steps forward, thinking of a way to stop him from following me, but he’s on my heels. I stop and turn around. “It can be a long walk, and it’s muddy from last night’s rain.”
“How long of a walk?” he asks, his patience questionable by his complacent tone.
“I could run.” He won’t run with me, not with his shiny boots.
He holds up his wrist to look at the time. “You have five minutes. If you aren’t back here then, I’ll find you, and you won’t have a second option.”
I can’t believe he’s letting me go. Without a moment to spare, I race through the trees, as fast as Eva did earlier. I avoid the mud and bang on the locked front door.
Julia opens the door a crack then releases the thick latch to pull me inside and into her chest. Her embrace holds a trace of lavender soap and flour, a scent that I had become too used to and stopped noticing. It now hits me like it might be the last time I ever smell something so nice. “Dear God, I thought they took you. Eva said a man in uniform came for you.”
“Yes, and I have to go with the officer who found me. He said I’d serve him—his children.”
“In their home?” she snaps. “Halina, you know what that means. You realize you won’t just be cleaning floors, don’t you? And those children…they aren’t just common children. They’re—why, they’re bred Naz?—”
“I know who they are,” I say, stopping Julia from speaking in a way she likely won’t forgive herself for later.
