As I wiped a final stray tear, Tata placed something in my palm. It was a small piece of his bread ration mixed with a bit of mud, and shaped to resemble a tiny chess piece—a pawn, half the size of my smallest finger. I closed my hand around it, intertwined my arm with his, and gave him a grateful squeeze. I rested my head on his shoulder and surrendered to exhaustion, and I was almost asleep when his familiar whisper reached my ears.

“You are strong and brave, my Maria.”

Even though I was slipping deeper into slumber, I still heard the quiver in his voice.

Chapter 3

Warsaw, 28 May 1941

WHEN I WOKE, hushed voices greeted my ears. Mama and Tata were in the middle of a fervent conversation, so I did one of the things I did best—feigned slumber and eavesdropped.

“This cell is filthy, they hardly feed us, I snapped at poor Zofia, I taught Karol to curse, and Maria . . .” Mama fell silent before continuing. “We have to tell the Gestapo what we know.”

“We’re not going to be traitors, Natalia.”

“What choice do we have? How else can we protect our children?”

“If we admit the truth, they’ll realize Maria lied, and they’ll punish her. Either way, they won’t release us, but since she confessed, those bastards have no reason to question her again.”

“Question her.” She repeated the words in a sharp hiss. “They didn’t question her. Dear God, Aleksander, they tortured her.” A muffled sob followed her words, and I imagined Tata pulling her into his arms. I heard him kiss her, probably on the top of her head, because that’s where he always kissed her when she was upset. Their heavy breaths were all I heard until Mama spoke in a small, sad whisper.

“I want to kill them.”

“So do I, Nati.”

The nickname tended to calm her, but I thought Tata knew it wouldn’t work this time.

He told Mama they had only a couple of hours before the guards would come to wake us, so they should sleep while they could. After a while, their breaths grew rhythmic and steady. I sat up. My parents reclined against the far wall, and Karol and Zofia were nestled on the bed. I watched them until Zofia stirred. She glanced my way, as if she didn’t know what to make of me anymore, then she sat on the floor near the bed and twirled her hair around her finger.

Though it hurt to move, I crawled closer until I was next to her, but she focused on a hole in her pale blue dress. “Zofia, if you’d known I was working for the resistance—”

“I wouldn’t have told anyone.”

“I hated keeping it from you, but if you’d known and they’d found out . . .” My voice died, and the hostility in her eyes softened.