I stare at the Gestapo officers, unable to speak. Panic cuts through me. Did they see Jacob? He could not have gotten that far away. Perhaps that is why they are here. I take a breath. “G-good evening,” I manage to say over the rock that has formed in my throat.

“Were you expecting someone?” the older of the two men asks.

I hesitate, searching for a response. “Our gardener, Ryszard, was supposed to be dropping off some supplies,” Krysia says from behind me. She has come halfway down the stairs, still in her nightgown and robe. She steps past me, opening the door wider and extending her hand. “I am Krysia Smok.”

The older man, who is thin and tall with glasses, takes her hand. “I am Lieutenant Hoffman and this is Sergeant Braun.” He gestures to the younger man, who is short, with a thick build.

Krysia shakes his hand then turns to Sergeant Braun, who merely nods. “Won’t you gentlemen come in?” She sounds calm and polite, as if she is inviting one of her society friends for tea. Shutting the door behind them, I shoot Krysia a puzzled look. “Come upstairs,” she says. “It’s much warmer there.” I suddenly realize that Krysia wants to get the policemen inside and off the street so they would not spot Jacob. She should be the one working for the Nazis under an assumed identity, I think, as I follow her and the men upstairs; she is a much better actress.

Krysia invites the men into the parlor. “Make tea, will you, dear?” she asks me. I hesitate, not wanting to leave her alone with them, but her voice is calm and firm. In the kitchen, I fill the kettle, my mind racing. Why have the Gestapo come now? What do they want? A few minutes later, I carry the tea tray to the parlor, forcing my hands not to shake. I set down the tray on the low table by the sofa. As I pour, I study the policemen furtively. Lieutenant Hoffman is standing by the fireplace, scrutinizing the photograph of Marcin on the mantel. I remember the night I arrived at Krysia’s, my sadness at her insistence that we hide the photographs of Jacob. Now I am grateful for her foresight. My eyes dart around the room, searching for some sign of Jacob’s visit just minutes earlier, but there is none. Sergeant Braun is staring out the window into the trees of Las Wolski. I shoot Krysia a nervous look. Is it possible that he could see Jacob fleeing in the darkness? “Gentlemen, please, come have some tea,” she urges. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the men come and sit in the chairs across from us. “You’ll have to forgive our using the everyday dishes,” Krysia says, handing each man a cup of tea. “And my not being properly dressed to receive you. You see, we aren’t used to having such distinguished guests arrive unannounced.” She stresses the last word, subtly rebuking the Gestapo for their intrusion.

“We apologize for the inconvenience,” says Hoffman, sounding like a chastised schoolboy. “It’s just that we—”

“Nonsense!” Braun interjects with a blustering tone that reminds me of General Ludwig, our obnoxious dinner party guest on the night I met the Kommandant. “The Gestapo is not in the habit of scheduling appointments, madam.”

“Of course,” Krysia replies evenly. She is speaking slowly, stalling for time. “Our home is always open to you. What brings you out on this cold evening? How can we help?”

Hoffman speaks. “We’ve had reports of fugitives in this area.” I know he means resistance fighters, though of course the Nazis will not call them by that name. “Operating out of the forest in the hills.”

“Las Wolski?” Krysia asks. Her voice is filled with surprise that nearly convinces me.

He nods. “Have you seen anything?”

“Nothing,” she replies with conviction. “Of course, we don’t go walking in the woods this time of year.”

“Of course,” Braun replies. There is a hint of sarcasm in his tone. He faces Krysia squarely. “Have you heard from your nephew lately?”

I inhale sharply, stunned by the question. There is a moment of complete silence and I hope the policemen have not noticed my reaction. “I have several nephews, sir,” Krysia replies, a slight tremor in her voice. “To which one are you referring?”

“Your nephew on your husband’s side. You have only one: Jacob Bau.” My blood runs cold. They know about Jacob.

“Oh, you mean Marcin’s nephew, Jacob.” Krysia pronounces my husband’s name as though she has not heard it in years.

“Yes.” Braun’s voice is impatient.

“Has he done something?” she asks.

Braun hesitates. He is surprised, I think, by the boldness of her question. “He was a troublemaker before the war, publishing lies about the Reich. And he hasn’t been seen since it started. We’d like to speak with him.”

“That boy always was getting into scrapes,” Krysia replies, trying to sound light.

“These are not ‘scrapes,’” Braun replies with a scowl. “We’re talking about treason.”

“Yes, of course.” Krysia’s expression turns serious, as though she has only just grasped the gravity of the situation. “I understand. But I haven’t seen Jacob in years. Not since before the war. Even then I only ran into him a few times in the city.” I am amazed at how Krysia manages to lie so easily. “I haven’t had much to do with that side of the family since Marcin died, you know.” Her voice is even, her tone conversational. “And I don’t get a lot of visitors since I moved out here.” She directs her last remark at Hoffman.

“I find that surprising, Pani Smok,” the older man replies quickly. “You are a gracious host, even to unexpected guests. And you have a beautiful home.”

Krysia dips her head slightly to the left, sweeping her hair from her eyes. “You are too kind, sir.” She is flirting, I realize, to buy time and throw the Gestapo off Jacob’s trail. It seems to be working with Hoffman.

The younger man, however, is having none of it. “I noticed a cabin in the back garden,” Braun interjects. “What’s in there?”

Krysia turns to him. “Nothing,” she replies quickly. “It’s been empty for as long as I can remember.”

Braun studies Krysia’s face. “You won’t mind if we take a look there, then?”

Krysia hesitates. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the quickest flash of panic. I can read the dilemma in her mind. Did Jacob leave? she is wondering, or is he hiding? “The lock is rather old and I’m afraid I don’t have a key,” she says at last, meeting the younger officer’s eyes.

“If the lock is as old as you say, it should break easily,” he counters. It is clear he is not going to back down.

I can see a thin line of perspiration forming on Krysia’s upper lip. “Very well,” she replies at last. “Give me just a moment to get dressed and I’ll escort you.”

Krysia walks from the parlor and up the stairs slowly, stalling as long as she can. I sit motionless, terrified of the questions the men may ask me. But they do not speak. Instead, they walk around the room once more, lifting and inspecting photographs and other items. Braun walks to the piano and fingers the keys in an awkward manner that tells me he has never played. Sitting helplessly as they rummage through our lives, I feel more violated than I ever have with the Kommandant.

The Kommandant. For a moment, I consider mentioning that I work for him; perhaps the mention of such a high-ranking official would persuade them to leave us alone. But if the officers decide to verify my story with him, they might explain why they came calling at Krysia’s house in the first place, which would highlight my connection to Jacob. I cannot risk it.

A few minutes later, Krysia reappears in the dress she had been wearing earlier when Jacob was here. As she passes me, I can smell the faintest hint of his scent, which still clings to her clothing. Run far, Jacob, I pray. Be safe. “Ready?” she asks the officers brightly, as though we were going on a picnic. We make our way down the stairs and Krysia opens the front door. Before we can step through, however, another uniformed man appears in the doorway.

“You were told to stay in the car,” Braun admonishes.

“It’s okay,” Hoffman interjects. “What is it, Klopp?”

“We’ve been radioed by headquarters, sir. An urgent matter requires our return.”

Braun hesitates, looking in the direction of the cabin in the backyard. “This should take just a minute—”

“I’m sorry, sir, but the message said we’re to return at once.”

Hoffman turns to Krysia. “It appears your cottage door is to be spared tonight. Thank you for your cooperation.” The men disappear into the night.

Krysia locks the door behind them. Outside a car engine starts, then grows faint in the distance. I exhale sharply. “That was close.”

Krysia does not answer but sinks to the bottom step, clutching her hands to her chest. Her face has gone gray. I kneel beside her. “Krysia, what is it? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she manages, her voice barely a whisper. Krysia is normally so strong and capable, I forget that she is nearly seventy. I wonder if the strain of the Gestapo coming here has been too much.

“Let’s go upstairs.” I put my arm around her and gently help her to her feet. Together, we make our way up the stairs into the kitchen and I guide her into a chair. From the upper floor, I can hear Lukasz crying. “Wait here,” I tell Krysia.

Upstairs, I find Lukasz standing in his crib, his face red and wet. I lift him up and draw him close. “Good boy,” I whisper, grateful that he had not cried earlier.

I carry him downstairs to Krysia, who sits where I left her, not moving. “Here.” I place Lukasz in her lap. She clutches him tightly and rocks back and forth. “I’ll make some tea.”

Krysia shakes her head. “No tea,” she says, still rocking. “Vodka.” I remember the bottle I have seen stored in the back of the ice box. I pull out the bottle and pour some in two glasses, over ice. Then, I pour a small cup of milk for Lukasz. I rejoin Krysia at the table with the drinks. As Krysia reaches for her glass, Lukasz wriggles free of her arms and scampers to the floor, taking the cup of milk from me.

“Feeling better?” I ask Krysia, studying her face. Some of the color seems to have returned to her cheeks.

“Yes. I’m sorry about that,” she replies. “Sometimes I just get some…some tightness in my chest when things are tense.”

A wave of panic rises within me. “Krysia, that could be your heart. You need to see a doctor.”

She shakes her head. “What would a doctor do for me, even if we could find one? No, I’ll be fine.”

I start to argue but know that it is futile. “Well, at least that’s over with.”

“For now, anyway,” she replies tersely. “I have a feeling that they’ll be back.”

“We were lucky that they got called back to headquarters.”

Krysia looks at me, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. “What makes you think that luck had anything to do with it?”

I realize then that Krysia had not just been stalling upstairs. I remember a radio that I saw once, tucked in the back corner of her closet. “What did you…? How did you…?”

“Let’s just say that the men were likely to find the call back to headquarters had been some sort of misunderstanding.”

My mind reels. I cannot imagine the connections Krysia must have to be able to fabricate such a call. I want to ask more, but the less I know, the better. “Were you worried that Jacob might be hiding in the shed?”

She shakes her head. “Not at all. Jacob, I knew, was long since gone. But there are things…well, let’s just say that I need to get ahold of the resistance right away. That shed needs to be empty when the Gestapo returns.”

“You seem certain that they will.”

“Definitely. I think I had Hoffman fooled—”

I interrupt, “Yes, you flirted very convincingly.”

She manages a laugh. “I thought I might have gotten rusty, but I suppose it’s one of those things you never forget. Anyway, Hoffman may have been distracted, but Braun was still suspicious. And he’s tenacious, like a pit bull.” I nod, knowing the type. “At least Lukasz stayed upstairs quietly.” At the sound of his name, the child looks up and smiles. “We may not be so lucky next time.”

I slump backward, the full reality of what has happened crashing down upon me. The Gestapo has been here looking for Jacob. We are lucky not to be in a prison right now. Stay calm, I tell myself. It is your turn to be strong for Krysia. I take a small sip of the vodka, trying not to grimace. “I considered telling them I worked for the Kommandant so they would leave us alone.”

“It’s better that you did not,” Krysia agrees. “We don’t want them drawing to the Kommandant’s attention any connection between you and Jacob, even if it is just that you are both somehow related to me.”

“I thought the same thing.”

She pauses and takes a large sip of vodka. “I’m not sure what we should do about the child.”

“Do?” I ask, alarmed. “What do you mean?”

“If the Gestapo comes back and sees Lukasz, they are going to have questions.”

“But we were able to keep him quiet tonight….”

“Anna, it’s not that simple. Do you think it was a coincidence that the Gestapo came here asking about Jacob just moments after he left? No,” she says, answering her own question. “I think someone told them that he was here.”

I gasp. “An informant?”

“Yes. Perhaps one of my neighbors with Nazi sympathies who saw him arrive, perhaps a traitor within the resistance. I’ve been worried about this ever since we heard about the earlier leaks. There may be someone who knows, or suspects, that you and Lukasz are not who you appear to be. It may not be safe for him to stay with us much longer.”

“No!” I cry, picking up the child. “He’s only just gotten used to us. We can’t uproot him again.”

“We may have no choice, Anna. Our first priority has got to be his safety, keeping him alive.”

I stand up, still holding Lukasz. “But…”

“I know you’ve gotten attached to him. We both have. But he’s not our child. He may not be with us forever. You understand that, don’t you?” I do not answer, but bury my head in Lukasz’s curls.

“Where would he go?” I ask at last.

Krysia pauses. “I don’t know,” she concedes. “I can’t imagine there is anywhere safer for him right now. So I will hold off on saying anything to the resistance about it. But you need to accept that it may happen.”

“Maybe I could…” I start to suggest that I could speak to the Kommandant, get him to ask the Gestapo to leave us alone. Then I stop. He is not our friend in this. Asking his help would only draw his attention to the fact that Krysia has ties to the resistance. “Never mind.”

“Here.” Krysia sets down her glass of vodka and stands unsteadily. I can tell that she has not fully recovered from our runin with the Gestapo. She holds out her arms. “I’ll put him to bed.”

“No.” I turn away from her, not wanting to let go. Even though I know it is irrational, I am afraid that if I let go, she will take him away and I will not see him again.

“Anna, please.” She tries to pull him gently from my arms, but I pull back, holding on. As I do, Krysia’s foot hits the cup of milk that is still sitting on the ground. The liquid shoots in all directions. I see Krysia fall backward, as if in slow motion. “Oh!” she cries, landing on her backside on the hardwood floor with a yelp.

I rush to her side, still holding the child. “Krysia, are you okay?”

She does not answer and I can tell that she is shaken. “I’m fine,” she says, though I know that her pride, at least, has been wounded. I hold out my hand to help her up, but she ignores it, slowly standing on her own.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, embarrassed. Krysia has been our protector and I am treating her as if she is the enemy.

“It’s this war,” she says, taking Lukasz from me. “No one is herself anymore.”

Suddenly I remember my conversation with Jacob, my sense that he had come because something terrible was about to happen. Something that might hurt Jacob, keep him from ever coming back to me again. My stomach tightens. “I need to see Alek.” I am surprised by the cold, forceful voice that comes from within me.

Krysia stares at me, surprised. “That may be impossible. You know the resistance has gone dark.”

“I know that there are ways,” I reply insistently. “I’ll go out and find him myself if I have to.”

She hesitates. “Fine. I’ll try to send word that you need to see him this Tuesday.”

I start to say that this is not soon enough, that I needed to see him now. Then I stop; there are even limits to what Krysia can do. “Thank you. Only Alek,” I add. “It must be him personally.”

“Anna, I know you are worried,” Krysia says. “But you can’t stop the resistance. They will do what they need to do.” I do not answer her. Krysia is like Marta in the way that they both treat the resistance leadership with so much deference. A year earlier I might have, too. But I have seen too much these past few months to stand by and watch. Attacking the Nazis is suicide. I have to try to stop them.

Time seems to crawl for the next few days. Tuesday after work, I race to the market square and enter the café where I have met Alek and the others previously. Inside, it is nearly deserted, except for a lone couple smoking at a table in the corner. Alek is not there and I wonder if I am just early or if he is not going to show. Trying to remain calm, I sit down at an unoccupied table and order a glass of tea.

Several minutes later, Alek appears. His cheeks are icy from the cold as he kisses me hello. “It’s been a long time,” he says, gesturing to the waitress for coffee. He sits down.

“Yes. Did you receive what I gave to Marek?”

He nods. “It was tremendously helpful. Exactly what we were looking for.” He does not speak until after the waitress has brought his coffee and left again. “You have something else for me?” he asks eagerly, turning to me.

I hesitate. I knew that the urgency of my message would mislead Alek into thinking I had obtained some additional information for him. I hated tricking him, but it was the only way. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”

Alek looks puzzled. “Then why did you summon me? Is something wrong? Did someone find out about you?”

I shake my head. “No one has found out. But there is something wrong…Alek, this is madness!”

A look of understanding crosses his face. He slams his hand down on the table so hard the dishes rattle. The couple at the table across the room looks over at us. “I knew I never should have let Jacob go to see you,” he whispers harshly. I am stunned. I have never seen Alek angry before.

“He didn’t tell me anything. I guessed.”

“You guessed what?” he demands.

I falter. “Th-that you are about to do something dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Emma, this whole war has been dangerous. Sending you to work for the Kommandant was dangerous. Hiding Lukasz is dangerous. Sending our fighters into the forests is dangerous. And for all of these dangers, these risks, our people continue to suffer and die.” His eyes burn with anger, not at me, but at the evil the resistance is fighting. I recognize it as the same expression I saw in Jacob’s eyes three days earlier. They are united in their determination to go through with whatever it is they have planned.

“But…” I start to protest.

Alek raises his hand. “This is none of your concern.”

“None of my concern?” Now it is my voice that rises. The woman at the other table looks over again, raising her eyebrows in our direction. “None of my concern?” I repeat, lowering my voice. “Alek, I have risked my life for this movement. I have abandoned my parents, shamed my marriage. It is more than my business.” I meet his eyes squarely. “It is my right.”

We glare at each other without speaking for several moments. “You have gained great strength these last few months,” he says at last, his face softening. I detect a note of surprise in his voice. “Very well, what do you want to know?”

“Why now?”

He lowers his voice. “There is great danger afoot for our people, Emma.”

“The ghetto…”

“I am not talking about the ghetto. I’m talking about the camps!” I blink, not comprehending. “You’ve heard about Auschwitz, haven’t you?”

“Yes, it’s a labor camp.” My stomach turns. I can still picture the haunted look in the Kommandant’s eyes the night after he visited Auschwitz with the delegation.

“That is what the Nazis have told the people, what they would like the people to believe. It’s a death camp, Emma. The Nazis have begun gassing our people to death, and burning their bodies in ovens. Thousands of Jews every day. Soon there will be no ghetto, no labor camps. Only Auschwitz, and Belzec and the other death camps. The Nazis will not stop until every Jew has gone up the pipes in smoke!”

“No…” I turn away, sickened. Surely it cannot be true. Yet I trust Alek, and the sincerity of his words makes them impossible to ignore. I did not realize until this very moment that the Nazis mean not merely to enslave us, but to exterminate every single Jew.

“We believe this is a critical time,” he continues. “The Germans are entering their second winter in Poland. The war is not going well for them. They are getting desperate. The information you provided to us demonstrates that they are planning to liquidate the Kraków ghetto and send the Jews to the death camps very soon. So you see why it is essential that we act now.”

“Yes,” I reply weakly. Alek is right. Despite my love for Jacob and all of my concern, there is nothing more that I can say.

“Good. Emma, there is one other thing.” I look at him quizzically. “It’s about Richwalder. I know you have wondered about his past, his wife.” I nod; Krysia must have told him this. “I have long thought the less you knew, the easier it would be to work for him. But now…” Alek pauses. “Well, I don’t know for how much longer our meetings will be able to continue. It is essential that you know everything.

“Richwalder’s wife was named Margot,” he begins.

“I know that,” I reply.

“But what you do not know is that her maiden name was Rosenthal. You see, Emma, her father was a Jew.” My jaw drops. Alek continues, “When the war first broke out, Richwalder thought that his wife’s heritage, the fact that she was half-Jewish, might be kept a secret. But shortly after Richwalder was appointed to a senior position in the Ministry of Defense, Margot’s father, who had been a prominent political activist in the Communist Party, was arrested and sent to a camp, Bergen-Belsen. Margot pleaded for her husband to intervene to save her father, but Richwalder knew that to do so would only expose his wife’s ancestry. To protect her, or perhaps to protect his precious career, he refused. Friedrich Rosenthal was executed before a firing squad. The next day, Richwalder came home to find his wife dead—she had shot herself in their bed with his own revolver.”

My stomach twists. “Oh, no…”

“She was six months pregnant when she died,” he adds. I can barely hear him over the pounding in my ears. “You can see now why we felt it best you not know the truth. But, Emma, no matter what you think and no matter what happens, you must go on pretending with Richwalder. Many lives depend upon it.”

I am frozen, unable to move or speak. “I’m sorry, but I really have to go,” Alek says. He stands and throws a few coins down on the table.

I look up. “How, I mean when, will I see any of you again?”

He places a hand on my shoulder. “Have faith, Emma. As the great American President Lincoln once said, ‘And this, too, shall pass away.’ I look forward to one day sitting openly in an outdoor café with you and our friends, having a beer and looking back and remembering.”

I look up at him. His words are brave, but I know from the troubled look behind his eyes that he suspects in his heart such a day will never come to pass. At the same time, there is a clarity to his eyes that tells me he is unafraid of whatever will come. I stare up at him, awed by his bravery. “God bless you, Alek,” I whisper, squeezing his hand. “And thank you.” He turns without speaking and is gone.