Thank you for responding to my letter. Please tell me about yourself and everyone at home. I’m fine and doing well.

In my haste to share the news of your daughter with you, I forgot to discuss my own family. Sadly, we caught a terrible illness, and I was the only one who recovered. I miss them, but I’m fortunate to be kept busy through employment. I work in a weaving shop, and I spend my spare time translating for Poles who don’t speak German.

Today is a beautiful day, and I hope the sun is shining over Warsaw, as well. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

I hated myself for the lies, feigned positivity, and, above all, the standard reassurance of my well-being. It was a line I was obligated to include to ensure that my letter passed the censorship office. If not for censors, my letter would have shared all the details of my work with ZOW and our hopes that the Home Army would agree that an attack was necessary to liberate Auschwitz.

The letter forms didn’t allow much space to write, but I had room for one more line before my closing. As I read my words again, desperate for honesty, I thought of my time working for the resistance in Warsaw, and I knew what to say. Best of all, Mrs. Sienkiewicz would know what it meant.

Please give my love to my friends, Marta and Helena.

Best wishes,

Maria Florkowska

* * *

After I finished my camp letter to Mrs. Sienkiewicz and a secret one to Mateusz, two of my bunkmates remained absent, but Hania returned to our block. Fortune had favored us and assigned us to the same living quarters, so naturally she was the fourth member of my bunk. Muttering in Czech, she attempted to wring the rainwater out of her muddy uniform. On Protz’s demand, she and her clothing received a thorough scrubbing during their meetings, so she tended to be shockingly clean when she returned. But after her trek across the drenched camp she was as filthy as I was.

“How did it go?”

Hania raised her eyebrows, chuckling while she settled beside me. “I realize you won’t be sixteen until February, Maria, but you should know that by now. If I have to explain it to you . . .”

“I’m well aware of what happened between you and Protz. He treated you to a delicious dinner of roasted duck with rowanberry sauce and took you to an opera at the Teatr Wielki in Warsaw, and then . . .” I paused, as if searching her face for clues, then gasped. “He kissed you?”

Hania placed a hand over her chest. “A lady never tells. Such a shame you missed the opera, though. It was The Barber of Seville, and it was marvelous.”