“Don’t flatter yourself. I need supplies.”
He motioned to the bundle on the floor. “You can tear the sheet if you need bandages. There’s a sharp knife in the pile.”
“Thank you.”
I spied a few jars of blackberries and carrots on the counter. “Where did you find those?” I asked. “Eva said she checked the kitchen for food.”
“I know a thing or two about hiding places.”
I looked at the jars. “And those are all for you?”
“No, save some for the Polish kid.”
“I told you, her name is Emilia,” I said.
He ignored my statement.
“We’re all going to Frauenburg. Come with us and she can ride in the cart. The contractions and symptoms she described speak to early labor. She shouldn’t be walking for extended periods.”
He seemed to consider the proposition.
I rummaged through the dark kitchen and set aside dried herbs, scissors, and kitchen twine. There wasn’t enough. “I’m going upstairs to get some blankets.”
“No,” he said, moving quickly to block the doorway. “Don’t go upstairs. And don’t let the little boy up there either.”
“Why not?”
He didn’t answer.
I stepped in closer. “Why shouldn’t I go upstairs?”
He looked toward the door. He shifted his weight, hesitating. I stepped closer to him. He pulled in a breath and his eyes latched on to mine.
“No one should have to see that,” he whispered.
emilia
The pressure woke me from a shallow sleep. I had to go to the bathroom. Again.
I adjusted my hat. The pretty house was warm inside. The fire still crackled and glowed, throwing shadows across the bundled heaps on the floor. How funny some people looked and sounded when they were asleep.
But not the knight.
He was strong, handsome and fine-featured, even as he slept. I watched him from my corner, his face relaxed. Did he ever laugh or smile? The blind girl had bandages over her eyes. What did blind people see in their dreams? Could she dream of a flower if she had never seen one in real life?
The nurse, Joana, was kind. I had been certain she would be angry or disgusted by me, but she wasn’t. Her hands and voice carried a gentle calm, like my mama’s. When she touched my stomach she smiled and nodded. She often looked directly into my eyes and that made me wonder if she saw everything. But when she sat alone her face looked cheerless and forlorn, full of tears waiting patiently to fall.
And then the noise erupted.
Screaming.
It filtered from above, shadowed between the walls. And then it descended, clearer, sharper, drawing closer. The sound lifted the latch of memory. My shoulders began to tremble.
The wind howled down the hallway. A door slammed. The knight was awake, on his feet, gun drawn. He looked first to Joana and then to me. He moved quickly to the door but before he reached it, Eva burst into the room, wild with panic.
“Dead in their beds! They’re all dead in their beds!” she shrieked.
Eva’s face was so white it looked blue. A stuffed rabbit dangled from her massive hand. One of its ears was missing.
florian
There were many possibilities. I pieced together this one.
The family had been eating their dinner. They were alerted of a Russian approach—maybe someone at the door or a sound from outside. The older gentleman, probably the grandfather, instructed everyone to go upstairs and get in bed. He then walked to his room and dressed in his uniform from the Great War. Honor lost was everything lost. He would not allow his family or legacy to be stripped from their land. They would die with dignity. Shoulders square, rows of medals adorning the left side of his chest, the old man walked in and out of each bedroom, taking life yet sparing honor. He then marched to his own room, stood by the window watching the hills beyond, and pulled the trigger.
And now they lay lifeless, their legacy frozen with cold.
? ? ?
No one could go back to sleep. We left the estate before the first morning light appeared.
The shoemaker held the little boy’s hand.
The boy held the earless rabbit.
What a sorry group we were, brutalized and bandaged, yet luckier than most; certainly more fortunate than the dead family upstairs. The giant woman wouldn’t stop talking about it, describing the scene in morbid detail for the others. I wanted to hit her with a brickbat.
“Sorry, but you didn’t see it, the blood, the children,” she said. “Thank God it was so cold up there. Even so, the smell.”
We walked down the long drive and just before we reached the road, the giant started in about the Polish girl. “Get her out of the cart. She can’t come with us. We can’t be caught with a runaway Pole and a deserter. We’ll end up slaughtered like the family upstairs.”
“Shut up,” I told her. “I’m not a deserter.”
“Eva, she’s showing signs of early labor. She should rest,” said Joana.