Kommandant's Girl. Pam Jenoff

they were related. “So you see, I understand what you are feeling being away from Jacob. We have to be patient.” I nodded. “Okay, hurry home now. I promise to let you know if I hear anything more about him.”

      If, I thought. Not when. “Thank you, Alek.” I reached up and kissed him awkwardly on the cheek, then turned and walked quickly from the alley. On the way home, I puzzled over all I had learned. Jacob was traveling somewhere, getting weapons for the resistance. I shuddered. It sounded terribly dangerous. But at least he is alive, or was when he sent the note to me. My thoughts shifted to Alek. He, too, was separated from the person that he loved. And he was the head of the resistance, yet his own parents had given up, refused to fight. I considered my own parents, who kept going day after day. Suddenly, their simple acts of getting up each morning, of putting one foot in front of the other, seemed remarkably courageous. They did it, I knew, for me. As I reached the safety of our apartment, a wave of gratitude washed over me, and I had to fight the urge to go over to their mattress and hug them as they slept.

      I undressed and lay awake in bed, thinking of Jacob and the note. Alek had been unwilling to tell me where he was, but I had seen the piece of envelope on which it was written. The postmark was from Warsaw. It didn’t mean that he was there, but maybe … I shivered. The one place that was more dangerous than Kraków. And his message: help is coming. The words echoed in my head until my eyes grew heavy and I fell into a deep sleep.

      That night I dreamed I was with Jacob in the mountains. It was bitterly cold and we were being chased by wolves through deep snow. My feet had gone numb. The harder I ran, the slower I moved, until at last I was several hundred meters behind but he did not notice. “Jacob!” I cried, but he was too far ahead to hear me. One of the wolves leapt at me and I fell, screaming.

      I awoke with a start. A floorboard creaked. It was just a dream, I told myself, drawing the blankets closer. But I could not fall back to sleep. On the other side of the curtain, my mother snored. The floor creaked again, louder this time. A shadow appeared suddenly by my bed. I sat up, but before I could react, a hand clamped over my mouth.

      “Quiet!” a strange voice whispered. “I’m not here to hurt you.” Panicked, I struggled to break free, but the stranger’s grip was too strong. “Stop it! Alek sent me.” I could make out the stranger’s face faintly in the darkness. He was the man who had been arguing with Alek and Marek in the back room after dinner. “Emmeth,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Emmeth.” I relaxed slightly as the stranger repeated my and Jacob’s code word. I realized then that it was Jacob, most likely through Alek, who had sent this stranger to me.

      “Who …?” I started to ask as he released his hand from my mouth.

      “Shh! There’s no time. Get dressed.” I leapt up. Maybe Alek had at last found a way for me to help, I thought as I hurriedly put on my work dress over my nightgown. Perhaps Jacob needed me. I climbed into my boots and coat, and followed the stranger toward the door of our apartment. A few feet before the door, I paused by the curtain that separated my parents’ bed from mine. I drew back the curtain. My parents were sleeping soundly, my father’s large arm wrapped protectively around my mother.

      “Come,” the stranger whispered harshly, tugging at my arm. I let the curtain drop and followed him from the apartment. The stairway was dark, and each step creaked beneath our feet. At last, we reached the ground and stepped out the back door of the apartment building.

      Taking my hand, the stranger led me through the back alleyways of the ghetto. The streets, slick with frozen moisture, were empty except for several large rats scurrying between the gutters. A few minutes later, we reached a corner of the ghetto I had never before seen. There, a crack no more than twelve inches wide separated two sections of the outer wall. Looking furtively from side to side, the stranger pushed me ahead of him, and I realized he meant for me to fit through the hole. I sucked in my breath and held it, forcing myself into the hole. Halfway through, I could go no farther. “I’m stuck,” I whispered, panicking. The Nazis would surely find me here, trapped. I felt the stranger’s arms on me, pushing me hard from behind. The rough stone edges scraped my skin and threatened to tear my clothes. Finally, I broke free and found myself standing on the other side of the wall. Grunting, the stranger then squeezed through behind me.

      Grabbing my arm, the stranger pulled me into an alleyway, then peered out onto the street in both directions. “Come,” he mouthed silently, tilting his head to the right. He began to walk with small, swift steps, hugging the side of the building, remaining in the shadows. I obeyed, following as quickly and quietly as I could. At that moment, shocked and confused, I did not realize I had just escaped from the ghetto.

      CHAPTER 5

      Without speaking, the stranger led me through the empty back streets of Podgorze. I struggled to keep up and to mimic his swift, silent footsteps. My mind switched continuously between bewilderment, a sense of wonder of being outside and terror that we would be caught at any moment. Even our smoky breath threatened to betray us in the cold night air. Finally, the houses thinned and gave way to industrial warehouses. The paved road became dirt, then a crooked, snow-covered path leading into the forest.

      Only when we had been enveloped by the trees did the stranger speak. “I’m a friend of Alek’s.” He paused. “And Jacob’s.” He did not slow or turn to face me. “They sent me to take you away.”

      “To Jacob?” My voice rose with excitement.

      “Shh!” The stranger stopped and looked around. “Not to him. I’m sorry,” he said, seeing my face fall. “He wanted to come himself but it would not be safe.”

      Not safe. Nothing was safe. “Then where?”

      “No more questions. Trust me. Emmeth,” he repeated, as though his knowledge of my and Jacob’s secret word would magically invoke obedience within me. “I am sorry that we have to walk so far. To do otherwise would attract too much attention.”

      “It feels good to be out walking,” I said, though in truth my toes were a bit numb. Then I froze in my tracks. “I’m not coming back, am I?”

      “No.”

      My heart sank. “But my parents …”

      “I will make sure word gets to them that you are safe. But it is better for them if they know little.”

      I pictured my parents as I had last seen them, sleeping peacefully. Then I imagined them waking up and finding me gone. I had not had the chance to say goodbye. I opened my mouth to say that I would not leave them, but the stranger had already begun walking once more and I had no choice but to follow him or be left behind. It was nearly dawn, I realized, as fine cracks of light began to appear in the eggshell night sky. Looking around at the seemingly unfamiliar route, I recognized then a small wooden church in a clearing. We were in Las Wolski, the forest to the west of the city. I knew then where I was going. “Pani Smok …?” I recalled that Jacob’s aunt, Krysia Smok, lived on the far side of Las Wolski. The stranger, still moving, nodded. “But won’t I put her in danger?”

      “There are papers. You will not be the same person.” My mind raced, overwhelmed by the flood of events and information, but there was little time to wonder. The stranger moved swiftly, and I fought to keep up and not trip on the stones and tree roots that littered our path.

      As we cut through the forest, I pictured Jacob’s aunt. I had first met Krysia at a dinner at the Baus’ apartment a few weeks before Jacob and I were married. I remember dressing for the occasion as though I was to be introduced to royalty. Krysia was legendary in Kraków, both as the wife of the cellist, Marcin Smok, and as a social figure in her own right. But when we were introduced, Krysia proved to be as unpredictable as she was regal, skipping the traditional three airy kisses on the cheek and drawing me into a firm embrace. “I can see why you love her so,” she exclaimed to a blushing Jacob.

      Krysia’s warm reception of me seemed ironic when I considered that she was not even a Jew, but a devout Catholic. Her marriage to Mrs. Bau’s brother, Marcin, had been an enormous source of controversy and scandal—interfaith marriage