“N-n-no, I’m fine,” she says.
She is. She organized all of her clothes into her bureau, and she’s removing a short pile of school attire, placing the pile down on her lap. Even her washroom basket is ready. She pulls that down next, then takes off for the washroom, not needing any help. I’m not sure if she ever did because I don’t even know how long it took her to recover. I only know Miss Blum saved her by hiding her in the hospital’s basement for a month. Last night should have been about Nora rather than Dale. My actions don’t match what I feel inside and I’m out of control without a clue how to fix myself.
I grab my bracelet from the nightstand and fall back down on my bed. Before we went to bed the first night Nora arrived, she pulled this red and blue knotted bracelet out and handed it to me. She told me she has the matching one. I stared at it then the same way I am now, wondering how she knew she would eventually find me. When I asked her about them, she told me she didn’t know if she would ever see me again or if I was alive, but she received them as a gift, one wrapped in hope—hope that we would find each other. She hasn’t said from who, or at least she didn’t want to when I asked. She just said it was a long story. Maybe Helena had something to do with the matching sister bracelets. I love it. When I get to the washroom, I slip it back on my wrist.
I don’t pass Nora in the hallway or see her in the washroom. I hope Vallentine didn’t get a hold of her again.
On the way back, I peek into the empty toilet room, then down the adjoining hallways, finding them empty as well, except for a few others walking, but not Nora.
She’s not in our room either, and her knapsack is gone. Maybe she’s avoiding me after last night, but she was fine when we woke up. At least I thought she was okay. I doubt she’d want to head off to the schoolhouse alone on the first day. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. All the kids stare until they think they’ve come up with a conclusion of our life story.
She moved my psychology book off her nightstand and back to the bookshelf, and the letter that was lying on top of it is gone too. I told her I would help her mail it. Of course, I was going to ask Dale to take it to the post office because it would get to where it needs to much faster, but that might not be an option now that I’ve ruined his life too.
I take my knapsack from the floor by the end of my bed and head into the hallway, praying I avoid all the staff who were likely talking about me last night.
Miss Blum’s door is closed, and I wonder if she’s come in for the day yet. Maybe Vallentine is in there with her, meeting about me. It’s like the hallways here have eyes and every single one of them is staring at me just like they were in that monstrous laboratory room in Auschwitz.
“Arina Tabor,” I hear faintly as I mistakenly walk into the front door. I shake my head to push away the thoughts of pinned eyeballs and spin around. “Did you not hear me call your name three times? Where is your head this morning?” I should have figured Vallentine was just waiting for me to step out this morning so she could set me up for another verbal thrashing.
“I’m tired because I didn’t sleep well.”
“I’m sure your friend, Dale, didn’t either,” she says pointedly. “Anyhow, I want to see you in my office promptly after school today.”
“Why?” I question.
“Why ask why? That’s for me to know and you to find out after school.”
I struggle to avoid rolling my eyes at her, and instead grind my teeth.
I shrug before turning away and pushing my way out the front door into the cold fog.
“W-w-we’re going ’o be la’e.” I peer to the right, finding Nora waiting with her knapsack on her lap and cold puffs of air billowing from her lips.
“We won’t be late. I know a shortcut. Besides, I thought you’d already left without me.”
“I w-w-wa’ed fre’h air,” she says. Some of her words are difficult to understand and I’m still adjusting, but I know how sensitive she is when I don’t understand what she’s trying to say. She was like this with a simple stutter, never mind her current condition.
“Fresh air?” I reply. “It’s frozen air.”
Nora snickers and I think it’s the first time I’ve seen a hint of a smile since she arrived at the orphanage.
Just as I reach for the back of her chair, she pushes away from the brick edifice, making it known she doesn’t need my help to move along. As she grips the metal bearings along the wheels, her bracelet dangles out from beneath the hem of her coat sleeve. I didn’t notice hers differed slightly from mine. “What is that on your bracelet?”
She tugs her coat sleeve down and shakes her head. “It’ n-n-no’hing.”
TWENTY-FOUR
NORA
CHICAGO, UNITED STATES, JANUARY 1947
I’m angry—furious really, but what good would it do to express my feelings to Arina when she seems so lost in her own head? The sight of a tall, rusty blue mailbox with the word “letters” scrolled across the top distracts me from my frustration. I speed up, passing Arina, and when the slight decline on the curb offers me a momentary break from pushing the wheels of my chair, I reach into my pocket and retrieve the envelope. I pray this makes it to Elek.
“There’s a post office a block away from the school if you’d rather bring it there,” Arina says.
Rather than respond, I slow my wheels in front of the metal box and pull down the lever to open the mail slot. I drop the envelope inside, hearing a soft smack as it hits the bottom. It must be the first letter in the box today. “I f-f-feel be’er now,” I say.
“I’m glad,” Arina says. “You have said so little about Elek, but you mentioned he was also a twin. Did he find him or her?”
She must not have understood me when I said his brother didn’t make it out. “He died,” I say.
“He died—because of Mengele?” she presses.
“Ye’.”
“What about his parents? I know he was in an orphanage, but did he receive confirmation of their status?”
“Ye’, al’o gone,” I say, recalling the day Elek received the Red Cross letter.
“How did he find out? I’ve written to the Red Cross more times than I can count, trying to gain information on Mama and Papa, but I haven’t received a response.”
“He g-g-go’ a memo from—Red Cr-Cr Cro’.”
I hear a knot forming in her throat. She doesn’t know that I’ve written as well and didn’t receive a response. “I can’t think of anything worse than losing the last bit of hope we have,” Arina says.
“Arina,” someone says from behind us—a deep male voice I’m unfamiliar with. I twist to look over my shoulder, finding a broad-shouldered young man in tan slacks and a black wool coat with a matching scarf and newsboy cap. His cheeks are red from the wind and his eyes are glossy, peering out from beneath the rim of his cap. He’s quite handsome, very dapper.
“Dale,” she replies, sounding surprised. Maybe she doubted he would come looking for her after last night. I know little about him other than all the trouble caused.