ROSALIE
SANOK, POLAND
August 10, 1941
The tears won’t stop. The pain—nothing takes it away. Every time I close my eyes, I see Papa’s face and my heart shatters again. I try to imagine Mama waiting for him at heaven’s gates, but it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense that I could be alone at seventeen. It’s not fair.
Miriam continues to comb her fingers through my hair. She’s been doing this for days. She just sits with me and acts like a mother while I bury my face in a pillow. I can’t remember if this is what mama’s fingers felt like when she combed my hair. I don’t know why I can’t remember. I should be able to.
“Fresh tea,” Stefan says before the clinks and clatter of a teacup and saucer settle on the nightstand.
He repositions the large fan, pointing it toward me then testing out how far the breeze travels. It’s hot, but I haven’t noticed.
“Has your father returned?” Miriam asks Stefan.
“Just a few minutes ago. Everything worked out.”
“Good,” Miriam whispers. “Do you want to?—”
“What are the two of you not so secretly discussing?” I utter with a sniffle.
Miriam runs her hand in a circle along my back. “There’s something we want to discuss if you’re up to it. If you’re not, we can wait.”
It’s a struggle to push myself upright. My muscles ache from crying. My face burns from the tears. And my chest feels like it’s collapsed. Stefan props up a couple pillows behind my back. Suddenly, I feel like a patient, not a woman grieving the loss of her father. I don’t have the energy to be stronger than this though. I don’t.
“You’ve never spoken much about your faith,” Miriam says. “What religion do you practice?” It feels almost odd to be asked after the amount of time I’ve spent with the Silbergs. No one truly talks much about religion now though. They’re afraid to if they’re Jewish and no one knows what religion will be chosen for persecution tomorrow.
“I don’t have a religion.”
“How did I not know this?” Stefan asks, shock in his expression.
It never came up.
“My mother was Catholic but didn’t go to church or practice. And my father was protestant but seemingly became an atheist after Mama died. He would often say he didn’t believe in God, just time.” I shrug because I just haven’t given it much further thought.
“What about you?” Stefan asks, his question quiet but curious.
I peer between the two of them, looking at me with their matching set of hazel eyes.
“I used to think it was hard to believe in something I can’t see, or something that hasn’t protected me from pain. But then Iwould question what higher power gives me the strength I need to keep going. God is the only answer that comes to mind.”
“I think it’s beautiful you came to that conclusion on your own without influence. And you’re right. No one knows what higher powers exist. There may be one we all refer to as different names, or maybe there are hundreds for every individual belief.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you want to know?”
Stefan takes my hand into his, encompassing it within his grip. “We want to give your father a proper goodbye,” he suggests. “Of course, any traditional ceremony is challenging now, but my father is friends with a rabbi, and he offered to do a small service for him. Only if that’s something that you would want, though. If not?—”
“That’s where your father was all morning?” I interrupt.
Miriam combs her fingers through my hair again. “It’s the least any of us could do right now.”
“Wouldn’t that be dangerous? For all of you? I wouldn’t want to?—”
“We have a plan, a safe plan. If it’s something you?—”
Tears plummet like fat rain drops from my eyes and I nod. “More than anything. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”
Miriam wraps her arm around my shoulders and pulls me into her chest, kissing my forehead. “Say no more. I’m going to go tell Philip so he can make the arrangements,” she says, scooting off the end of the bed.
