The Forest of Vanishing Stars(64)
“How are you here?” he asked, and when she looked back at the church steps, his eyes followed hers, to where the red-faced officer was staring at them with confused disgust, and to where Sister Maria Andrzeja was watching, her mouth agape. “You have been alive all these years?”
She took a deep breath. “I will tell you everything. But first you must stop this. Please. The nuns have done nothing. You’ve already made your point with the priest.”
He nodded slowly, as if in a daze, and turned to the officer standing inches behind him, who’d been watching their exchange with wide eyes. Jüttner murmured something, and though the man looked perplexed, he nodded and hurried up the church steps, where he repeated the command to the red-faced officer who’d been about to order the execution. The officer looked furious, but he nodded curtly and ordered the soldiers to stand down. Then he barked an order at one of them to lead the nuns into the church and to guard them until the situation was resolved.
Yona watched until Sister Maria Andrzeja vanished inside, shooting Yona one last look of confusion and terror. And then, as the officer on the steps disappeared inside the church, too, and the crowd continued to shrink away from her, she turned back to Jüttner. “Danke,” she said, thanking him in German.
“It is only temporary, until I understand what you are doing here.” He stared for a moment longer. “My daughter,” he murmured to himself. As he took her hand in his, his long fingers crushing hers as he began to lead her away, her stomach churned. The nuns had been granted a reprieve, but for how long? And what would be the price for their salvation? This time, when Jerusza’s words spoke to her on the wind, they were unmistakable. You fool. What have you done?
* * *
Jüttner’s hand was coarse and cold, but when he glanced back at her, he must have seen the fear on her face, for he loosened his grip slightly. “All will be well,” he said as he led her past the line of soldiers who had been set to execute the nuns just a moment earlier. Now they all stared at her in confusion.
“Wait,” she said, stopping abruptly, which forced him to stop with her.
When he turned around, his expression was a strange blend of tenderness and impatience. “Yes? What is it?”
“The nuns. How do I know they will be safe if I come with you?”
He glanced at the soldiers, all of whom were watching, and she could see a shadow cross his face. “Because I am in charge here. My men do what I say.”
“The nuns haven’t done anything wrong. They don’t deserve to die.”
He looked as if he was about to protest, but instead, he frowned and tightened his grip on hers. “You don’t understand yet.” He turned sharply, leading her up the steps of the church. He shoved the wooden doors open, sending a burst of light into a sanctuary that had been destroyed.
Pews were tipped and splintered, and the scent of ash lingered in the air. In the corner, the eight nuns stood holding hands and praying while the officer who’d been about to order their murder watched from several feet away, his face still the color of a summer beet. A soldier stood guard nearby, his gaze flicking uneasily between the nuns and the gold crucifix that hung over the altar.
Yona could feel Sister Maria Andrzeja’s eyes on her as Jüttner pulled her past the destroyed rows of pews, to the other officer.
“What is this, then?” the man asked, staring hard at Yona.
“This is my daughter,” Jüttner said, his voice catching on the last syllable. Sister Maria Andrzeja’s eyes widened, and a few of the nuns exchanged glances.
The officer’s upper lip curled. “Your daughter is a Pole? What, you screwed a Polack whore twenty-odd years ago, Jüttner?”
“My daughter is a German,” Jüttner said sharply, and the other man took a step back and looked at the floor for a second. “You will not disrespect either of us.”
When he looked back up, the doubt in his expression was obvious. “Yes, well, what does she have to do with this?”
“Until I return, you will keep these nuns safe.” It wasn’t an answer. “You will not proceed with the execution.” He said it as casually as if he was telling the other man not to order dinner without him.
“But—”
“Do you understand?” Jüttner’s voice rose to a bellow, and the other man looked away. “I have given you an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
Satisfied, Jüttner nodded and looked down at Yona, whose hand he still grasped. “Come.”
Yona looked once more at Sister Maria Andrzeja, whose eyes were narrowed now. Yona could imagine what the nun was thinking—that Yona had deceived her, about her name, about everything. Perhaps she would have the chance to explain it all to the nun one day, to make her understand that none of it had been a lie, that it was possible to be two people at once, and that what mattered was what lay in one’s heart. But there was no time for that now, and so Yona turned away as Jüttner led her out of the church and back into the sunshine, where the square now stood empty, the crowd having dissipated quickly after a reprieve they didn’t understand.
Wordless, Yona followed Jüttner, whose hand was still wrapped around hers like a vise.
* * *
Jüttner led her on a brisk, winding walk to a grand stone house in the center of town that had obviously been commandeered from a once-wealthy villager. “My home,” he said brusquely, without looking at her. He nodded to two soldiers stationed outside, then he released his grip, unlocked the front door, and led her inside. The windows were swathed in heavy crimson curtains, the walls painted a delicate eggshell white, the white furniture well-made and immaculate. Rugs that looked as if they had come from another land covered the polished wooden floor, and on the walls along the staircase there were faded rectangles where Yona imagined family pictures must have hung. What had happened to the people who once called this place home?