A Feather on the Water(34)

“The road is there.” He swept a hand toward the back of the house. “It would be easy. We have the car. I can bring men with a ladder.”

She nodded. It was the perfect solution—and one she could never have achieved without his help. “Thank you, Stefan.” She stepped sideways, in the direction of the door. But her shoe caught on a nail sticking out of one of the fallen ceiling beams. With a cry of alarm, she lost her balance. Suddenly his arm was under her, catching her before she hit the ground. For an instant she was unable to move. He was cradling her in the crook of his elbow. She could smell the earthy scent of his skin through his shirt. She felt him exhale as he raised her up.

“I . . . I’m so sorry.” She bent down, brushing dust off her leg. The nail had laddered her stocking. She glanced up, embarrassed at her clumsiness.

“Last time I came here, a bird’s nest fell on my head.” He gave a wry smile. “I looked like a crazy man.” The warmth in his eyes set something off inside her. It felt as though their bodies were still touching. The sensation frightened her. It reminded her of the way Arnie used to look at her, what seemed like a hundred years ago.

“We’d better be getting back.” She turned away from him, stepping carefully across the floor and through the door. “You go ahead of me,” she said, as he came out behind her. “I don’t think I’ll remember the way.”

He said nothing as he made for the gate. She waited until there was a safe distance between them before following. Safe? Was it him she didn’t trust—or herself?



Delphine had to get out of the ward. She didn’t want Dr. Jankaukas nor Wolf nor Father Josef nor anyone else in the hospital seeing her crying. She managed to hold it inside long enough to tell the doctor that the patient with the head injury was comfortable now. Then she made an excuse about needing to check on the stock of milk in the warehouse.

As soon as she got outside, the tears came flooding out. She jabbed at her face with her handkerchief, muttering to herself as she walked up the path that skirted the forest. It had taken just one word to make her crumble: How could she have allowed it to affect her like that? She, who had nursed hundreds of patients over the years and had held the hands of dozens of men who had cried out for their mothers. What was different about this man? How had she lost control so utterly and completely?

The answer came in the faces that hovered, never far away, in her mind’s eye. Claude. Philippe. They were with her in everything she said and did. Washing a patient too ill to wash himself, she would think, This is for you, Philippe; stitching up a wound she would whisper, “This is what you would have done, Claude.” She had believed that they would protect her, would be her armor and her shield in the battleground of emotions she must face each day at the hospital. But she should have realized how illusory that protection was.

Mama. It could have been Philippe’s voice. Calling for her when his life was taken. And she hadn’t been there. That would haunt her forever.

She stopped walking, stood for a moment, took in a lungful of air. She had to get hold of herself, put on a smiling face and get back inside. As she stood there, eyes shut tight to dam up the tears, she heard the crunch of footsteps. Opening her eyes, she saw two figures coming through the trees. Stefan Dombrowski and Martha following behind him. Ordinarily, she would have called out to her, waved a greeting. But she didn’t want either of them to see her like this.

They were walking toward the blockhouses, away from where she was standing, so they didn’t spot her. When they reached the place where the trees gave way to the path, they both stopped. Delphine couldn’t see their faces. But there was something about the way their heads moved together, then moved apart . . .

Delphine blinked, rubbed her eyes. She watched them walk on, talking as they went, before they disappeared around a bend in the path. She must have imagined it, that thing she thought she’d seen.

You’re not yourself. It was Claude’s voice she heard.

No, she wasn’t. But she must try to be. She thought of Wolf. To lose both parents and survive a Nazi slave labor camp—and yet dream of becoming a doctor . . . His fortitude shamed her. Somehow, he had found the resilience to go on. If she was going to be of any use to the people in this place, she must find it, too.





CHAPTER 9


The sun was low in the sky when Martha left the stable block. It was amazing what the DPs had achieved in such a short time. The roof was repaired, the floor swept and scrubbed, and there were 150 straw-filled mattresses stacked up and ready to be distributed. If the new batch of refugees arrived tonight, it wouldn’t be a disaster.

She passed the mess hall, where Kitty was supervising an English class. Her pupils ranged from children as young as six or seven to adult men and women. All were copying sentences Kitty had written on the blackboard she’d set up in a corner of the room. Martha waved from the doorway and Kitty came to say hello.

“I didn’t realize you had so many,” Martha whispered.

“I think I’m going to have to divide them into two groups—do a couple of evenings instead of just one.” Kitty shrugged. “They’re very keen. They all want to go to America.”

Martha glanced around the room. She saw the intense concentration on the faces of Kitty’s pupils as they copied down the phrases on the board. It pained her to remember the major’s words about the United States closing its borders to foreign refugees.