Emilia stepped toward me, eyes wide with fear.
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “I have to help these people. But I’ll help you too.” I tugged her pink hat down and straightened it. “Put on the lipstick,” I whispered. I set my hand on her belly. “I’ll see you both tonight.”
Even from afar, I could see the train cars were stuffed with wounded and refugees. Passengers leaned out of the compartments, screaming for help. Sailors rushed in, prepared with gurneys and pallets. The doctor began shouting instructions.
And then amidst the pandemonium I heard him.
“Joana.”
I turned toward the voice.
The Prussian pulled me aside.
“You wanted to know something,” he whispered, moving in close. His eyes found mine. “I’m Florian. My name is Florian.” He reached out and took one of my curls between his fingers. A blush of heat washed across my face.
I grabbed the young sailor who had brought me to the doctor. “What’s your name?” I asked him.
“Frick. But you may call me Alfred.”
“Alfred, these people are very important. They have papers. I’m going to help the doctor, but these people must be taken to the same ship I will be on. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Fr?ulein. Certainly.”
The train, battered like a bruised fighter, hissed in the sidings.
The doctor handed me a clipboard. Could I trust the sailor?
“Alfred, will you promise to take care of my group? This young mother is very important.”
“Leave it with me, Fr?ulein.”
Urgent shouts came from the train.
“Let’s go!” said the doctor.
I grabbed the Prussian and whispered in his good ear.
“Nice to meet you, Florian.”
emilia
She was leaving. Why did everyone leave me? But Joana was special. A doctor had chosen her for work. A flurry of commotion erupted when the train arrived. We turned away from the tracks and followed the sailor toward the port.
The sailor concerned me. Something shadowed lay beneath his surface. Ingrid would have felt it. As the group was talking to Joana, a starving dog approached the sailor. The poor animal, too weak to even bark, sniffed plaintively at his feet. The sailor kicked the suffering creature away with his boot, annoyed and disgusted.
“Remember, don’t speak,” the knight whispered to me. “You’re Latvian.”
My knight hadn’t left me yet. He was happy about something. The sailor or Joana. Maybe both. But he would probably have to leave me too. Father hadn’t wanted to leave me. I had felt his struggle as I eavesdropped from behind the door.
“Promise me, Martin,” Father had said to Mr. Kleist. “Promise me you’ll protect her, take care of her, love her like your own. She’s all I have.” I couldn’t erase the memory of choked emotion in my father’s voice.
Mr. Kleist had promised. “Yes, Michal, we’ll take good care of her. She’ll love the countryside and the farm. Else and August will be happy to have another young voice in the house.”
“And what about Erna?” asked Father. “Are you certain she will welcome her?”
“Erna . . . yes,” said Mr. Kleist.
I continually returned to the conversation in my mind. He had spoken the word yes but something screamed no. And then I revisited the truth: Martin Kleist welcomed me.
Else Kleist welcomed me.
August Kleist truly welcomed me.
But Erna Kleist, she did not welcome me.
Ever.
florian
Hundreds of thousands had descended upon Gotenhafen from the depths of East Prussia and the Baltic countries. They now pushed and floated, like human driftwood, near the harbor. Vehicles shrieked their horns, carving a narrow path through the sea of refugees. A crowd gathered around a small girl who had been hit by a car. Hooded crows feasted on the innards of a dead horse in front of an overturned wagon. People wandered, looking constantly to the sky in fear of the Black Death. On the side of the road, where the earth had been turned by tank treads, an emaciated cow wailed. Its udders had frozen and burst overnight.
“You will step aside, please. I am an official escort!” announced the sailor who accompanied us.
The Polish girl tugged at my sleeve and gave me a concerned look. The sailor was drawing attention unnecessarily. He was more than a booby without experience; he was desperate to feel important. I knew the type.
In the distance I saw a group of Party officials with their wives. The women wore thick fur coats and expensive jewelry. They were flanked by parlor maids carrying trunks and hatboxes. These were the privileged passengers who would have priority boarding with the officers and wounded. They were also the type who could give me trouble.
“Say there, sailor. Hold up a minute.” I clapped him on the shoulder and he turned. I pulled him aside from our group, allowing the blistering noise to cover our conversation.
“You strike me as a man of confidence,” I told him.