Remnant of Forgiveness Page 9

  She met his gaze. “Maybe. Some Sunday.”

  “Great. Hey, we made it back already.” Nelson turned onto the walk leading to the front steps.

  Mary put on her best smile and followed, preceding him inside when he paused to open the screen door for her.

  “Oh, you’re back, you two,” Estelle remarked from the dining room. She came toward them, several pieces of silverware still in her hands as she peered outside. “Are we in for a storm? I’ve been watching the sky.”

  Mary had completely forgotten the clouds they’d mentioned earlier.

  “Wouldn’t be surprised,” Nelson said. “The radio announcer said a squall might be headed this way.”

  Wondering if it could possibly compare to the one raging inside her, Mary affected her original cheerfulness and turned to Estelle. “Needing help?”

  “Sure. Extra hands are always welcome here.”

  ❧

  The ticking of the bedside clock was barely audible against the pounding rain. Feeling utterly worn out, Mary Theresa made no attempt to read her Bible into the late hours. She lay curled up beneath all the blankets she possessed, summer or not, trying to dispel the chill inside her as she mulled over her visit to the Thomases, the more-than-pleasant walk with Nelson.

  You have no right to feel slighted, she lectured herself. You forget you must not think about Estelle’s brother.

  “But he is so nice to think about,” came her reply in the stillness.

  He is a good man. Not like the others. A man of pure thoughts. Too pure for you.

  There was no argument against the truth. Clenching her teeth, Mary turned over, covers and all, and expelled a weary sigh.

  The aggravating jangle of the alarm clock jolted her awake. Astonished that she’d dozed at all, Mary wondered how in the world she would get through this day. She got up and washed with cold water to help revive herself, then grabbed the first dress she touched and put it on.

  Shortly thereafter, when she arrived at the factory, she took comfort from knowing Estelle would be there. She headed straight for the machine.

  Mary’s spirit took a nosedive. Mrs. Hardwick stood waiting for her. What on earth could she want? “Good morning,” she ventured, wishing Estelle had come early. But her friend’s machine still wore its muslin cover.

  “Malinowski.” No actual smile ever made an appearance on the supervisor’s mouth. In fact, Mary decided, the only variance in the woman’s demeanor occurred when it revealed anger rather than irritation. “You’ll be moving to an electric machine today. One of the girls quit yesterday.”

  “I will? I–I mean. . .yes, Madam.” A better machine. Faster work. That meant more pay.

  It also meant a different location.

  Any elation she might have felt vanished like hoarfrost in the hot sun.

  “Come along. We’ll get you set up.”

  Clutching her purse to her chest, Mary trudged behind the surly matron, counting machines as they went. One, two, three. . . How far from Estelle was she going to end up? Fifteen, sixteen. . .

  Eventually Mary quit counting.

  When Mrs. Hardwick finally halted their march, Mary looked back across the cavernous room. The new—or rather, better—machine couldn’t have been farther from her old location unless it had been in an entirely different building.

  “Those are your supplies,” the woman announced, gesturing toward a metal rack lining the end wall. “You’ll find your new quota posted on the machine.” With something akin to a smirk, she turned on her heel and strode away.

  Mary hugged herself as she took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Olympic Sewing Factory suddenly reminded her a whole lot of a forced labor camp.

  eleven

  Just finishing up another shirt collar when the noon bell rang, Mary added the article to the others in her basket, then turned off her machine. She snatched her lunch bag and thermos from the bottom drawer and made a beeline for Estelle, approaching her friend from behind. Mischievously, Mary leaned over to peek into the brunette’s face.

  “There you are!” A look of profound relief subtracted frown lines from Estelle’s perpetually cheerful expression. “I’ve been getting a stiff neck all morning trying to find you.”

  Smiling, Mary cast a wistful look at her old machine, still bearing stacks of unfinished sleeve parts, as if waiting for her to sit down and get to work. Perhaps it was being serviced and oiled for its next attendant. “A nice day, it is. Outside we eat?”

  “Sure. Just let me grab my stuff.”

  Not wanting to waste any of the limited time available, they hurriedly exited the factory. Along the exterior of the drab, tan building, other Olympic workers stretched their legs and chatted. A few smoked cigarettes. Mary and Estelle filled their lungs with the fresh ocean breeze, appreciating even a short respite from the stuffy confines of the workplace as they made their way toward a shaded bench half a block’s distance away.

  “Where on earth did you end up?” Estelle asked on their walk. “When I arrived at my machine and saw a stranger occupying yours, I felt like I’d lost my only friend.”

  “My machine? A new girl there is?” After all the effort Mary had put forth to meet her quota on the old relic, she’d nevertheless harbored a slim hope that her move would prove temporary. And the fact that no one had been occupying it when she reached Estelle gave the impression that it was vacant. Now she knew she must accept the grim reality of permanence.

  “Yes,” Estelle moaned as they took seats. “Gertrude something or other. She’s nice enough and all, but the girl is all thumbs, and that’s no exaggeration. Maybe it’s from trying too hard or something, but so far, she’s managed to break two needles, chip a tip off her scissors, and she has yet to do a single sleeve properly.”

  Remembering how awkward she’d felt on her own first day, Mary couldn’t help chuckling.

  Estelle rolled her eyes. “Old Lady Hardwick’s been breathing down our necks all morning, barking orders. Needless to say, I didn’t want to risk drawing even more attention by asking after your whereabouts.” She reached into her lunch sack and took out an apple.

  “Poor you.” Mary Theresa sympathized as she unwrapped a ham and cheese sandwich and began eating.

  As always, Estelle bowed her head for a brief prayer before biting into the crisp fruit. “Poor me!” she exclaimed afterward. “What about you? Where’d she stick you?”

  “Other end of world,” Mary quipped wryly. “Against back wall. Too much we were liking work together, I think.”

  “No doubt.” Estelle’s light laugh somehow lacked mirth. “Well, at least on sunny days we can come here and have a short visit. Have you made a friend at your new station?” She crunched into her apple, a teasing gleam in her eye. “It probably won’t take much to replace me, sad to say.”

  A sheepish grin broke across Mary’s lips. “English I pretend not understanding. What good is to make friend, if just to split up?”

  At that, Estelle smiled and shook her head. “You’re right.” Then she sighed. “Lunch is the only time we’ll have now. And I’d really started enjoying our snatches of conversation each new day. It made coming to work much more pleasurable.”

  “For me, too.” The hot tea which usually perked Mary up during the break now only made her sleepy. Considering her restlessness throughout the previous night, she knew it would be a struggle to stay awake until quitting time. She poured out the contents of the thermos cup and recapped the bottle, then brushed the crumbs from her lap onto the sidewalk for the pigeons cooing about them. So much leisure time the birds had, strutting about in the mild, clean air.

  “Well, you’ll still be coming to supper on Tuesday nights. Okay?” Estelle asked a little too brightly. “At least we’ll have something to look forward to in this new, otherwise colorless existence.”

  Mary feigned a smile, her best attempt to match her friend’s levity. “Maybe. Sure.”

  Mutually disappointed at this new turn of events, they l
apsed into a short span of silence, watching the passing traffic as they ate.

  Suddenly Estelle stopped chewing. “Hey! I have an idea!”

  “What is it?”

  “On the other hand,” she said tentatively, “I guess it depends on whether you already go to church somewhere on Sundays. Does your host family come to get you every week?”

  “No. Other direction is Saint Hedwig’s. Not to bother, I tell them. Other churches near me.” Mary shrugged. “But go, I do not. To walk in alone, sit alone. . .”

  Estelle’s chocolate eyes focused on her. “Then, it’s settled. You’re coming with me and my family to church on Sundays. We’ll come by and pick you up. Afterward, you can have dinner with us. It’ll help make up for being separated at work. What do you think?”

  Mary hesitated. “More bother I would be.”

  “Are you kidding?” With a look of disbelief, Estelle leaned closer and hugged her. “You couldn’t be a bother if you tried. But—” She sobered. “If you think you’d feel uncomfortable attending worship with us, don’t think you have to come just to please me. I’ll understand.”

  “New to me is this Protestant church,” Mary admitted. “How to know if I like or not like?”

  “You mean, you’ll actually give it a try?”

  At the hope in her friend’s dark eyes, Mary didn’t have the heart to refuse. Besides, she told herself, perhaps it won’t be so very different from what I am used to. After all, they did worship the same God. And what could it hurt, to spend an extra day with these dear people who made her feel so at home? Or to be around Nelson. . .

  ❧

  “This must be it,” Nelson heard his father say as he steered into an empty space along the right curb. He applied the hand brake, then turned off the engine.

  “Right, Daddy. I’ll go get Mary.” Seated behind their father, Estelle opened her door and jumped out. In a matter of seconds, she disappeared into the broad foyer of a squat two-story building whose ground floor housed a watch repair shop on one side and a millinery on the other. Above were a number of apartments.

  Since his door was on the passenger side, Nelson also got out to wait by the car. No sense making Mary Theresa walk around the entire vehicle to get in. He slid one hand into the pocket of his dress slacks and idly assessed the neighborhood, noting other neatly kept establishments interspersed by occasional large dwellings. Fair-sized maples and box elder trees provided mottled shade to the sidewalks lining the street.

  Detecting the approaching chatter and giggles that invariably preceded his bubbly sister, he turned to see her emerge and start down the steps. The squirt looked particularly ap-pealing with her dark waves gleaming against the vibrant cranberry red dress Mom had finished a few days before. Her white hat and high heels accented the tiny polka dots and white trim, enhancing her shapely legs. Not bad, Nelson decided, even for a sister.

  But when Mary Theresa stepped into view, a ray of sunshine lit upon the fairest rose in all the kingdom. In a filmy long-sleeved dress of delicate pink, she needed no adornment but the strand of pearls gracing her neck. Beneath a small, straw-colored hat, and freed from the normal confinement of rolls and pins, her side-parted hair fell to her shoulders in a soft honey-gold pageboy. A pearl barrette rested behind one ear.

  Nelson had to remind himself to close his mouth.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, taking her to church. . . where any guy with eyes in his head was certain to snap her up.

  The loveliest of smiles parted her lips as she and Stella approached. “Good morning, everybody,” she said, oblivious to the glorious vision she made.

  “Morning,” they all chorused.

  Nelson gave himself a mental shake, then cleared his throat. “Hope you don’t mind the middle.” He moved aside to allow Mary enough room to climb in while Stella went around to her seat.

  “Is fine,” she said softly, lifting her lashes to meet his gaze. Pausing, she handed him her Bible to hold, then turned, and lowered herself to the seat. “Oh!” she gasped, as the narrow ruffle at her wrist snagged on his watch.

  “No problem.” Nelson freed the errant thread almost as quickly as it had caught.

  But not quickly enough to prevent that glimpse of her delicate forearm.

  Or the numbers tattooed in black.

  Feeling as if he’d just taken a punch to the stomach, Nelson climbed in beside Mary. A barrage of questions, like the rat-tat-tat of an enemy machine gun, shot through his mind. What untold horrors had those remarkable eyes witnessed? Had her own family been slaughtered in front of her? And what about her? What kinds of tortures had those inhuman Nazi animals inflicted on this fragile creature, with no one to protect her from harm?

  Why hadn’t bigmouth Stella made some mention of her friend’s background. . .unless Mary had kept the fact that she’d been imprisoned in a concentration camp a secret even from her.

  And if so, why?

  In any event, a lot of things suddenly made a whole lot of sense.

  ❧

  “Oh, isn’t this just the grandest of days?” Estelle gushed, straightening her skirt as the car pulled out into the light Sunday traffic. Retrieving her slim shoulder bag and Bible from the window ledge behind the seat, she placed them on her lap.

  “Yes, simply delightful,” her mother replied. She turned to Mary, a gracious smile plumping her cheeks. “We’re so happy you could come with us this morning, Dear.”

  Returning the older woman’s smile, Mary Theresa nodded. Her insides quavered as she tried to ignore being crammed a touch too closely to Nelson in the backseat of the family car. She could feel the warmth emanating from him. Or was it her? Had he seen the loathsome brand she’d been so careful to hide from the world? Did he know her shame?

  She doubted she could bear knowing if he’d discovered her dreaded secret, yet the possibility of not knowing seemed somehow even less bearable. Hesitantly, she raised a timid gaze in his direction.

  Nelson seemed absorbed in the passing scenery. But as if sensing her attention, he turned to her, the typically friendly smile on his lips and in his eyes.

  His face revealed nothing!

  Mary dared to relax. Somewhat.

  “Oh, look, Mom,” Estelle said. “They’ve painted that charming little shop we like so much. And added shutters. Doesn’t it look absolutely divine?”

  Mary tuned out the exchange between mother and daughter and concentrated instead on how incredibly dashing her friend’s brother looked in the navy serge suit he wore. The tie knotted at his throat had flecks of the same light brown as his eyes, and his shiny mahogany hair had been neatly slicked back. All that walking in the sunshine had added an appealing light bronze cast to his clear complexion, only increasing his appeal.

  Mary barely suppressed an unbidden sigh.

  If circumstances had only been different, had she been born in America instead of Poland, perhaps she could have been Nelson’s girl.

  What are you thinking? she berated herself. You are here to attend church with this family. For you, that is more than you should have expected.

  “Well,” Mr. Thomas announced in his usual pleasant way, “we’re here. He turned the car onto a street running alongside the church and parked in the first available spot.

  The men got out first. Nelson gave no indication it had been a struggle. He’d certainly made remarkable progress since the last time Mary had seen him. He opened his mother’s door, offered a hand to her, and then to Mary.

  Placing her cool fingers into his much warmer ones, Mary again chanced a look at him. Surely he must have caught a glimpse of the wretched tattoo. How could he not? It practically shouted out her shame. He had to know.

  But if he did, he gave no sign of it.

  twelve

  This small, but tidy, place of worship seemed nowhere near the size of the churches which Mary Theresa had visited during her lifetime. But she found the pristine white steeple crowning the red brick structure quite charming, with its plain
metal cross gilded by sunlight against the cloudless sky. She sensed a cordial welcome among the other arrivals greeting one another with smiles and handclasps. Nevertheless, a tiny niggle of unfamiliarity fluttered inside her like a flock of butterflies, and she wondered what to expect.

  The bell in the tower pealed as the family headed for the steps leading to the main entrance. “Late again,” moaned Estelle as she picked up the pace.

  Once inside, Mary caught only the briefest glimpse of the sanctuary upon entering the foyer. Estelle grabbed a hand and drew her to a downward staircase, with Nelson following cautiously behind. Mr. and Mrs. Thomas headed in an entirely different direction. “We have Sunday school before the main service,” Estelle explained, “with other people in our age group.”

  Somewhat winded after mounting the outside staircase and then descending this one, it took Mary a moment to catch her breath as they paused outside a closed door, waiting for Nelson.

  With a scarcely noticeable limp, he caught up and opened it for them, and the threesome stepped inside a carpeted room whose plain walls held only a blackboard, a calendar with a painting of Christ, and a few colored pictures of Bible scenes in matching wood frames. A bulletin board near the door sported a mishmash of notices and pictures of missionaries thumbtacked to its cork surface.

  Two dozen strange faces peered up from the circle of folding chairs ringing the room.

  Unpleasant experiences from the death camp, of times when too much attention was centered on her and a few fellow prisoners, assaulted Mary’s mind. She felt vulnerable and exposed, and unconsciously she shrank backward. Into Nelson.

  “They don’t bite,” he whispered, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

  Drawing on that encouragement, Mary followed Estelle to three empty chairs. With her friend seated on one side and Nelson on the other, she felt a little of the tension inside her abate. Now if only everyone would stop staring. . .

  A young man with freckles and a crew cut, obviously the leader, spoke first. “Hi, Stell, Nelson, and. . .?”