A Feather on the Water(45)

“My father used to tell me that knowledge was a precious, everlasting possession. He was pleased when I wrote to tell them I was fluent in English. He said: ‘Always remember, Kitty, the riches of the mind do not rust.’ He put that in the last letter I had from them. I knew that if I tried hard enough, I could master almost anything. It gave me the sense of being in control—it was the one thing I could control.” She paused, fingering the cognac glass, her finger tracing the rim. “I liked it, living with the old ladies, even though I was scared of the air raids. But then the house was bombed.”

Delphine’s hand went to her mouth. “Were you hurt?”

“No. I was out when it happened—and so were they, thank goodness. But we had nowhere to live. I was sent to Manchester after that. The people I went to live with said I was too old to go to school.”

“Is that when you started the job you told me about?” Martha said.

Kitty nodded. “I knew how to use a sewing machine. My mother was a seamstress and I used to help her. I liked earning money. When I was seventeen, I left my foster parents and took lodgings with one of my workmates from the factory.”

“How long is it since you heard from your parents?” Delphine whispered the question, leaning in close to Kitty.

“The last letter I had was in August 1940, when I was still living in London. There was nothing after I moved to Manchester.”

“But would they have known where you were?” Delphine frowned.

“I sent my new address each time I moved. And when the war ended, I went to the Red Cross office in Manchester. They had lists, like the ones they deliver to us. But after a few weeks, I was getting desperate. I thought if I could just find a way to get to Europe . . .”

Delphine nodded. “You want to go to Vienna.”

“That was my plan.” Kitty shook her head. “I was so na?ve. I had no idea what it was going to be like here in Germany. I thought I’d be able to hop on a train and be there in a couple of hours.”

“It’d take a day or two, I should think,” Martha said, “but we could arrange it. The army would help, I’m sure.”

“But how could I possibly leave the two of you to cope with all this? And anyway,” she added, “Father Josef has written to the bishop of Vienna, asking if someone in the Church can make inquiries.”

“That’s good. He’s such a kind man.”

Something in the tone of Delphine’s voice made both Kitty and Martha turn her way. She was staring at the table, her eyes glassy.

“Delphine? What is it?” Martha said.

A tear ran down Delphine’s cheek. “He’s offered to take me to Dachau. But I don’t know if I can bear it.”

“Dachau?” Kitty gasped. “Why?”

“M . . . my husband died there. My son, too. Claude and Philippe. They . . .” The words were lost in a choking sob.

Martha gathered her up. Her body felt so slight, Martha could feel her ribs through the fabric of her shirt.

Kitty held a glass of cognac up to Delphine’s trembling lips, and she shuddered as the liquid went down. She closed her eyes, tears oozing out from under pale lashes. Then she took a long breath.

“They worked for the Resistance in Paris.” She was staring at the wall beyond the table now, as if the faces of her lost family were projected onto it. She repeated what she had told Father Josef a little more than an hour earlier—words that had been locked inside until today.

“That was so brave,” Martha said. “Risking their lives for those men.”

Delphine nodded. “I didn’t know the full story at the time. They kept most of it from me—to protect me, I think. But someone in the hospital betrayed them. The Nazis arrested them, and I . . .” She trailed off, glancing at Kitty. “I’m like you. I had a hidden reason for coming here. I just wanted to be close to them.” She turned to Martha. “I thought it would help, seeing where they . . . ,” she faltered, her voice threatening to break again. “But when I think about it . . . that awful place, just a few miles beyond these woods, I feel as if the sight of it would tip me over the edge.”

Martha and Kitty exchanged worried glances. Martha opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Delphine was on her feet. “I need to get back to the hospital,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Martha whispered. “Please don’t go if you don’t feel up to it. I can go and tell Dr. Jankaukas you’re not well.”

Delphine shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I’d be far worse, sitting here doing nothing.”



“Why didn’t she tell us before?” Martha said, as she unlocked the door of the office. “How could she have lived with it all this time, not saying anything?”

“For the same reason as me, I suppose,” Kitty said. “If no one knows, they can’t remind you of it. Putting it into words makes it . . . real.”

“But bottling it up—that’s just as hard, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but telling someone doesn’t take away what you feel. She said she came to Seidenmühle to be close to her husband and her son. But wherever she is, she carries the grief with her. Whatever happens—whether she goes to Dachau or not—it won’t bring them back.”