Page 3

TWO

ELLA

I peer up through my lashes at the German soldiers, ashamed of my fake damsel-like behavior.

“Here, let me help you, miss.” One of them helps me to my feet and the other scoops up my belongings from my purse, drops them back inside and lifts my bicycle back upright.

“Do you need a doctor?”

“Oh, bother. No, I’m all right. Please, I need to get home. My father is expecting me,” I say, brushing my hands off on my dress before taking the handlebars into my grip.

“How about I help you get home,” one of them offers.

Dear God. Would anyone agree to this offer?

He must be out of his mind.

The thought of a German soldier taking me home…

it’s unthinkable. I shake my head and smooth my hair down behind my ears.

“My father is waiting for me and I’m late. I’ll be fine finding my way home.” With a shove forward against the handlebars on my bicycle, I walk alongside it, making sure to accentuate my limp as I do.

The Jewish people have all made it out of the square.

Thank goodness. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing all those people made it away from the soldiers safely .

I turn down the main road to go home, my heart hammering against my chest as I realize what I just did.

What I risked for a stranger.

This isn’t the first time I’ve thought about defying German laws, but it’s the first time something has pushed me to this point.

Before today, I’ve tried to mind my own business aside from delivering a few “packages” to friends of my parents, but not in the Jewish district.

Of course, I’ve shared my feelings of helplessness in the face of so much persecution happening all around us here, only to be met with the stern warning of danger by my parents.

Complacency isn’t an option when so many are suffering, and I’m not the only one who feels this way, especially seeing as we avoid discussions about my father and brother sneaking off every night to “help” our fellow citizens.

I’ve asked to join many times, but I’m a “proper young woman and should follow the laws,” as they tell me.

Yet, here I am, forming a distraction that could cost me the freedom I have left .

I would do it again if I had to .

Maybe I’m tired of being a “proper young woman.”

Now that I’m out of sight and far enough away from the square, I stop and curl over the front of my bike, clutching my chest to catch my breath before I continue.

Those soldiers take far too much pride in walking around, torturing innocent people.

It’s obvious their intent was to steal the one inkling of happiness some of the Jewish people found tonight while listening to the beautiful music.

Thugs. They’re all thugs who want to steal every bit of our bravery.

I continue home as a fleeting memory of the singer flashes through my mind.

His talent and charm, unmatched with anything I’ve seen before.

But everything beautiful about him was overshadowed by the fear in his eyes as the soldiers shouted their threats.

I made a hasty decision trying to help him, but it was because he was bringing other people happiness—something so rare to find these days.

My erratic reaction was a split-second decision and came without a thought of consequence.

The soldiers could have arrested me.

But they didn’t.

“Miss?” A whisper pulls my attention back down the street, finding someone standing in a sharp angular shadow of the building.

I move faster.

“Wait, please, wait.” His voice…

the sound. He speaks the way he sings.

“Why did you save me?” He sounds perplexed, concerned even.

I falter, glancing behind me, finding the singer with his hand on his heart and the other clenched around his hat.

After searching in each direction to make sure there isn’t a soldier within sight, I roll my bike down the dark street toward the man.

“You’re the singer,” I say in awe.

I step in closer, joining him in the shadow where I can catch a better glimpse of him.

He’s tall and slender, his dark loose curls framing the corners of his eyes.

He’s…quite breathtaking.

“I—I’m just a girl who foolishly fell off her bike,” I argue.

“‘Foolishly,’” he repeats.

“Is that right?” He smirks and raises an eyebrow.

“Are you hurt?”

I stare as a shimmer of light cuts across his eyes, revealing his soul.

This man is a stranger and I shouldn’t be standing on an empty street with someone I’ve never met before.

“Ah—oh dear, no, I’m well,” I tell him.

“That was a pretty hard fall,” he says.

I must have played the part well.

My body certainly thinks so.

“Truly, I’ll be all right, but thank you for checking on me.” Is that all he was doing?

Checking on me? I sound like a young, lovesick girl in the face of a stranger.

“How can I thank you?”

“There’s no need, I assure you.”

“Don’t be so humble,” he says, his words sharp and unexpected.

“No one does anything for nothing these days.”

“Humble?” I quip.

“Is it a crime to help a person?”

“When your ankle is bleeding through your sock, it might be.”

I look down at my feet, finding my white ankle sock soaked in blood.

He crouches down on his knee, places his hat down and rolls my sock below my ankle.

His tousled dark hair blows in the breeze as he peers up at me.

“That’s a good one. We should get you bandaged up.”

“I don’t have anything?—”

“You must have something in your purse,” he says, standing back up.

He takes the bike from my hands and leans it up against the brick wall behind him, then takes my purse out of the front basket.

“I’ve heard women can keep an entire pharmacy stored in one small bag.”

He pulls open my purse and I’m taken aback by his forwardness—and a bit amused.

He shakes his head. “See here…a handkerchief and two bobby pins.” He pulls them out of my purse, then hands me my bag and drops back down to his knee before tending to my ankle.

My chest tightens as he carefully wraps the fabric over the wound.

His hands are steady, despite everything that’s just happened.

“I’m more than capable of taking care of myself—” I say, my words hesitant.

“I can see that,” he replies, ignoring my statement as he secures the handkerchief with the two bobby pins and pulls my sock back up.

The kind gesture jolts my nerves in an unfamiliar way—a pleasant way.

“There. Good as new.” He brushes himself off as he stands.

I can’t stop myself from grinning as a warm blush fills my cheeks.

“Well, it seems I have a reason to repay you for your kindness?”

“There’s no need,” he says, his dimples deepening.

“Oh, don’t be so humble,” I retort, throwing his words back at him.

His smile wanes as he fiddles with the loose braid dangling over my shoulder.

“Could I at least walk you home?”

“What if I live across the city? You’d be walking all night.”

“It doesn’t matter, because I’d be sure you got home safely,” he says.

Except the Jewish people have a curfew that begins at seven o’clock—in less than an hour.

Even without the armband, his identification stamped with the letter “J” would betray him.

If the soldiers caught him out after curfew, they’d arrest him on the spot.

“I don’t live too far from here.” I don’t accept his offer, but don’t reject it either.

He takes my bicycle from the brick wall and begins walking with it on his right side, me to his left.

“Your voice—I’ve never heard anything like it. It—well, it reminds me of Fred Astaire. Have you been singing your whole life?”

He takes in a deep breath and holds it for a long second before exhaling.

“Well, to avoid being too humble for this conversation, I thank you for your kind words, and yes, I have been singing my entire life, but only in my bedroom for the most part. When my father and grandfather lost their jobs, I had to help. I didn’t think performing on the street would be my work for too long, but until the others tire of me, I’ll keep showing up.”

We walk in silence as my mind races with hundreds of questions, my pulse racing with every aching step forward.

“My turn to ask you a question now. Why did you save me?” he asks.

I hesitate, because it all happened so fast. “Those German soldiers… I overheard them talking, they were saying terrible things and making jokes about lining all the Jewish people up and—they wanted to terrorize everyone. It was the right thing to do,” I say with a shrug.

He stops walking, so I do, too, finding him gazing at me with wonder.

“A few weeks ago, the Reich imposed new laws prohibiting large public gatherings in Jewish communities. I wouldn’t classify the size of the crowd in the square today as being large, nor have they caused a commotion before today, but I don’t make those rules.”

“Will you have to stop singing now?” I ask, staring up at him, finding despair filling his eyes.

He shakes his head and straightens his shoulders.

“No, no. I should be more mindful of the crowd, I suppose.”

“They all want to hear you sing,” I utter.

“Who can blame them?”

His cheeks burn as he fights a small smile, but the smile fades just as fast when his eyebrows knit together.

“You could have gotten yourself in trouble with those soldiers today. What if they went after you?”

I drop my gaze and press my hand to my chest. “They didn’t.”

A sigh floats over my head.

“They might not let you go next time.”

Before I can respond, a throaty voice cuts through the air: “You two! Stop and retrieve your papers.”

I gasp and twist around, finding two soldiers cruising toward us on a motorcycle with a sidecar.

For a split second, I can’t move, my mind racing over every option for escape—but there’s no time.

I grab my bike from his hands.

“Get on,” I whisper, my voice shaky.

Are they after us? He swings his leg over the seat as I clamber onto the metal basket in front.

His hands wrap around my hips as he helps me balance my weight.

The heat from his touch radiates through me, adding another layer of shock to the frenzy.

“Now, go!” I shout through a breath.

The wind stings against my face and my pulse thrums between my ears as we lurch forward.

I clench my grip on the basket, my heart bouncing around in the same rhythmic speed and pattern as the hop on every cobblestone.

I haven’t acted so recklessly since I was a curious young girl searching for the tallest trees to climb with the hope of someday touching a cloud.

Now, fleeing for safety and protection—escaping the enemy—it’s as if I’m reaching for the clouds again.

The street twists and turns into sharp bends, and the bike wobbles below us.

“Hold on tight,” he rasps through a labored breath.

For a fleeting second, I believe we might escape.

Then, a guttural rumble whomps through the air, bouncing between the buildings.

They’re following us.

“Stop now, or we shoot!” a soldier shouts over a sputtering engine.

I glance over my shoulder, finding the motorcycle gaining on us, and the soldier in the sidecar is armed with a pistol, pointing it directly at us.

I face forward and clench my eyes as a sharp crack fires from the pistol.

Something whizzes past my ear.

The singer swerves, the bike skidding as the front wheel scrapes against the cobblestone.

Too close. Far too close.

A metallic shatter screams through the air.

A bullet hit the frame and the handlebars jerk.

He’s barely keeping control.

I clench my teeth and grip the basket so hard the metal is biting into my flesh.

“We’ll find you, girl! We don’t forget a face!” they shout.

My limbs grow cold, knowing they saw me, but that might not matter since they’re closing in on us.

What we do next could determine whether we’re still breathing tomorrow…