They both know there are other birds outside the barn, huddled in tree holes, hidden by branches, hunched beneath sticks and pine needles. Is his tata out there somewhere, searching for him? Even the wild birds don’t dare make a peep. They’ll sound their calls at dawn when the men are in their houses, in their beds, too slow and groggy to step into their boots.

She’ll be his company for now, and he’ll be hers. She needs him, especially as dreams drive her mother into a restless state, shifting upon the floorboards and calling out. Shira asks herself: Should I shake Mama awake? Or let her sleep on? Her bird hops and pecks, urging Shira to put a hand upon her mother’s cheek, halt the dreams that haunt her.

Shira’s bird stays with her when Krystyna takes her out of the barn, and when the warning footsteps of soldiers prompt Shira and her mother to bury themselves entirely beneath the hay. And he stays with her when Henryk pounds up the ladder. When she is meant to be her most quiet. Meant to be sleeping.

When Shira is happy, as she was when her mother showed her how to make stitches with the needle and thread Krystyna brought them, he perches in the barn rafters or on a mound of hay nearby. But when she is upset, as she was when she poked her finger and blood dripped onto the hem of her dress, he flies straight into her cupped hands.

He could chirp if he wanted to. His call is wondrous—eighteen warbling notes long. But he stays silent. Such a sound as that might draw attention, and just now, they have to hide.

Chapter 8

“Papa told us not to go in. Piotr—”

“You don’t have to come.”

This is all the warning Róża has that the older boys are at the barn door. Quickly, she buries Shira and herself beneath hay and silently prays, Please, let Shira be still; let her not shift or sigh or tap or sneeze …

The door scrapes open. With the boys’ entry, a trapeze of sunlight. “We’re going to get in trouble!” Jurek says.

“I don’t know why Papa forbade us. There’s nothing even in here.”

“We should invite the girls.”

“I thought you were worried about getting in trouble!”

“Well, it could be worth it for that. It smells bad, though.”

“Where is that coming from?”

“Maybe up there—should we check it out?”

Róża’s heart pounds so violently, she’s sure the boys can hear it. If they climb into the loft, it’s over.

Piotr steps toward the door. “Just leave it, Jurek. There’s nothing interesting in here after all. Let’s go.”