Page 41 of The Nanny Outside the Gates

THIRTY-THREE

HALINA

While the officer dragged us through a storm of panic and suspicion, it was several minutes before he confessed to recognizing Officer Sch?fer’s name but couldn’t seem to recall where from.

I don’t think he knew the name at all. They seem to find pleasure in making us squirm.

A shrug of his shoulders marked the end of his scrutiny before leaving us to make our way back to the houses.

Flora and I slip back inside the Sch?fer residence, and I freeze, straining my ears over my pounding heart.

The house is quiet except for the high-pitched whine from a moving saw blade upstairs.

I stop by Flora’s bedroom before going up to the attic and take the blanket draped over the side of her crib, knowing I’ll need to set her down upstairs while I tend to Gavriel’s wound.

I’m out of breath by the time I find Gavriel, and he’s pale, struggling to push and pull the saw, and blood is seeping through the sheet-made bandage.

I drop the blanket from my grip and kneel to settle Flora in the center.

I pull open the paper bag and sift through the items, finding everything but the iodine—the one thing I fear he will need more than all the rest.

“No, no. He said he was giving me iodine. He made a show of giving me what he had.”

“Maybe he didn’t have any,” Gavriel says.

“He’s the one who listed it when I said I needed to treat a wound.”

“I’m sure whatever you got will be enough.”

“No, you need an antiseptic to prevent an infection. If that becomes infected—” I shouldn’t be saying this all out loud.

The last thing I want to do is panic him, but I’d been so relieved, thinking I had everything that would help him, and now I realize I am missing the one thing that will help him.

I slap the paper bag shut and utter a growl.

No iodine. How could a pharmacist leave out the most critical thing?

“Hali,” he says, reaching his uninjured hand out to me. “Please, don’t worry about me. This is more than I could have asked for—this is unimaginable, really. I wouldn’t have thought any of this would be available at all around here.”

“I’ll find you an antiseptic,” I tell him. “When’s the last time the kapo was up here?”

Gavriel closes his eyes for a long second. “Uh—may—maybe a half hour ago.”

I want to clean up the wound before I go on a hunt for antiseptic, but I can’t leave it exposed, and I don’t want to waste bandaging. “How’s the pain?”

“I’ll manage,” he says, swallowing his words. He’s not being honest. He’s toughing it out and that won’t do him any good right now.

“There’s aspirin in the bag. It will help.”

A small smile pinches at his lips. “More than you know.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“Be careful,” Gavriel says in a raspy whisper. His eyes don’t leave mine, making me wonder if there’s something else he wants to say, something hiding within the pain he’s masking.

“I always am.”

I lift Flora from the ground and take the blanket too, then hurry back down the stairs.

I go into the washroom first and search through the medicine cabinet, which doesn’t have much.

The linen closet is next, knowing there was hair dye hidden behind the bedding.

Flora tugs on my fraying braid and squeals.

“Shh,” I tell her with a smile, hoping she picks up on my cheerfulness rather than nerves.

There’s nothing else in here. I spin around, debating on the room of Jewish jewels or Ada and Heinrich’s bedroom. I should doubt that there’s antiseptic among the pile of stolen items, but with it being a hard commodity to come by, there’s a chance.

I fix my gaze on the door to their bedroom, my stomach knotting, a voice in my head telling me no—a voice I have to ignore.

I reach for the doorknob and step inside.

The bureau is clean apart from a porcelain backed hairbrush, a handheld mirror and a small wooden jewelry box.

Then I spot an ornate wooden vanity in the farthest corner.

With a tall oval mirror carved with details of scrollwork and floral accents attached at the back of the tabletop, it’s hoisted on top of outwardly curved bronze legs that bow in toward the feet.

A worn floral-patterned upholstered bench with matching legs and a wooden frame is tucked in beneath the adjoining drawers. I doubt there’s iodine in her vanity.

Still, I make my way over, peeking out the window to ensure there’s no sight of anyone approaching the house from the front. The coast is still clear, but there’s no saying for how long. Hastily, I open the drawers one at a time, finding combs, makeup, nail polish, hairpins, and a door key…

A door key. Heinrich’s office door perhaps? I wouldn’t put it past her.

I open the next row of shallow drawers, finding a stack of old photographs resting on top of a doctor’s script, dated from a few years ago.

I pinch the corner of the script and pull it out just a bit more, finding the medical office to be a women’s clinic.

I pull the script out to see what she was given.

Dr. Franz Rosenbaum

Tychy Women’s Clinic

Tychy, Poland

—Private and Confidential ? —

Patient: Frau Ada Sch?fer

Date: 17 April 1942

Rx_______

Luminal (Phenobarbital)

15 mg tablets

Summary: To alleviate symptoms of chronic insomnia and hormonal imbalance caused by Neurasthenia Nervosa. The patient reports restlessness and stress regarding failed conception. Recommend quiet rest and avoidance of stimulants. Consider marital support.

Instructions: Take 1 tablet nightly before sleep for ten days.

Refills: 1 (by practitioner)

Signature: F. Rosenbaum

My hand trembles as I hold the paper, repeating the date: 17 April 1942 in my head.

The words blur for a second as my mind tries to make sense of this.

I shouldn’t read more—but my fingers move before my thoughts steady.

I reach down to replace the script beneath the photographs, tucking it neatly back into place.

My stare lingers. It shouldn’t. I’ve seen too much already.

A second paper by the same medical office—the top left corner is peeking out from below other papers.

No.

No. Just leave it.

Close the drawer. There’s no hint of first aid in this mess.

I can’t. I need to know…I slide out the letterhead typed paper from the pile and unfold it the rest of the way to read what’s written.

Dr. Franz Rosenbaum

Obstetrics & Gynecology

Tychy Women’s Clinic

Tychy, Poland

Patient: Frau Ada Sch?fer

CONFIDENTIAL CLINICAL FINDINGS

Date of Examination: 28 August 1942

Fertility Evaluation – Results:

After several consultations and a comprehensive reproductive evaluation, Frau Ada Sch?fer, thirty-two years of age, has been diagnosed with Secondary Infertility.

The patient has previously carried two pregnancies to full term, a daughter born in 1933, and a second daughter born in 1938 without complications prior to delivery.

Despite consistent attempts over the previous two years, conception has not occurred.

Suspected Causes:

Clinical infection post-delivery following the birth of the patient’s second daughter. Scar tissue formation is likely the cause.

Recommendations:

No current intervention recommended due to health risks.

Physician’s Note:

Frau Ada Sch?fer shows moderate signs of emotional distress regarding these findings, particularly due to her husband’s desire for more children. Marital counseling is recommended if available.

Dr. Franz Rosenbaum

12 March 1942

My blood runs cold as I question the reality of this diagnosis—of secondary infertility. This makes very little sense. Maybe the letter isn’t even real? My stomach snarls and a surge of nausea seeps through me. Serves me right for snooping.

I shove the letter back where it belongs, and whip open the other drawer in search of iodine.

A small metal box with a red cross on the lid grabs my attention immediately.

I reach down and pull out the box, prying it open with my one free hand.

Small, yellowed boxes labeled with a variety of first aid supplies, silver tubes of ointment, a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and a matching size amber bottle of iodine.

Thank goodness. I grab the iodine, close the box and place it back into the drawer.

My mind spins erratically. I just need to get back upstairs to Gavriel and put the rest of this dizzying information to the side until he’s on the mend.

He’s still so pale when I return and still trying to saw through his stack of wood. I wish he could stop. He shouldn’t be putting any pressure on his injured hand. It’ll only make it worse. “I found iodine.”

“I don’t want to know how or where,” he says, his shoulders falling forward with worry.

“Never mind that. Unwrap the sheet bandage.”

Once again, I plop the blanket down on the ground and place Flora on it, silently pleading with her to remain calm for just a bit longer.

As Gavriel unravels the bandaging, I see the wound has stopped bleeding thankfully. I grab the bottle of iodine from my pocket, untwist the cap, take his hand and— “Hold your breath and close your eyes,” I tell him.

“I’m fine,” he says.

I shake my head and tip the bottle over the open wound. “Don’t squeeze a muscle in that hand or arm,” I warn him, knowing that regardless of him saying he’s fine, he’s likely in excruciating burning pain.

“You’re very bossy,” he says, his voice croaking.

“Only when necessary,” I reply, trying to maintain my placid demeanor, but I feel the blush rise anyway. He’s watching me too closely. It’s as if he sees more in me than I could ever hide.

I hold his hand out in front of him. The iodine needs to dry before I can bandage him back up.

It never occurred to me how many different roles Julia had to take on as the head of the orphanage but whenever she was fixing up an injury, she would speak the process out loud.

I’m not sure if it was just the way she worked or if she was trying to teach us how to follow her lead if necessary someday, but I suppose it worked.

We must be running out of time. I’m sure either the kapo or Ada will be returning at any moment now. With a damp cloth, I clean away the excess, the brown stain seeping down the sides of his hand and into the sawdust beneath us.

I dig back into the bag and grab the gauze and bandaging, moving faster now, knowing this is the last step.

He’ll be on his path to recovery at least. With the final wrap of the bandage, I smooth the cotton around his wrist, tucking the end into a fold.

But my hands don’t leave him right away.

I feel the heat of his skin from beneath the bandage.

He’s staring at me, and for a second—I feel something unexplainable—something right.

I didn’t know that was possible. Not here, like this. “There,” I say with a sigh.

He doesn’t respond, so I look up at him, finding his eyes welling with tears. “Not even my ma would bandage me up that well.” He tries to laugh, but his voice catches in his throat. “Actually…” He sounds nervous now. “She might even throw a little dirt in the wound and tell me to toughen up.”

“I don’t think she would say that to you now. I think she’d be proud of how strong you’ve become,” I tell him. “Besides, I don’t think anyone should have to be this tough.” I wonder what my mother would say to me if I was hurt…Will I ever know?

“Where did you find the iodine?”

“Their bedroom.”

Gavriel’s eyes widen with horror as fear takes the place of the tears. “You were in their bedroom?”

“It’s a treasure trove in there,” I utter, thinking about the script and letter I read.

The thought pulls my attention down to Flora, who’s munching on the blanket like a hungry little bear, her knees tucked in beneath her and her hands pressed to the floor as she rocks forward and back like she’s ready to hop away.

“She’s certainly gaining some strength,” Gavriel says with a chuckle.

“She is…Flora’s almost a year old. Isn’t that right, little princess?” I would like to think nothing makes much sense right now, but I’m afraid that’s not quite true.

“You knew that, didn’t you?” Gavriel asks.

“Well, yes, but according to a paper I came across while in her vanity, Ada was diagnosed with secondary infertility about sixteen or seventeen months ago,” I say, trying to count the months out in my head.

A moment passes, both of us lost in thought. Me counting while he stares past me to the window. “Wait…no. That can’t be right,” Gavriel says.

“What do you mean?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head, as silent words form on his tongue.

“If…Flora is just about a year old—” He pauses again.

“That would mean she received that letter when she was three or four months pregnant already. Surely a doctor would know whether she was pregnant versus suffering from infertility.” Gavriel is clearly better with numbers than me, confirming my suspicion.

Is Flora a prisoner here too?