SUMMER OF STARS

A piercing whistle alerts us that a train is approaching. As the noise grows louder, I have the urge to slam my gloved hands over my ears like a five-year-old. I’m not five though. I’m fifteen and about as terrified as I’ve ever been. The whistle stops and I hear boots hit the gravel as soldiers march between the train tracks and the crowd. I stare at the swastikas on their uniforms while mindlessly tracing the yellow Star of David on my heavy wool coat. I stand in a circle with my mother and my father, our three small suitcases on the ground between us. They came for us in the dark before dawn, told us to bring one bag each, and led us miles to this train station. I scan the faces of the others around us. Their noses and cheeks are red from the cold, their eyes are anxious. Mother twists a handkerchief around her thumb then raises her hands to her face and breathes into them.

“We’re going to be all right, Love,” Papa says, leaning down and kissing the top of her head.

She smiles and a tear slips down her cheek. She reaches out and squeezes my hand. As I cling to my mother, I am aware of the cries of children. In the crowd, there are dozens. I spot one small boy standing at his father’s side, crying and shivering. The boy reaches out like a beggar. My gaze follows his outstretched hand and I see a young Nazi soldier. He can’t be much older than me. His eyes are anxious, conflicted. He looks around, checking that no one is watching before he moves toward the child. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a small foil-wrapped candy, which he quickly places in the boy’s hand. The child’s face lights up as he surveys the treasure. I look back at the soldier just in time to glimpse the hint of a smile vanish from his face.

The train pulls into the station, brakes squealing. I take a deep breath, brisk air on the inhale, and look to the sky. The day is grey. My fingers and toes are numb from being in the cold for so long. We’ve dreaded this day but knew we’d find ourselves here eventually. Our family business, Frankl’s Dressmakers, was destroyed months ago when our village was raided. Since then we’ve shared a home, under close watch by the Gestapo, with five other Jewish families.   

There has been a great deal of talk and speculation about the camps. Most of it bad, a little good. I don’t know what I believe. I only know the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach suggests something unimaginable. I should be in school right now, sitting next to my best friend, Sarah, and trying not to giggle during lessons. But Sarah was taken away weeks ago and now I’m here, staring at the wheels of the train cars, watching them roll to a stop. The silence among my people, the Jews waiting to board this train, lifts as muffled conversations erupt. The whispered exchanges bring to mind a hive of buzzing bees. Their commotion could be mistaken for excitement except I know that it is really confusion at best, terror at worst.

Where will we find ourselves at the end of this journey?

 

I jerked awake, the library copy of The Diary of Anne Frank slipped off my chest and landed with a thud on the floor beside my bed. I grabbed the clock. It wasn’t even midnight yet. It was still June twentieth and I was still fourteen-years-old, lying in bed, in the home I shared with my mom and dad on a quiet suburban street. I was Lola Elena Ray, not that scared girl waiting for a train in the cold. Who was she? Where were they taking her? A breeze swept through the room. I’d forgotten to close the window.

*If you like what you've read so far, you can purchase the entire novel on Amazon here: http://www.amazon.com/Summer-Stars-Past-Lives-Volume/dp/1495345424/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1407959286&sr=8-1&keywords=summer+of+stars or order a signed copy through my website: www.lesleehorner.com