Page 16 of The Nanny Outside the Gates

“Oh goodness, what is this, Halbert?” Celina asks, her tone changing to sweet, innocent, and a higher pitch.

“Rock,” the young boy says. He must be somewhere between one and two years old.

“Are you sure?” Celina questions him. “I thought—well, it looks like a cow to me.”

“Moo,” the little boy squeals. “More cows.” He returns to the other side of the sandbox in search of more rocks.

“How long have the two of you?—”

“About a year,” Rosalie answers. “The family I worked for was deported. When the SS raided their home, they took me too, as if I was some kind of loot. That’s when I became a source of free labor.”

“Six months,” Celina follows. “I was found in a rather unusual place,” she says, peeking out of the corner of her eyes toward the table of SS wives.

“I had been staying at a convent—as a novice, hoping to be accepted into their order.” Celina’s voice softens.

“The Mother Superior decided to release me from my commitment, telling me it was best for both the convent and me given my lack of knowledge…and true calling. She suggested I visit a family who often donated to the church and needed help with their children. However, before I could even leave the grounds, an officer overheard and claimed me for his family.”

“Their way of captivity seems to be a common practice among the high-level SS officers,” Rosalie adds.

“In any case,” Celina says, abruptly changing the subject. “Usually, the lunches are hosted at the houses we tend to, but it was a last-minute surprise invitation from Frau Sch?fer today.”

“It was a surprise to me as well.”

“It takes time to adjust, but you’ll find a way.”

I twist my neck, peeking over my shoulder at the picnic table of wives, watching as one of them shoves the tray of finger sandwiches to the side of the table.

The kitchen prisoner steps outside and takes the tray of food from the women, bringing it back into the house.

I would have eaten the entire platter if it was sitting in front of me.

A flash of motion catches my eye from two levels above the women, Gavriel spying out between the framework of the roof. Was he watching when the sandwiches were taken away too?

“They chat among each other, mostly about us, and make up lies about their husbands—each in competition with who has it better,” Rosalie says.

“The irony of how little they know about living a wealthy lifestyle is laughable. I previously worked for a family with more money than the next four generations would know what to do with, but the German army kicked them out of their house. Not even their money could save them from losing everything.”

Marlene stands up from within the sandbox and brushes herself off, then jolts in my direction.

“I need to use the toilet,” she whispers.

I’m not sure if I should allow her to go in by herself or?—

“Here, I’ll hold the little darling for you while you take her,” Rosalie offers. “Go on. This happens often.”

I should trust her. She’s like me. We’re in the same situation, I assume.

With concern rushing through me, I check over my shoulder, finding the wives deep in conversation, their necks stretched toward each other to whisper whatever it is they’re sharing.

I place Flora in Rosalie’s open arms and push myself up to my feet before taking Marlene’s hand.

While crossing the open green space in the yard, the back door opens, the kitchen prisoner carting out trays of food. I thought they had already eaten.

I rush Marlene along, offering to hold the door open for the young woman. “That isn’t necessary,” Frau Sch?fer calls over to me. I’m not sure if she’s talking about bringing Marlene in to use the toilet or for holding the door.

Marlene slips her hand from mine and hurries for the stairwell. As I fall behind and pass the vacant kitchen, I spot the tray of leftover finger foods. My pulse drums within my ears as I peer toward the back door, ensuring I’m alone.

With little time to spare, I grasp several of the sandwiches, still leaving a couple dozen behind, and shovel them into my apron pocket.

I flee to the stairs, breathlessly making it to the second floor, finding the door to the toilet room closed. “Are you all right, Marlene?” I ask, my breath sounding more ragged than it should.

She’s quiet for a moment before responding. “Yes, my tummy hurts.”

“Can I get anything for you?”

A quiet grunt follows. “No.”

I’m sure she’d like some privacy, which doesn’t appear to be an option in this house.

“I’ll wait down the hall for you. Take your time,” I tell her.

I take a hard turn up the attic stairwell, hopping on my toes to avoid any unnecessary creaks before ducking into the construction area.

“What are you doing up here?” I saw this man tending to the garden yesterday.

“I—uh.”

Gavriel steps out from an enclave to my far right. “Halina?”

“I don’t have much time, but I have something for you…” I whisper, my breath unsteady as I reach into the pocket of my apron. My fingers close around the small bundle and pull it out carefully before unwrapping the cloth covering.

Gavriel’s eyes lock on the sandwiches, and his chest falls forward.

His expression shifts from curiosity to desperation—a hunger, or maybe comfort.

His hands rise beneath mine, trembling a bit.

I ease them into his grasp, my knuckles brush against his skin, coarse, dry, labor-worn.

The brief touch lingers longer than it should, and he doesn’t pull away.

Neither do I.

Our gazes collide, his studying hard, like he’s just found what he’s been searching for, and mine, realizing this might be more than a helpful gesture for a stranger.

There’s something about Gavriel that draws me in, and my heart swells with compassion for his brutal situation. He holds the sandwiches to his chest as if they’re his next breath, and I wonder how long it’s been since someone’s given him anything that hasn’t come with a consequence in return.

“Don’t get yourself in trouble,” his words quiet, his gaze still locked with mine. “We aren’t worth the risk.”

He says it like a fact, like he believes it.

And the way he’s looking at me, as if I shouldn’t be doing something to help…

rattles me. He can’t possibly mean what he’s saying.

I don’t believe it, not with the pain I see within his golden-brown eyes.

Pain wrapped in warmth and tenderness—I can almost feel it.

So unexpected and unfamiliar, but also, real.

“Yes, we are,” Adam cuts in before I can reply. “What he means to say is, thank you. Thank you very much.” He retreats to the other side of the room and crouches, unwrapping one of the sandwiches as if it’s a rare piece of treasure.

“Of course,” I say to the other man before returning my attention to Gavriel as confusion spirals through me. “Why would you say that?” I ask, the question sharper than intended. “That you’re not worth the risk?”

Gavriel studies me inquisitively as if I just asked him an impossible question. His head falls slightly to the side. “Because…we’re Jews, Halina.”

My breath catches. It’s because of what he said, it’s the pain in which he speaks. I reach for his hand without thinking, pressing my palm into his. His skin is rough, overworked, and warm. “I don’t see you as less,” I whisper. “You matter. You deserve more than this.”

His eyes lift, deliberately seeking mine. “You aren’t just like me,” he whispers. “You’re far more beautiful.”

My cheeks burn and I take my hand away from his, holding it against my chest as if I’ve I touched something without asking first.

Flustered, I make a show of glancing around at the progress of the construction, and all that’s been accomplished in the short time I’ve been here, then brush my fingertips that are still tingling from his touch, along the nearest beam. “You’re pretty good at this.”

“At—” he questions, gazing at me with a thought I wish I could read.

“The construction—the—the craftsmanship.”

“Oh, the attic,” he says with a chuckle.

“Well, I better be.” He brushes the back of his sleeve across his dewy forehead.

“I was supposed to take over my family’s company—construction, in Krakow.

There’s an entire neighborhood of houses on the outside of the city with my initials carved into a beam. ”

A smile presses onto my lips, imagining a colorful row of family homes with children playing on the street as their parents watch with loving smiles from their front stoops. “You were building perfect lives for happy families,” I say. “You must miss it.”

Gavriel drops his gaze, and he screws his lips to the side. “Every nail I hammer, I remember what I should be doing with my time, and who I should be doing it for…”

His words fall heavily on my chest. We all come from different paths, yet the pain…it’s so relatable. “I must go.”

Flustered and a bit dizzy from the emptiness in my stomach, I travel back down the steps, finding the door to the toilet room still closed. My pulse flickers like sparks as I wait for Marlene. I wipe my hands on my apron, repeatedly, feeling the evidence on each finger.

A whimper whines from the floor vent next to me, reminding me of the sounds I heard when I first arrived—the ones I convinced myself to belong to a cat—a cat they clearly don’t have.

Marlene finally steps out of the toilet room with her arms crossing her stomach.

“Do you feel better?” I ask.

“A bit.”

We walk side by side back down the main stairwell, both of us quiet, though my mind is anything but. “Did you hear something just now?”

She shakes her head. “No, but Papa says our pipes whine like old women.”

A cold chill strikes my nerves, leaving me to wonder what the noises could have been from.

“I see. Well, lucky for you, you have two sisters, and another baby sibling on the way. Isn’t that right? You’ll always have someone to play with.”

“I suppose,” she says, stepping into the foyer from the bottom step.

“I don’t quite want a brother, and Mama doesn’t know if the baby is a boy or a girl.

And Flora, she doesn’t do much except cry.

Isla is too old to play with stupid toys.

” Her accent on the word stupid leads me to believe this is a conversation she and her sister have had before.

“Well, at least there are plenty of other children on the street to play with, right?”

Marlene forces a tight-lipped smile as we reach the back door. “Yes,” she says. “But no one ever stays for long.”