Page 56 of The Lost Husband

Christoph was already pale, but now he might as well be translucent. “Noah,” he repeats. “What—what do you—he’s…he’s alive?” he asks, his voice broken.

“Yes.” The word is so matter of fact, simple, as if it’s the only possible answer. I’m not sure where to start explaining the rest.

The lines on Christoph’s forehead deepen and his brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to find you both—trying so hard. Looking through ledgers and lists, repeatedly. I never found any information on either of you…until I received the memo from your post.” He shakes his head as if trying to clear away a cloud of fog. “Neither of you were on any list?—”

“Well, I know he’s alive. Just like I am. The lists aren’t correct, clearly.”

The truth sits heavily on my chest. I saw Noah wearing a German uniform. Even just thinking the words makes my stomach hurt. What will Christoph think? What could anyone think? That Noah collaborated with them? That he chose survival by following the wrong side.

“I spotted him a week ago at a nearby train depot. It was him. I’m positive, but I lost sight of him before I could reach him. That’s when a truck of Soviets picked us up on the side of the road and brought us here. Noah must still be on his way to the next location where trains are in service.” My story is making less and less sense while leaving out the important part about him being held hostage.

Christoph doesn’t look as though he knows whether to believe me, but he says, “If it was him, and he is searching for a working train line, how would we know which location he might be heading? This is madness. If he’s alive, his name will find a way onto a list with a location.”

With the way Noah was dressed, his name will never end up on a list. But of course, he doesn’t know that…

“You think I’m mad.”

“Celina,” Christoph says, my name a dangling question mark.

I stand up from the table and turn to head back to my room, unable to continue this discussion that has been a silent topic amid my loud, consuming thoughts. If I can’t convince Christoph, he’s come a long way to leave without me.

“Celina, wait,” he calls after me.

His footsteps are unmistakable behind me, carrying a type of weight and speed most are now unfamiliar with. A guttural cough belts out of my assigned room. I’ve left Avi for too long.

“Sir, you can’t go into a room you aren’t residing in,” I hear behind me. “I need to ask you to wait out here.”

On the way to my cot, I spot a damp rag draped haphazardly over Avi’s head, but she’s propped up, awake, and staring at me. “Where have you been?” she asks then lets out a roaring cough.

“She needs medication,” Elias says from behind me before I can respond. “They have nothing left here already.” My gaze drifts back toward the door, spotting Christoph staring inside from the corridor with a look of patience I know he isn’t feeling inside. “We need to find her something.”

“We should leave then. We’ll find another shelter further west. One that’s likely to have more supplies and medication.”

“Is—is she going to make it if we set out again?” Elias whispers, making sure Avi doesn’t hear him.

“We have no choice but to try.”

“Celina,” Christoph calls out from the corridor, his voice calm, friendly, not trouble inducing to whoever made him stop where he is.

Avi and Elias look toward the door then back at me. “Who is that?” Elias asks.

“A friend from home. He received a memo from the post I left at the first shelter. He tracked me down and wants to take me south. We can’t go that way. We don’t know what’s happening in the other countries right now.” We already know that theshelters behind us are already emptied of supplies, and anything that’s left will be where the Soviets have just passed through, which is west.

Elias stands up from his cot and makes his way to the door and introduces himself to Christoph, something I wasn’t expecting.

“What is he doing now?” Avi grumbles, then coughs again.

Elias returns with a linen bag and grabs my blanket, his, and the spare set of clothes we have piled beneath the cots. He throws Avi’s in last but lets her keep her blanket. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Avi asks.

“South,” Elias echoes Christoph’s plan, grabbing his blanket to roll up.

I storm back into the corridor, face to chest with Christoph. “I’m not going to Czechoslovakia,” I tell him.

“Celina, we need to go where there’s structure,” he says. “We go south then west through Austria, Switzerland, and into France so we can head back north and stay out of Germany. It will be a long trip, but we’ll find open rail lines. The war is not over in Germany yet. We can’t act as though it is.”

“You’re talking about borders and rail lines like they’re open and working,” I say, shaking my head. “They’re not. Not yet, especially when we have no form of identification. All German soldiers are trying to flee Germany and Poland right now, which means we could be walking for weeks just to be turned around at every border.” I nod at Avi. “She doesn’t have weeks.” I swallow against the tightness in my throat. “By going west, we’re following movement, finding shelter and supplies. It’s something we can already see. It’s something we’ve already proven.”