The Things We Cannot Say(116)

I laughed weakly.

“I can’t even remember.”

“Exactly. And there we were, hiding in a cave of all places, and your Tomasz provides us a feast like that. We were all so excited—but Eva lifted the duck meat to her lips and put it on her tongue, and then she was ill. She said the taste was divine, but the texture turned her stomach, and she couldn’t understand why,” he said. The joy had faded from his face, until his gaze was distant, but then he turned it upon me. “Alina, do you understand why I am telling you this story?”

I gaped at him, and then there was a rushing sound in my ears, and I knew I was going to be sick again. But it was even worse than that this time, because my whole body seemed to turn to jelly and Saul caught me as I slid from the chair toward the dirt floor of the dining tent. With help from one of the stronger men from the dining hall, Saul carried me outside into the fresh air. He sat beside me and rested his hand on my shoulder, and as soon as we were alone again, he said, “I didn’t mean to shock you. Forgive me.”

I hadn’t cried in all of that time—not in the truck, not on the train, not even when I sacrificed Mama’s ring, not in the camp. I had become a braver version of myself than I’d ever realized was possible but this?

This was too much.

I’d not had a period since we left Poland, but my cycle had been unpredictable throughout the whole war, so I hadn’t missed it. But Saul was right—even when we did get food, I’d been far too sensitive as to what I could stomach. And just like Saul and Eva, Tomasz and I had thought we’d been careful—but we’d been dizzy with the joy of finally being together, and we’d leaped into our sexual relationship with less care than we probably should have.

“Mama will be so angry with me. And Father. And the people here will judge me—”

“No, they will not,” Saul said. “Because Tomasz will marry you.”

“But everyone will know before then, Saul.” And then for the very first time, I spoke aloud a thought I’d been too terrified to give voice to until that moment. “He should be here by now, shouldn’t he? What if he’s not even coming?”

“If he was really here, what would he do?”

It took less than a heartbeat for me to answer that question.

“He would marry me. He was going to marry me. He promised me we’d find a priest the very day we arrived, but...”

“Then, Tomasz will marry you. Today.” I stared at him blankly, and Saul’s expression softened. “Alina, I will stand in his place just for now, because that is exactly what he would want me to do.”

And later that day, that’s exactly what he did.

There was much excitement about our wedding among the people we knew in the camp—“Tomasz” was building quite a reputation as a surgical miracle worker—and strangers brought us gifts. There was a perfect little wildflower from a woman Saul had treated weeks earlier, a luxurious new blanket from one of the camp administrators and, best of all, some soap from Mrs. Konczal—all of the staff of the orphanage had banded together to barter for it. We went to the dining hall for our dinner meal, and by some miracle, the cooks had found a fresh sausage. Saul and I shared it, and it was such a gift and a blessing that for a moment or two, I was moved to deep gratitude by the effort and the generosity of our friends. For a few minutes I forgot how broken everything was, and I let myself feel happy because I felt so loved and so accepted.

But then Mrs. Konczal approached us again, a huge grin on her face, her hands clasped before her chest.

“We have another surprise for you. For your wedding night.”

And with rising dread, I followed her to a tent that had been moved apart from all of the other tents—no small feat given the entire camp was overflowing with humans desperate for shelter. This was a small tent, fit only for two.

“Surprise!” Mrs. Konczal said proudly.

“Thank you, Mrs. Konczal,” I said. My lips were numb. I could not look at Saul—I couldn’t even force my eyes to shift in his direction. Mrs. Konczal kissed my cheeks, then Saul’s, then she wished us a good night and left us be.

I crawled onto the mattress she’d placed on the floor of the tent, rolled onto my side and burst into tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Saul said desperately. “Forgive me, Alina—this was never my intention, I didn’t think they would—”

“He’s not coming, is he? What if I’m all alone with this baby?”

Saul sat beside me, and he rested his hand over mine and gave a gentle squeeze.

“Here is the thing, Alina,” he whispered softly. “War breaks us down to nothing more than our most selfish will to survive—but when we rise above that instinct, miracles can still happen. I helped Tomasz, Tomasz helped me, you helped me—in more ways than you can ever know. And now, at last and in this small way, I am grateful for the opportunity to help you in return. This, my friend, is how we find the best of humanity during times when the worst of humanity may seem to have the upper hand. You are not alone—you won’t be, not for a single moment until Tomasz arrives. I traveled from Warsaw with Tomasz—I have seen firsthand that his drive to be with you is relentless. This time will be no different, and until that moment when Tomasz arrives to take his place, no matter when that moment comes, I will care for you and your baby as if you are my own.”