Long Way Home(119)

I was still wiping my eyes and hugging Mrs. B. when Gisela came to the screen door behind us. “Come inside! Hurry! Lucky is having her puppies!”

We stood and followed her into the kitchen, where Jimmy had made a bed for Lucky in a cardboard box. Mrs. Barnett and I had our arms around each other as we watched the miracle of birth in silence. I saw it often as Mr. Barnett’s assistant but I never grew tired of seeing a new life emerge. I watched Jimmy’s face as he crouched beside his dog, waiting for the first little wet puppy. He had tears in his eyes and a faint smile on his face. I thought of Chaplain Bill’s words. Death never had the last word—life would always triumph.





28


Gisela





SEPTEMBER 1946

Jim’s mother hummed softly as we washed the dishes together after breakfast. She always seemed so cheerful, and I loved working alongside her. For the moment, we were alone. Peggy had left to work in the clinic with Jim’s father, and Jim was taking Lucky for a short walk outside. Two weeks had passed since I had come from New York City with Peggy to help Jim. Two weeks since I had mailed the letter to the commander of the Jewish Brigade in Palestine, asking for more information about Sam’s disappearance. And two weeks since Jim had come home from the hospital. I could already see his spirits lifting a bit, as if every morning he was choosing to live. Peggy had wisely enlisted the help of his Army friends in his recovery, and Jim had enjoyed spending time with his former chaplain and with his friend Frank on Labor Day. Now his devotion to Lucky and her two pups was giving him a purpose.

The kitchen door squealed open and Jim came inside, cradling Lucky and carrying a small, yellow envelope. “Western Union just delivered this telegram. It’s for you, Gisela.”

I took the envelope from him, my heart pounding with dread and hope. I was afraid to open it. Jimmy settled Lucky in her box with her mewling puppies and came to stand beside me.

“Do you want me to read it first?” he asked.

“Would you?”

He took it from me and opened the flap. I watched his face for clues while he read it. “I think it’s good news,” he finally said, looking up at me. “It’s from Sam’s former Army commander in Palestine.” He handed it back to me.

Captain Aaron Cohen can answer questions about Samuel Shapiro. Jewish Benevolent Association, E. 69th St., NY, NY

We telephoned the Benevolent Association right away and learned that Captain Cohen was visiting from Palestine. We made an appointment to see him, my heart swirling with a mixture of emotions. He might be able to give me a clearer picture of what had happened to Sam. He might have been one of the last people to see him alive. But was I ready to learn the truth?

Jim insisted on coming with me to my appointment. It seemed like a good sign that he was interested in making the trip to New York City with me. We walked through a dreary, misty rain to the address on Sixty-Ninth Street, and my knees felt shaky as I went up the steps and rang the doorbell.

Captain Cohen himself welcomed us inside. “Shalom! I am Aaron Cohen. So nice to meet you. Please, come this way.” He had the same, slightly nasal accent as the Jews from Palestine who had come to the DP camp to talk about Zionism. I was surprised that he was so young, probably no more than thirty. He led us to a small reception room, and a young woman brought a tray with tea. I was too nervous to drink it.

“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Captain,” I said as I sat down beside Jim on the love seat.

“Yes, of course. How can I help?”

“I received this telegram from your brigade commander,” I said, passing it to him. “I understand you served with Sam Shapiro in the Jewish Brigade.”

“Yes. And you are . . . a relative? A girlfriend?”

“I’m his fiancée. Sam and I met on board the St. Louis and fell in love. We would have been married if not for the war. The last time I saw him was in 1942 in Belgium. He was working for the underground, and he got false IDs for my sister and me so we could go into hiding. My friend Jim traced him after that,” I said, gesturing to him. “He learned that Sam had escaped to England and joined your Jewish Brigade. Any information you can give me on how he became missing in action would—”

“Has no one told you?”

“Told me what? I don’t know anything—”

“Sam is alive!”

I stopped breathing. I wanted to believe his words but I didn’t dare. My entire body began to tremble. “He—he’s alive?”

“Yes! I’m sorry for not telling you right away, but I thought you knew.”

“Oh, thank God! Thank God!” I cried. Jim held me tightly, letting me sob against his shoulder. No one spoke for a long moment, as if giving me space to weep and rejoice and bring Sam back to life in my heart. “You’re certain he’s alive?” I finally asked as I let go of Jim and dried my eyes on his handkerchief. “H-how do you know?”

“The refugee ship he was piloting was intercepted by the British Navy, and everyone on board was taken to Cyprus. That’s where he is, Miss Wolff—in a detention camp on Cyprus.”

I pressed the handkerchief against my eyes and wept some more. His words were finally sinking in. Sam, my beloved Sam, was alive!

“Please, take a drink of tea, Miss Wolff, and allow me to tell you the whole story.” He handed me one of the cups. It rattled against the saucer as I took it from him and lifted it to my lips. I felt it go all the way down, calming my stomach, settling me.