When the Heart Sings Read online

  “And I doubt the ethnic Germans would accept us. In the end, we would lose all we’ve worked for anyway. Not even for Natia could I sign that paper. We must be willing to suffer to remain loyal to Poland.”

  Filip stared at the brown earth for a long while and then sighed. “I’ll send Helena over later to sit with Natia. Heart wrenching as it is, she’ll come out on the other side.”

  A small smile tugged at Teodor’s lips. “And as stubborn as the winter’s snows. But two blows in quick succession could be too much for her.”

  “I’ll pray the Lord will give you the right words to say at the right time.”

  The men parted, and Teodor carried the basket with the soup back to the house. He entered the cool interior and pulled off his heavy dark-brown wool coat, his eyes needing several seconds to adjust to the dimness. “Natia, look what Helena made for us. Some cabbage soup, according to your father. It smells delicious. She didn’t burn it this time.” At the enticing aroma, his stomach rumbled.

  After a few moments, Natia shuffled from the bedroom, still in her housecoat, her brown hair disheveled, a curl over one eye. “Do you want me to heat it for your lunch?” Dark half-moons underscored her green eyes.

  “Nie, you sit down. I’ll warm it.” He moved about the kitchen, so small that a few steps took him from the door to the little stove on the far side of the room. Within moments, heat bathed them, and the sweet aroma of sausage filled the air. Teodor sat beside her while they waited for it to warm. “I’m glad to see you up.”

  “I want to stay in bed forever. But I can’t. There are chores to be done. You’ll be planting soon.”

  “You’re remarkable.” He rubbed her shoulder.

  “Like Mama. Life hit her hard, but until her final illness, she always got back up. I also know there is something you are keeping from me.”

  He shook his head, probably more than necessary.

  “You’re not sleeping. In the middle of the night, I hear you pacing. You tread on that squeaky floorboard in front of the sink.”

  “If Poland ever needs spies, I’ll give them your name.”

  A brief flash of amusement lit her eyes and then faded like the sunset. “What is it?”

  “There is time. Right now, you concentrate on getting your health back, and let me do the worrying.”

  “So whatever you have to tell me isn’t good?”

  He should have his tongue cut from his mouth for not watching his words. “Don’t press me.” He rose and stirred the thick soup.

  She came behind him and wrapped him in an embrace. Her touch was warm. He should be comforting her, but instead, she did the soothing. “Please, tell me. Don’t leave me to wonder.”

  His stomach fluttered, and not from hunger. “Your family is almost ready to leave. Tata told me they have packed what they could and given away what they couldn’t.” He was a coward for not saying the words, but maybe she would catch his meaning and he wouldn’t have to utter them.

  Though they had only been married three years, they understood each other’s thoughts as well as couples married for decades.

  Natia gasped. “We got our notices.”

  Cold surged through his midsection. He nodded.

  She slipped to the floor.

  Nie, Teodor, nie.” His words about the Germans’ orders to leave shattered the small piece of Natia’s heart that remained. How could she endure it?

  He knelt beside her on the uneven wood floor and pulled her close, his wool sweater rough against her cheek. “I know.” His words were soft.

  “How can we leave? We just buried Andrzej.” Every muscle in her body clenched. She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t.

  “The Germans don’t know our pain.”

  “Even if they did, they wouldn’t care. They hate us. They want to be rid of us.”

  He stiffened. See, her words hit a nerve, for they were true. The Nazis had almost as much disdain for the Poles as for the Jews. They would stop at nothing to Germanize this part of the world. Including ripping apart families.

  “We’ll make do. At least we have each other. We’ll go together, be together, along with your father and Helena and Zygmunt.”

  She sat up straight and grabbed his arm. How could he even think of leaving this place? Their children? Even if it meant being with her family, she would refuse to go. “We’ll ignore their order. What does one couple more or less mean to them? Let’s run away, hide in the forests like the partisans. There we can be free. If we do what they command, they will win.”

  “How long before they discover us? Days, maybe weeks if we’re lucky. And then winter will come, not for a while, but it will come. We can’t survive the cold without a roof over our heads. Nie, we’ll pray for God’s protection and go to the labor camp. I’m not afraid of hard work.”

  Couldn’t the man see reason? What had turned him so compliant? “It’s not the hard work I fear but the living conditions, the disease, and the hunger. All the unknowns.” They had heard about the horror of these places. Only crazy people wanted to go. Was that what happened? Had the loss of their child addled his brain?

  “If we hid, those things would be no better than in the camp. Maybe worse.”

  “And most of all, I’m afraid of being separated from you.” He gathered her close. She nestled into his sweater that carried his unique, fresh smell of outdoors and laundry soap. If only she could stay in his embrace forever. Safe. Sheltered. Secure.

  They sat together until the shadows on the floor lengthened. At last, much too soon, he released her. He touched her chest. “Here, Natia, in here is where I’ll be. Always in your heart. I don’t know if we’ll be allowed to live together or even see each other. But we are married. A part of each other. One flesh. That will never change.”

  She kissed his work-roughened fingers. He was right, of course. Very few choices presented themselves. They were at the mercy of the Germans. Men who showed no mercy. “Can we do this?”

  “There is no other way. We have to obey. So we will. Each day, we will get up, get dressed, and do what is required. We’ll carry on, always looking forward to that day when we can return here and resume our life together.”

  “We’ll be back?”

  “I promise.”

  “I’ll be with my babies again?”

  “You will. I’ll do whatever I must to make that happen.”

  “Knowing that gives me a reason to keep moving forward.”

  “You will survive, Natia. I have every faith in you. You’re a stronger woman than you realize.”

  “With you by my side, I am.”

  “With or without me. When you need it, you have a reserve of fortitude you can only imagine.”

  What was it Mama always quoted from the Bible? “‘Strength and honor are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come.’” But Natia wasn’t like Mama. “I’m still scared. Aren’t you?”

  He kissed the top of her head and then rose to his feet, reaching out to help her stand. “Are you ready to start packing?”

  It wasn’t until she lay in bed that night, the darkness falling heavy on her, the wind moaning outside of the window, Teodor snoring beside her, that it hit her. He had never answered her question.

  He was afraid.

  And she should be too.

  Teodor’s slow footsteps carried him into the only town he had ever known, the only place he had ever lived. One street ran east and west and boasted most of the businesses. He strolled by the little tailor shop and clothing store his father’s friend had owned. Both men now lay cold in their graves, Tata for twenty years, since Teodor was five, leaving him and Mama alone.

  No sweet, enticing scents rose from the bakery. Since the arrival of the Nazis and rationing, the business had been shuttered. There was no flour or sugar.

  He approached the first of several north- and south-running streets. He turned to his right and could just make out the gentle curve of his aunt’s tiled roof. Or of what had been his aunt’s home, the
place he’d spent his summers playing with his cousins. More than ten years had gone by since they emigrated to Australia. Did any of them fight for their adopted country?

  For several more blocks, he wandered down the street, hearing the voices and seeing the scenes of his childhood. Playing serso, a toss-and-catch game with sticks and a ring, with his cousins. Acting as Joseph in the Christmas play at church. Stealing kisses from Natia underneath the willow. His vision blurred. How could he leave this place, the one thing he loved only a little less than God and his wife? The timbre of well-known voices, the sweet recognition of friendly faces, the soft darkness of familiar soil.

  This place that held the graves of his three children and both of his parents.

  For the last time, he turned the cool metal knob on the door into the small grocery store and entered. “Dzień dobry.”

  The middle-aged woman, gray streaking her braided hair, came to the counter, a reproduction of the Black Madonna of Częstochowa behind her. Most of the shelves surrounding her bore nothing more than dust. “Dzień dobry, Teodor. What brings you in? I thought you’d be preparing to leave. How is Natia faring? We are sorry for your loss.”

  Which of her questions did he answer first? Perhaps it was best to steer clear of the more emotional topics. Take care of business and walk out before he broke down. He focused his gaze on the Madonna’s golden halo. “I’ve come to settle my account. I don’t know when, if, we’ll be back to pay.”

  Pani Lisowa nodded and shuffled to the far end of the well-worn wood counter, bent over, and produced the account book. She flipped the pages until she came across Teodor’s name. “It’s not much.”

  “I’ll feel better leaving no balance.”

  “That’s why we’ll miss you. The Palinskis were always the most honest, hardest working among us. I have a difficult time imagining that, once you leave, there will be no more of you here. I’ve missed your mother so much in the four years she’s been gone.”

  He nodded, unable to force any words through the narrowing in his throat. Maybe if he had helped Mama with the heavy chores, made sure she ate more, provided for her better, her heart wouldn’t have given out when the Nazis entered their village. So many maybes in this life. Unable to choke out any words, he pushed the złoty across the counter and paid his bill.

  As he did so, Pani Lisowa grasped him, her hand warm, her grip firm. “Your parents would be proud of you. Your mother was. She always talked about you and how much she loved you. Don’t let those Nazis rob you of who you are.”

  Again, all he could manage was a single nod.

  “You take care of that wife of yours, you hear?”

  “I will.” Teodor croaked out the words. Pressure built in his chest.

  She leaned across the counter and pecked him on both cheeks. “God go with you.”

  “And with you.”

  Before he lost control, he spun and sprinted from the store. He raced down the street until he left the town far in the distance. By the time he slowed, he was almost back to the farm. He stumbled from the dirt road and ambled over the one soft part of the field he’d plowed under in the fall.

  With a shudder, he fell to the ground. The loamy scent of the earth surrounded him. He picked up a clod and rubbed it in his hands, staining them with dirt. Maybe in this way, he could have his farm with him. He and this ground were connected. He had slaved and saved to buy the small plot he called home. But it was his. His and Natia’s. Together, they sweated to plant the crops and to harvest them. To store a bit away for the winter’s food and for the spring’s planting.

  What loomed in front of them? What awaited them?

  Even if they returned, could they ever recapture their peace and happiness?

  Could he keep his promise to his wife?

  Natia bent over the yellow and white daffodils that bobbed their heads in time to the music of the wind. With her scissors, she cut a handful and divided them into three small bouquets. She wiped her hands on her apron, set her chin, and climbed the low hill at the edge of the cabbage field. Teodor hadn’t turned the land over last fall, hadn’t done anything to it this year. He’d known they were leaving.

  Before she arrived at the top of the rise, she turned to survey this place she’d called home since their marriage. It wasn’t much, but enough. Enough to fill their bellies for the winter and enough to keep the driving rains and swirling snows off their heads. She’d planted roses along one side of the cottage and daises along the back. This year, she wouldn’t see them bloom or smell their sweet scent.

  She swallowed the rising tide of salty tears. Nie, she would be strong, like Mama. Teodor hadn’t let her see his fear. Each day, he greeted her with a soft kiss and a gentle smile. Each night, their tears mingled, but with each morning came new resolve.

  Once she had drawn in a deep breath and let it out little by little, she finished her trek to the place where Teodor had planted three small, white crosses. Where their children rested until Judgment Day.

  A fresh mound of dirt marked the most recent grave.

  She placed a bouquet in front of each cross. Her little ones. The children who would never laugh, never cry, never sing. So she did the laughing, the crying, and the singing for them.

  Today she sat on the ground near them. The sun warmed her shoulders, and she pulled the black embroidered scarf from her head, the breeze on her face as if her little ones caressed her cheek. “I’ll miss you, moje miłości. But you will never be far from my thoughts. I’ll carry you with me always. Your father has promised we’ll be back. If I can, I will be.”

  She kissed her fingertips and then touched each cross. “Beata, Szymon, Andrzej. Don’t forget I love you and always will.” Numbness overtook her.

  A tune rose in her chest, one sung by generations of Polish women to their fussy infants. She had sung it to her younger siblings after Mama died. Now, one last time, she would sing it for her children. She cleared her throat. The lilting, rocking melody floated over the countryside.

  Go to sleep, my little doll

  Time for you to go to bed

  I’ll be rocking you

  And you’ll close your eyes.

  Luli luli luli luli luli luli lu,

  Luli luli luli luli, a ty oczka zmruż.

  A deep voice chimed in with hers. Teodor had come up behind her without making a noise, so she never heard him until he sang the lullaby with her. As they ended, his voice cracked and he dropped to the ground beside her.

  She peered at him, his blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. The numbness fell away, and her own tears gathered. She stroked the side of his face and swallowed hard. “My grandmother always sang that song. Only once or twice through, and I’d fall asleep.”

  “One day, you’ll sing it to our children and grandchildren.” His own tears slid down his wind-burned cheeks.

  “You don’t have to wrap the truth in cotton. I wish I could take this pain from you.” But she could only accomplish that by giving him a child.

  And she had failed.

  “Having you with me helps.”

  She cupped his cheek. “You always try to protect me, and I love you for it. But this, you can’t shield me from. Trouble is coming.” She shivered.

  The jangle of a horse’s harness broke the stillness of the moment. Old Pan Majewski sat on his ramshackle cart, whistling to his swayback mare as she plodded down the rutted road. His wagon bumped along. By the time they got to the train station in Śpiewka, they would all have backaches.

  Teodor took her by the hand. “It’s time.”

  From where she stood, she studied the doorway of her childhood home. Tata, Helena, and Zygmunt appeared, each carrying a suitcase. Helena was only nine, Zygmunt but seven. Natia sighed. What would happen to them?

  She squeezed Teodor’s calloused fingers. “I’m ready.” For the last time, she gazed on her children’s graves. So small. So alone. The wind whipped her black wool skirt and cut through her embroidered blouse and vest. “Goo
d-bye, my loves.” The words caught on a sob. With every bit of strength she had, Natia turned her back on them, held her husband’s hand, and they picked their way across the field.

  Teodor, Natia, and her family sat in the back of the crude wagon, long ago having exhausted all conversation with their kind neighbor and each other. The kilometers rolled by, greening fields on either side of them, the vast plains stretching before them. For her entire life, Natia had lived in the same area, near the small village of Piosenka, worked the same land, worshipped in the same church. Family had always surrounded her.

  Across from her, Zygmunt and Helena huddled close to Tata, their eyes large in their small faces. Each of them, including the children, wore a diamond-shaped yellow patch with a purple edge and a purple P in the middle. What fate did the Nazis reserve for ones so small? For each of them?

  Natia’s head bobbed as she fought off sleep. Teodor rubbed her aching back. “Go to sleep if you want. You need your rest, so you can heal.”

  She squared her shoulders to keep him from worrying. “Nie, I’m fine. This is an adventure, everything new and different. Our first ride on the train.” She had to keep Zygmunt and Helena from becoming too frightened.

  Zygmunt’s green eyes, so much like her own, lit up. “I can’t wait. We’ll get to see the world. Or at least Poland. This is going to be fun.” The breeze ruffled his fair hair, so opposite of hers.

  The naïveté of a young boy. Teodor whispered in Natia’s ear, “I know your heart is breaking.”

  “Would you rather that I cried? That wouldn’t make anything different. Poles are used to change. How many countries have we been part of in our lifetimes? It’s another storm to weather, that’s all.” Her voice shook, just the tiniest of bits.

  Tata gathered his younger children close to himself. “We’ll be fine. All of us. God will take care of us. We’ll rest and trust in him. And enjoy the train ride.” He chuckled, the sound of his laugh as melodic as any song.

  If they could remain together where she could watch over the children, her husband and father at her side, they would be fine. Still, she drew her shawl around herself as if it might protect her from the future. They had heard about the labor camps. The hard work. The disease. The death.