A Feather on the Water(29)

“I’ll be at the stable block if you need me for anything,” Martha said, as she got up from the table. “Stefan says it shouldn’t take more than a few days to make it habitable.”

“He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” Delphine gave her a sideways look as she got up from the table.

“Is he?” Martha could feel herself blushing. “I hadn’t noticed.” She turned away, reaching for her jacket. “He’s certainly very useful. We couldn’t have sorted out that trouble with the forestry detail without him.”

“And he got you a car.” Kitty’s voice was full of admiration.

“Yes.” Martha concentrated on doing up the buttons of her jacket, afraid to catch the eye of either of the women. She wondered if they’d been talking about her. She had been spending a lot of time with Stefan. It hadn’t occurred to her that Kitty and Delphine might read something into that. “It’s his way of showing his gratitude for what we’re all trying to do here.” Was she telling them or herself? She couldn’t deny that she liked being in his company. Did the way she acted around him give the impression that she was attracted to him?

“He does seem to have a better grasp than most of the DPs of what we’re up against,” Delphine said. “When are the new people coming?”

Martha looked up, relieved that the conversation had changed direction. “I’m not certain which day it’ll be—the major just said next week.” She turned to Kitty. “Will you keep a lookout for Mrs. Sikorsky? I had a message from the camp at Augsburg that she and her daughter and the baby would be coming back today.”

“Will they be going next door?” Kitty pursed her lips. “There’s not much room in either of the cabins now the other mothers have moved in.”

“They’ll have to, at least until the stables are ready.”

“Hmm. I hope that won’t cause trouble.”

“Will you talk to her? Explain that it’s just for a few days?” Martha reached for her bag, guiltily aware that this was a big ask: something she should do, if only she had the language skills. Sinaida had said that the baby’s father had died in Dachau. How on earth were she and her daughter going to react when they learned they’d be sharing a house with women whose babies had been fathered by Nazis?



Kitty made a detour on her way to the office. The women running the sewing school were having to scavenge thread from old garments in order to sew new ones. It had occurred to her that there might be a ready supply of it in the abandoned weaving shed, but the place was locked up. Kitty thought she might be able to break in through one of the smashed windows, but before she tried that, she dropped by the guardhouse at the entrance to the camp to see if there was a key.

The man on duty was closing the gates as she approached. A cloud of dust billowed around him, thrown up by the wheels of a departing jeep.

“Good morning!” He smiled when he saw her. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Sergeant Lewis?” She recognized his voice from the conversations they’d had on the phone. She was surprised by how tall he was. Most of the men in the camp were several inches shorter than herself. She’d formed a mental image of him when they’d talked, but he was not at all how she’d imagined him. He looked different from the GIs she’d encountered in England and on the boat to France. His eyes reminded her of people she’d glimpsed from the bus on her way to the factory in Manchester, in the part of the city they called Chinatown.

“And you’re Miss Bloom, right?” he said.

“Yes.” She smiled back. “I’ve come to ask a favor.” She explained about the key.

“There’s a bunch on top of the cupboard in there,” he said. “I don’t know what they’re for—never had to use them. Guess it could be one of those.”

“Can I take them all?”

“Sure. I hope the place is safe to go into. I’d offer to come and help you, but . . .” He trailed off, cocking his head at the gates.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

He went inside the guardhouse and came back with a set of keys of assorted shapes and sizes attached to a rusty metal ring. “Forgive me for asking,” he said, as he handed them over. “Are you English?”

“Why do you ask?” She tried to make it sound casual. But her antennae were up. She wondered if Father Josef had broken his word to her, had said something to the sergeant.

“Just curious. I figured you’re not American, but I’m not very good with accents. And I’ve heard you speaking German.”

“You have?”

“When I put through that call from the Red Cross.”

“Ah.” She wondered how long he’d stayed on the line, listening in. “Do you speak German?”

“Only a few words. But you’re fluent, aren’t you?”

“Not really. I learnt it at school, that’s all.” She weighed the bunch of keys in her hand. “I’d better find out if any of these will work. I’ll bring them back when I’m done.” She headed down the path that led to the river, glad to have gotten away without having to tell the man an outright lie. Hopefully, by the time she returned, he’d have forgotten asking her if she was English.