Only the slimmest shaft of winter’s hard-edged light cuts into the barn. Róża thinks, At least this weather may keep the Germans at bay. She fumbles with gloved hands to turn the pages, one by one, as they look first at continents, then at countries. That the topography is colored—mountain ranges in pale brown, forests in green, oceans in sea blue—pleases Róża immensely.

“Do you see Vienna, there in northeastern Austria? It has the most wonderful concert hall, the Musikverein.”

“Have you ever been to it?”

“No.”

“Has Grandpa?”

“No—”

Róża is just about to promise Shira, to say that she’ll take her there, and maybe even to Milan, to the famous opera house in Italy. But Henryk’s firm slam of the farmhouse door drives Róża to swallow her words, to motion Shira to hide.

Chapter 13

Late night. Róża hopes that Shira has turned away, buried herself beneath the hay with her eyes closed as Róża has told her, so many times, to do. Henryk’s boots crunch along the walkway at the far side of the barn. Róża pulls hastily at the tangles in her hair and swallows hard, trying to clear her breath.

When Henryk ascends the ladder, he pulls a wrapped-up potato from his pocket, and for several minutes he is all patience, stretching out on his side, leaning on one bent elbow, watching Róża as she takes a bite of it and stows the rest for Shira. He smells of animals and wood smoke, and his dark eyes train on her, horselike. He produces another gift: an extra pair of socks. Róża nods her gratitude and Henryk reaches out gently to touch her hair.

He takes his time unbuttoning her shirt, untying the rope around her waist, shimmying her pants over her narrow hips and buttocks. He does not touch her, not yet. He props himself beside her and looks at her for a long while. As his eyes move over her, Róża turns her face toward the wall, jaw clenched. Shivering.

Henryk puts a finger to her cheek and rotates her face back toward him. His eyes, full of intensity, lock on hers. Róża feels an involuntary flap in her belly, a pulsing heat below. She finds it uncomfortable but also exhilarating to be looked at like this, to be seen, after so much hiding.

Henryk takes Róża quickly then. She wants to be numb to him—she holds still, moving neither with him nor against him, Shira just a few feet away.

When it’s over she ventures, “The next days are a fertile time.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, it’s risky. You don’t always pull out quickly and—”

“You’re telling me what’s risky?” His breath is hot at her neck. His hard slap stings her cheek.