“But is it for an adult or child?” I ask. Too much could be dangerous—or even lethal.
“Adult,” Berta replies. “But if we give him just a little... We don’t have a choice.” She pours a bit of the powder onto a spoon and mixes it with water, then spoons it into Theo’s mouth. He gags in protest and spits up. Astrid wipes his face and shirt with a rag and I wish that I could do it myself.
“Should we give him more?” I ask.
Astrid shakes her head. “There’s no telling how much of it he got. And we won’t know for a few hours if it’s working.”
“The fortune-teller, Drina, said something about illness,” I suddenly recall. How could she have known?
I wait for Astrid to ridicule me for listening to her. “I stopped having my fortune read,” she says darkly instead.
“Because you don’t think it’s true?”
“Because there are some things you just don’t want to know.”
Berta comes over and inspects Theo. “He just needs to rest now. Let’s hope the medicine works.” And what, I wonder, if it does not? I don’t dare to ask.
Berta walks to the berths at the far end of the railcar where two other patients lie. After she has tended to them, she dims the lights and squeezes herself into an empty bed, her thickness spilling over into the aisle.
Astrid sinks onto one of the berths, rocking Theo. Watching her from the doorway, my arms ache. “He likes to be held up.”
“I know.” Astrid has been with Theo almost as long as I have. She knows what to do. Not being able to hold him is killing me, though. “I’ll watch him all night, I promise. But you should go to sleep. He’s going to need you when he is better.”
“You think he’ll be okay?” I ask with hope and relief.
“I do,” she responds, her voice more certain now.
I still cannot leave him, though. Instead, I sink down to the cold, filthy floor of the train corridor. “Those are pretty flowers,” Astrid remarks. I had nearly forgotten about the daffodils in my shirt button and hair. “They’re from the mayor’s son, right?” I do not answer. “What did he want anyway?”
“Just to talk,” I reply.
“Really?” Astrid’s tone is skeptical.
“Maybe he just likes me,” I retort, somewhere between hurt and annoyed. “Is that so very hard to believe?”
“Mingling is forbidden, you know.” You and Peter being together is, too, I want to point out. “And his father is a collaborator, for God’s sake!” Her voice rises now, causing Berta to stir at the far end of the train car.
“Luc isn’t like that,” I protest.
“And his father?” she asks pointedly.
“Luc says he has to cooperate to protect the village.” I hear the weakness in my own words. “To stop the Germans from doing even worse.”
“Stop?” she spits. “There is no stopping them. Didn’t what happened at the show the other night teach you anything? The mayor is saving his own skin at the expense of his people—nothing more.”
Several seconds of silence pass between us. “What, do you want to date this boy?” she demands. “Marry him?”
“No, of course not,” I protest quickly. I had not really thought about Luc beyond the kiss we had shared. But I wonder now, why is it so awful to want the ordinary things? Astrid herself had once done the same; now she sees it as a betrayal. “I know that you like him, Noa,” she continues. “But you musn’t trust too much, or let yourself be fooled.” I can tell from the way she speaks that she thinks I am innocent and naive. “Never assume that you know the mind of another. I don’t.”
“Even Peter?” I ask.
“Especially him,” she says sharply. She clears her throat. “This nonsense with you and the boy, it will end of course when we go in a few days.” Luc’s promises to find me in the next village seem too silly to share. “No man is worth the whole world,” she adds.
“I know,” I say, memories of the German looming large in my mind. He had taken everything from me, my honor, my family. Of course Astrid doesn’t know this. My guilt looms like a shadow. Astrid has given us so much. And still I am living the lie I told when I first arrived and did not know if I could trust her.
Astrid leans back against the berth, still holding Theo. Neither of us speaks further. The floor of the train grows cold and hard beneath me, but I don’t want to move. The shadows grow long between us. I lean my head back and close my eyes. I dream that I’m outside in the darkness, the same bitter cold as the night I’d taken Theo and left. He is not an infant this time, though, but a toddler of almost two, older and heavier. The ground is icy beneath my feet and the biting wind fights me every step. There is a bundle on the ground, dark amid the whiteness of the earth. I stop to examine it. Another child. I pick it up but as I do, Theo falls from my arms. Desperately I dig through the snow, trying to find him. But he is lost.
I awake in a sweat, cursing myself for sleeping. Astrid sits awake, staring out the window in the distance. Behind her the sky is a lighter gray, signaling that it is almost dawn. She is still holding Theo, who is completely still. I leap to my feet and wait for Astrid to protest as I move closer, but she does not. “His fever has broken,” she says instead. Theo has a faint rash on his skin, but otherwise he is fine, his skin cool. My eyes burn with relief. The blanket swaddling him is drenched in sweat. He half opens his eyes and smiles faintly at me.
“You should still be careful not to get sick,” Astrid admonishes and I brace myself for her to make me leave once more. Instead, she walks to the far end of the carriage, still holding Theo. I fight the urge to follow as she confers with Berta, who has risen and is feeding one of the other patients. A moment later she returns with a baby bottle. “Let me see if I can get him to drink a bit.” He sucks weakly at the bottle, then drifts back to sleep.
Astrid moves to set the bottle down. The color drains from her face suddenly and she starts to double over, seemingly sickened. “Here,” she says, seeming to forget her own caution as she hands Theo to me. I draw his warmth close gratefully. Astrid sinks limply to one of the berths.
“Are you feeling sick?” I pray that she has not caught Theo’s virus.
“No.” Her tone is certain. But her forehead and upper lip are damp with sweat.
“Then what...?” My concern grows. She has seemed more tired than usual lately, and she has been so very terse. There is something familiar, too, about the grayness of her face. “Astrid, are you...?” I hesitate, not wanting to finish the question for fear of offending her if I am wrong. “Are you expecting?” I ask, but she does not answer. “You are, aren’t you?”