Page 20 of The Lost Husband

I thought we were free.

“We’ll investigate where the smoke is coming from,” Avi tells the others. “Quietly. We’ll report back after. If we don’t return, go in another direction.”

Avi’s agreement to join me is surprising, but after spotting that poor woman in the snow, it’s clear how reckless it would be to continue forward on my own.

“You don’t have to do this. I know you want to stay away from the Soviets. You’ve made it clear, rightfully so. I can take care of myself,” I tell her.

Avi closes her eyes and shakes her head.

“Don’t bother arguing.” She steps ahead of me, ensuring I don’t have the last word here, but bolt forward to catch up with her. Those we leave behind become a blur in our background as we continue toward the smoke. “Just because I’m coming with you though, doesn’t mean I understand any part of you.”

“Why—what do you mean by that?” I’m sure my question is an open door for another insult.

“Yesterday you seemed confused and timid. Today you’re—somewhat mad and a bit too brave.”

“With your valid reasons to think of me the way you are, I truly don’t feel right about dragging you along with me. You’re just a child,” I tell her.

I shouldn’t risk her safety for my own selfish needs.

Avi scoffs and kick a small rock in her path. “I’m seventeen. Hardly a child,” she stares with quiet anger. “I already told you, I wasn’t worthy of a childhood. The Soviets stole that from me. The least those bastards can do is let me steal some food now.” She walks faster, forcing space between us, but she isn’t finished airing herself out. “And how dare you call me a child when you couldn’t even pull yourself out of the snow? How old are you, then? Twenty-five? You need me. You just won’t admit it.”

“Twenty-six.”Good guess. It’s clear I’ve hit a nerve. I can’t imagine how many children feel the same way, if they were lucky enough to survive this long. “My point is, none of us know what’s best right now, but we need to make clear, firm decisions.”

“And I suppose you know what the right decision is?” she presses.

“Not standing still.” I can’t stand still.

I have to find that man…

Just as the rail tracks comes into sight, Avi stops and presses her hand against a tree, her breaths puffing out in quick little clouds. “You could barely walk yesterday, which is why I’m coming with you.” She rolls her eyes and her shoulders tense.

A branch breaks behind us, forcing us to spin around. Avi clutches her fists to her chest, as if ready to fight someone.

Two other refugees from the group we were with have followed us. A boy around Avi’s age, messy hair that’s long enough to show he wasn’t a new transport, a determined expression, big, unblinking gray eyes, and a jaw clenching so hard it must be biting back a shiver. His coat is far too small, but at least he gets to wear pants unlike the women.

The woman looks old enough to be his mother, but they don’t look alike. Though I can only see her tired brown eyes, scraped up thin nose, and parched lips. Her black scarf covers her head and neck, and like Avi and me, she’s in her smock, tall socks, clogs, and a stolen wool coat.

“We’d like to come along with you. There’s no sense in standing still,” the woman says. “We’re hungry, and if that smoke leads to food, we want to join you.”

“I think you’re right to move toward the smoke because with that amount, it might mean whoever was there just put out the fire, which means we’ll have more of a chance of finding what they’ve left behind for supplies and food,” the boy says.

I’m quietly hoping they haven’t left yet, but the boy has a good point.

Avi doesn’t acknowledge their comments, just turns around and continues walking.

“What are your names?” the boy asks. “You two acted like you had been following us the whole time since leaving Auschwitz, but we all know you didn’t arrive until late afternoon yesterday. None of the others trust you.”

“They shouldn’t trust us, or anyone,” Avi says, walking ahead.

I fall back a step, waiting for the two of them to catch up, despite Avi refusing to slow down. My shoulder throbsthrough my momentary stillness, a pain I’ve been trying not to acknowledge.

“I’m Celina and that’s Avi,” I tell the boy. “I don’t agree that we shouldn’t trust anyone. We were all prisoners. We all want to survive.”

He keeps his eyes set on Avi’s back, his brows arched with confusion. “Elias.” His voice cracks from the cold, and his accent sounds Austrian.

“I’m Gerda,” the woman follows. I get a closer look at her now, finding frost coating her thin eyebrows.

“Are you two acquainted?” I ask.