The Forest of Vanishing Stars(67)

Finally, she set the globe down and sat on the bed, testing the weight of it. She had not slept in a bed since the night before her second birthday, and it felt strange, unfamiliar. The ground beneath a person should feel solid and reassuring, not spongy and soft, for that was false comfort. Then again, all of this was false. After a few minutes had ticked loudly by on the grandfather clock near the window, she lay on top of the covers, placing her head on one of the pillows, which was filled with feathers. After a second, she climbed out of bed and lay on her back on the floor.

She was staring at the ceiling sometime later when there was a soft tap on the door.

“Come in,” she said, sitting up as the door handle turned and Jüttner entered.

“I apologize,” he said gruffly, and for a split second, she thought perhaps she’d gotten through to him, but he added, “I must remember that you were raised by a lunatic in the wilderness. It will take you some time to understand things. But you are my daughter, and I will teach you.”

Yona didn’t reply, and after a pause, he cleared his throat.

“What are you doing on the floor?”

“The bed is too soft.”

He looked at her like she was crazy. Maybe she was.

“What will become of the nuns?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet. But there will be no decision tonight. I give you my word.”

She searched his eyes for signs he was lying, but she found only deep sadness and fear there. “All right.”

“Get some sleep. We can talk more when you awaken.”

Yona nodded, and he gave her a strange half smile before closing the door behind him. A second later, she heard a bolt click, and she knew, even before rising to twist the knob herself, that he had locked her in. She crossed the room and tried the window, which slid open readily. She shut it again, relieved that she had an easy way out if she needed it. Still, she was unsettled by the fact that he’d thought not only that he could trap her, but that he had the right to do so.

She lay back down on the floor and closed her eyes, for she would need all the energy she could get for whatever might come next. She knew she wouldn’t sleep well, though, for she was under the roof of an enemy, even if he was her own flesh and blood.





CHAPTER NINETEEN




It took Yona an hour to relax, but eventually she slipped into a strange half sleep and dreamed of Jerusza. In the dream, Jerusza was walking toward her through the woods, her eyes burning with anger, but when she spoke, the whipping wind whisked her words away. Each time Yona took a step closer, desperate to hear what Jerusza was saying, the old woman became more and more translucent, until she disappeared altogether into a spill of sunshine. She was gone, and her words—surely a warning—had vanished, too. Yona awoke with a start, her heart hammering, her forehead damp with perspiration, and for a few blurry seconds, she couldn’t remember where she was. She looked wildly around, taking in the genteel furnishings, the embroidered curtains, the plush bed she was lying beside. Her pulse slowed as it all came rushing back to her.

Then again, this is what her life might have looked like if Jerusza hadn’t come for her all those years before. Would her mother have been alive? What kind of a person would Yona have become?

But when life opens a door, the others behind it slam closed. It was impossible to know what would have been, what could have been, because the choices Jerusza made forever altered the future. There was no sense in looking over her shoulder. And the ghost of Jerusza could shout all she wanted into the wind, but the old woman didn’t belong here, not in this moment. She couldn’t save Yona from the past.

Sometime later, Yona drifted once again to sleep, but this time, her slumber was dreamless, and when she awoke to light streaming through the windows, she felt well rested for the first time in weeks. She sat up, startled that she had slept so soundly. How could she have let down her guard? Quickly, she got to her feet, smoothed her dress and her hair, and headed for the door, which opened easily; Jüttner must have unlocked it when he’d risen that morning.

“The nuns?” she asked without greeting as she entered the kitchen. “They are all right?”

Jüttner was in full uniform, sipping a cup of coffee at the small table. He looked up and smiled indulgently, almost as if she were a child asking for an extra serving of cake. Yesterday he’d looked as if he was unraveling. Today he looked polished and unflappable. The swift transition chilled her. “Good morning, Inge. And how did you sleep?”

“The nuns?” she repeated.

“They’re fine, Inge.”

But his eyes were cold and hard, and she didn’t believe him. “Show me. Please. I must see them.”

He gestured to the seat across from him, and as she sat, slowly and reluctantly, he rose to get the silver coffeepot. He poured her a steaming cup and then sat back down. “I was just about to go myself.”

“Take me with you.” Yona held his gaze.

He hesitated. “That would make you happy? Very well. But first, you will have some coffee and some food. You are my guest.” Jüttner didn’t wait for an answer before pushing a hunk of bread with a fat pat of butter toward her. Yona stared at it in disbelief; she couldn’t imagine any Polish citizen had tasted butter since the start of the war. There was cheese, too, and a small platter of cold sausages. Yona hadn’t eaten since the day before, but the food, the utter bounty of it, made her stomach turn. She began to push the bread away, but then she saw Jüttner’s expression, and instead she picked it up and took a small bite, which earned her a nod of approval.