“What I found most interesting about the list your grandmother gave you was not that Tomasz was listed there—but the Polish words around his name.” She runs the tip of her finger along the words Prosze˛ zrozum. Tomasz. “This translates loosely to please understand Tomasz. Any idea what that might mean?”

“I don’t know... I mean, how am I supposed to understand a man she lived with for well over seventy years—a man who’s now dead?”

“This letter you sent was also interesting. He starts with something about them sitting together while she’s reading, but she’s laughing at him for questioning that he would make it to where she is. Then he tells her that the war has been chaotic...and life is somewhat risky so he wants her to know his feelings.” She looks up and laughs softly. “Your grandfather was a romantic, it seems.”

“It seems,” I say, then I frown a little, because until Pa was really sick, I can barely remember seeing them so much as touch one another. “Although, that did seem to wear off a little in his old age.”

“Many decades of marriage have that effect on a man,” Zofia laughs. Then she says, “Now some of these words are illegible, but I think the basic gist is that his love for her was the great driving force in his life—and that he would always find his way back to her if they were separated because they were made for each other. I can’t see who it’s addressed to because the first few lines are too faint, but given your grandfather wrote it and your grandmother has possession of it, I don’t think that’s much of a mystery. But these last few lines... I have to guess a little because there are words missing here and there, but I think he is saying they were together when he wrote it. Then he talks about a potential separation, and now she’s asking us to understand Tomasz... I wonder if perhaps they had lost each other for a period during the war, and she now wants to know what he got up to while they were apart?”

“If that is what she’s looking for, that’s surely impossible.”

“Unless by some miracle one of the people on her list is alive and we can find them and they happen to know—we’d never be able to find out something so specific.”

“I know it’s crazy to come here with such little info but...even mute, she can be very persuasive.”

“Is there anything else?”

“A few times she’s said Babcia fire Tomasz—I just have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.”

“Well, in this letter he does talk about their love being the fire that is the driving force in his life, words to that effect anyway. Perhaps she is talking about passion?” Zofia suggests.

“I didn’t think of that. There’s a symbol on her device for love but maybe she couldn’t find it?” I say, thinking aloud. “Surely that must be it.”

“One mystery solved already.” Zofia smiles. “Let’s eat, then we’ll head into Trzebinia and see what we can find, no?”

The waitress approaches with two plates of food. She sets fresh bread and a bowl of smalec in front of Zofia, then slides my eggs and bacon in front of me. Zofia cuts a square of the bread, then spreads a spoonful of the lard onto it and hands it to me.

“Oh,” I say, and I clear my throat. “I’m really not sure...”

Zofia’s eyes crinkle a little when she smiles.

“It’s a delicacy, I promise.”

I pop the entire chunk of bread into my mouth, and as I chew, I give her a surprised look. The smalec is salty and tasty, and the texture is not nearly as sickly as I’d expected. The whole effect between the delicate smalec and the heavy bread grows on me as I chew, until I could very easily imagine myself eating a whole plate of this stuff.

“Well?” Zofia asks, laughing again. “Another day we return for breakfast here and smalec?”

I laugh softly and nod.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. Smalec next time.”

CHAPTER 29

Alina

As the clock struck 6:00 p.m. on our third night in the cellar, Tomasz was starting to talk about heading out to collect some of the fresh eggs so they didn’t go to waste, and I was trying just as hard to convince him to stay in our little bubble just for one more night. We heard the door upstairs open, and a voice called out quietly, “Tomasz?” and just like that, Henry Adamcwiz had found us.

Tomasz helped him into the cellar, then resealed the hatch, and for the first time in two days, we turned on the little oil light. It gave our little love nest a romantic yellow glow, and I could once again see Tomasz. Our eyes met—and in that gaze, we silently spoke of all of the secrets we’d shared in the darkness. We’d spent two glorious days alone comforting each other and resting together, and I was more than a little sad that those wonderful hours had come to an end.

Henry was far shorter than Tomasz, and much older than I’d expected. His Polish was fluent but heavily accented, and it took me a few minutes of fierce concentration listening to him speak before I could easily understand him.

“It is so lovely to meet you at last, Alina,” he said, and he shook my hand. “Truly, Tomasz speaks so highly of you. I knew you must be a special girl when he decided to stay just for you.”

“Thank you,” I said, flushing.

“Well, maybe that, and he was a little suicidal,” Henry said with a laugh.

I frowned, but there was no time to fixate on the comment, because Tomasz prompted, “Give us some good news, Henry. You are here, so I am assuming you have some?”

“We think the route we used with our last courier is still going to work, with some adjustment. The Eastern Front has moved significantly in the time since the last boy went through, so it’s going to be a longer journey, but we hope to get you out of Poland in much the same way.”

“Good,” Tomasz nodded. He sat forward, rubbed his hands together, then sat back—as if the excitement was too great for him to sit still. Our gazes met again, and Tomasz flashed me a broad smile. In that moment, I felt the details were irrelevant—Tomasz looked as delighted as if we were already free and safe, so just for a second that’s how I felt, despite the reality of our circumstances.

“Before you get too excited, let me tell you what I’m proposing. Jakub has built a large wooden carton. From the outside, it looks like many cartons stacked atop one another. Inside, there is room for two, although he says it will be tight and uncomfortable and likely little room for bags—perhaps one small suitcase for food and water. You will be in the deepest part of the truck, so you will have to make the entire journey without a break from the space inside the carton. It will take at least a day—longer if he has to stop for sleep, which he is hoping to avoid but...”