The Last Green Valley Page 82
What if I’m shot? What if the boys are shot? And I’m not?
Adeline’s mind reeled and threw her back more than a decade, seeing herself as if from the ceiling of their flat in Pervomaisk, where she’d held the first Waldemar in the moments after he’d died and she’d known what it was to have something ripped from her heart, an agony so complete and devastating, she’d wanted to lie down and die right there.
In the train, Adeline gasped at the wrenching emotion of that horrible memory.
“Mama?” Will said, jerking her back to reality. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I . . . ,” she said, her heart thumping and her stomach churning when she gazed down at her dear little boy in the dimly lit railcar. “Why?”
“You cried out. You said, ‘Waldemar.’”
“What?” Walt said, rousing.
“Nothing,” Adeline whispered. “Go back to sleep, both of you.”
As the boys readjusted and snuggled against her, she tried not to think about the cold sweat on her brow and the nausea in her stomach and the weakness in her chest and legs at the thought of one of them dying before she did. I can’t take that. I can’t do that again, Lord. I can’t.
Adeline realized she’d been holding her breath and forced herself to take in one inhalation after another after another. And as she did, for reasons she’d never be able to fully explain, she thought of four lines in Emil’s third letter: “Remember that Corporal Gheorghe? The Romanian with the dented head and the honey wine? I saw him again. He said to say hello to Malia if you have the chance.”
Corporal Gheorghe. Of course, she remembered him. How could she not? His hypnotic eyes and the way he talked about the Battle of Stalingrad, how he’d woken up after being shelled in the initial Soviet attack, how he’d seen the world differently, and how he’d known without a doubt that he would survive to tell the tale. That unwavering belief had seemed to protect the Romanian as he’d walked on through the bloodiest battle ever fought on earth.
I have to believe like that, Adeline thought. I have to believe with every fiber of my being, with no doubt that we’ll make it. No doubt.
Adeline suddenly understood that if she really had no doubts, none whatsoever, she’d be calmer and make better decisions in the waning darkness and waxing light that lay before her and her beloved boys.
No doubts, Adella. You’re already there.
She closed her eyes and repeated the words again and again as she drifted off, dwelling on that vision of reunion she’d held on to on the train to Berlin, feeling Emil’s powerful arms surround her, protect her, hold her to his chest while she—
“Lady,” the conductor said, and shook her shoulder. “Wake up. Oebisfelde, next stop. We need to get you and your wagon off fast. Understand?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
March 18, 1947, 5:47 a.m.
Oebisfelde, Soviet-Occupied east Germany
“Understand?” the conductor repeated, irritated. “And I want my cigarettes.”
Adeline’s throat started to constrict, and her heart was racing again. Thoughts about losing another child returned. They tried to paralyze her.
Stop it. No doubts, Adeline. You’re already there.
“You’ll get the carton once we’re off,” she said. “Boys, wake up. We’re going for our walk.”
“A walk?” the conductor snorted. “Lady, when it counts, I’d be in an all-out sprint. The Russians shoot first and—”
“Stop,” she said as the boys slowly came to. “Please, sir. For their sake.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, and walked toward the back of the car.
Will said, “I’m thirsty, and I have to pee, Mama.”
“I do, too,” Walt said.
Adeline was folding the blanket and realizing that she’d forgotten to pack water.
“We’ll pee when we get off and find some water before the next train,” she promised.
Will groaned. “When’s that?”
She started to snap at him but stopped herself. “Sooner than you think.”
The train slowed. She looked out, trying to see back east, trying to find the dawn and finally spotting its pale purple hint far across a grain field covered in an inch of new snow.
“Here we go,” she said, getting them out into the aisle and following them toward the rear exit. “The traveling Martels are off on another adventure.”
“You always say that,” Will said.
“Because we’re always traveling,” Walt said with an air of condescension.
Adeline looked outside again, catching the silhouettes of rooftops before the train came to a stop with a squeal and a hiss at a two-story brick station with a single platform lit by gas lamps and the cracking dawn.
“C’mon, now,” the conductor said. “Fast.”
She climbed down, telling the boys to stay on the platform, and then ran after the conductor, saying, “Are we the only ones getting off here?”
They reached the baggage car, and he stopped, saying, “The only ones crazy enough on this trip. Most people take the earlier train to Oebisfelde and try in the dark.”
“But I was told there were trees that would hide us.”
“There used to be trees you could sneak through to get across the border unseen,” he said as they got the wagon down. “They cut them down last week, and they’ve started to dig up the stumps. It’s becoming a real no-man’s-land near the border.”
No doubts, Adeline. You’re already there. Already in Emil’s arms.
“Thanks for the information,” she said, handing him the cigarettes. “And your kindness.”
Adeline expected him to say something snide. Instead, he took the cigarettes, sighed, and said, “Good luck to you, lady. And your kids. Someone told me if you see the medieval tower in the town, you’ve gone too far, and they’ll probably see and stop you before you can even try to start walking toward the border.”
“Good to know,” she said, and set off toward the boys with the little wagon.
The conductor climbed aboard the first passenger car. By the time Adeline reached Will and Walt, the train was pulling out, leaving them alone on the platform, with the eastern horizon now pale purple slashed with moody reds.
Will danced around and said, “I’m thirsty, and I have to go pee.”
“So do I,” Walt said.
“You can’t go here,” she said. “Outside.”
They pushed and pulled the cart through the empty station. Adeline noticed the wagon felt odd, as if one of the wheels were out of line and dragging as they went out onto snowy steps that overlooked the intersection of a road running west parallel to the railroad tracks and another that wound south into the town, which was where Frau Schmidt had said to go.
“They’ll stop you at the border if you try the paved road next to the rail tracks or the paved road on the south side of town,” Frau Schmidt said. “But Peter and I were told that midway between the two roads, there’s a diagonal alley to your right. It will lead you to a lane that cuts west through farmland to the town of Danndorf, about four or five kilometers away.
“Just before the border itself, on your left about one hundred and fifty meters, you will see a two-story house where Soviet soldiers watch the lane and the paved road to the south. But the lane goes into trees that shield the border near there. If you can get to those trees without being seen and stay hidden, they won’t see you cross until it’s too late.”
But the trees have been cut down!
“Mama!” Will whispered, dancing about. “I have to pee as bad as that time you made me pee in the jar.”
Walt said, “I have to pee but not that bad.”
“Go,” she said, pointing to her right. “Over there, while I get the wagon down the steps.”
The boys hurried down the stairs, over to some bushes, and unbuttoned their flies. She tried to ease the wagon down the steps, but the weight got away from her, and it went bouncing down into the slushy street with four big thumps and a crack.
“What was that, Mama?” Will whispered.
She pushed on the wagon, felt it roll, and said, “I don’t know.”
Will finished and hurried to her. Adeline glanced east at the red-and-purple horizon growing brighter and felt panic again. She looked back toward Walt, who was just standing there by the bushes, peering around as if they had all the time in the world.
“Let’s go, Walt!” she hissed.
“He’s always like that,” Will said as Walt startled and ran toward them.
Adeline could almost make out her older son’s features in the dawn light when he puffed up to them. She knew their chance for easy freedom was slipping away, second by second.
“Both of you behind the wagon,” she said. “Quick now. And if you see an old tower ahead of us, tell me to stop.”
They made it two steps before the arm that held the front right wheel to the wagon snapped and the wheel fell off. The wagon tilted and sagged on top of it. Adeline stared at the broken wheel lying in the slush.
“What do we do?” Will asked.