The Forest of Vanishing Stars(68)

“Thank you,” she said once she’d swallowed, though the words tasted as bitter as the bread.

“You’re welcome.” Jüttner’s eyes slid away. “I thought you might try to leave during the night.”

Yona bit her lip before she could ask if that was why he’d locked her in her room like a prisoner.

“You see, Inge,” he said, his eyes returning to her. There was something softer there now, something more familiar. “It would have broken me.”

She felt a surge of pity for him, but she wouldn’t forget who he was, what he had become. “I am still here.”

He bowed his head. “You cannot go. I haven’t been whole since…” He paused and then stood abruptly, busying himself with carrying his plate and cup over to the kitchen counter. “It would be a humiliation.” He cleared his throat a few times, his back to her, and then he was silent.

“The nuns,” she said after a few minutes had passed. “Please. Will you take me to them?”

He wiped at his eyes before turning around. “We’ll leave in five minutes. Finish your bread, Inge.” He brushed crumbs from the corner of his mouth and smiled. “There are people starving out there.”



* * *



In the bright light of morning, the quarter where Jüttner lived was both beautiful and eerily deserted. As they walked in silence toward the church square on the north side of town, their footsteps were a conspicuous tap-tap on the stone, and Yona imagined people peering through slits in the curtains of the windows above, wondering who she was, what she was doing with a Nazi commander. They would assume she was like him. They wouldn’t know she was only here to save the women in the church.

But it was more than that, wasn’t it? She was also rooted in place by the familiarity of Jüttner’s face. He was a part of her, even if she abhorred the role he was playing in this war. Yona had never known what it felt like to be part of a family, and here was a man who, despite all his enormous flaws, had once loved her. Perhaps he still did. But was craving that love, even in part, a silent acquiescence to the choices he had made? Or was it simply human nature? And if that was it, how would she ever turn those feelings off? She couldn’t stay forever, but once she departed, she’d be alone again, and in the process, she might be breaking her father’s heart anew. Did she bear responsibility for the pain that would inevitably come?

“Be careful there,” Jüttner murmured, touching her arm to help steer her around a puddle in the street. It was only as she passed that she realized the water was pink with stale blood and that there were bloodstains on the sidewalk and against the base of the storefront to her right, a butcher’s shop that had been boarded up and abandoned. Her stomach turned, and she pulled away from Jüttner, hating herself for being warmed, even in part, by his concern for her. People had been murdered here, and recently—she could still smell the metallic scent of death.

“No need to run, Inge,” Jüttner said, a smile in his voice as he quickened his pace to keep up with her. But she couldn’t even look at him, couldn’t acknowledge the lighthearted admonition, for there was, in fact, every reason to run, to fly into the woods as quickly as her feet would take her, without looking back.

The church was guarded by two soldiers, who straightened to attention and gave Jüttner the flat-palmed salute of the Germans, their hands tilted downward as if shielding their faces from God. He saluted back and led Yona past them and into the church. She could feel their eyes burning a hole in her back until the church door swung slowly, heavily, closed behind her, shutting out the sunshine.

It took a split second for Yona’s eyes to adjust to the church’s dim light, and another split second to register that all eight of the nuns were lined up on the altar, all of them still alive, all of them seated with their hands bound behind them. She exhaled audibly, and the Nazi officer from yesterday, who was standing beside them, glared at her before saluting Jüttner, who saluted back.

“See?” Jüttner said proudly, nudging Yona as they strode down the aisle toward the prisoners. She recoiled from his touch, but he didn’t seem to notice. “What did I tell you? They’re perfectly fine.”

Yona nodded, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. In any case, Jüttner was wrong. Though the nuns were still alive, which was a great relief, they looked terrified, all except for Sister Maria Andrzeja, who was sporting a black eye and a gash on her cheek, and who looked angry and resolute. As Yona moved toward her, the Nazi officer made a move to stop her, but Jüttner held up his hand.

“No, let her approach, Schneider,” he said. “She feels a fondness for them.”

The other man’s eyes narrowed and then flicked from Jüttner to Yona and back. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to,” Jüttner said. “She will speak with the nuns now. It is my order.”

The man glowered at her but stepped aside and began to speak in low tones with Jüttner as Yona reached Sister Maria Andrzeja’s side. The other nuns scooted aside a bit to allow Yona room to squat there.

Neither Yona nor Sister Maria Andrzeja said anything for the first few seconds. The nun searched Yona’s eyes, as if trying to answer a question, before finally saying in a hoarse whisper, “You are the daughter of a German commander?”