Page 37 of The Nanny Outside the Gates

THIRTY

HALINA

Flora weighed heavily in my arms as I was storming down the hallway of the main floor toward the kitchen to return the pitcher of water, when the front door swung open.

Instinct spun me around, leaving me face to face with the man I saw shouting at Adam outside earlier.

The rules between these prisoners who are called kapos and the prisoners themselves are foggy.

I’m not supposed to speak to the prisoners.

I wonder what the rule will be when I become one of them.

Does he see the guilt on my face, the worry in my eyes, or the heaviness of my breath.

Does it matter? He’s scrutinizing me with his dark stare in a way I don’t think he should.

Perhaps like a bumble bee, if I stay very still and ignore his presence, he’ll continue along his way.

If not, I suspect there will be questions.

My brain is in a fog until Flora’s burst of tears reignites. “Let’s go have that warm bath, sweet girl, shall we?”

“In a drinking water pitcher?” the kapo says. His words snake around my throat and squeeze.

“I can’t find a different one,” I utter, brushing past the man to return up to the bedroom floor.

“Is there a problem here?” Ada’s voice yanks me to a stop before climbing up another step.

“No, Frau Sch?fer,” the kapo says, removing his striped cap and bowing to her.

I hurry up the stairway, telling myself it was only the kapo she was questioning.

“Halina, what are you doing with the pitcher of water?” Ada follows, again stopping me from making it up any further stairs.

“I was going to give Flora a bath.” With the wrong pitcher of water. The proper one is in the washroom upstairs, where it’s kept.

“I see,” she says with a sigh. “Except you are aware that is not the pitcher we use for bath water, yes?”

I wouldn’t know what pitcher of water is used for bath water because you haven’t given me any instructions aside from poisoning your daughter, the hours to wake up and go to sleep, and to act as though the Jewish people working in this house don’t exist. It’s becoming exceedingly difficult to keep my thoughts to myself.

“I didn’t know,” I say, simply, lying, acting as stupid as she sees me. I’m aware of the bath pitcher in the washroom.

“Yes. There is one beneath the sink pedestal in the upstairs washroom. What have you been using all this time?”

“This…” I say, peering back at the glass pitcher. “I didn’t know there were separate ones for various uses, but I understand now.” I tread back down the few steps and twist around the banister toward the kitchen to replace the water pitcher.

“Halina,” Ada says, stopping me once more. “Has there been any trouble while I’ve been gone? Anything I need to report to Officer Sch?fer?” Ada’s voice continues to drone, but her words are blunt and accusatory as she shifts her focus back to the kapo.

“No, Frau Sch?fer. Everything is in order here.” I’m surprised he didn’t make mention of Adam’s indiscretion in the backyard.

“Good,” she says.

I replace the pitcher on the counter and make a note to dispose of the wax paper in my apron pocket somewhere Ada won’t notice.

The kapo leaves through the servant door in the back, likely to go back to scrutinizing Adam, and Ada is shuffling through envelopes in front of the decorative wall table beneath the stairs.

Just before I pass, she stretches her arm out to the side, an envelope pinched between her fingers.

“Take this,” she says. “Then burn it.” I swallow hard while reaching to take it from her, immediately spotting my own handwriting on the front of the envelope, as well as the envelope sliced open at the top.

“The next time you decide to send a letter to this Julia person, I strongly suggest you refrain from speaking a word about my family. Given that you’ve signed papers agreeing to the confidentiality of all matters within this household, I would think you’d be more cautious before trying to deceive us. ”

I can’t think of a word to say. I won’t apologize, but I did break her rule.

Just as Gavriel is explaining our intelligence versus theirs, I make a mistake that could cost me my safety within this servant job.

The invisible noose around my neck tightens more and more each day I’m here.

“I understand.” I’m not sure my words will be enough, not this time.

She turns to stare at me, her blue eyes cold with spite.

“Do you, really?” A cold numbing pain shoots through my chest and my knees threaten to give out.

But I’m holding Flora in my arms. I can’t fall.

“Are there any other rules you might be breaking that I should know about before my husband finds out?”

“No, Frau Sch?fer.” Every word that comes out of my mouth is a lie.

And I believe every word that comes out of her mouth is a lie as well. How different are the two of us? I recall what Rosalie said about her past, growing up on a farm before her life was taken control of by Heinrich.

“I’ll likely be out of line for asking this question, but…are you all right?”

Her expression grows stale and frozen, taken aback by my question. “I beg your pardon?” She clutches her chest, her polished fingernails pressing against the silk fabric.

“Your husband—he isn’t very kind to you. It’s none of my business, of course, but from one woman to another, you don’t deserve to be?—”

She takes a blunt step toward me and lowers her voice.

“It’s the nature of this life I’ve committed myself—” She wrenches her hand around the side of her neck and closes her eyes tightly, loose skin folding along her lids.

“You know what, enough,” she snaps. “Who gave you the right to comment on my marriage? Do you have any idea how hard my husband works? And for this country no less?”

There’s a fine line between enraging Ada and planting a small nuisance of an idea in her fragile head.

“I’m sure you work just as hard here in the house, raising your three, soon to be four, children.

You’re quite literally creating life right this very moment and still carrying on with the household errands.

It’s no easy feat. In fact, some say a mother’s job is the hardest of all the jobs in the world.

But of course, men are typically too selfish to admit this fact out loud. ”

The momentary pause of silence is enough to tell me that she’s considering my words.

“What is your point, Halina? Surely, you must have one.”

“My point—you deserve respect and appreciation, even from a man who holds a rank and title.”

She doesn’t deserve much of anything, but no one should be a victim to their own spouse—not even her.

Ada continues to stare at me, and I can’t decipher her next thought or response but I’m holding her child so she must be taking that into consideration.

“You think because you found a way to keep Flora from crying as much, you’re entitled to speak down to me? ”

“Not at all. As I said, I’m speaking to you, woman to woman.”

“I am a woman. You, however—” she says, holding her tongue at the end.

You have no idea who I am, but despite that, I know I’m better than you.

I walk past her and head upstairs. “By the way, your hairdo looks lovely, Frau Sch?fer.” It appears she’s opted for a professional hair-dye treatment rather than using the box of hair peroxide she’s hiding in the linen closet.

While settling Flora into her carriage for our walk back to the schoolhouse, a motion in the upstairs attic window catches my attention.

Gavriel peers out for a brief second, only to smile down at us before backing away.

His small gesture sends a flutter of joy through me as I recall our moments together this morning—how unexpected yet desired it all was.

His comfort was something I couldn’t have asked for, yet he gave it to me without question.

It’s almost as if he understands me more than I understand myself.

I’ve set out to be a strong woman, knowing I have nothing to fall back on, and that seemed to be enough until last night.

No matter which way I look at myself, the German Reich won’t see me any differently than any other Jewish woman they aim their hatred toward.

If my birth records show the truth, they don’t care who I thought I was before. I will be what I am.

There is a ticking clock hanging above my head now and there’s no saying how long I might or might not have before Officer Sch?fer finds out who I really am.

I’ve complied with his threats for the sake of my well-being, also knowing most other Polish women have been sent to forced labor in some capacity. Remaining complicit is as dangerous as the alternative.

“I hope the little princess allowed you a moment of quiet this afternoon,” Celina says as I approach her and Rosalie near the weeping willow tree between the houses they work in.

“I think this little girl desires calmness in her life. Until there is commotion around her, she’s quite happy,” I say.

“The houses are very loud with so many children and—and the aggressiveness of the men,” Rosalie adds.

“I want more biscuits!” Halbert shouts from Celina’s carriage.

“I too,” Hilde shouts from Rosalie’s carriage.

Celina hands both children half of a small biscuit to nibble on as we begin our ascent to the Nazi school. “Oy, they’re both meshugana —sorry, absurd,” Celina mumbles, translating automatically.

Rosalie clears her throat, and I catch her elbow Celina in the ribs, shooting her a meaningful look. “I know some Yiddish too,” I say cautiously.

Both ladies stare at me as if I just admitted something I shouldn’t. “I don’t know much Yiddish,” Rosalie says quickly. “Only a few words. It’s more of a?—”

Now Celina makes a sound to break the silence. “It’s nothing. Did you learn it at school, or?—”

I try to remember back to when I learned some key phrases. I’m not fluent by any means, but I grew up hearing it often. “The other children in the orphanage spoke it, mixed in with their Polish. I just picked up on it over time.”

“We shouldn’t be speaking about this,” Rosalie says, peeking around in each direction.

“About Yiddish?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says. “Someone is always listening. A spoken word of Yiddish is as dangerous as walking around the ‘restricted zone’ with a Jewish yellow star badge.” Her warning thrusts into my gut as if someone had shoved me backward.