Frau Ada Schäfer shows moderate signs of emotional distress regarding these findings, particularly due to her husband’s desire for more children. Marital counseling is recommended if available.
Dr. Franz Rosenbaum
12 March 1942
My blood runs cold as I question the reality of this diagnosis—of secondary infertility. This makes very little sense. Maybe the letter isn’t even real? My stomach snarls and a surge of nausea seeps through me. Serves me right for snooping.
I shove the letter back where it belongs, and whip open the other drawer in search of iodine. A small metal box with a red cross on the lid grabs my attention immediately. I reach down and pull out the box, prying it open with my one free hand. Small, yellowed boxes labeled with a variety of first aid supplies, silver tubes of ointment, a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and a matching size amber bottle of iodine. Thank goodness. I grab the iodine, close the box and place it back into the drawer. My mind spins erratically. I just need to get back upstairs to Gavriel and put the rest of this dizzying information to the side until he’s on the mend.
He’s still so pale when I return and still trying to saw through his stack of wood. I wish he could stop. He shouldn’t be putting any pressure on his injured hand. It’ll only make it worse. “I found iodine.”
“I don’t want to know how or where,” he says, his shoulders falling forward with worry.
“Never mind that. Unwrap the sheet bandage.”
Once again, I plop the blanket down on the ground and place Flora on it, silently pleading with her to remain calm for just a bit longer.
As Gavriel unravels the bandaging, I see the wound has stopped bleeding thankfully. I grab the bottle of iodine from my pocket, untwist the cap, take his hand and— “Hold your breath and close your eyes,” I tell him.
“I’m fine,” he says.
I shake my head and tip the bottle over the open wound. “Don’t squeeze a muscle in that hand or arm,” I warn him, knowing that regardless of him saying he’s fine, he’s likely in excruciating burning pain.
“You’re very bossy,” he says, his voice croaking.
“Only when necessary,” I reply, trying to maintain my placid demeanor, but I feel the blush rise anyway. He’s watching me too closely. It’s as if he sees more in me than I could ever hide.
I hold his hand out in front of him. The iodine needs to dry before I can bandage him back up. It never occurred to me how many different roles Julia had to take on as the head of the orphanage but whenever she was fixing up an injury, she would speak the process out loud. I’m not sure if it was just the way she worked or if she was trying to teach us how to follow her lead if necessary someday, but I suppose it worked.
We must be running out of time. I’m sure either the kapo or Ada will be returning at any moment now. With a damp cloth, I clean away the excess, the brown stain seeping down the sides of his hand and into the sawdust beneath us.
I dig back into the bag and grab the gauze and bandaging, moving faster now, knowing this is the last step. He’ll be on his path to recovery at least. With the final wrap of the bandage, I smooth the cotton around his wrist, tucking the end into a fold. But my hands don’t leave him right away. I feel the heat of his skin from beneath the bandage. He’s staring at me, and for a second—I feel something unexplainable—something right. I didn’t know that was possible. Not here, like this. “There,” I say with a sigh.
He doesn’t respond, so I look up at him, finding his eyes welling with tears. “Not even my ma would bandage me up that well.” He tries to laugh, but his voice catches in his throat. “Actually…” He sounds nervous now. “She might even throw a little dirt in the wound and tell me to toughen up.”
“I don’t think she would say that to you now. I think she’d be proud of how strong you’ve become,” I tell him. “Besides, I don’t think anyone should have to be this tough.” I wonder what my mother would say to me if I was hurt…Will I ever know?
“Where did you find the iodine?”
“Their bedroom.”
Gavriel’s eyes widen with horror as fear takes the place of the tears. “You were in their bedroom?”
“It’s a treasure trove in there,” I utter, thinking about the script and letter I read. The thought pulls my attention down to Flora, who’s munching on the blanket like a hungry little bear, her knees tucked in beneath her and her hands pressed to the floor as she rocks forward and back like she’s ready to hop away.
“She’s certainly gaining some strength,” Gavriel says with a chuckle.
“She is…Flora’s almost a year old. Isn’t that right, little princess?” I would like to think nothing makes much sense right now, but I’m afraid that’s not quite true.
“You knew that, didn’t you?” Gavriel asks.
“Well, yes, but according to a paper I came across while in her vanity, Ada was diagnosed with secondary infertility about sixteen or seventeen months ago,” I say, trying to count the months out in my head.
A moment passes, both of us lost in thought. Me counting while he stares past me to the window. “Wait…no. That can’t be right,” Gavriel says.
“What do you mean?”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head, as silent words form on his tongue. “If…Flora is just about a year old—” He pauses again. “That would mean she received that letter when she was three or four months pregnant already. Surely a doctor would know whether she was pregnant versus suffering from infertility.” Gavriel is clearly better with numbers than me, confirming my suspicion.
