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‘We think the rumours are true,’ Tata said. ‘The line got thicker. Tanks. More troops. More activity. Mr Sovik’s sister has binoculars. She can see it from the school windows.’
Jacek had helped himself to goulash and was now blowing over the bowl. ‘So Mrs Sovik’s sister is the expert now, is she? The troops have been there three weeks. It’s just a training exercise, that’s what Masha’s father says. He’s friends with the Russians at border control, and he says Lithuania’s staying neutral. You’re getting in a panic over nothing.’ Jacek drew himself up, and his body language told her he was not going to give in, no matter what Tata might say.
Tata could feel it too and his face turned tight and grim in a way that meant he was about to boil over. ‘I’m not wasting breath arguing. Get your things together, Zofia, the things you can carry. Jacek, I’m serious. It’s what your father would want. Do as I say.’
Jacek ignored him, until Tata came to stand over him at the table.
‘Get ready—’
‘You go,’ Jacek said. ‘I’m staying here.’
‘We go together as a family. I promised your father we’d stick together.’
Zofia winced. Bringing up their father was always her uncle’s trump card, but she knew it would only rile Jacek.
Jacek’s expression was steely. ‘You made plenty of other promises, and you broke every single one. I remember you promising to defend Poland with your last breath. And then what happened? You turned tail and ran. You and my father both. Only he got shot and you survived. Don’t you lecture me on promises.’
A clatter on the stairs made them look to the door. Mrs Marks gripped the doorframe, panting. She was a thick-waisted woman in a floral apron, with eyebrows that were always up as if surprised. She took a moment to catch her breath before she could speak. ‘The Russians. They’re over the border. Truckloads of them. They’re heading this way. Douse the fire.’
She blustered away downstairs with Tata running after her, full of questions. Jacek leapt up from the table to follow them both. Not to be left behind, Zofia threw water over the hot coals, shoved the spoon back into the pan and ran after them.
The downstairs shop was half-empty, the air floating with dust, and the dark mahogany shelves bare of stock. Zofia steered her way past the packing cases as the Marks’s sons, Andrius and Darius, hustled back and forth shouting instructions to each other. She dodged past them to the open door, where Mr Marks was loading everything onto their delivery cart. It was already piled high with boxes, and Mrs Marks’s pinch-faced parents were waiting to leave, perched amongst the furniture, like two crows.
Unthinkingly, she helped Mr Marks hoist a box onto the cart, seeing that the main road was queued with traffic. She skirted round the cart to look over towards the town, where a snaking line of vehicles with bundles strapped to their roofs was blocking the route. Coaches, cars, trucks, motorcycles. Anyone with petrol was heading away, out of town.
How had the roads filled so quickly?
‘Holy Shabbat. What did I tell you?’ Tata shouted to Jacek, who was on tiptoe, peering over the cars, staring west.
Mr Marks heaved up a dining chair, the back of his waistcoat patched dark with sweat. He barely paused in his loading to speak. ‘We’re heading for the Polish border. We’ll be safer there. Because of Andrius and his music.’
Zofia was shocked. They’d go to Nazi-occupied Poland? ‘What about the piano? Don’t you want that?’ She couldn’t believe they’d just leave everything.
‘No. If the Reds come, having such a thing is a death sentence. And anyway, how could we even move it? If they find Andrius, the Russians will separate us, send him to a camp in Siberia, make him do hard labour. At least the Germans have culture.’
Culture? So shooting Jews like her father was ‘culture’ now, was it?
‘Jacek. Better pack,’ Tata insisted.
Zofia left Tata arguing with her brother and went to look from the upstairs window. She passed the piano, its inky black hood serene. How could such a thing be a death sentence? It didn’t make sense.
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The Jan Christopher Cosy Mysteries set in the 1970s |
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| available from Amazon https://mybook.to/GhostEncounters |
| The story of the events that led to The Battle of Hastings in 1066 Harold the King (UK edition) I Am The Chosen King (US edition) AND 1066 Turned Upside Down an anthology of 'What If'' tales |
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Thank you for hosting my extract Helen.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for featuring Deborah Swift on your fabulous blog today, with a gripping excerpt from her moving new novel, Last Train to Freedom.
ReplyDeleteTake care,
Cathie xx
The Coffee Pot Book Club