“Wear the things you want to take,” Sol had said. “It will be less conspicuous.” Civilian travel was still allowed in what was once Poland, but the Nazis issued new restrictions by the day.
Bella wrote immediately to Jakob, telling him of her plans, and left the following day, wearing two pairs of silk stockings, a navy knee-length fluted skirt (a favorite of Jakob’s), four cotton blouses, a wool sweater, her yellow silk scarf—a birthday gift from Anna—a flannel coat, and her gold brooch, which she hung on a chain around her neck and tucked into her shirt so the Germans wouldn’t see it. She slipped a small sewing kit, a comb, and a family photo into her coat pocket beside the forty zloty Sol insisted she bring. Instead of a suitcase, she carried Jakob’s winter jacket and a hollowed loaf of peasant bread with his Rolleiflex camera hidden inside.
They’ve crossed four German checkpoints since leaving Radom. At each, Bella tucked the bread loaf beneath her coat and feigned pregnancy. “Please,” she begged, one hand resting on her belly, the other on the small of her back, “I must reach my husband in Lvov before the baby arrives.” So far, the Wehrmacht has taken pity on her, and waved the wagon on.
Bella’s head rocks gently on the bench as they plod eastward. Eleven days. They have no radio and thus no access to the news, but they have grown accustomed to the menacing growl of Luftwaffe planes, the distant clap of explosives detonating over what they could only presume was Lvov. A few days ago, it sounded as if the city were under siege. Even more disconcerting, though, was the silence that followed. Had the city fallen? Or were the Poles able to keep the Germans at bay?
Bella wonders constantly if Jakob is safe. Surely he’s been called upon to defend the city. Twice Tomek has asked Bella if she would like to turn back, to attempt the journey at a later date. But Bella insists they continue on. She’d told Jakob in her letter that she was coming. She must keep her promise. To quit now, despite the uncertainty ahead, would feel cowardly.
“Whoa,” Tomek calls from the jockey box, and in an instant his voice is swallowed by shouts.
“Halt! Halt sofort!”
Bella sits up and swings her feet to the floor. Slipping the bread loaf into her coat, she pulls the wagon’s canvas door aside. Outside, a swampy meadow teems with men in belted green tunics. Wehrmacht. There are soldiers everywhere. This is no checkpoint, Bella realizes. It must be the German front. A chill tiptoes up her vertebrae as three block-jawed soldiers with gray peaked caps and wood-stocked karabiners approach. Everything about them—their charged expressions, their rigid gait, their sharply creased uniforms—is unforgiving.
Bella climbs out of the wagon and waits, willing herself to remain calm.
The head soldier, gripping his rifle, raises his free hand and thrusts his palm in her direction. “Ausweis!” he orders. He turns his palm up to the sky. “Papiere!”
Bella freezes. She knows very little German.
Tomek whispers, “Your papers, Bella.”
A second soldier approaches the jockey box and Tomek hands him his papers, glancing over his shoulder at Bella. She is hesitant to hand over her ID, for it states clearly that she is Jewish, a truth that will likely do her more harm than good—but she has no other choice. She offers her identification card at arm’s length and waits, holding her breath as the soldier scrutinizes it. Unsure of where to look, her eyes dart from the insignia on his collar to the six black buttons running down the length of his tunic to the words GOTT MIT UNS inscribed across his belt buckle. These words Bella understands: GOD WITH US.
Finally, the soldier looks up, his eyes as gray and merciless as the clouds overhead, and purses his lips. “Keine Zivilisten von diesem Punkt!” he snaps, handing her back her card. Something about civilians. Tomek slips his own papers into his pocket and gathers his reins.
“Wait!” Bella breathes, a hand on her belly, but the head soldier cocks his rifle and juts his chin west, in the direction from which they’d come.
“Keine Zivilisten! Nach Hause gehen!”
As Bella opens her mouth to protest, Tomek shakes his head quickly, subtly. Don’t. He’s right. Whether or not they believe she’s pregnant, these soldiers aren’t about to bend any rules. Bella turns and heaves herself back into the wagon, defeated.
Tomek pivots the horses on their haunches and they begin to retrace their footsteps, plodding west, away from Lvov, away from Jakob. Bella’s mind spins. She fidgets, too vexed to be still. Extracting the bread from her coat, she sets it on the bench and crawls to the rear door flap, opening it just enough to see out. The men in the meadow appear small, like toy soldiers, dwarfed by the colossal clouds looming above. She lets the heavy canvas fall and is enveloped again in shadows.
They’ve come so far. They’re so close! Bella presses her fingertips into the soft skin of her temples, searching for a solution. They could come back the next day, hope for better luck, a more lenient group of Germans. No. She shakes her head. They’re at the front. What are the chances, really, that they’d be allowed through? Suddenly claustrophobic beneath all of her layers, she tugs off her flannel coat and scoots back up the bench to the front of the wagon, where another flap of canvas separates her from Tomek. Lifting it, she squints up at the jockey box. It’s begun to drizzle.
“Can we try again tomorrow?” Bella yells over the muted clop of hooves on the soggy road.
Tomek shakes his head. “It won’t work,” he says.
Bella can feel heat rising in her, crawling up her neck toward her ears. “But we can’t go back!” She glances at the provisions box at her feet. “We don’t have enough food for another eleven days on the road!” She watches Tomek’s shoulders rock back and forth, absorbing the sway of the wagon, his head bobbing as if he were drunk. He doesn’t answer.
Bella lets the canvas flap fall and slumps back onto the bench. She and Tomek haven’t spoken much since leaving Radom; Bella had tried to make small talk at the start of the journey, but it felt odd conversing with someone she barely knew, and besides, there wasn’t much to say. Surely Tomek must want to get to Lvov as badly as she. He’s but a few kilometers from holding up his end of Sol’s bargain. She’ll remind him of this, she decides, but when she reaches again for the flap, the horses veer suddenly off-road. Gripping the bench beneath her, Bella braces herself as the wagon pitches and bucks over uneven ground. What’s happening? Where are we going? Twigs snap like firecrackers beneath the wheels and branches claw at the wagon’s cover from above. They must be in the woods. Her mind turns a dark corner: Tomek wouldn’t leave her here, alone in the woods? A simple lie would assure Sol he’d delivered her safely to Lvov. Bella’s heart sets off at a gallop. No, she decides. Tomek wouldn’t dare. But as the wagon lurches on, she can’t help but wonder—or would he?