فصل 34

joana

The shoe poet sat by the glowing fireplace, polishing his boots with lampblack he had scraped from the hearth. The wandering boy watched intently at his side, mimicking the strokes on his own small ankle boots.

The fire cracked and popped, rolling waves of heat in front of my face. Glorious. I wrapped the scarf around my head and buttoned my coat.

“If I can find an oak tree, I can boil the bark to treat some of the blisters,” I told Poet.

“I’ll come with you,” he said.

“Rest. You’ll need your strength for the days ahead.”

“I’m fit as a lad, my dear girl.” He pulled up the leg of his wool trousers to reveal his bony knee. It was covered in white. “Shoemaker’s secret,” he whispered to the wandering boy. “There’s mercury in white shoe polish. Fights off the arthritis. Fit as a lad, I am.” The wandering boy pulled up his pant leg to inspect his own tiny knee.

Poet smiled and patted the boy’s head. The old man was still full of energy. He refused to buckle under the burden of grief and loss. “Be careful out there, Joana,” he told me.

I walked through the darkened shell, back to the library with its smashed glass doors. A book lay open, its pages flipping in the icy wind. I bent to pick it up and the name on the cover daggered me with guilt.

Charles Dickens.

Grandma had given The Pickwick Papers to both Lina and me for Christmas.

Lina.

What had I done?

I set the book on a table and walked out into the cold, making my way toward the trees. Two dark figures sat in the snow halfway between the forest and the estate. I looked closely and saw blond braids blowing beneath a pink hat. It was the Polish girl and the young man with the shrapnel. I made my way toward them.

“Were you following us?” I called out.

“Hurry,” he shouted. “Something’s happened to her.”

I ran. Emilia sat in the snow, her chin dropped to her chest.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her. She didn’t respond.

“I think she’s in shock. She shot a soldier in the woods. She won’t move,” he said.

I knelt beside her. She quickly wrapped her arms around her body, trying to inch away from me. “It’s okay, Emilia, tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you,” I said. “Let’s go inside.”

She wouldn’t move. Instead, she lay down in the snow and started to unbutton her coat.

I helped her with the buttons, then sifted through her many layers of clothing.

I gasped when I saw it.

“Oh, dear God.”