“Why should we believe a cobbler?” lamented Eva. “He’s a shoemaker, not a prophet.”
I didn’t admit it, but I had begun to lose hope as well. “He said he knew the area,” I told her. “He said when he was young he traveled by the estate with his family.”
“We’ve been walking too long. If we push much farther the horse will be broken and won’t be able to continue tomorrow.”
Eva was right. We had spotted a small barn a few kilometers back. Some left the group to spend the night. We had decided to press on, following the shoe poet and his ambitious walking stick. Only one horse remained. A few days prior we had two carts and three horses but some German soldiers we encountered had taken one of the wagons and two horses, claiming they were needed for the war effort. Since they did not ask for our evacuation orders, we didn’t argue.
The German army had taken everything—cars, petrol, radios, animals, food. It was clear that they were sinking under the weight of the Allied forces, but Hitler’s regional leader, Gauleiter Koch, refused to allow civilians to evacuate. Rather than fall into the brutal hands of Russian marauders, some people defied the Reich and left without orders, like us.
If Poet’s estate did exist, it was sure to be a shell of its former self, stripped and plundered by the German army. Or worse, German soldiers could be staying in the house themselves. They might question us for not having formal evacuation orders.
“The snow will fall soon,” said Ingrid quietly.
The shoe poet stopped and thumped his stick against the icy road. “Aha! This is it!”
“It” was nothing. We were stopped near the same pine forest we had been trekking alongside for hours.
Poet called to the wandering boy and whispered in his ear, pointing into the woods. The boy took off running. We waited, shivering.
“My dear Eva, if I am right and there is in fact an estate, will you apologize to me?” asked the shoe poet.
“If there’s an estate I’ll dance with you, old man,” snapped Eva.
“A close dance.” The shoe poet nodded. “A waltz, please.”
The wandering boy suddenly appeared on the road in front of us. His tiny body bounced up and down with excitement and he waved us forward. He stood amidst a small gap in the trees revealing a narrow, overgrown drive.
“Very smart! The noble Junkers have concealed their drive,” said Poet. “Move those large branches away, my boy. We must steer the horse and cart behind the trees.”
The boy did as instructed. We pushed through the small opening and the path widened into a larger mouth. Once we were all inside the brush, the shoe poet and the boy replaced the branches.
“Should we cover our tracks leading into the trees?” I asked.
“Forget about that,” Eva called out. “The snow will cover our tracks. Hurry.”
We plodded down the narrow band, the trees soldiering up around us, dark and tall. We arrived at a clearing. In the distance, perched on a low rise, was an elegant, stately home with long windows and multiple chimneys.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” whispered Eva.
florian
I paused, eating snow for a drink of water. I pulled out my small notebook and looked at the map I had sketched earlier, trying to orient myself. I had to be closer to the coast, didn’t I? Once we reached the lagoon, I would cross the ice to the boats on the other side. Should I have stayed with the group from the barn? By walking through the woods, had I accidentally moved farther from my destination? If so, I might be walking directly toward the Russians.
The back of my neck ached. The fever had returned. I pulled the remainder of the sausage from my pocket and prepared to shove it all in my mouth. The Polish girl plopped down in the snow and ate handfuls. I wished she’d leave me alone. But then I thought of my sister.
I took out my knife and cut the sausage in half. I whistled to the girl and tossed a piece of sausage to her. She caught it and smiled. Cupping it in her small gloves, she raised it to her nose before popping it in her mouth.
“Your home is here? East Prussia?” she asked. “You speak like East Prussian.”
The pink in her cheeks matched her hat. I knew where her home was and I knew what had happened there. Did she know? “Yes, East Prussia. K?nigsberg,” I said. I probably could have told her the truth. I was actually from Tilsit, just northeast of K?nigsberg. I wondered if the Russians had taken Tilsit yet. And what would become of East Prussia? It was a former German kingdom, perched south of Lithuania and north of Poland on the Baltic Sea. Stalin had already taken Lithuania. He would take East Prussia too.
The girl chewed, her gaze at me unbroken. “Heil Hitler?” she asked quietly.
I said nothing.
The girl looked up at the sky. She pointed and started talking about the trees and the stars.
I would abandon her tonight.
alfred