Long Way Home(92)

I watched him go, then took a deep breath and rang the bell. I could hear scurrying inside, and a minute later, the front door opened. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The young woman before me looked exactly like Mutti in the old photographs of her as a young woman—slender and delicate, with raven-dark hair. It was like seeing Mutti’s ghost, except that Ruthie had Vati’s dark, mournful eyes. She was wearing the pearl necklace from our great-grandmother that I had given her.

“Ruthie,” I breathed. “Ruthie, it’s me—Gisela.”

“Gisela?” She swayed a bit and had to lean against the doorframe. “Is it really you?” She looked as though she wanted to hug me but was afraid. I stepped forward and pulled her into my arms. I never wanted to let her go. My sister! My beloved sister was alive and warm and real!

“Yes! Yes, it’s really me,” I told her. “And now we’re together again at last!” Two small children had come to the door with Ruthie, and I heard the excitement in Ruthie’s voice as she told them in Flemish that I was her sister. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“But why are we standing on the doorstep?” she said, flustered. “Come inside and I’ll fix tea and we can talk.” She shooed away the children, telling them to be good and go to their mother. Then she led me down a long hallway to the kitchen in the rear. I noticed a crucifix on the wall and a small statue of the Virgin Mary in an alcove.

“What happened to you, Gisela? Are you all right?” she asked as she filled a kettle with water.

“I’ve been a prisoner in the same camp as Vati.”

She froze. “Buchenwald?”

“Yes. But I’m all right now.” We didn’t talk as Ruthie finished making the tea. I dreaded telling her about Vati and Mutti.

It was only after the tea was poured and she was seated at the table across from me that she asked, “Have you found Vati and Mutti?” My eyes filled with tears, giving her my answer before I spoke. “Oh no. No,” she murmured.

I reached for her hand. “They died together, Ruthie. In our apartment. Before the Nazis had a chance to come for them.”

“Vati was already dying when I left,” she said. “He knew the truth, and he told me that he wasn’t afraid.”

“Mutti wouldn’t leave him. They stayed together. I watched hundreds of people die in Buchenwald and on the trains that took us there. They all died horrible deaths, Ruthie. In some of the camps, like Auschwitz, the men and women were separated as soon as they arrived and either killed in gas chambers right away or worked to death as slaves. It was merciful that Mutti and Vati were never taken. And that they died together.” We held hands as our tears fell.

“What about Sam and his family?” she asked.

“I haven’t been able to find him yet. A friend came to Antwerp with me to help me find you and search for him.” I was almost afraid to ask Ruthie my next question but I summoned my courage. “How has it been for you here? Do they treat you well? Have you been happy?”

“I am very fond of the Peeters family and they of me. We’ve had food shortages, of course, and not enough fuel last winter. But they’re good people and they’ve been good to me. They say I’m like a daughter to them.”

“Do they know that you’re Jewish?”

“Mrs. Peeters guessed, so I told her the truth. When the newspapers started showing pictures of the concentration camps and saying what happened there, she said I would always be welcome to live here if I learned that my family was gone. It’s been months since Belgium was liberated, and when I didn’t hear from you or anyone else, I thought that everyone was dead and I was all alone.” She pulled out a linen handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

“I’m glad you’ve been happy here,” I said. I wondered if it would be hard for Ruthie to tear herself away from them since they’d become her new family.

“What are you going to do now, Gisela?”

The vastness of my unknown future left me hollow inside, especially if I had to face it without Sam. “I’m not sure. The war may be over but everything is still in chaos. I need to find Sam so we can decide what to do together. I’ve contacted the Jewish Joint Committee in Havana to try to find Uncle Aaron. If he’s still in Cuba, maybe we can go live with him.”

“Is that what you want to do? Move to Cuba? It was so hot there. And they didn’t want us. Remember?”

“I don’t know what else we can do. I saw Mutti’s family and Oma’s name on a list of casualties from Auschwitz.” I gave her a moment to digest the news. “I only know that I want to be with you and Sam. The rest is still . . .” I lifted my hands and let them drop again.

“Where are you living now?”

“Nowhere. I was a patient in the American hospital in Buchenwald at first; then they let me work there until I was strong enough to come and search for you. If you come back with me, we’ll probably need to live in a displaced persons camp until I hear from Sam or Uncle Aaron. It won’t be much of a life, and we’ll be starting all over again, but at least we’ll be together.”

Ruthie hesitated as if she was trying to imagine herself there. “Would it be all right—I mean, may I stay here until you find Sam?” she asked. “I know Mrs. Peeters will let me stay and work for her.” It had been five years since I’d left home to board at the nursing school, five years since Ruthie and I had lived together as sisters. We were almost strangers after so much time and separation. She had a home here and a life of her own. I had nothing.