Just before winter settled in, Philip had done everything to make the house uninviting. He tore up the grass, dug a manure trench along the perimeter, hung soiled linens on clotheslines, and even shattered the outer panes of their windows to disguise the glass still intact beneath. It was smart. We promised ourselves it would keep the Nazis from billeting the house.
Halfway up the steep hill, I glance over my shoulder, wondering if Stefan has already made it home or if he’s still at the factory, just a short distance behind me. I hope he’s already returned. Philip hadn’t gone with him this morning because he wasn’t feeling well. Stefan is traveling alone, with nothing but a stamped exemption note clipped to his identification papers. It’s the only thing keeping him from being taken by Nazis. There are very few Jewish people who can still lawfully move around town.
My breaths catch on thick clouds of fog, and the soles of my boots are like metal against the icy patches of grass. At the top, the world unfurls before me.
And the world freezes.
A forest-green canvas tarp, frayed at the edges, covers the back of a truck idling in front of the Silbergs’ house, its exhaust forming coiled spurts of exhaust into the cold. Next to the truck is a polished Mercedes gleaming like a knight in armor, sword drawn. On the concrete stoop, Philip stands rigid, his arms around Eloise and Miriam, Benjamin wrapped in a blanket against Miriam’s chest, only his pink nose visible. Three suitcases rest by their feet.
I blink, as if I’m looking through a fog distorted window, unsure what I’m looking at. No one moves, just the puffs of gray air. My breaths overwhelm the silence, and I press my hand to my mouth and hold on to my last breath.
This can’t be happening.
This is what I see in my nightmares.
Realization snakes up my spine and coils around my stomach before my mind comes to terms with what I’m watching. The suitcases. Soldiers in uniform. The truck. This is the end of the hope we held on to.
Officers move to block my view of Miriam. All I can do is focus on Philip. His eyes find mine across the distance at the mouth of the woods. He shakes his head ever so slightly and closes his eyes, a silent plea.
For what? To run, or stay hidden?
I must help them. Somehow.
I take a step forward, and his eyes flash wide. He shakes his head again, sharper this time.
My throat tightens and my heart wallops as I sidestep behind a large tree, bringing me a bit closer to the front of the house, but more hidden too.
“Our son is in the United States, studying at a university. He’s been there a few years now,” Philip says, speaking German, his voice carrying louder than anything else exchanged.
“Does anyone else live with you?” the officer asks.
“No,” Philip says without a second’s hesitation.
“Are you sure about that?” the officer follows.
“Yes. Quite. It’s just the four of us and our son overseas.”
I press my fingernails into the bark so hard the wood splinters against my flesh. They have records. They can find out that Stefan works at the factory. Philip’s lie can only protect him temporarily. If they found out—find Stefan…
The officers seize their arms and push them toward the truck.
I back away, until the peak of the hill blocks my sight of the estate. I drop the bundle of bread and sugar beneath a thick mulberry bush and take off running down the hill, trying to keep my wits, and footing along the slick ground. The cold air burns my lungs like knives slicing down my core. Did Philip know the Nazis were coming from them?
Is this why he didn’t go with Stefan to the factory? Why they were both acting so unnatural before he left, saying goodbye as if we weren’t just running errands or going to the factory? They knew. They must have.
Tears prick my eyes, blurring my vision as I continue to run down the hill, back to the center of town. Where are they taking them? To the ghetto? What about all their belongings? They had just one suitcase for each of them. Were they already packed? Wouldn’t I have seen them? What about Stefan’s belongings?
Panic grows and grows, and takes over every part of me as my breaths grow sharp, and the soles of my boots slip on a thin patch of ice. I fall. And I’ve failed. It’s all I seem to do.
The heavy steps of boots against damp gravel leave me with a strangled gasp. My hands in slushy snow redden as I struggleto get back onto my feet. My chest is so heavy with despair, it’s working against gravity.
Hands grab me from behind and lift me off the ground. “Rosalie…are you all right? My God.” Stefan’s wool coat scratches against my raw, damp cheeks, his arms wrenched around me so tightly, I can hardly breathe. “What happened? Let me look at you. Are you hurt?” He cranes his head back, trying to get a better look at me, but I can only make a blur of his eyes through my tears.
“The soldiers—” The word swells in my throat. “Your house. They took them—” A sob tears through me. “All of them.”
He yanks me back into his chest, holding me in a vice-like grip. All I can feel is his heart hammering, breaking, and shattering.
“My father knew,” Stefan hisses through his clenched jaw, mind working overtime. “He made me leave early this morning; told me the ledgers were unbalanced and would take time without his help. He stayed home…because he must have known they were coming for us—a family of five Jews. The Reich sends letters, with a three- or four-day warning to the family being evicted and taken elsewhere. I’ve heard factory workers whispering about these letters. I should have known my father wasn’t sick this morning.”
