“You’re hurt,” she argues. “I won’t just leave you like this. Can I see the wound?” I release the pressure from my hand and pull it out from beneath my top, finding the skin gaping open. “You need sutures. You need a hospital.”
“I can’t. Please, Hali—I’ll be fine. I can’t go to the hospital. They don’t treat Jews. The infirmary might help or might get rid of me. You have to understand what I’m saying.”
“I’m getting something to wrap it up. Then I’ll find you medical supplies.”
“Hali,” I say again, my voice weaker this time.
She leaves, an echo of her steps thudding down to the next floor. A door opens and closes, but it doesn’t sound like the front door. Her heavy breaths are louder than her steps as she returns, carrying a folded bed sheet. She wastes no time in tearing the fabric into strips, using her teeth when she can’t break through the stitching.
“Here we are,” she says, her voice calm, soothing, and I’m not sure how. She wraps my hand as if she’s done this a hundred times before, making small knots when the fabric ends to connect it to another thin piece. “Is that too tight?”
“No,” I utter.
“I’ll find my way to the marketplace square. The other nannies mentioned going there for supplies. Frau Schäfer won’tbe back until after noon. I’ll be back before then. If the Kapo comes up, just try and keep your hand hidden.”
“Do you have money?”
She shakes her head. “Don’t worry.”
“I am worried. You’re putting yourself in danger and there may not be medical supplies anywhere in the nearby vicinity. Trust me.”
“This time, trust me,” she says, peering at me with a flare of pain in her eyes. “Tuck in your top. It’ll hide most of the blood.” She presses her cool hand to my cheek and kisses me, the gentleness of her lips contrasting the wild panic so clearly rushing through her.
THIRTY-TWO
HALINA
Gavriel needs a doctor. Without proper care, there are too many risks, and I saw where he lives—how filthy the place is—it’s a breeding ground for disease. Without his hand, he can’t work. If he can’t work, he’s of no use…It’s easier to tell someone else not to worry, but that isn’t what I feel inside.
Before grabbing Flora, who’s screaming at the top of her lungs, I shove my way into the Jewish jewel room. “Forgive me, God. Forgive me. It’s out of compassion.” I spot a gold watch and shove it into my pocket. I take a golden brooch too, just in case. I take Flora back out of her crib and run downstairs, out the front door and place her back into her carriage before I take off in what will likely be the wrong direction.
“Where are you off to?” Rosalie’s voice follows me. I stop, finding her sitting beneath the willow tree where Hilde, the youngest of the children she cares for, plays with blocks.
“I—ah—” I glance over my shoulder back to the Schäfer house. “I have to run to the marketplace square.”
“She sent you on an errand there?”
“No, not exactly. Do you think you could point me in the right direction?”
“I’ll grab the carriage and come with you,” she says, drawing up the hem of her dress to stand. “Frau Weyman won’t be home until later this afternoon, after school.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to?—”
“Nonsense. I’ve been here long enough,” she drones with a sigh. “She doesn’t question where I take the children. We can’t ever go far anyway.”
I notice a subtle flare in her eyes, maybe a blend of rebellion and contempt. Or she’s been doing this long enough that she’s had time to accept this way of life. She has a good point. Still, I want to be home before Ada. If I can find medical supplies. I don’t want her to see that I’ve managed to acquire them. She knows I have no money.
Rosalie is quick about getting Hilde seated in the carriage, leaving the quilt and blocks beneath the tree. “What’s the emergency?” Rosalie asks once we’ve left the street.
I struggle to find the words, unsure how she’ll react. “The man working in the attic—” I begin.
“The one who fancies you,” she coos quietly.
My cheeks burn in response. The thought of Gavriel noticeably admiring me is both terrifying and palpitating. No one should know. And yet, I’d love to shout it out to the world. No one has ever looked at me the way he does, and what is there to look at? I’m a servant. “Uh, yes, well, he’s gotten hurt quite badly and there’s nothing in the house I can take without the Schäfers noticing it’s gone. I managed to find him a clean sheet to wrap the wound, but?—”
“How will you buy anything? Do you have money?”
I study Rosalie for a long minute, debating how I’ll respond. “No, I don’t, but—” Rosalie’s eyes dart from side to side, likely worried to find out about my solution. I keep my voice down when I say, “Frau Schäfer has a room full of…”
