The Forest of Vanishing Stars(59)
When the prayer had ended, Yona looked up to see tears in Mother Bernardyna’s eyes. “I’m afraid I have news,” the older nun said.
“Yes?” Sister Maria Andrzeja’s voice was hollow, and it seemed to echo in the sudden quiet.
“The Germans have arrested a hundred villagers,” Mother Bernardyna said, her voice calm, even. “They are to be executed.”
Yona’s gasp seemed to pierce the room, and suddenly, all of the nuns’ eyes were on her. When no one said anything, she finally whispered, “But why?”
Mother Bernardyna glanced at Sister Maria Andrzeja before looking back at Yona. “There was a German soldier ambushed on the outskirts of town last week and beaten senseless. The Germans have made it very clear in the past that there will be consequences for such things.”
The words settled over Yona, and she swallowed hard, her throat dry. “So they plan to kill a hundred people?”
“As a warning.” Sister Maria Andrzeja’s voice was flat. “Men and women, old and young. Chosen at random.”
“But… we can’t let that happen.”
The older nun smiled gently at her. “Dear girl, your heart is in the right place, but it is not your battle to fight.”
“But we can’t just let them murder innocent people,” Yona protested. “There must be something we can do.” She watched as Mother Bernardyna and Sister Maria Andrzeja exchanged looks again, speaking volumes in the silence. “What is it?” she asked when no one said anything.
“In the morning, I will go speak with the German commander,” Mother Bernardyna said after a long, heavy silence.
“But if he doesn’t listen…” Yona’s voice trailed off in desperation. She couldn’t imagine that the kind of man who would order the execution of a hundred innocent people would be swayed by the pleas of a nun.
“That is why we must pray that he will.” The older nun’s tone was firm. She held Yona’s gaze for a long time and then smiled sadly. “I hope you will pray for us, too, Yona. Now eat, everyone, before the soup grows cold.”
But no one moved to touch the food, and on the table before them, the steam stopped rising, the soup cooled, and an uneasy silence descended once again.
* * *
In the church basement early the next morning, Anka awoke, and Yona gave her some linden tea to reduce pain and inflammation. Then, as Sister Maria Andrzeja tended to the child’s wounds, humming a haunting tune to herself, Yona ground the rest of the herbs and tied them up in cloth bags to give to the farmer’s wife on the edge of town who had agreed to take the girl in. “She is a good woman,” Sister Maria Andrzeja said to Yona after Anka had fallen back asleep. “She knows people who can move the child. She will keep her safe.” But Yona knew as well as the nun did that there was no guarantee of safety anywhere in Poland, perhaps in all of Europe.
“And what about you?” Yona asked softly. “Who will keep you safe? What if Mother Bernardyna’s plan to talk with the German officer today puts all of you in danger?”
Sister Maria Andrzeja didn’t say anything.
“Who will protect you?” Yona asked into the silence.
“We believe in God’s plan,” the nun said after a long time. “And if that plan eventually means the end of our time on earth, we believe in heaven. And we believe that by his death and resurrection, Jesus has opened that heaven to us. We believe that in heaven, we will find paradise beyond what we can imagine. In heaven, we will all meet again.”
Yona felt a surge of despair. “But you don’t believe Jews get to go there, too, do you?” She was thinking of little Chana, of the murdered families of the group in the woods, and even of Jerusza. What was on the other side for them if heaven was reserved only for those who worshipped Jesus?
“Of course I do.” Sister Maria Andrzeja’s answer was firm, unequivocal, and Yona was surprised to feel tears in her own eyes as the nun went on. “I believe that Jews who live good and holy lives will achieve salvation, because they, too, are following the light of God.”
“I thought Catholics believed that people must accept Jesus to find salvation.”
The nun smiled slightly. “I can see you are well-read in your theology, Yona. And I wish I had a better answer for you about how exactly God works. But deep within us lies the reality of God. Find that reality, hold fast to it, and I believe that those of us who live good lives in his image will be reunited in the afterlife.” She paused and put her hands over Yona’s. Her palms were warm, reassuring. “Now go, my child. Go before it’s too late. The woman who will protect her is Maja Yarashuk, one of our parishioners. You will know her by the scar on her cheek, in the shape of a cross. Her husband was killed by the Germans, and she fiercely opposes them. She lives on the eastern edge of the town, not far from here, in a farmhouse painted white, with the window frames painted red, the colors of the Polish flag. There is a weather vane with an eagle, and the eagle is missing a portion of its left wing. That is how you will know you are in the right place. When she asks who sent you, tell her ‘the Siberian iris,’ and she will know it was me.”
“The Siberian iris?”
Sister Maria Andrzeja smiled. “My very favorite flower, in the most glorious shade of blue.” For a second, her gaze was far off, but then she seemed to snap back to the present. “Wait!” she exclaimed before hurrying away, returning a moment later with a handful of documents. “My identity papers,” she said, thrusting them at Yona. “They might be of use to you.”