Page 58 of The Nanny Outside the Gates
FORTY-EIGHT
GAVRIEL
A bed. A real bed with a mattress still filled with stuffing, and linens that hint lavender soap.
And Halina folded into me like she belongs nowhere else.
With her silky hair spilled across my neck and her leg looped over mine, I didn’t allow myself to move.
I wanted to stay like that and listen to her breaths, slow and warm like the lapping water of a calm lake.
It was all so perfect, I couldn’t sleep, not while considering how many ways I could let her and Flora fall.
As I’ve come to learn, repeatedly, perfection doesn’t last—not here, or anywhere during this war. Darkness gives way to dawn long before I’m ready, and with it comes the weight of what lies ahead for us.
The sky is still more shadow than light, a bruised violet pool with a blush of dusky pink streaks along the horizon.
It’s later than my usual waking hour to prepare for a day’s worth of labor.
Soon the fog will settle in and cling to the ground as if it doesn’t want to be pulled back into the clouds.
Halina’s hand is in mine and Julia is smitten with Flora, perched on her hip. The silence of the morning has kept us quiet, but as buildings grow closer, her grip tightens. “Are you doing all right?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says, her eyebrows furrowing. She’s fibbing. I know that look now. I pull her toward my side and lift her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles.
“Not much longer, we’re almost there,” Julia says, tightening her black shawl around her head and shoulders.
The priest, Julia’s friend, agreed to help us. He said to return by dawn, and he would have the forged papers, the travel documents, and train tickets prepared for us. All we have to do is give him an hour before returning to the stairwell beneath the bell tower of the church—quietly.
At the top of the hill we’re walking, I see the chapel we visited earlier this morning, grateful it’s in sight.
We’re so close, I can feel the papers in my hand.
I have Flora wrapped in my arms, holding her tightly as I’ve learned she likes it most. Julia has Halina’s hand wrapped in hers.
I can see the love she must have given Halina when she needed it the most. It warms my soul to watch, distracting me from the pain in my leg, an injury I’ve been forced to ignore.
It happened during an interrogation in front of the prison cell.
I was thrown to the ground and kicked too many times to count.
I’m surprised I don’t have more injuries aside from bruising and lacerations.
It’s not important right now though. I’ve put the pain out of my mind as best I can these last couple of days. I must keep going.
My stomach lurches at the sound of footsteps growing from behind us. Heavy boots, moving fast.
Julia stops so suddenly I nearly crash into her back, but she turns around and steps to my side quickly. I’m not sure what she’s doing. “Keep walking. Don’t stop,” she utters without moving her lips.
“Halt!”
Gestapo. Julia said there have been less around at this hour in the morning. That’s why we came so early.
Despite what Julia said, I stop, grabbing a hold of Halina’s hand, squeezing tightly. Flora jerks her head up, looking around over my shoulder.
“It’s just me. I’m coming from the chapel,” Julia says, her voice slicing through the thick air.
“Papers,” the demand bounces off the stone wall to our right.
Julia has papers. We don’t. That’s why she said to keep walking. I yank Halina’s hand. “We need to keep moving. She’ll catch up.”
“Well, I don’t have my papers with me,” Julia says, her voice calm and unconcerned.
She does have her papers. I watched her place the folded booklet into her pocket just as we were leaving this morning.
“You see, I was delivering food to the church for the service this morning. There’s supposed to be a lovely sermon. Will you be joining us?”
Halina hesitates with each step, the guilt eating away at me the farther we walk from her. The broken gate is just ahead of us on our right, now. We have no choice but to walk through. I clutch Flora tighter. Her head nuzzles beneath my chin as she releases a heavy tired sigh.
The voices of Gestapo rise in the close distance, just on the other side of the short stone wall.
Julia’s voice rises next. The argument ensues as we reach the bell tower and slip in through the unlocked door, the priest waiting for us, a lantern in one hand, and our documents in the other.
In the glow of the lantern, his eyes are stark-wide with fear. “Where is Julia?”
“There’s no time,” Halina rasps with a sniffle. “She—she’s protecting us at the moment.”
The priest shoves the papers into Halina’s hands. “You must go now then. Right away. Platform three. Southbound cargo. The train won’t stop completely, but it will slow down enough. Do you understand?” he asks, speaking so quickly I’m trying to absorb his distinct directions.
“Yes,” Halina says. “I understand.”
The priest holds his hand out to me, and I release one grip from around Flora to take his hand, feeling an object pressed between our hands.
“For the baby,” he says. “Run, and may God bless you always.” I unclasp my fingers, finding a wooden cross in my hand, close my fingers back over it and slip back out of the bell tower’s door.
My pulse hammers through my veins as we make our way closer to the broken gate, noticing the yelling has ceased and the Gestapo are gone, but it isn’t until we step back out onto the street that we find Julia’s body, outlined in blood.
Her shawl torn, her body still.