I’m exhausted by my own mind. That might be the most exhausting thing. My own mind, thinking a farmwife is my grandmother, and not letting me know what I should believe. If I could stop being at war with my own mind. Tame the monster. Stop my dreams.
IN THE MORNING, HANNELORE HAS WOKEN BEFORE ME. Everyone must have. I hear noises in the kitchen downstairs and smell porridge. Peeking out the warped-glass window, I see two figures, Josef and Mr. Wölflin, mending a fence; the sun is far above the horizon.
Hurriedly, I stuff my feet into my shoes, kicked under the bed last night, and rush downstairs. Frau Wölflin is clearing the plates from everyone else’s breakfast; her long braid from last night now neatly pinned in a crown around her head.
“I don’t know how I slept so long,” I apologize, reaching for the stack piled on the rough-hewn wooden table. “I know Josef promised we’d help with chores.”
Frau Wölflin waves my hand away, nodding toward a bowl in the middle of the table, resting on a rag place mat. “I saved you a few boiled eggs. When you finish eating, grab an apron and go outside to help with the washing? Hannelore has been excited for you to come down.”
As if on cue, the door swings open, and Hannelore walks in, her own hair braided to match her mother’s, a smattering of freckles across her nose. “Are you finally awake?” she asks accusatorily. “I had to take my clothes and dress in the kitchen so I didn’t wake you up.”
“I’m so sorry.” I try to keep a straight face while apologizing for this crime, but her tiny voice is so indignant it’s hard to keep from laughing.
“It’s all right. You’re up now,” she acquiesces. “I’m allowed to show you how the spigot works outside, and if there’s time later before you have to leave, I’m allowed to show you my dolls.”
“You have quite the plan for visitors.”
“We get a lot of them,” she sighs. “For a long time, we didn’t get any, but now we always have them.”
“Why didn’t you get any visitors before?”
It’s Frau Wölflin who answers, walking over to stroke her daughter’s hair. “During the war,” she explains. “We tried not to have visitors during the war.”
I sense there’s meaning in that sentence, but I’m not sure what. What were they afraid of during the war? Looters, or Jews looking for protection. It had to be one of the two.
“Are you coming?” Hannelore’s tiny hands are on her hips.
I can see she plans to monitor my whole breakfast, so I decide to abandon it, finding an apron in the cupboard Frau Wölflin pointed me to and tucking the boiled eggs into the pocket.
Outside in the light, the Wölflins’ land is scraggly and wild-looking. A vegetable garden out front needs weeding; a shutter needs to be repaired. It’s no wonder they’re happy to have boarders; this property is too much for an older couple.
Hannelore shows me how we’ll fill a wash pan with water from the outdoor spigot. How one pan will be for dishes and the other for clothes, and how we’ll save the leftover water for watering the garden later.
“Your friend Josef said you’re from a city,” she explains. “I didn’t know if you’d know how to use a water pump outdoors.”
“I am from a city, originally,” I tell her. “But for a long time I lived… somewhere else. We only had an outdoor pump there. Sometimes we didn’t even have that.”
“Did the water in the pump freeze over? That happens here in the winter.”
“Something like that. Are you going to school today?” I ask, changing the subject.
“I learn at home. Stiefmutter didn’t like me to be out by myself while soldiers were around. Maybe I’ll get to go now.” Stiefmutter—stepmother. That would explain how Frau Wölflin can look so old but have a child as young as Hannelore.
“That will be nice. I liked school when I was your age.”
The kitchen door swings open, and Frau Wölflin comes out, heading to the edge of the property where Josef helps Herr Wölflin repair the fence. As I watch, Josef heaves his shoulder against a rotted post, leaning into the wood, digging his feet into the ground. The front of his shirt—his grayed, faintly bloodstained shirt with a still-ripped pocket—is now damp with perspiration; his dark curls stick to his forehead.
I should apologize for being short with him last night. I should also stop looking at him now. I can’t bring myself to do either.
Frau Wölflin finishes checking on the fence progress and comes over to Hannelore and me, dropping an absentminded kiss on the top of Hannelore’s head. “Take him water soon,” she instructs, nodding back toward her husband. “He’s not as young as he thinks he is.”
This is a family. It’s not what my family looked like. But it’s a family nonetheless; no wonder I wanted to call Frau Wölflin Baba Rose. I realize, watching her worry over her family, that I’ll never again have someone worrying over me. Even if I find Abek, I’ll always be the one doing the looking after.
I look down, trying to focus on cleaning the plates in front of me. When we finish the washing, and after we wipe the dishes dry and pin the dresses on a clothesline, Hannelore grabs my hand.
“They’re still doing the fence; there’s enough time!” she exclaims. “I can still show you my dolls, and we can draw pictures.”
Across the yard, Josef sees us heading back toward the house. He raises his eyebrows, asking if I’m okay, and I wave that I am. But then he points to his wrist, as if he were wearing a wristwatch, though he isn’t, to say we shouldn’t stay much longer. Everyone at Foehrenwald is waiting for supplies.
Back upstairs, in the bedroom with sawdust floors and wooden beams across the ceiling, I sit where Hannelore directs me and obediently take the doll she hands me. The scene she wants to enact is a schoolhouse, her playing teacher to the dolls’ students. Some of the details she makes up are funny, but she gets a lot of it right. Frau Wölflin must have been trying to prepare her for school.
After she’s made all the students sing a song and take an exam, and I’ve run a pretend spelling bee, Hannelore says it’s time to put the dolls away and asks if I’d like to draw pictures.
“I don’t think I have time,” I tell her regretfully. “My friend said we needed to leave soon. But thank you for spending the morning with me.”
She purses her lips. “I can still give you a picture. I drew one of you while you were sleeping.”
I smile. “You little spy!”
“I wasn’t drawing it while I was watching you. I drew it while we were eating breakfast. I couldn’t get your face right because it was hidden by the pillow, but Josef said it’s okay.”
“Well, I would love to see it.”
She fetches the sheet of paper from the top of her bureau and hands it to me, picking up a doll to change its clothes while I admire the drawing. It’s a group of people, standing in front of what I recognize is the farmhouse we’re staying in.
“It’s a lovely picture. Tell me about it. This is you?” I point to the smallest figure. “And this is me and Josef, and these two on the other side must be your parents.”