The Winter Guest (32 page)

“Of course, there was Max.” I gesture proudly to the photograph on the windowsill of the tall, slight man, now graying himself. Elizabeth cocks her head, not understanding. In my mind’s eye, I see Sam as he appeared on my doorstep that day so long ago. After Sam gave me the box with the scrap of Ruth’s cape, I started to lead him inside.

But Sam pulled back. “Lena, wait.” I noticed then a child of nearly four, undersized from malnourishment, clutching to his leg. I looked up at Sam questioningly. Had he rescued a child, brought him here for us? Then the child looked up at me with eyes as familiar as my own. “I don’t understand...” Sam’s face broke then with more pain than I had seen or known possible. “Ruth,” he whispered, and I knew then that, although my sister was dead, Sam had returned and against all odds found this child with her perfect blue eyes that would carry her legacy.

“Sam brought Max home from the war.” Holding tight to this piece of my sister, I saw birth and death like bookends then. The child did not have Ruth’s auburn hair, though. His was black, and something about the too-close eyes was also familiar. Staring at the child, I understood then that Sam’s commitment came from a deeper place. “Max was Sam’s child with my sister and he rescued the baby from the camps.” Rabbi Farber’s eyes widen. “Sam slept with my sister.” It is the first time I have shared this with anyone.

“I was angry at Ruth for a very long time for trying to take that one thing from me. I wanted to see her again to ask her why but I never got that chance. But in the end she was gone and I forgave her. It was my fault, you see. My secret of sheltering Sam poisoned things between us and caused all the rest to happen.” I should have known what Ruth was facing, how Sam’s presence would have threatened her. And then later, there were signs of what had happened, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it. “I was angry at Ruth and I let her go up the hill when I was the stronger one.” We all paid the price for my lies.

“No amount of strength could have saved her or Michal,” Elizabeth interjects gently.

“No, of course not. But I should have been the one who died at the chapel. Or maybe, if we had stayed...” Perhaps there was a chance. In my mind, there has always been part of me still living in the cottage with my brother and sisters, all of us together. I clear my throat, eager to change the subject. “You mentioned some development by the chapel.”

“Yes, a resort with a golf course.” She watches me expectantly, wondering if I will object to such a trivial use of the grounds.

For a moment, I am saddened, thinking of the rugged landscape being hewn down and smoothed to look like everywhere else. Then I shrug. It is not mine to worry about anymore. “Something nice for the people in the region. There’s been so much suffering. And maybe it will bring some people to visit. It really is a lovely area.”

“Have you ever been back?”

I shake my head. “There’s nothing left there for me.”

“But your family was—”

“No.” I can hear the stubbornness in my own voice, still there after so many years.

“Anyway,” Elizabeth says smoothly, “we were trying to figure out the identity of the bones to see if they are Jewish and whether they can be moved so the development can proceed.”

“They’re Jewish,” I reply firmly.

“But I don’t understand. If the bones were your brother’s, then how could they possibly be? The provincial records...”

Would have given no indication that we were Jewish, I finish silently. “You see, shortly before we fled Poland, we learned that my mother’s mother had been Jewish. So that meant...”

“That you were Jewish, too,” Elizabeth finishes for me.

“I didn’t find out until partway through the war,” I say. “So once we knew, things were even more dangerous.” I smile slightly. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’m not. In a country where Jews and Poles lived side by side families mingled, secrets were kept. Many Poles have some Jewish blood.”

“To their chagrin.”

“Perhaps. But things are changing there, slowly.” I do not answer. I want to believe that people get better. But some memories are ingrained too deep. “And lots of Jewish identities are being discovered every day, even in places like Kraków. There are young Jews in the synagogue now.” One synagogue, where there once would have been a dozen. “There’s a Jewish community center and a cultural festival.” Places I once thought gone forever breathing with new life. I wonder, though, whether those who once walked the streets would have been happy about the revival or thought it a mockery?

“You raised your sisters Jewish?” I nod. In the new world, there had been no need to be afraid. People treated us as Holocaust survivors and I felt guilty at that because we had escaped so much of what the known Jews had suffered. But Mama was Jewish, and Sam, too, and suddenly it was who we were and as natural as slipping into an old sweater.

“Ruth died in the camps. But not because she was a Jew.” That was the irony. The records for Biekowice and the hospital had not been reconciled when they found Ruth. They arrested her as a political prisoner, accused of helping the resistance.

“And they shot her when she wouldn’t talk, presumably.”

“Because she couldn’t talk—she didn’t know anything. I did.”

Suddenly it is as if the past sixty-plus years have been erased and I am a young woman once more. “Tell me,” I say, now hungry for news. “What of my family’s home? Was it destroyed, too?”

The woman shook her head. “It’s still there. A Polish family named Slomir owns it now.”

I stifle a laugh. Pan Slomir had gotten the property, just like he had always wanted. “You know, if you want to get it back, there are ways. A property restitution law has been passed.”

I shake my head slightly. I have no interest in such things. I now have the only belongings I want: the memories in my mind—and the truth about what happened to my brother.

“So are you okay with the development proceeding? We can have Michal’s bones brought here and reburied in a Jewish cemetery.”

“Yes.” It will be good to have him close again.

“You know you should be recognized for what you did for Sam. Your name should be in Yad V’Shem and the Holocaust Museum, not mistakenly listed among the victims at Auschwitz.”

But I shake my head. “I had more than sixty years with Sam and a family to love, and that’s more reward than any plaque or ceremony. I’m proud to have my name among the victims. They’re my people, my sister. A part of me did die there.”

“And you’ve never told anyone?” I shake my head. “Mrs. Rosen, I mean, Helena, if you’ll forgive my saying, you have to do it. People should know.”

I smile faintly. “Everyone who needs to know already does.” Of course, they are almost all gone. I raise my hands. “I just don’t have the words.”

She reaches in her bag and produces a small recorder. “You don’t have to write, you can just push this button and talk. Or we could have coffee and you could tell me. Even if you never do anything with it. Someone should know.” She stands and brushes the lint from her pants, then passes me her card. “I don’t want to bother you further. I’ll be in touch about the bones. And thank you for your time.” I stand motionless as she closes the door behind her.

Someone should know.
Her words linger in the now-empty apartment. Once again I am that girl in the chapel, swaying with a solider in the semidarkness to a tune hummed low.

I think of Sam, of my siblings. Dorie and Karolina are too young to remember. But someone should know. I press the button. “My name is Helena Rosen...” And then I begin to speak.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from THE AMBASSADOR’S DAUGHTER by Pam Jenoff.

Acknowledgments

Many years ago when I was working at the Pentagon, I had the good fortune to accompany a delegation of senior U.S. officials to Europe and Asia for fiftieth anniversary commemorations of the Second World War. Our first trip was to a tiny cabin in the mountainous woods near Banská Bystrica, Slovakia, where several American intelligence officers had been captured and later executed during an attempt to assist the Slovak uprising. The Americans had been aided in their mission by a young Slovak woman. I was immediately taken by the tale and have long sought to create a story inspired by theirs in one of my books.

A few years later, when I was posted to Poland for the State Department and working on Holocaust issues, I became acquainted with the issue of the bones. Because the Nazis destroyed so many Jewish cemeteries and killed and buried so many people in unmarked graves, human remains are sometimes found in unexpected locations. This can present problems regarding identification of the bones, making sure that they are buried properly and ensuring that sites which were cemeteries are not disturbed.

After two decades, I am still processing my time in Central and Eastern Europe. My experiences with the commemoration in Slovakia and the bones in Poland came together to create a tale of a downed American airman, rescued by a young Polish woman, and their possible connection to remains found more than a half century later. I placed the setting to a fictitious village in Poland for reasons of story and (as a mom of twin girls myself) gave the heroine a twin to explore the dynamic between sisters. Thus,
The Winter Guest
was born.

As always, I’m so grateful to Susan Swinwood and her entire team at MIRA, who make the publishing experience sheer joy. Deepest thanks also to Scott Hoffman for his wonderful time and talent. Finally, my greatest love and appreciation are reserved for my “village”: my husband, Phillip, and our three little muses, my mom, Marsha, brother, Jay, in-laws Ann and Wayne, and friends and colleagues too many to name. Without you, none of this would be possible—or worthwhile.

Questions for Discussion

1. Which sister did you identify with more closely, Helena or Ruth? If you have a sibling, were you able to relate to their rivalry, camaraderie and the distinct role each of them played in the family?
   
2. Under what circumstances would you make a decision like Helena’s—one that put yourself and potentially the ones you love at risk? Would you have helped Sam, or looked the other way to protect your family?
   
3. Despite the horrors of war, a romantic view of WWI and WWII abounds in historical novels. What is it about wartime that drew men and women together so powerfully, like Helena and Sam? Do you believe it is possible for people to fall in love so quickly and for such a love to last?
   
4. How did each of the sisters’ strengths and weaknesses come to light in the story—and what role did Sam play in how they were revealed?
   
5. Discuss the sisters’ relationship as it evolved throughout the book. In what ways had it improved or deteriorated by the end?
   
6. The Nowak sisters were living in an environment and coping with situations that were completely overwhelming, especially for such young women. What do you think each really wanted out of life, and in your view were those dreams achievable?
   
7. Did you identify with any symbolic items or places throughout the book? What did they represent to you?
   
8. Helena’s feelings toward the Jews—and the Poles’ views of the Jews—were multifaceted. What was your reaction to these varying perspectives?
   
9. Were you surprised to learn what had happened to the Nowak siblings in the epilogue? Did you feel it was the appropriate ending for each of the characters?
   

“Stirring...Historical romance fans will be well rewarded.”
—
Publishers Weekly
, starred review, on
The Diplomat’s Wife

If you loved
The Winter Guest
by acclaimed author Pam Jenoff, be sure to catch her other emotional and compelling titles, available in ebook format:

The Ambassador’s Daughter
The Diplomat’s Wife
The Kommandant’s Girl

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