The Orphan's Tale(63)

I awake in a sweat, cursing myself for sleeping. Astrid sits awake, staring out the window in the distance. Behind her the sky is a lighter gray, signaling that it is almost dawn. She is still holding Theo, who is completely still. I leap to my feet and wait for Astrid to protest as I move closer, but she does not. “His fever has broken,” she says instead. Theo has a faint rash on his skin, but otherwise he is fine, his skin cool. My eyes burn with relief. The blanket swaddling him is drenched in sweat. He half opens his eyes and smiles faintly at me.

“You should still be careful not to get sick,” Astrid admonishes and I brace myself for her to make me leave once more. Instead, she walks to the far end of the carriage, still holding Theo. I fight the urge to follow as she confers with Berta, who has risen and is feeding one of the other patients. A moment later she returns with a baby bottle. “Let me see if I can get him to drink a bit.” He sucks weakly at the bottle, then drifts back to sleep.

Astrid moves to set the bottle down. The color drains from her face suddenly and she starts to double over, seemingly sickened. “Here,” she says, seeming to forget her own caution as she hands Theo to me. I draw his warmth close gratefully. Astrid sinks limply to one of the berths.

“Are you feeling sick?” I pray that she has not caught Theo’s virus.

“No.” Her tone is certain. But her forehead and upper lip are damp with sweat.

“Then what...?” My concern grows. She has seemed more tired than usual lately, and she has been so very terse. There is something familiar, too, about the grayness of her face. “Astrid, are you...?” I hesitate, not wanting to finish the question for fear of offending her if I am wrong. “Are you expecting?” I ask, but she does not answer. “You are, aren’t you?”

Her eyes widen as she realizes I have guessed her secret. Her hand rises to her stomach instinctively, a gesture I recognize from my earlier self. “Oh!” I exclaim and suddenly it is a year ago, the realization of my own missed periods and what it all meant coming back like it happened yesterday.

Should I offer congratulations? I proceed carefully, as though approaching a snake. There was a time not so very long ago when a child had not been happy news for me—it had been pure dread. I don’t know how Astrid feels. Watching her with Theo, I’ve long suspected how very much she wanted a child. She is older, though, and a Jew... Does she want one now? I search her face for cues as to how I should react.

It is racked with self-doubt. There is so much I want to say to comfort her. I move closer, put my arm around her. “You will be a wonderful mother. A child is a blessing.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” she replies. “Having a child now is just so hard.”

“I understand,” I say too quickly.

Her brow wrinkles. “How can you possibly? I mean, I know you care for Theo, but that is hardly the same.”

No, it isn’t, I agree silently. I love Theo as my own, but having him can never replace that feeling of holding my child in my arms for the first time. But she doesn’t know this. And she cannot really know me or understand what I am saying because of my secret. I should tell her. How can I possibly, though? The one thing that makes me who I am will surely make Astrid hate me—and want to be done with me for good.

The need to tell her wells up in me once more, too powerful to ignore. I can’t hold back any longer. “Astrid, I need to tell you something. Remember when I told you about my working at the train station?”

She nods. “Yes, after you left your family.”

“I didn’t really explain why I had to leave.”

“You said your father was unkind.” Her voice is uneasy.

“It was more than that.” I tell her then in my own words everything about the soldier and the baby whom I bore by him without trying to justify what I had done, the way I should have months earlier.

When I finish, I hold my breath, waiting for Astrid to tell me it is all right. But she does not. Her face is a thundercloud.

“You slept with a Nazi,” she says darkly. Though it had all happened so long before I had met her, my actions still seem a betrayal. It hadn’t been like that, though. To me, love had been love (or what I supposed love felt like) and I hadn’t understood that there were other things. I wait for her to scream at me, ask how I could have done it. Looking back, I’m not sure myself—but it had felt so natural at the time.

“I did,” I say finally. “Erich was a Nazi, too,” I add. Even as the words come out, I know I have overstepped.

“That was different.” Her eyes blaze. “He was my husband. And it was before.” Before the war had changed everyone, and forced us to choose sides. “You got pregnant. That’s why your family kicked you out.”

“Yes, I had no choice but to go to the girls’ home in Bensheim. I thought they would help me. Instead they took my child.” My voice breaks as I say this last bit—the first time I have spoken it aloud to anyone.

Her brows draw close. “Who did?”

“The doctor and nurse at the girls’ home. At first they told me that he would be placed with the Lebensborn program, but his hair and eyes were so dark...” I trail off. “I don’t know where they took him. I wanted to keep him, but they wouldn’t let me. Someday I will find him,” I vow. I expect her to laugh or mock my dream, or at least tell me it is impossible.