“I’m scared,” said Truda.
“Me, too,” I said.
“We have made it this far,” Mateusz said. “Against the odds, despite everything we have been through. We are still alive, and we are still together. The world is watching the Soviets. Maybe they will allow the government-in-exile to return so that we can rebuild.”
“If that were their plan, they would never have sat on the banks of the Vistula and watched the Uprising fail,” Truda said, wiping at her eyes. She raised her chin, then drew in a deep breath through her nose. “But you are right. We have a lot to be thankful for, and sulking will do us no good. It certainly won’t tell us what to do next.”
“We need to go back to Warsaw,” I said.
“We have shelter here. We have some resources here.”
“We need to find Sara and Roman. They’ll be looking for us, and I know they’ll both go back to Warsaw.”
“Emilia,” Truda chided, raising her eyes to heaven, “you will be the death of us. I hope you realize this.”
“I hate that you think that,” I muttered, shooting her a glare.
“What Truda means is that sometimes it’s okay to wait and see how situations unfold,” Mateusz said softly. “Let’s say you convinced us, and we left Lodz today to return to Warsaw. Let’s assume we could somehow find some transport. We would be on the road riding against the incoming Soviet troops. We would return to a city that by all accounts has been destroyed. And what for? So that we can struggle to find shelter? Food? Water? Right now we have a roof over our heads, food, water, a sewer that works, and coming into spring it’s going to be more and more comfortable here.”
“But our friends—” I started to protest.
Truda interrupted me. “If they have beaten the odds and survived the last four months, then they will survive another few weeks while we wait to see how this unfolds.”
“If I were the one lost—”
“If you were the one lost, things would be different. But you are safe here with us, and we are safe here together. I’m sorry, Emilia, but Truda is right. Now is not the time to move—we should stay here and wait to see what happens.”
Much to my frustration, that’s exactly what we did. We remained in the empty shell of Uncle Piotr’s warehouse, waiting for news, each day seemingly stretching longer than the last, my parents waiting for some impossible sign that a return to Warsaw was safe. It seemed obvious that Warsaw probably was not safe. That didn’t mean we should stay away forever. Lodz was probably unsafe, too, now that Red Army soldiers could be seen on just about every block.
Soon enough, we heard stories about Soviet soldiers helping themselves to Polish property just as the Germans had done, and then came stories about beatings and imprisonments. One day, Truda returned from a trip to the market, visibly shaken.
“I won’t go alone again,” she announced fiercely, then she turned her gaze on me. “And, Emilia, you aren’t to go anywhere alone, either, do you hear me? Don’t you ever leave those doors again unless Mateusz is with you.”
“What has you so shaken, my love?” Mateusz frowned. “Did something happen?”
“The woman who sold me the eggs...she told me not to wander alone. She said that in one household just a few blocks from here, three generations have been attacked since the Soviets came in January,” Truda blurted, cheeks flushing.
“Attacked? More beatings?” I said, confused as to why she was so distressed by this, given we had been hearing such stories for weeks by then.
“No...not beatings,” she said impatiently, then she muttered, “Attacks on women, Emilia. She said there is a village to the east where every woman was...” She paused, struggling to find a word, then finally sighed and said helplessly, “...violated. Even the elderly, even the young. These soldiers are different to the Germans. There are new dangers in these streets now for us women.”
“We will be more careful,” Mateusz said immediately. “Whenever we need to take a trip to the market, I’ll be sure to come with you.”
“Or is it even more reason to go back to Warsaw, given Lodz is probably no safer than our home?” I suggested.
“Not yet, Emilia.” Truda sighed, shooting me a fierce look.
“Just a little longer,” Mateusz assured me.
I would have to wait, but that didn’t mean I had to wait patiently.
* * *
Sometimes, it felt like the walls of that little makeshift home were closing in on me, and on those days, Mateusz would invite me to walk to the market with him to pick up food. He seemed to use those walks to distract me when Truda and I were bickering. My seventeenth birthday was a day like that. I had wondered if they would surprise me on my birthday with news that we were returning to Warsaw, and when they didn’t, I was disappointed and frustrated.
“It’s been two months!” I had exclaimed. “How much longer will we wait?”
“You’re seventeen years old now,” Truda had snapped. “It’s time for you to stop acting like a child. We are doing the best we—”
“Let’s go to the market,” Mateusz had interrupted. Truda fell silent. I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned at him, and he gave me a hopeful smile. “Come on, Emilia. Get your things. Let’s get you some fresh fruit for your birthday lunch.”
“You just need to be patient,” he said, as we walked toward the market. A breeze was blowing, but it wasn’t icy, and I was grateful that spring was coming. Spring meant better produce at the market and the return of sleep that wasn’t disrupted by frozen limbs. We’d made do in the factory over the winter but had been far from comfortable in the coldest weather. “I know that for all of your strengths and talents, patience is not high on the list.”
“Neither is holding my tongue,” I muttered.
“I am well aware of that,” he chuckled. “And the funny thing is Truda has the exact same problem. Have you noticed?”
I sighed. “Yes. I know.”
“Can you give her a little grace, Emilia? I want you to think about her situation. You can be so selfless sometimes—rushing into danger if there is a chance you might help someone, and this is half the reason I have so many gray hairs. But the reason for the rest of my gray hairs is Truda. The last few years have been so hard on her. She is courageous and strong, but beneath it all, she is heartbroken, too. You and I are all she has left, and yet you constantly argue that we should gamble with your life, forgetting that asking her to do so means gambling with the most precious thing in hers.”
I had been excited to go to the market, for the chance of fresh air and perhaps a conversation with someone new, but I was so chastened by this comment that I fell quiet as we walked the stalls. Mateusz gleefully showed me the first of the new-season apples, but I could summon only the weakest smile, despite having not eaten fruit for months over the winter. He began to haggle with the stall owner over the price, and I browsed the produce nearby, thinking about Truda.