Page 50 of The Nanny Outside the Gates

FORTY-TWO

HALINA

“You know, when you’ve lived in this house for as long as I have, you know which stairs creak and which don’t,” Ada says, clomping heavily into the unfinished attic room.

Her appearance in the doorway has grabbed a hold of my heart and is choking me with it. Why am I afraid? Why does she think she has something on me when I’m the one who can ruin her entire life with less than a few words?

“Ada,” I say, keeping my voice calm, unaffected.

“What are you doing up here?” She might be looking for Flora, her stolen child.

Stolen. This poor baby girl. Her mother might still be alive and she’s without her.

She’s been without her all this time. Ada is cold and unloving, or does a good job of appearing that way, and all a baby needs is unconditional love.

Maybe that’s why she’s done nothing more than cry, until recently anyway.

“Why do you have my daughter up here with a—” she stares at Gavriel and age lines pucker across her forehead, the sides of her mouth sag as if an uncontrolled reflex. “Good God, what happened to you?”

Her daughter . My God. She’s lost all her marbles if she still thinks I could believe Flora belongs to her.

And then to act as though she’s clueless about what happened to Gavriel…She knows he’s been gone for two weeks. What does she think happened to him?

“Your husband,” Gavriel replies. “He had a hand.”

Ada knows what Heinrich does. A look of surprise won’t do her any good. She spots the empty can of food next to him and panic is still driving through me. I’m playing a dangerous game with her and she could change everything in a matter of seconds in ways I can’t imagine.

“I took that can of food, so if you need to shoot someone, shoot me,” I say, directly, staring her right in the eyes.

If there’s anything I’ve learned throughout my life, it’s to make direct eye contact with whoever I’m afraid of.

It will take a sliver of their strength away, not much, but enough to make me feel like I have some control.

“Shoot you,” she scoffs. “I don’t handle weapons, dear. That’s my husband’s job.”

“Well, tell him to shoot me then. Either way, my blood will be on your hands.”

“Halina,” Gavriel grumbles.

“I should have figured there was something going on between the two of you—I’m not sure what you see in him, or what you see in—her,” she says glaring at me.

“Ada, let’s stop the games. I need to pick up the girls from school, and while I’m gone, I need you to come up with a definitive escape plan. A real plan. Not a maybe-later plan.”

Ada’s voice strains. “I told you…I’m working on it. These things take time.”

I glance at her fake protruding belly. “Do they? Because you’re running out of time.”

I step in closer. “If you’re worried about your husband finding out the truth about your pregnancy, you’ll be far more concerned if he finds out the child you’ve been parading around as your perfect Aryan daughter was stolen from a Jewish woman in Auschwitz.

You’ve been drugging her. Hiding her delays and pains while dressing her in pretty outfits.

Flora is a Jewish child, Ada. A Jewish child stolen from the camp.

Imagine what your husband would do if he knew. ”

The color drains from her face.

“I’m already going to hell, Halina,” she says hoarsely.

“Nothing you say or do will change that. It’s too late for you to weasel your way under my skin.

I know what I am, what I’ve become, and who I sleep beside every night.

” She straightens her posture and narrows her eyes.

“But I still decide how this ends. Not you. Besides, we’re hosting a dinner in the back tonight.

It would be impossible to make this work while so many people are here,” she says.

“That’s not my problem,” I reply, the heat and rage taking over, speaking for me.

“And for your information, Flora is not stolen,” she says, her voice catching in her throat. “Can’t you see the resemblance between us?” She’s faltering, and she knows it’s over.

“Unless you bleached this child’s head like your own, then no. I don’t see it. What about Isla and Marlene, both of whom have dark hair like you and your husband? Wouldn’t you prefer a resemblance to the children you did birth?”

“Children can have different hair colors,” she snaps. “Surely you know basic science.” Her defense is weak, and she knows it.

“Jewish children can have blonde hair too,” I add. “Surely you must know a little something about genetics. Plus, I have proof of everything you’ve done.”

Ada’s eyes bulge, and her bottom lip trembles. She has no words left to fight with. The cracks in her facade are beginning to show. The lie about her pregnancy was one thing but stealing a Jewish child to call her own…that’s a death sentence, and she knows it.

“I should’ve kept my doors locked,” she mutters. “Heinrich was right. I’ve let too much in.” Her stare sharpens, the tremble subsiding.

I don’t know if I’ve pushed her too far or if I’ll actually see the light of day again after today, but I won’t let this woman do to me or Flora what her husband is doing to her—what my father did to my mother, or what the Reich are doing to my people.

My breaths quicken as I realize I could be putting Gavriel in more danger despite him not speaking.

“Look, growing up as an orphan, I learned how to read people at an early age—it was a form of survival for me. I can read you, Ada. You were raised properly and had a nice life and made some wrong choices that have gotten you here. Your marriage has dissolved into nothing more than ash. You’re afraid of your husband but can’t fathom the thought of giving up the life he provides you.

You have no one. You’re all alone. You yourself said it—you’re stuck, and I’m sorry for you, and those beautiful little girls.

There is goodness still left inside of them, and it must have come from you. ”

The smile lines at Ada’s lips sink even deeper and her chin trembles. “There is?” she whispers.

“Yes. There’s still time to make things right for them. They have a mother. Be their mother—perhaps the mother you have or had.”

“Have,” she utters beneath her breath.

I nod. “Will you allow us to escape tonight?”

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, but there’s something I need to handle first.”

A cutting chill slithers down my back.

“Handle?” I ask, the words biting at my stomach.

“Yes.” Ada turns around and leaves the space, her heels catching on uneven boards on the way out. A sniffle follows her down the stairs.

My chest nearly collapses in on me and I press my hands to my thighs to hold myself up and take a deep breath.

“I’ve never seen anything so brilliant in my entire life,” Gavriel whispers. “I will never forget the bravery—the strength, the courage—I just witnessed, never in all the days of this life I have left.”

“I could have gotten us killed. I don’t know when to stop sometimes. My anger—I’m so angry, Gavriel. For what you’ve been through, and Flora. The others who work under the same conditions on this street. Every person in that prison, and in this continent. I can’t control it…”

“Stop. I’m a firm believer of dying by trying. It isn’t worth it if you don’t fight.”

“While I’m going to get the girls, I need you to keep that pistol on you, just in case…We can’t trust her. She’s living in turmoil and desperation, and God only knows what she must handle before tonight. So please, will you keep the gun on you?”

He glances toward the alcove and nods slowly, unsurely. I don’t know how he’ll have the strength to get away tonight, but I’m not sure he has another day left in him in these conditions.

“We need a plan. A good one,” he says. “That woman can only help us get so far, and Flora?—”

“We need to take her with us,” I finish what I assume to be his thought.

He nods, agreeing, then reaches over to Flora, placing his hand gently on her back. “You don’t know where your real Mama is, do you, sweetheart?” he utters to her, his head tilting to the side with a pained look of regret.

I rest my hand on his knee. “I’ve been thinking about this relentlessly since you left, and even before I knew for sure that Flora didn’t belong here, this need to protect her…” I press my fist into the ache in my chest. “I can’t ignore it.”

“Flora needs to be part of our plan. Without a doubt,” Gavriel says without a moment’s hesitation.

“We must try to find her mother. Flora doesn’t belong here. If we can’t find her mother, I’ll take care of her. I’ll make sure she always has a home. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

A glimmer of shock warps along Gavriel’s dreary expression. He swallows against his dry throat and nods. “The poor thing. Her mother—from Auschwitz, she must be?—”

“What?” I press. “Must be what?”

Gavriel’s bottom lip quivers and he closes his eyes for a short second before shaking whatever thought is clawing through him.

“Nothing—she—she just must be worried sick. That’s all.

But I won’t let anything happen to her, or you.

And as for a home—if a home is what you want, what you need, I promise to make sure you have one.

I’ll build it with my own two hands. You deserve that. I’ll make sure you have a home.”

“You’d build me a home?” I lose track of the urgency in our moments, baffled by a promise that no one should ever promise another person. He’s hardly able to stand upright. He’s starving and weak, and on the verge of—No, I can’t think that way. We have to make it through this. It’s a chance.

“A perfect home with a barn and a swing, a front porch. Whatever your heart desires,” he says, making it sound as if it’s no harder than handing me a freshly plucked dandelion.

A chance is all we need.

And a home is the one thing I’ve always dreamed of.

“I think I have a plan to go along with Ada’s…” I say.