Пэм Дженофф – The Winter Guest (страница 15)

She finished rubbing in the lotion, studying him more closely now. “Your scar—is it from the war?”

“No, I fell when I was younger,” he answered, a beat too quickly.

She recapped the tube and tried to hand it back. “You keep it,” she said.

“Oh, I couldn’t...”

“Okay, then I’ll give you some more next time.” Next time. The two words hung in the air, waiting for her to refute them.

She looked up, noticing then how the sun had dipped low. “I have to go.” She stood reluctantly. Talking with Sam had been such a reprieve from the dreariness of the rest of her life. “Do you need anything else?”

“Some longer branches, if you wouldn’t mind. I can use them to make a crutch.”

“I saw some out by the knoll.” She returned a few minutes later with several pieces of wood.

“Thank you,” Sam said. “I didn’t expect... That is, I didn’t think people here would be nice.”

“Oh.” She brought her hand to her mouth, feeling her cheeks flush.

“That was thoughtless of me to say,” he recovered hastily. “You have to understand, the Jews who came to America from Poland, well, they left for a reason and maybe they didn’t have the best experience here, or leave with the best impression of the people.” He was talking quickly now, stumbling over his words. But it was more than just awkwardness, or embarrassment over what he had said. He was nervous. “Thank you,” he repeated, somehow making the words sound like something more. She nodded and started toward the door.

“Please wait.” She turned back. “It’s important, you understand, that no one else know I am here.” His voice was grave and she knew he was talking about something larger than his personal safety.

“I promise.”

He opened his mouth to argue and then closed it again and stood reluctantly. “Lena, wait...” She turned back as he struggled to stand, holding on to the wall of the chapel. “The trains,” he said. “Can you see them from where you live?”

Helena hesitated, puzzled. She nodded. From the window of the barn loft where she had always hidden as a child when things got bad one could see the tracks. She went there still when she needed a moment of quiet. The trains had changed lately, increasing their frequency, seeming to move with grim determination. “You can tell a lot from the rail lines—how often they go, in which direction, what kind of cars they are carrying, if they are empty or full.”

“I’ll watch,” she promised.

She noticed the dark stubble on his cheeks and chin, which seemed to have grown thicker during her visit. “I can bring a razor next time,” she said, remembering her father’s, which sat in a tin cup in the cupboard, waiting for the soft peach fuzz on Michal’s upper lip to evolve.

“You mean you’ll... That is...” He paused, conflict washing over his face. “No, you mustn’t come again. It isn’t safe,” he added, and she saw then that he was worried for her safety. He was setting her free, giving her permission to go and not come back. Could she take it? Her shoulders slumped and she was suddenly overwhelmed and saddened, by all that had happened and that she had taken on in coming here—and by the fact that she was now leaving him.

“I’ll see you soon,” she replied firmly, not realizing that she was making the promise until the words had flown from her mouth. Then, before he could argue further, she turned and started down the hill.

6

After Helena disappeared into the forest, Ruth set Karolina down to play with wooden blocks by the fire and busied herself cleaning up the breakfast dishes. When she finished, she dried her hands and opened the cupboard. In the back, exactly as Mama had kept it, was the glass jar of honey. Ruth had discovered the jar when she was eight, and Mama (whose sweet tooth was her one weakness) had shared a bit with her in exchange for keeping it a secret. Ruth dipped a finger in it now and then put it in her mouth, the familiar sweetness a reminder of happier times. How wonderful it had been to have something that was just hers, instead of split between her and Helena. Guilt surged through her. She should share it with the children, a rare treat for all of them. But then it would be gone. It was all right to keep this one thing as hers alone, wasn’t it? Better for them not to get used to such things, anyway, when they likely would not have any more.

Checking on Karolina, who was still playing contentedly, Ruth poured a cup of coffee and carried it to the seat by the window. The wind whistled, seeping through the cracks. Outside Michal and Dorie continued to run, undeterred by the cold. As Ruth looked around the cottage, a sense of foreboding overcame her. “Things are changing,” Helena had observed cryptically the previous evening. Why did she say this as though it were a good thing? Ruth had liked the old world with its seasons and predictable expectations. Now everything was topsy-turvy, uncertain.

She shifted uncomfortably, thinking of Piotr. The memory of his face had grown fuzzy in her mind since the last time he’d come to see her. She had taken the time that morning to roll her hair into a fine braided knot. “Ruth, you look like a princess!” Dorie had exclaimed. Touched, Ruth had glowed with a bit of nearly forgotten pride. “Princess” was Dorie’s highest honor, and one she had only bestowed on Mama—until now.

Piotr had appeared across the field from town at one o’clock, as he had each Sunday, head bowed low against an autumn wind. He was not bad looking, Ruth had reflected. Taller than her by a head and broad-shouldered, he had thick features and colorless blond hair. Balled in one hand was the scarf she had knitted for him and she wondered why he wasn’t wearing it. She might have kept it for Christmas and given it to him as a gift, but she’d wanted him to have it exactly for days like this.

“Cze´s´c.” He greeted her with an awkward kiss that did not quite reach her cheek. She waited for him to notice her hair, but he did not remark upon it.

“Shall we walk?” she asked, speaking a bit more quickly than usual. Their courtship had been unremarkable, consisting mostly of strolls by the stream when the weather permitted it. “Or would you prefer to come in and warm up by the fire?” He did not answer but peered uneasily over her shoulder. It was the others, she decided. Piotr was an only child and more comfortable around a calf or foal than human little ones.

Ruth put on her cape and followed him outside in the direction of the stream. The water was low, pulled back to reveal dry muddy banks littered with pebbles and branches. A mossy smell rose from the muck. The stream would swell again when the snows came and melted, then rise perilously with the spring rain showers. She pointed to a bend in the stream, just beyond the edge of their property. “Helena says that is a fine place for catching trout. Perhaps in the spring...”

Piotr stopped and turned to her abruptly. “I can’t. That is, my father doesn’t want me to come anymore.” He faltered, face reddening like a beet.

“I don’t understand.” Her stomach burned ominously.

“Things are going so poorly with the farm. And now there are the quotas.” He was referring to the percentage that the Germans now exacted from each farmer’s yield. The sisters’ own garden was too small to offer much, but from a farm like Piotr’s, the demand would be severe. “There isn’t enough to support a family.”

It was a lie, of course—she and Helena managed to feed the children with so much less. But he was offering it as a reason—an excuse, really—as to why they could not go forward. Ruth watched him, contemplating what to do, which smile or touch might cajole him to change his mind. She’d learned from observing Mama how to charm a man into doing what she wanted. A few minutes ago he was just an ordinary boy; now he was all she had, and she was suddenly desperate to keep him.

“The war has just made things so difficult,” Piotr began again. He broke off and thrust the scarf in her direction so quickly that it fell to the ground, then he stomped off in the opposite direction with a gait too clumsy to be a run.

She took a step forward, stumbling over a tree root. “Piotr!” Her voice echoed against the stillness of the trees. It was not until he had disappeared across the field that she realized he would not be coming again.

Staring at the emptiness before her, so new and yet so permanent, Ruth recalled how just a week earlier he had kissed her behind the barn. She had pushed his fumbling hands away, partly because it was the right thing to do, and also because once she gave him that, he would no longer want her. But he had left her, anyway. Had Piotr broken off things because she had let him go too far, or because she had stopped him?

Neither, she decided now, gazing out the window at the very spot where their courtship had ended. It had not been about sex, but money. Piotr’s family just didn’t want to be saddled with supporting so many children who were not their own. Piotr’s mother had undoubtedly told him to get rid of dead wood while he still had the chance, that Ruth and her family would never be anything but a burden. But if Piotr had been a stronger man, he would have stayed in spite of his mother’s opinion—and for that weakness Ruth hated him most of all.