Page 166 of Valor

Northern Moravia, 1942

The wagon rattledalong the muddy road winding through the forest. Fred Nowak held his breath every time the horses whinnied.

“Shh,” he hushed them. His eyes darted from tree to tree, peering through the darkness. He prayed that no one was hiding in the underbrush, watching them. Hedvika clung to him, seemingly not concerned with what her parents would say. Dr. Weiss was at the back of the wagon with Mrs. Weiss and Hedvika’s two younger brothers. Isaac whimpered.

“Tell your mother to make him stop,” Fred whispered.

Hedvika leaned into the tarp-covered wagon, her index finger pressed against her lips, and then turned to Fred. She was so close that he felt her breath on his cheek.

Despite the night’s chill, heat crept up the back of his neck.

“How much further?”

He understood why she was so impatient but couldn’t take any unnecessary risks.

“I can’t go any faster.”

Her icy fingers wrapped around the outside of his clenched fist. Fred looked down in surprise, wishing he could hold her hand. Instead, he gripped the reins even tighter. The horses pulled the wagon through the dark forest, nearly blind. He would do his utmost to avoid a disaster.

“What if they catch us?” she whispered into his ear. His whole body prickled with goosebumps.

“No one is going to look for you till you miss your transport.”

A sob escaped her.

“Shh.” He moved a little closer to comfort the beautiful girl huddling next to him. Keenly aware of the dirt on his clothes, Fred hoped that he wouldn’t soil her gorgeous coat. But keeping her near would warm Hedvika up. One of his horses snorted. Fear made his legs tingle. The horses, the sobbing child inside the wagon, Hedvika’s impatience—who was there to calm him?

Lord, have mercy on us. I know they don’t go to our church, but they pray to you like we do. Please keep us safe.

The sound of rushing water somewhere ahead of them disturbed the night’s hush. His heart thumped in his ears. How was he going to tell Father?

“Only a short while longer,” he whispered.

“Thank you.” Hedvika shimmied even closer. Her beautiful dark hair tickled his temple. Their legs touched. He had never been this close to a girl save his sister. But Marta was gone now, married to Fritz Eisenhart. Everything had changed over the past four years. He missed his brother the most. Honza and his friend Karel vanished right after the Germans arrived in the village. They had left him to work with Father and Mother, to run the mill.

Hedvika leaned into him.

Heat rushed to his face. Fred was thankful for the darkness that enveloped them. Her scent of rose water made him dizzy. Hedvika was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Under normal circumstances, he would never have had a chance to talk to her. Dr. Weiss was a dentist, and his kind of well-to-do people didn’t mix with the poor folks like him.

The sound of rushing water drowned out the rattling of the wagon. Fred pulled into the clearing and drove the horses close to the barn. He hopped off and offered her his hand. She held onto him, and Fred wished that God would stop the time and give him words to tell her how he felt. When Hedvika landed on the soft ground, she steadied herself against him. He fought the urge to embrace her. And when the clouds shifted in the sky, and the soft moonlight shimmered in her hair, he was tempted to kiss the girl. Then he remembered her parents were in the wagon. Fred cleared his throat.

“Let’s get everybody into the barn.”

He let go of her hand and rushed to the back of the wagon. Fred unbuckled the clasp, holding down the back flap of the tarp, and pulled it to the side. Dr. Weiss handed him his older boy. Jakob was close to ten, light as a feather. Fred set him down next to Hedvika. The boy grabbed his sister’s hand. Dr. Weiss passed baby Isaac to him next. Fred had never held a child this small. He was relieved when Hedvika let go of Jakob’s hand and reached for the bundle. Mercifully, the child had gone back to sleep.

“Grab my hand,” Fred whispered and gripped the dentist’s fingers that skilfully saved his teeth five years prior. That day, one of their cows kicked him in the face. The blacksmith offered to pull the broken incisors out, but Mother insisted they needed to see Dr. Weiss. Father refused. But Honza hitched this same wagon and drove them to town while Mother held a torn linen bedsheet to Fred’s mouth.

When they returned, Father was livid. Mother begged him to be sensible. She even dropped to her knees. He hit her across the face. Then he took Honza to the barn. The mill shut down for two days after that, for neither of the boys could work.

“Thank you,” Dr. Weiss said. Once on the ground. The dentist ran his hands down his tailored trousers, attempting to brush off the flour. The white powder clung to his dark hair, his suit jacket, and even his shoes. He reached back into the wagon. Mrs. Weiss passed him their bags and suitcases.

“Give them to me,” Fred offered. He looked to the ground, careful not to set them in the mud.

Dr. Weiss helped his wife get down from the wagon. She, too, was dusted with flour. Fred wondered if he should offer one of the horse brushes so she could run it down the length of her fur coat. She patted herself, her expression somber. At least she looked warm.

The wind picked up and pushed the clouds toward the mountains. The clearing flooded with pale moonlight. Fred looked around, making sure no one was watching. His stomach was filled with knots. They were almost there. He prayed nothing would go wrong now.

“This way,” he whispered, his words heavy with urgency. He led the family to the barn. Fred opened the large wooden door, avoiding unnecessary noise. The familiar scent of hay and horse manure greeted them.

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