The Sister motioned to the door behind her.
“I think she is in the kitchen preparing lunch.”
I ran through the door, almost colliding with a nun coming the other way. With tears in my eyes, I asked her for directions to the kitchen. Truda and Mateusz followed closely behind.
Sara was sitting at the kitchen table, chopping vegetables with a young nun. When I burst through the door, she looked up, startled, and then she dropped the knife and leaped to her feet with an exclamation of joy.
“You’re alive!” she gasped, and then her gaze landed on Truda and Mateusz behind me. “You’re all alive, my God!”
I threw myself into her arms, then I began to weep across her chest. She embraced me, murmuring reassurances into my hair, immediately offering me comfort. Those around her shifted away so that Sara could take her seat on the bench again and pull me across her lap like an infant. I was crying so hard I couldn’t even hear the conversation between her and Truda and Mateusz. War had forced me to become an adult far too soon, but back in Sara’s arms, I was a child. Grief and pain and fear poured out of me, a torrent of tears that I was powerless to stop.
“Let it out, Emilia,” she whispered, rubbing my back. “That’s it, sweetheart. You just let it all out. Everything is going to be fine.”
The busy kitchen gradually emptied, until only Mateusz and Truda and Sara and I were left behind. Truda busied herself making us all cups of coffee, and Mateusz handed me his handkerchief.
“Our clever girl found your jar in the courtyard last night,” he told Sara.
She looked at me in surprise, then she asked hesitantly, “Is it...”
“It is intact!” I told her. “Under the apple tree.”
“Yes!” She beamed. She clasped her hands against her chest and exhaled with visible relief. “When I first came back to Warsaw I went past the apartment building, but I couldn’t get the courtyard door open.”
“The lock was damaged,” I told her. “Mr. Wójcik had to help me unstick it.”
“What did you do with the jar?” Sara asked me.
“I buried it. A little deeper because it was exposed. And I have covered it with rubble. It’s safe there unless you want me to bring it here.”
“Thank you, Emilia.” She smiled sadly. “I’ll need to speak to some people—to try to figure out who in the Jewish community has survived...who can help us sort through those records. I’m not sure how many families can be restored, but the process will not be easy—the sooner we start, the better.”
* * *
The four of us ate lunch in the dining hall, catching up on the months that had passed since the Uprising. Sara told us that at the transit camp in Pruszków, she was told she’d be sent to a concentration camp.
“So they loaded me onto the train, and I thought I haven’t come this far to die in a godforsaken camp. Some of the women in my carriage figured out how to get the door open, and in the middle of the night, we waited for the train to slow for a corner and then jumped off it.”
“Where did you land?” I asked her, eyes wide.
“In a puddle, Emilia,” she chuckled. “I hid in the woods for a while, then I was lucky enough to find a farmer and his wife who let me stay with them in exchange for some labor on their farm. I’ve only been back in Warsaw a few weeks.”
When we finished eating, Truda asked me to take the empty plates back to the kitchen, and when I returned, Sara stood, her expression grave.
“Come on, my friend,” she said quietly. “Let’s take a walk to my room.”
I knew instantly that Truda and Mateusz had told her about the attack in Lodz. I glared at them, and they avoided my gaze.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Let’s just stay here and enjoy being together again. We don’t need to talk about anything in private.”
Undeterred, Sara gently slid her arm through mine. I sighed impatiently and let her lead me from the dining hall.
* * *
“Truda thought you might want to talk with me,” Sara said quietly, as she sat upon her bed. I stood stubbornly at the door as she patted the space beside her.
“I don’t need to talk about it,” I said, looking away. “But thank you.”
“Emilia, they are very worried about you.”
“I’m starting to feel better,” I said truthfully. “Today has been the best day I can remember for a long time.”
“It’s been a good day for me, too. I’m so happy to see you again,” Sara said and smiled, but then her smile faded, and she cleared her throat. “There’s something else, Emilia. How do you feel? Physically?”
“I’m better,” I said quickly. “I really don’t—”
“Sweetheart,” Sara said softly. I looked at her, then looked away. “Truda is concerned that you may be pregnant.”
My gaze flew back to hers.
“What? No! Why would she—”
But I realized then that I hadn’t had my courses since the attack. I sank onto the bed. Suddenly, Truda’s insistence that we return to Warsaw made a lot more sense. Truda, with her near phobia about frank discussions of human biology, would not have been comfortable broaching this possibility with me, let alone figuring out what to do about such a scenario.
“I can’t,” I blurted, shaking my head in fear. “I can’t be...”
I couldn’t even bring myself to say the word. Surely I would have known if...
“Can I examine you?” Sara asked gently. “It was three months ago, yes? Late March?” I nodded stiffly. She had me lie on the mattress, and she pressed her fingers on my abdomen. After a moment, her hand stilled on my belly. “Do you remember when we talked about my nursing textbook? Do you remember when I told you that we can measure the fundal height of the uterus to determine the gestation of a pregnancy?”
“Please, no,” I whispered. My lips felt numb. Sara touched a spot on my lower stomach.
“I can feel the top of your uterus here. That means that most likely you are around twelve weeks pregnant.”
“I want it out of me,” I said, sitting up and pushing her hands away. I was shaking, trembling in a way that I hadn’t since the day of the attack. I wanted to tear my stomach open with my fingernails. I felt as violated as I had lying on the cobblestones that day.
“Sweetheart, there is nothing I can do. You will have to do—”
“You have to find someone that can help me,” I pleaded. “There has to be someone in the city who can... There has to be some way to stop it. I can’t—You can’t—”