Page 38 of The Nanny Outside the Gates

THIRTY-ONE

GAVRIEL

With the electrical work only taking up the day yesterday, I’ll be starting on the interior wall and ceiling panels.

The lumber was delivered at some point overnight and it took me a few hours to shuttle it all up the two flights of stairs.

If I were working alongside Pa and my brothers, we’d be looking at finishing up the job in the next week or two, but not on my own.

Still, I can’t stop myself from wondering what will happen to me once the attic is complete.

Officer Sch?fer hasn’t said anything about more work.

They’ll just be done with me unless one of the other houses on the street has something to utilize me for.

I try to keep my focus on the current day, so I don’t fall into a dark web of thoughts.

Trying to find boards the same size has been impossible, leaving me to saw them down. I won’t have any strength left for the day if I can’t even get through a quarter of the boards I need to trim.

The saw is flimsy and I’m waiting for it to crack. This man wants all this work done, with tools that have seen their day. I guess it’ll just be another cause for the length of time it takes—a delay in whatever they’ll do with me later.

By mid-morning, the circulation within the room is stale and sweat is dripping from every limb, acting like a glue between the fabric of my uniform and my skin but it’s almost easier without the heavy material swaying around, and I’ve got a good system working.

Kind of. Measure, mark, measure, saw, and curse.

Then repeat. The boards aren’t just different sizes, they’re also warped, and some are swollen from the moisture and heat.

Each one gives me a fight, causing the blade to catch every few seconds, which gnaws at the aching joints in my wrist. I’m going to feel this for weeks.

When I need to catch my breath, I stop, dry my hands off on my pants, clean the sweat from my face, listen in for any new activity downstairs to consider how long it will be before the kapo returns to check on me.

I don’t think anyone is home. Halina must be making her way back from dropping the girls off at school.

Frau Sch?fer left minutes after Halina, and Kasia doesn’t arrive until after noon now.

The new kapo must just stand outside watching Adam break his back all day.

I grab the next board, center it between the makeshift trestles and press down a bit harder on this piece, wanting to get through it before it takes my remaining energy.

My pulse ignites the harder the faster I yank and shove the saw.

It’s not the right way, but it’s just the way it works right now.

“Gavriel, when you rush, mistakes happen,” Pa would always tell me. It wasn’t that I was in a rush. I just thought it would be best to get the job done faster. Everyone likes a quick and efficient worker. Pa disagreed. He’d disagree now too.

With that thought in mind, the saw catches and the board slips—and in the next second, blistering flames shoot through my hand.

“Shiii—!”

The pain is instant, and searing, rooting from the base of my thumb. “No. No. No.” I stare at it, the blood pooling up too quickly, too red. It’s bad, deep. I’ve seen worse, but not on myself. Pa wouldn’t have injuries on his watch. That’s why he told us speed should never be on our minds.

I sink down against a support beam and wrap the hem of my uniform jacket around the wound and squeeze. It isn’t the pain that’s making me sweat through this—though it’s there and it’s real—it’s the thought of how I’m going to treat the wound that’s bringing me to my knees.

My pulse thumps between my ears, the heat rises, hotter, more oppressive, and the pounding—my pulse—I think—but it grows louder. Or maybe it isn’t my pulse.

Footsteps?

No. Not now. Not footsteps.

It’s going to be the kapo. He can’t see this. He’ll insist on replacing me with someone else, leaving me without work and possibly a functioning hand—it will be the end for me.

I try to push myself up, but the blood rushes away from my head and all I can do is fall into the beam.

“Gav, my friend, you all right? I heard you shout,” Adam says, huffing his words, nervously checking over his shoulder.

“The jerk is out front—the kapo. He’ll be returning any minute.

You’re bleeding.” Adam trudges across the wooden planks, stopping just in front of me, kneeling. “What happened?”

“Saw slipped,” I mumble. “I’ll be all right.” I’m not sure that I will be. I can’t get myself up to my feet right now.

“Oh, God…I’ll see if I can find some medical supplies. Keep pressure on it, my friend.”

My pulse is quivering and burning through the wound. I need to get up.

I rock forward until I can get onto my knees and use the leverage of the beam to stand up straight. The blood has seeped through my uniform and is covering my other hand too.

A scream from Flora distracts my apprehension, followed by another pounding of footsteps. Maybe Adam’s found something.

“Are you hurt?” Halina barges into the room without a child in sight, which explains the shrill cry from the floor below.

“Adam said you need help. The kapo was on his way to the yard. He had to go back out there. Oh goodness,” she says, spotting all the blood.

“I’ll go find a clean rag and bandages. Rubbing alcohol, too. ”

“Stop, Hali, stop, you—you can’t take that stuff—they’ll know. Someone will get in trouble for it. We can’t do that.”

“You’re hurt,” she argues. “I won’t just leave you like this. Can I see the wound?” I release the pressure from my hand and pull it out from beneath my top, finding the skin gaping open. “You need sutures. You need a hospital.”

“I can’t. Please, Hali—I’ll be fine. I can’t go to the hospital. They don’t treat Jews. The infirmary might help or might get rid of me. You have to understand what I’m saying.”

“I’m getting something to wrap it up. Then I’ll find you medical supplies.”

“Hali,” I say again, my voice weaker this time.

She leaves, an echo of her steps thudding down to the next floor.

A door opens and closes, but it doesn’t sound like the front door.

Her heavy breaths are louder than her steps as she returns, carrying a folded bed sheet.

She wastes no time in tearing the fabric into strips, using her teeth when she can’t break through the stitching.

“Here we are,” she says, her voice calm, soothing, and I’m not sure how. She wraps my hand as if she’s done this a hundred times before, making small knots when the fabric ends to connect it to another thin piece. “Is that too tight?”

“No,” I utter.

“I’ll find my way to the marketplace square. The other nannies mentioned going there for supplies. Frau Sch?fer won’t be back until after noon. I’ll be back before then. If the Kapo comes up, just try and keep your hand hidden.”

“Do you have money?”

She shakes her head. “Don’t worry.”

“I am worried. You’re putting yourself in danger and there may not be medical supplies anywhere in the nearby vicinity. Trust me.”

“This time, trust me,” she says, peering at me with a flare of pain in her eyes. “Tuck in your top. It’ll hide most of the blood.” She presses her cool hand to my cheek and kisses me, the gentleness of her lips contrasting the wild panic so clearly rushing through her.