"Everything will be okay, I promise."
These words came from the mouth of a girl who hadn't heard that in a long time. Celina wasn't even so sure if she was telling the truth. All she knew was that they had to get the pilot out of here, that they had to find a safe hiding place, and most of all they had to find her father. Or at least figure out this strange series of clues placed so strategically in his journal and in the home's of his associates. Celina smiled inwardly. She had found a clue lying within her father's words as to where they would travel next.
It all seemed to piece together. Yet at the same time, it all seemed to slowly unravel.
The American soldier gazed up at her, managing a half smile. His olive uniform was terribly soiled, tainted with mud and blood and bits of dried grass. Worst of all, it was a dead giveaway to his identity. A fugitive. Celina dug through the knapsack and placed a cotton gauze in Anka's hands. She winced as Anka tenderly dabbed the wound. It was strewn into a pile, soaked in red. Despite the growing dread within her, Celina's heart beamed with optimism. For once, she might know where they were going.
"That should do for now," Anka murmured, slipping off the yellowed, white satin gloves found in the master bedroom. The soldier nodding gratefully before smacking his dry lips in thirst.
Celina shook her head. Suddenly, Anka was a nurse, ten years older than her actually age, mature and graceful and bold. Yet Celina sensed the fear still lay deeper in her heart, duty the only thing burying it for now. "Ah, you're thirsty, I see?" Celina said, "We'll have Mariusz fetch you some water, but not before you tell us how you got here."
The soldier sighed. His stubbled, scarred cheek resting on a pile of canvas sheets. His hair, the color of early autumn leaves, lay strewn about his forehead indeed like a pile of leaves. His eyes were foggy, laced with horror Celina refused to even imagine. "If you must know," he said. His booming voice nearly knocked Celina backwards, contrary to the injured, parched voice she imagined, "I'll give you the basic facts, and nothing more. Our plane crashed. It was shot down by the enemy plane, you see, as we were much too careless and flow much too low, unable to see the danger lying above us.
"My companion suffered very little; only a few cuts and bruises and perhaps a broken bone. I, on the other hand, was unconscious and suffering a great loss of blood." At this his voice wavered. His eyes darted nervously back and forth. "Evidently he dragged me up to this abandoned mansion and situated me down here. He remained for a little while, however one morning when I awoke I found he'd vanished, presumably fearful of the Germans. And then I heard shuffling upstairs, and I assumed they were searching the mansion. Of course, it turned out to only be a Polish girl and her Jewish friends."
"Companions," Celina mumbled, "Jewish companions."
"Then the Nazi came, as I'm sure you are aware of, and I was terrified he would find me or the little girl," at this he gestured towards Celina, "would turn me in." At the end of his speech, the soldier's eyes fluttered dramatically. His hand was strewn out haphazardly on the floor as if someone had thrown it there.
Celina rolled her eyes, but not before haughtily raising her chin in defiance. "I am nearly sixteen," she murmured, "You're merely a boy; a foolish one, at that. Why, that uniform's too big for you." Celina clucked her tongue in pity, batting her eyelashes. "Didn't they tell you that they needed men to fight?"
Anka burst out into peals of laughter, her giggles swallowing the air with exuberance no one had felt in ages. Celina allowed a sly smile to curve on her lips. Even the soldier's eyes seemed to light up after he had finished glaring at her. Clutching the journal against her chest, Celina opened her mouth to say something when she was interrupted.
"Excuse me, but you left out a part," Anka said, after the laughs subsided, "You forgot to mention your name."
"Private Lawrence Crowell. You can call me Ren. Or Lawrie, or something like that." His cheeks began to turn a scarlet hue, despite the chilling air of the basement.
"Wren? As in the bird?" Celina asked, wrinkling her nose.
"Yes, you could say it's like the bird," Lawrence said, "That's what my friends called me, anyways. Wren. I was small then, too, just like the bird." His eyes bore reminiscence of past memories; some good, some bad, perhaps. For a while, they sat in silence, as if the air were frozen in time.
Finally Celina chirped up. "So, Wren, you want to avoid being captured by the Germans?" she started, "We'll have to get moving as soon as possible then. I have an idea to where we might go, to where we might find some help."
"You forget. I'm injured."
Anka nodded in agreement; intently studying the stairs as if a ghost might creep down them at any moment. Celina stated that no, she did not forget, and that they would simply have to create a stretcher. Opening the journal and fingering to the latest entry, she knit her eyebrows in concentration. Tulip man. Regret. Helping others. Previous conversations swirled in Celina's mind. Whenever her father mentioned helping others, at least during this awful war, it usual involved something illegal. The Resistance.
"Mariusz!" she called, "Do you know any florists that happen to be a member of the Resistance on this list?"
Once he had rushed down the steps and caught his breath, Celina thrust him the slip of paper. His mahogany eyes glanced over the words in a second, then nodded his hand in understanding. Celina bit her lip to control the smile spreading upon her face. She had thought it unlikely that Mariusz knew anything about the Resistance, yet evidently he did.
"Yes, in Salzburg there's a florist listed here. His name sounds familiar; I believe he was a part of Żegota before relocating to another a private resistance operation in Austria," he said, warily eyeing Wren, "Why do you ask?"
Celina felt her heart lift out of her chest. She nonchalantly tapped her foot, sending staccato vibrations throughout the floor. The journal served a more substantial purpose than merely to lift and enlighten Celina. It was meant to lead her where to go.
"My father's a genius," she said, "He knew that if I was at Aneta's for whatever reason, I'd need another place to stay as well. He knew that if Mr. Budny hadn't put me up to something illegal, I'd be off traveling on my own. He knew I couldn't stand staying in the house without him." The last part, her voice drifted off, soft and tender amidst the buzzing energy in the room. After seeing the confusion bubbling in Anka's eyes, Celina cleared her throat to continue. "My father's journal. It not only contains daily entries merely to encourage me, but it also contains hints as where we can stay. The first two entries were just to explain the purpose of the journal, and to make sure we were actually staying at Aneta's. The third was to lead us in the direction of Austria. My father couldn't have known where he was soon to be held prisoner, but there was a great chance that I had already investigated the camps in Poland."
"But you hadn't, right?" Wren interrupted. His voice was almost mocking, Celina thought, as if Celina was over explaining everything.
"No, I had not," she said, visibly irritated, "Lucky for us, though, I recalled past conversations with my father's friends, and I remembered the name Mauthausen. I'd found him, but I couldn't save him." She murmured the last part as a whisper, almost as an afterthought.
Mariusz and Anka exchanged awkward glances. Reminiscence lay in the subtle crevices of their skin. Celina swallowed the words that wanted desperately wanted to escape. They believed she merely imagined it. They believed she was insane.
"Your point being?" It was Wren again.
Celina ignored his remark. "I believe my father is leading me to Salzburg. The list Mr. Budny gave us, his last journal entry, all of it leads to someone that can help us." Celina finished with her chin lifted ever so slightly in the air. Wren asked to see the journal, and with great trepidation Celina placed it in his grimy, mud caked fingers.
When he finished reading, he look up from the pages. "Your father mentions a mad philanthropist who also happens to be a florist and you think he wants you to go to Salzburg?"
Celina bit her lip in annoyance. His face suddenly seemed the color of a moldy lemon, perhaps from the dim light of the candle flickering beside him. "It all connects to the Resistance. Besides, it's just one extra stop and it's on the way."
Mariusz nodded in agreement. "I'll start fashioning the stretcher. You and Anka can pack everything we need and map out where we need to go. We can't ride on trains anymore, so we'll have to figure out some other means of transportation." He then proceeded to sprint up the steps, but then thought better of it and slowed down to a trot.
Nodding, Celina began packing everything into hers and Anka's knapsack. She handed Wren's canvas bag to him so he could begin to pack as well; placing photographs and bandages and an Offiziersmesser he had somehow kept with him. Celina hesitated before placing the journal in the knapsack, however. She yearned to page open to the next entry and soak up the inked, slanted writing. Yet something kept her waiting until they arrived in Salzburg; perhaps it was the bubbling anticipation that burned in her throat.
"You ready?" Wren asked out of nowhere.
Celina's froze in a downward curve. "Why wouldn't I be ready?"
"It's a dangerous world out there, Celina. Sure, you've already come all the way from Poland, but things are worse out there now. Everyone knows you and your friends, and now you have an injured American soldier in tow. Can you make it?" His words seemed clipped and forced, contrary to his smooth, arrogant tone he typically has.
Celina felt her heart rise in her throat. Sweat began to glisten on her forehead. She forced a nonchalant smile on her lips, waving away his words with her hand. "Dangerous? Why do you think I took this job, to take a walk in the lush hills of Austria?" she said, "You're what the Polish call głupi, you know that?" She chuckled, her laugh awkwardly filling the gaps of time.
Yet as Celina felt her heart beat quicker and quicker, like an explosive threatening to go off, she knew the answer to his question. She knew that despite the optimism beaming in her eyes a few minutes ago, that they might not even make it to Salzburg.
❋ ❋ ❋
"Do you even know how to drive this thing?" Celina yelled over the rush of the wind. It caressed her hair, none too gently, sending golden strands draping over her eyes. Wren cheered in the back seat before clutching his abdomen.
"Slightly strenuous for the injured," he pointed out.
Celina rolled her eyes. How much attention did he require? Anka giggled in the background like a young girl vying for a boy's attention. "She's what, twelve?" Celina murmured.
"No, thirteen."
Wren had mentioned hearing a vehicle drive up here the night he was injured, and never heard it leave. Definitely a Steyr, he had said, or perhaps a RSO or a Fiat. Probably a black, Type 55 1938 model, Wren claimed. Mariusz found it parked several yards from the mansion by a nearby cottage. Upon finding it, the group hopped in and sped away with Mariusz at the wheel. It probably belonged to a young couple, Mariusz said, members of the Resistance, who were arrested the night the soldier came to the mansion. He immediately thrust out the forged documents found in the passenger seat, buried beneath a linen sheet.
"And to answer you first question," Mariusz said, practically shouting, "is yes and no. I've driven once before the Nazis invaded Poland. Then they took away our right to drive."
Celina felt her throat drop to her stomach as they flew down a hill. Dust enveloped the car like a storm of tan particles. "You mean you haven't driven since 1939?" Gulping, Celina looked nervously at the back seat. Wren and Anka were engrossed in some muted conversation. Every so often her lips would curve upward into a smile.
"1938, actually." Mariusz frowned, his eyebrows knitted in concentration as he studied the workings of the car.
"Fantastic," Celina mumbled, "I don't know how you plan to get gas for this thing. We're not going to last all the way to Salzburg. And what happens if, no when, we are stopped by a Nazi-"
"Sorry, darling, I can't hear you over the rumbling of the engine! Speak up!"
Celina merely shrugged, frowning. There was no need to point out the fact that they didn't even know where they were going, nonetheless that even if they did there would be know way they'd arrive in Salzburg unharmed. A shriek escaped her mouth as Mariusz violently swerved away from a pole on the side of the road. Her heart beat wildly in her chest.
"The swerving isn't good for my wound!" Wren shouted.
Celina cringed. Despite the lightness in his voice, she couldn't help but bite her lip in irritation. She let his remark fly unanswered.
The rest of the car ride passed in a daydream for Celina. Despite her heart constantly dropping as Mariusz sped over hills and nearly derailed them off the road, Celina felt her eyes growing heavier. She dreamed of her father and herself, lying in a field of tulips, watching the sun sink behind the rolling hills. She dreamed of white, puffy clouds transforming into dark stormy ones. She dreamed of thunder and lighting striking the tulips until they shriveled up into a black, crinkled mess. And when she turned to face her father, he was gone.
"Rudaski! Wake up, we have car trouble!"
Celina leaned forward with a start, shallow gasps escaping her lips. It was Wren's voice; sadistic and cocky as ever. Licking her parched lips, she blinked to adjust to the lighting. Everything was cloaked in black; merely a sliver of a moon lighting up the sky. Mariusz wasn't in the driver's seat.
"He's out trying to fix the car. I think we just ran out of gas," Wren said.
Celina gazed towards the back seat. Anka was sound asleep, her heading resting on the window. Typical. Wren had woken Celina up but not Anka.
Rubbing her stiff legs, Celina rested her head against the window. It chilled her skin, causing goosebumps to rise on her arm. Her eyes threaten to flutter shut as if something was weighing them down. It was when her eyes jerked open with a start, however, then she began to notice a faint staccato tapping.
Footsteps.
Then a hollow banging on the car door.
A yelp from Mariusz.
She heard the trembling in his faint voice. Celina clutched the edge of her seat until her knuckles turned white. The sound of Wren breathing suddenly disappeared, as if a wall of silence separated her from the back seat. Anka remained unperturbed, her eyes still glued shut with dreams.
"...of course! Go right ahead, sir," Mariusz said. Celina felt the car vibrate, and then light from the flashlight flooded into her face. The Nazi had swung open the passenger door. Celina resisted the urge to cringe.
"Well! You do have a full car! Is she your-" he started. Celina imagined his lips being pulled back in a snarl, like a wolf waiting to devour its prey.
"Cousin?" Mariusz interjected, "Yes, she's my cousin. I presume that's what you were about to ask?"
The soldier's eyes were decidedly dull, Celina thought, cold and hard like his very heart. He merely tapped his fingers against his thigh in annoyance before moving on to a different subject. "I assume you know why I've stopped you?"
"You're looking for the runaway Jews and the Polish girl?" Wren offered, a tinge of rebellion present in his voice. Celina lifted her chin, narrowing her eyes as she heard the Nazi's booming laugh. Mariusz forced a timid chuckle, turning his gaze away from Wren.
"You're too smart...I'm sorry, I never caught your name."
"Lawrence, sir. You can call me Lawrie, if you'd like!"
The Nazi's lips formed into a frown. Celina could feel his stale breath on her arms. "Lawrence. How pleasing. I take it you aren't from around here," he said, then cleared his throat as if they'd wasted enough time already, "I'm sure that if you've heard of these fugitives, you've heard of their descriptions."
"No, I'm afraid I haven't."
Celina squeezed her eyes shut. Blood pulsed in her veins as she heard Anka stir from the back, slowly coming awake. The soldier was taunting them; she could hear it in his voice.
"Well, that might be a problem, right? Oh, no worries, I'll describe them to you," he said, "The eldest Jew is in his twenties, I'd say, with filthy dark hair and red-brown eyes. He appears to have a sister of maybe twelve with thin dark hair and muddy gaunt cheeks. Just like Hitler describes them."
At this Celina saw Mariusz cringe out of the corner of her eye. Such horrific exaggerations, all to demean the very people in this car, she thought.
"The Polish girl is, say sixteen, and your typical pretty blonde schoolgirl. Much too thin and scraggly; has that look of a rebel."
Celina squirmed in her seat as the Nazi glanced at her, the corners of his mouth ever so slightly curving into a smile. His second sentence contradicted the first, and she knew it was done purposefully to cause discomfort.
"Impeccable descriptions, soldier, but a lot of girls look like schoolgirls, and a lot of Jews look the way you described. How should we tell them apart?" Wren asked.
"Thank you, Lawrence. You bring up an excellent point," he started, "These fugitives are each carrying knapsacks, like the ones you have, in fact. They were last seen in a black Steyr, the 1938 model, naturally. They may be traveling with an American pilot who crashed here recently and disappeared."
Anka whimpered. So she was awake now, and fully absorbed into their conversation. Mariusz's eyes were glued to the floor. Wren was silent. Celina felt the air being knocked out of her lungs.
"Th-that certainly clears things up," Wren said.
But the soldier was done playing games.
In the next instant, Celina felt herself being thrown out the car and onto the dusty road. She heard a series of crashes and stumbling curse and bullets piercing through the air from a startled Nazi. The sounds were muted, however, mere background noises as she felt both Wren's and Mariusz's hands yank her away from the car. She let them pull her away, screaming for her to run faster. Anka was already sprinting ahead. Yet Celina felt her legs shaking, stumbling violently across the road.
She could feel the bullets whiz past her ear.
She heard the Nazi's vulgar shouts erupting in the distance.
And then she felt herself immersed in blackness as her feet stumbled over a large rock.