“Despite the fact that the Polish army wouldn’t have even allowed you to join this camp if they knew you were Jewish?” I said, a little incredulous at Saul’s willingness to forgive.

“When the time is right, I’ll be honest about who I am—my name and my heritage, and you’ll see what I knew all along. When a man is a patient on an operating table, and there’s only one person in the room with the skills to save his life, that patient will instantly forget that he used to be a bigot.”

I laughed weakly, but then I had a sudden thought. “I’ll miss you if you do stay on. I wish you would come with me and Tomasz instead. Perhaps we would all be able to settle together in England—wouldn’t that life appeal to you instead?”

“You and Tomasz will have a wonderful life together,” he assured me. “And it’s a life you’ve more than earned. I won’t tag along—a fresh start will do you both the world of good.”

Saul had become a good friend to me—an ally when I otherwise would have been alone. It made me happy then that he was thinking about his own future again—even if his eye was still on the war. I was just glad that he seemed to have found a light at the end of the tunnel of his grief, because in those early days when he was all but catatonic at the loss of his wife and child, I’d thought such a thing impossible.

* * *

It seemed to me that almost everyone was sick in the camp, and I was no exception. We’d been in the camp for almost two months, and I’d had a stomach flu on and off for much of that time. Some nights, I’d try to eat whatever scraps were set out before us and I’d manage only a mouthful or two before the sickness resurged. I actually felt lucky—I was always able to tolerate at least water, and Saul assured me that as long as that was the case and I could keep my food down at least once a day, I would be okay. I knew that half of the beds in the infirmary at any given time were patients with acute diarrhea, and when they became dehydrated, they usually died.

All I could do was eat when I could, and wait for it to pass. At breakfast one morning, I looked down at the slightly moldy bread we’d been served and had to push it away before I retched. I felt miserable that day, and I drew in a deep breath and tried to remind myself this was all only temporary.

“Tomasz should be here any day,” I said, and I waited for Saul to echo the reassurance he always provided.

Instead, though, he said suddenly, “Eva and I really didn’t intend to fall pregnant with Tikva.” I looked up at him in surprise, momentarily distracted from my nausea, and he shrugged. “War is not a time when people plan to bring a child into the world, especially not the situation we were in. But we loved each other, and all we had was each other so it was natural for us to express that. And I really thought we were being careful...but these things happen. Would you like to know how I discovered she was pregnant?”

“How did you realize?” I asked him. Saul smiled sadly.

“We were traveling from Warsaw with Tomasz—we’d been on the road for a few weeks, hiding where we could, eating what he could find for us—he was so much better at scavenging than me. One day, he trapped and caught a duck. Can you imagine? We roasted it on a fire, and it was like manna from heaven, Alina—oh the taste and the texture, my God.” He pressed his knuckles to his mouth like a delighted child, and I laughed. “It was a miracle. Tell me...when was the last time you ate roast anything?”

I laughed weakly.

“I can’t even remember.”

“Exactly. And there we were, hiding in a cave of all places, and your Tomasz provides us a feast like that. We were all so excited—but Eva lifted the duck meat to her lips and put it on her tongue, and then she was ill. She said the taste was divine, but the texture turned her stomach, and she couldn’t understand why,” he said. The joy had faded from his face, until his gaze was distant, but then he turned it upon me. “Alina, do you understand why I am telling you this story?”

I gaped at him, and then there was a rushing sound in my ears, and I knew I was going to be sick again. But it was even worse than that this time, because my whole body seemed to turn to jelly and Saul caught me as I slid from the chair toward the dirt floor of the dining tent. With help from one of the stronger men from the dining hall, Saul carried me outside into the fresh air. He sat beside me and rested his hand on my shoulder, and as soon as we were alone again, he said, “I didn’t mean to shock you. Forgive me.”

I hadn’t cried in all of that time—not in the truck, not on the train, not even when I sacrificed Mama’s ring, not in the camp. I had become a braver version of myself than I’d ever realized was possible but this?

This was too much.

I’d not had a period since we left Poland, but my cycle had been unpredictable throughout the whole war, so I hadn’t missed it. But Saul was right—even when we did get food, I’d been far too sensitive as to what I could stomach. And just like Saul and Eva, Tomasz and I had thought we’d been careful—but we’d been dizzy with the joy of finally being together, and we’d leaped into our sexual relationship with less care than we probably should have.

“Mama will be so angry with me. And Father. And the people here will judge me—”

“No, they will not,” Saul said. “Because Tomasz will marry you.”

“But everyone will know before then, Saul.” And then for the very first time, I spoke aloud a thought I’d been too terrified to give voice to until that moment. “He should be here by now, shouldn’t he? What if he’s not even coming?”

“If he was really here, what would he do?”

It took less than a heartbeat for me to answer that question.

“He would marry me. He was going to marry me. He promised me we’d find a priest the very day we arrived, but...”

“Then, Tomasz will marry you. Today.” I stared at him blankly, and Saul’s expression softened. “Alina, I will stand in his place just for now, because that is exactly what he would want me to do.”

And later that day, that’s exactly what he did.

* * *

There was much excitement about our wedding among the people we knew in the camp—“Tomasz” was building quite a reputation as a surgical miracle worker—and strangers brought us gifts. There was a perfect little wildflower from a woman Saul had treated weeks earlier, a luxurious new blanket from one of the camp administrators and, best of all, some soap from Mrs. Konczal—all of the staff of the orphanage had banded together to barter for it. We went to the dining hall for our dinner meal, and by some miracle, the cooks had found a fresh sausage. Saul and I shared it, and it was such a gift and a blessing that for a moment or two, I was moved to deep gratitude by the effort and the generosity of our friends. For a few minutes I forgot how broken everything was, and I let myself feel happy because I felt so loved and so accepted.