A Feather on the Water(92)

“No, not really.” Martha sighed. “I guess I’m just afraid to push things.”

“You can’t go tiptoeing around each other forever,” Delphine said. “He’s probably as nervous as you are.”

“Have you told him you’re getting a divorce?” Kitty asked.

“That would sound as if I was expecting something, wouldn’t it? And anyway, I can’t, can I? Because I’ve got no chance of getting one unless I can track Arnie down.”

Delphine frowned. “You haven’t told Stefan how you feel?”

“It didn’t seem right. I think it has to come from him.”

“You’ll end up going round in circles, then, won’t you?” Delphine sighed.



It was nearly a week later when Kitty came up with the idea of inviting Lubya and Halina to join in her art class. So, on that day, Martha didn’t take them with her when she went to pick Stefan up from the base. He’d agreed to Kitty’s suggestion, but Martha felt awkward when he got into the car. It was the first time they had been alone together since the day he’d come back from Poland.

She pulled onto the side of the road a little more than a mile from the camp. His cabin was inaccessible by car. Usually, she would let him and the girls out at this point, then drive off. Now that it was just the two of them, she didn’t know what to do. She kept the engine running, not wanting him to think she was expecting to be invited to his new home.

“Will you come see what I’ve done?” He turned to her and smiled. “You haven’t come for a long time.”

It was true—she hadn’t seen it since it was just a pile of logs stacked in a clearing. Some of the men who had worked with Stefan on the lumber detail in the early days had helped him build the cabin. Martha had kept away during the construction, aware of what the men might think if she was hovering around.

As they made their way along the path, she caught a glimpse of it through the trees. “Oh, look at that!” It was like a woodcutter’s hut out of a fairy tale. It had a shingle roof and shutters at the windows. There was even a little porch with a rustic wooden bench.

He opened the door. “It’s dark in here.” He went in ahead of her. “No glass in the windows.” He opened the shutters while she stood in the doorway. “You can come in now,” he said.

The dappled sunlight shining in from outside revealed two beds like the ones in the blockhouses, made of sacking stuffed with straw. Army-issue blankets were neatly folded across them, and on the pillows of the larger bed sat the two rag dolls Martha had commissioned from the camp sewing class: one with plaits of yellow wool and the other dark brown. Hanging from hooks on the wall were the dresses and cardigans Martha had helped the girls choose from the clothing storeroom.

Apart from the beds, the only other furniture in the room was a table made of wooden planks. On it were a camping stove, a kettle, three tin cups, and three plates. Beneath the table was the suitcase Stefan had brought back from Poland and an apple crate containing an assortment of tins and jars.

“Shall I make coffee?”

“That would be good,” she said.

Martha watched him light the camping stove and place the kettle over the flame. She wondered where he was getting water. There were streams in the forest that fed into the river. Or perhaps he filled a container at the army base?

“We can sit outside.” He followed her through the door. She took a seat at one end of the bench, and he settled down at the other end.

For a while they sat in silence. Martha thought how peaceful it was. No sounds apart from the occasional rustle of a bird in the branches and the low hum of the kettle as it heated up. But the tension in the space between them was palpable. She had to find a way in, some topic of conversation that would encourage him to reveal what was really on his mind. The safest subject, she thought, was the children.

“Lubya and Halina are settling in really well,” she began. “Have they told you about their new friends?”

“The girls from blockhouse five?”

“They were all playing a game of baseball when I left the camp.”

“It’s good that they play with other children.” He nodded. “And they told me about the game you play in the car—what do you call it? My little eye?”

“I Spy.” She smiled. “It’s what we do after we drop you off: they see something out the window, and I have to guess what it is. They teach me the Polish word, and I tell them how to say it in English.”

“They like you very much,” he said.

“Well, I like them, too. They’re lovely girls.” She stopped herself from saying what she would have said to Delphine or Kitty: that they were remarkably happy and well adjusted considering what they had endured in their short lives. “Do you know anything about Halina’s parents—what happened to them?” She held her breath. She hoped she wasn’t jumping in too quickly.

“They are ?ydami.”

“Jewish?”

“The nuns said they died in Auschwitz. They gave Halina to a neighbor to hide.”

Martha felt as though an icy hand had squeezed her insides. “Does she know that the Nazis killed them?”

He shook his head. “She doesn’t ask. I will tell her one day. She knows many people died in the war—the nuns told her that.”