Three Sisters: A Novel

PART I

The Promise

PROLOGUE

Vranov nad Topl’ou, Slovakia

June 1929

The three sisters, Cibi, Magda and Livi, sit in a tight circle with their father in the small backyard of their home. The oleander bush their mother has tried so hard to coax back to life droops disconsolately in one corner of the small garden.

Livi, the youngest, at three years old, leaps to her feet: sitting still is not in her nature.

Livi, please, will you sit down? Cibi tells her. At seven years old, she is the eldest of the siblings, and it is her responsibility to chastise them when they misbehave. You know Father wants to talk to us.

No, three-year-old Livi pronounces, and proceeds to skip around the seated figures, giving each a pat on the head as she passes. Magda, the middle sister, and five years old, is using a dry twig from the oleander to draw imaginary figures in the dirt. It is a warm, sunny, summer afternoon. The back door is open, inviting in the heat, while sending the sweet smell of freshly baked bread into the garden. Two windows, one looking into the kitchen, the other into the small bedroom the family shares, have seen better days. Chips of paint litter the ground: winter has taken its toll on the cottage. The garden gate catches a gust of wind and slams. The catch is broken; yet another thing for Father to fix.

Come here, kitten. Will you sit on my knee? Father beckons to Livi.

Being told to do something from an older sister is one thing; but being asked, and so sweetly, by her father is quite another. Livi drops into his lap, a flailing arm smacking against the side of his head. She is oblivious to the pain her action has caused.

Are you all right, Father? Magda is concerned, catching the grimace on his face as his head jerked back. She brushes her fingers down his stubbly cheek.

Yes, my darling. I am perfect. I have my girls with me—what more could a father ask for?

You said you wanted to talk to us? Cibi, ever impatient, gets to the point of this little meeting.

Menachem Meller looks into the eyes of his pretty daughters. They have not a care in the world, innocent of the harsh realities of life outside their sweet cottage. Harsh realities which Menachem has lived through and still lives with. The bullet that didn’t kill him during the Great War remains lodged in his neck and now, twelve years later, it is threatening to finish the deed.

Fiery Cibi, tough Cibi … Menachem strokes her hair. On the day she was born she announced that the world had better watch out—she had arrived and woe betide anyone who got in her way. Her green eyes have a habit of turning a fiery yellow when her temper gets the better of her.

And Magda, beautiful, gentle Magda, how did she get to be five so fast? He worries her sweet nature will make her vulnerable to being hurt and used by others. Her big blue eyes gaze at him and he feels her love, her understanding of his precarious health. He sees in her a maturity beyond her years, a compassion she has inherited from her mother and grandmother, and a fierce desire to care for others.

Livi stops squirming as Menachem plays with her soft, curly hair. Already he has described her to their mother as the wild one, the one he worries will run with the wolves, and break like a sapling if cornered. Her piercing blue eyes and petite frame remind him of a fawn, easy to startle and ready to bolt.

Tomorrow he will have the surgery to remove the errant bullet from his neck. Why couldn’t it have just stayed where it was? He has prayed endlessly for more time with his girls. He needs to guide them into adulthood, attend their weddings, hold his grandchildren. The operation is a risky one, and if he doesn’t survive, this may be the last day he spends with them. If that is the case, however awful it is to contemplate on this glorious sunny day, then what he needs to ask of his girls, must be said now.

Well, Father, what do you want to tell us? Cibi prods.

Cibi, Magda, do you know what a promise is? he asks, slowly. He needs them to take this seriously.

Magda shakes her head: no.

I think so, says Cibi. It’s when two people keep a secret, isn’t it?

Menachem smiles. Cibi will always have a go, it’s what he loves most about her. That’s close, my darling, but a promise can involve more than two people. I want this promise to be shared between the three of you. Livi is not going to understand, so I need you to keep talking to her about it, until she does.

"I don’t understand, Father, Magda interjects. You’re being all confusing."

It’s very simple, Magda. Menachem smiles. There is nothing that gives him as much pleasure as talking to his girls. Something catches in his chest; he must remember this moment, this sunny day, the wide eyes of his three daughters. I want you to make a promise to me and to each other that you will always take care of your sisters. That you will always be there for one another, no matter what. That you will not allow anything to take you away from each other. Do you understand?

Magda and Cibi nod, and Cibi asks, suddenly serious: I do, Father, but why would someone want to take us away from each other?

I’m not saying anyone will, I just want you to promise me that if anyone tries to separate you, you will remember what we spoke of here today and do everything in your power not to let that happen. The three of you are stronger together, you must never forget that. Menachem’s voice stumbles, and he clears his throat.

Cibi and Magda exchange a glance. Livi looks from sister to sister to father, knowing that something solemn has been agreed, but with little idea of what it means.

I promise, Father, says Magda.

Cibi? Menachem asks.

I promise too, Father. I promise to look after my sisters—I won’t let anyone hurt them, you know that.

Yes, I do know that, my darling Cibi. This promise will become a pact between the three of you and no others. Will you tell Livi of this pact when she is old enough to understand?

Cibi grabs Livi’s face in her hands, turning her head to look into her eyes. Livi, say ‘promise.’ Say ‘I promise.’

Livi studies her sister. Cibi is nodding, encouraging her to say the words.

I pwomise, pronounces Livi.

Now say it to Father, say ‘I promise’ to Father, Cibi instructs.

Livi turns to her father, her eyes dancing, the giggle in her throat threatening to explode, the warmth of his smile melting her little heart. I pwomise, Father. Livi pwomises.

Gathering his girls to his chest he looks over Cibi’s head and smiles at the other girl in his life, the mother of his daughters, who stands in the doorway of the house, tears glistening on her cheeks.

He has too much to lose; he has to survive.

CHAPTER 1

Vranov nad Topl’ou

March 1942

Please tell me she’s going to be all right, I’m so worried about her, Chaya frets, as the doctor examines her seventeen-year-old daughter.

Magda has been struggling with a fever for days.

Yes, Mrs. Meller, Magda will be fine, Dr. Kisely reassures her.

The tiny bedroom contains two beds: one in which Chaya sleeps with her youngest, Livi; and the other, which Magda shares with their older sister, Cibi, when she is home. A large cabinet takes up one wall, cluttered with the small, personal possessions of the four women of the house. Taking pride of place: the cut-glass perfume atomizer with its emerald green tie and tassel, and next to it a grainy photograph. A handsome man sits on a simple chair, a toddler on one knee, an older girl on the other. Another girl, older yet, stands to his left. On his right is the girls’ mother, her hand resting on her husband’s shoulder. Mother and daughters wear white lacy dresses and together they are a picture-perfect family, or, at least, they were.

When Menachem Meller died on the operating table, the bullet finally removed but the blood loss too great to survive, Chaya was left a widow and the girls fatherless. Yitzchak, Chaya’s father and the sisters’ grandfather, moved into the small cottage to offer help where he could, while Chaya’s brother, Ivan, lives in the house across from theirs.

Chaya is not alone, despite how she feels.

The heavy drapes are drawn in the bedroom, denying Magda, shivering, feverish, the brilliant spring sunshine which now peeks above the curtain rail.

Can we talk in the other room? Dr. Kisely takes Chaya’s arm.

Livi, cross-legged on the other bed, watches Chaya place another wet towel on Magda’s forehead.

Stay with your sister? her mother asks, and Livi nods.

When the adults leave the room Livi crosses to her sister’s bed and lies down beside her, proceeding to wipe the perspiration from Magda’s face with a dry flannel.

You’re going to be OK, Magda. I won’t let anything happen to you.

Magda forces a small smile. "That’s my line. I’m your big sister, I look after you."

Then get better.

Chaya and Dr. Kisely walk the few steps from the bedroom to the main room in the small house. The front door opens directly into this cozy living area, with a small kitchen area at the back.

The girls’ grandfather, Yitzchak, stands washing his hands at the sink. A trail of wood shavings has followed him from the backyard, and more lie on the faded blue felt that covers the floor. Startled, he turns, splashing water onto the floor. What’s going on? he asks.

Yitzchak, I’m glad you’re here, come and sit with us, says Dr. Kisely.

Chaya quickly turns to the young doctor, fear in her eyes. Dr. Kisely smiles and guides her to a kitchen chair, pulling another away from the small table for Yitzchak to sit.

Is she very unwell? Yitzchak asks.

She’s going to be fine. It’s a fever, nothing a healthy young girl can’t recover from in her own time.

"So what’s this about?" Chaya waves a hand between the doctor and herself.

Dr. Kisely finds another chair and sits down. I don’t want you to be scared by what I’m about to tell you.

Chaya merely nods, now desperate for him to tell her what he needs to say. The years since the war broke out have changed her: her once smooth brow is lined, and she is so thin her dresses hang off her like wet laundry.

What is it, man? Yitzchak demands. The responsibility he bears for his daughter and grandchildren has aged him beyond his years, and he has no time for intrigue.

I want to admit Magda into hospital—

What? You just said she was going to get better! Chaya explodes. She stands up, grabbing the table for support.

Dr. Kisely holds up a hand to shush her. It’s not because she’s ill. There’s another reason I want to admit Magda and if you will listen, I’ll explain.

What on earth are you talking about? Yitzchak says. Just spit it out.

Mrs. Meller, Yitzchak, I am hearing rumors, terrible rumors—talk of young Jews, girls and boys, being taken from Slovakia to work for the Germans. If Magda is in hospital, she will be safe, and I promise I won’t let anything happen to her.

Chaya collapses back onto her chair, her hands covering her face. This is much worse than a fever.

Yitzchak absentmindedly pats her back, but he is focused now, intent on hearing everything the doctor has to say. What else? he asks, meeting the doctor’s eyes, urging him to be blunt.

"As I said, rumors and gossip, none of it good for the Jews. If they come for your children, it is the beginning of the end. And working for the Nazis? We have no idea what that means."

What can we do? Yitzchak asks. We have already lost everything—our right to work, to feed our families … What more can they take from us?

If what I’m hearing has any basis in fact, they want your children.

Chaya sits up straighter. Her face is red, but she isn’t crying. And Livi? Who will protect Livi?

I believe they’re after sixteen-year-olds and older. Livi is fourteen, isn’t she?

She’s fifteen.

Still a baby. Dr. Kisely smiles. I think Livi will be fine.

And how long will Magda stay in hospital? asks Chaya. She turns to her father. She won’t want to go, she won’t want to leave Livi. Don’t you remember, Father, when Cibi left, she made Magda promise she would look after their little sister.

Yitzchak pats Chaya’s hands. If we are to save her, she must leave, whether she wants to or not.

I think a few days, maybe a week, is all we need. If the rumors are true, it will happen soon, and afterward, I will bring her home. And Cibi? Where is she?

"You know her, she’s off with the Hachshara." Chaya doesn’t know what she thinks of the Hachshara, a training program to teach young people, just like Cibi, the skills necessary to make a new life in Palestine, far away from Slovakia and the war raging in Europe.

Still learning how to till the soil? the doctor jokes, but neither Chaya or Yitzchak are smiling.

If she’s to emigrate, then that’s what she will find when she gets there—lots of fertile land, waiting to be planted, says Yitzchak.

But Chaya remains silent, lost in her thoughts. One child in hospital, another young enough to escape the clutches of the Nazis. And the third, Cibi, her eldest, now part of a Zionist youth movement inspired by a mission to create a Jewish homeland, whenever that might be.

The truth has already dawned on all of them that they need a promised land right now, and the sooner the better. But, Chaya surmises, at least all three of her children are safe, for now.

CHAPTER 2

Forested area outside Vranov nad Topl’ou

March 1942

Cibi ducks as a piece of bread sails past her head. She scowls at the young man who threw it, but her twinkling eyes tell a different story.

Cibi had not hesitated when the call came, responding eagerly to the desire to forge a new life in a new land. In a clearing in the middle of the woods, away from prying eyes, sleeping huts have been constructed, along with a common room and a kitchen. There, twenty teenagers at a time learn to be self-sufficient, living and working together in a small community, preparing for a new life in the promised land.

The person responsible for this chance is the uncle of one of the boys also undergoing the training. Although he had converted from Judaism to Christianity, Josef’s sympathies still lay with the plight of the Jews in Slovakia, despite his change of faith. A wealthy man, he had acquired a piece of land in the forest on the outskirts of the town, a safe space for the boys and girls to gather to train. Josef has only one rule: every Friday morning everyone was to return home, before the Shabbat, and not return until Sunday.

In the kitchen, Josef sighs as he watches Yosi throw a crust of bread at Cibi. Travel arrangements have already been made for this group—they will be leaving in two weeks. His training camp is working: eight groups have already left for Palestine—and yet here they are, mucking around.

If the heat of Palestine doesn’t kill us, your cooking will, Cibi Meller! Cibi’s attacker yells at her. "Maybe you should stick to growing food."

Cibi strides over to the young man and wraps an arm around his neck. You keep throwing things at me and you won’t live to make it to Palestine, she tells him, squeezing just a little.

All right, everybody! announces Josef. Finish up and get outside. Drill starts in five minutes. He pauses. Cibi, do you need to spend more time in the kitchen working on your bread-making skills?

Releasing Yosi’s neck, Cibi stands to attention. No, sir, can’t see them improving, no matter how much time I spend in the kitchen.

As she speaks, twenty chairs scrape across the wooden floor in the makeshift dining room, as young Jewish boys and girls rush to finish their meals, eager to be outside and begin training again.

Forming untidy rows, they stand to attention as their teacher, Josef, approaches, beaming. He is proud of his brave recruits, so willing to embark on a dangerous journey, leaving behind their families, their country, as war and the Nazi occupation rages around them. Older, wiser, he had foreseen the future for Jews in Slovakia and invoked Hachshara, believing it was their only chance if they were to survive what was coming.

Good morning, says Josef.

Good morning, sir, the trainees chorus. And the Lord made a covenant with Abraham…? he prompts, seeking verse knowledge from the first book of the Bible.

To your descendants I give this land, from the Wadi of Egypt to the great river, the Euphrates, the group responds.

And the Lord said to Abraham…?

Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you. They finish the sentence.

The solemnity of the moment is broken by the grumbling of a truck struggling to make its way across the clearing. After it pulls up beside them, a local farmer clambers out.

Yosi, Hannah, Cibi, calls Josef, you’re first up for driving lessons today. And, Cibi, I don’t care what kind of cook you are, you must learn to drive a truck. Attack it with the same gusto you attacked Yosi’s neck earlier and you’ll be training others in no time. I need all of you to excel at one thing so you can help with the training here. Understood?

Yes, sir!

Now, the rest of you head over to the shed. There’s a lot of farm machinery inside which you will learn to use and to maintain.

Cibi, Hannah and Yosi gather at the driver’s door of the truck.

OK, Cibi, you go first. Try not to break it before Hannah and I can have a go, says Yosi, playfully.

Cibi advances on Yosi and, once more, an arm goes around his neck.

I’ll be driving around the streets of Palestine before you can find the first gear, Cibi snarls into his ear.

OK, break it up, you two. Cibi, hop up—I’ll get in the other side, the farmer says.

As Cibi climbs into the truck, Yosi gives her a push from behind. Half in, half out of the cab, Cibi contemplates what she should do. She decides she will help Yosi up the same way when it’s his turn.

Yosi and Hannah roar with laughter as Cibi, behind the wheel of the truck, grinds the engine into gear and bunny-hops down the road. From the driver’s window an arm extends, a middle finger raised.

CHAPTER 3

Vranov nad Topl’ou

March 1942

Livi, stop looking out of the window, Chaya pleads. Magda will be home when she is well enough to leave the hospital. She is not sure she has done the right thing by sending Magda away. As ever, she wishes Menachem were still alive. She knows it isn’t rational, but she feels that the war, the Germans, her country’s capitulation to the Nazis—none of it would have happened if he were alive.

But, Mumma, you said she wasn’t that sick, so why is she still in hospital? It’s been days. Livi is whining and Chaya wishes she would find a different question for her mother. She has heard and responded to this one too many times.

You know the answer to that, Livi. Dr. Kisely thought a few days’ rest, away from your smothering, would help her get better faster. Chaya allows herself a small smile. I didn’t smother her! snaps Livi. Sulking now, she moves away from the window, letting the curtain drop to block out a world that is becoming ever more confusing and threatening. Her mother is increasingly reluctant to let her out of the house, even to go shopping, or allow her to see her friends, reasoning with Livi that the eyes of the Hlinka Guard are everywhere, eager to round up young Jewish girls like her.

I feel like a prisoner in here! When is Cibi coming home? Livi envies Cibi’s freedom, her plans to leave for the promised land.

She will be home in two days. Just stay away from the window.

The loud knock on the front door sees Yitzchak scurrying out from the kitchen, where he was chiseling a star of David from a piece of wood. As he walks toward the door, Chaya holds up her hand. No, Father, let me get it.

Two young men of the Hlinka Guard are standing outside when Chaya opens the door. She shivers. The state police and, more crucially, the foot soldiers of Adolf Hitler, stand before her in their menacing black uniforms. They will not protect her or any Jew in Slovakia.

Why, hello, Visik, how are you? And your mother, how is Irene? Chaya refuses to show them her fear. She knows why they are here.

She’s fine, thank you…

The other guard takes a step forward. He is taller, obviously angry and far more threatening than the boy. We are not here to exchange pleasantries. You are Mrs. Meller?

You know I am. Chaya’s heart is beating in her throat. Now, what can I do for you, boys?

Do not call us boys. The older guard practically spits out his words. We are patriotic Hlinka guards on official business.

Chaya knows this is rubbish. There is nothing patriotic about them. Trained by the SS, these men have turned on their own people. I am sorry, I meant no disrespect. How can I help you? Chaya remains calm, hoping that they can’t see the tremble in her hands.

You have daughters?

You know I do.

Are they here?

You mean right now?

"Mrs. Meller, please tell us if they are living with you, right now."

Livi, my youngest, lives here at the moment.

Where are the others? The second guard takes another step.

Magda is in hospital. She is very ill and I don’t know when she will be coming home, and Cibi … well, Visik, you know what Cibi is doing and why she is not here.

Please, Mrs. Meller, please stop saying my name, you do not know me, Visik pleads, embarrassed by her overtures in front of his colleague.

Livi, then, is to report to the synagogue at five o’clock on Friday. The second guard is peering past Chaya into the house as he speaks. She can bring one bag with her. From there she will be taken to work for the Germans. She must come alone, no one is to accompany her. Do you understand the order I have given you?

I just told you! Chaya is suddenly terrified, her eyes burning. You can’t take Livi—she’s only fifteen. Chaya reaches out to Visik, imploring him. She is just a child.

Both men step back, unsure of what Chaya is capable of. The second guard puts his hand on his gun in its holster.

Yitzchak steps forward and pulls Chaya away.

You have our orders—your daughter’s name will be on the list of girls to be transported.

Visik leans in and hisses, It will be worse for her if she doesn’t turn up. He puffs up his chest, needing to regain his authority, and tips his chin, laughing triumphantly as he struts back down the path.

Chaya looks at Livi, now folded into her grandfather’s arms. Yitzchak’s pained face fails to hide the anger and guilt he feels for not being able to protect his youngest granddaughter.

It’s all right, Grandfather. Mumma, I can go and work for the Germans. I’m sure it won’t be for long. It’s only work—how hard can it be?

The room suddenly grows darker. The sunlight that had streamed through the window earlier is now blanketed by dark clouds, just to be seen peeking through the drawn curtains, a clap of thunder shakes the house, and in a moment heavy rain begins to thud onto the roof.

Chaya looks at Livi, her little warrior, her blue eyes and bouncing curls belying her determination. Livi holds her mother’s gaze, but it is Chaya who turns away, clutching the front of her dress in her hands, a sign, her sign, that she is crumbling inside, the physical pain in her chest an acknowledgment of her powerlessness.

There are no words. As Chaya walks to her room, she reaches out and touches Livi’s arm, her eyes downcast. Livi and Yitzchak hear the bedroom door close.

Should I…?

No, Livi, let her be. She will come out when she’s ready.

CHAPTER 4

Vranov nad Topl’ou

March 1942

What are you doing, Livi? Please take those candles away from the window.

Wiping her floury hands on her apron, Chaya advances on Livi. Why does she insist on hovering in the window? It has been two days since the Hlinka Guard told her she must relinquish her youngest daughter. They have just tonight together under the same roof. Closing her eyes, Chaya chastises herself. Why did she have to scold her? Why has she spent the last couple of days in virtual silence, self-absorbed and brooding, when she should have spent these precious hours talking to Livi, loving Livi.

No, Mumma, I must leave them in the window. I’m lighting the way home for Cibi.

But you know we’re not allowed…

I don’t care! What can they do, take me away? They are already doing that tomorrow! If this is to be my last night in my own home for a while, I want candles in the window.

During this exchange, Cibi has approached the house, unseen by mother and sister. She bursts in through the front door now, calling: Kitten, where are you?

Livi squeals with delight and flies into Cibi’s arms. Chaya is fighting and failing to hold back her tears.

Did I hear the gentle tread of my eldest granddaughter entering the house? Yitzchak says, with his characteristic warmth and humor.

Chaya and Yitzchak join Cibi and Livi in a tight embrace.

Mumma, I could smell your cooking at the end of the street. I have been eating my own food for far too long—I’m starving.

And yet here you are, still alive, Yitzchak jokes.

Chaya lets Livi tell her sister about Magda’s confinement in hospital, reassuring her that Dr. Kisely has informed them she will be fine. When Livi has finished, Chaya nods at Yitzchak.

Livi, he says, come and help me bring in some wood from the backyard for the fire. It’s going to be a cold night and we want to keep the kitchen warm.

Must I? Cibi has just come home and I want to hear all about her adventures, Livi moans.

There will be plenty of time for that. Now, come on, give an old man a hand.

When Yitzchak and Livi have shut the kitchen door behind them, Cibi turns to her mother. OK, what’s going on?

Come with me, Chaya says, leading her into their bedroom and shutting the door behind them.

You’re scaring me, Mumma. Please.

Chaya takes a deep breath. Your sister is going to work for the Germans, the Hlinka came for her. Chaya can’t look at Cibi, but she forces herself. She has been ordered to the synagogue tomorrow. I don’t know where they will take her, but we’re hoping it’s not for long and that … that… Chaya sits down heavily on the bed, but Cibi remains standing, staring into the space her mother had just occupied.

But they can’t. She’s just a child—what can she do for the Germans? Cibi says, more to herself than to her mother. Can’t Uncle Ivan help us?

Chaya is sobbing into her hands. No one can help us, Cibi. I … I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t…

Cibi sits down beside her mother and takes her hands away from her face. Mother, I made a promise to look after my sisters. Don’t you remember?

Around a candlelit table, the Meller family shares a meal, each one of them wondering when they will do so again. Prayers are said for Magda; for their departed father; and Yitzchak’s deceased wife, their grandmother. They try to enjoy each other as they always have, but what lies ahead looms large over their table.

The plates now empty, Chaya reaches for Livi’s hand. Cibi extends one hand to Yitzchak, beside her, and the other to her mother. Livi takes her grandfather’s hand, all the while looking across the table at Cibi. The family circle holds tight. Cibi holds Livi’s stare. Chaya does not look up as tears fall unashamedly down her face. Only when Chaya can no longer contain her sobs do the girls look at their mother. Yitzchak breaks free from the circle to embrace her.

I’ll clean up, Livi says quietly, rising from the table.

As she picks up a plate Cibi takes it from her. Leave it, kitten, I’ll do it. Why don’t you go and get ready for bed?

With no objections from Chaya or Yitzchak, Livi quietly leaves the kitchen.

Cibi places the plate back on the table. I’m going with her, she whispers. She’s the baby and she can’t go alone.

What are you saying? Yitzchak’s face wrinkles in confusion.

Tomorrow I will go with Livi. I will look after her, and then I will bring her back to you. No harm will come to her as long as there is breath in my body.

"They only have her name; they may not let you go." Chaya sobs.

They won’t be able to stop me, Mumma, you know that. What Cibi wants, Cibi gets. You look after Magda until we return. Cibi lifts her chin. The decision has been made. The candlelight catches the red in her hair, the gleam in her large green eyes.

We can’t ask you to do that, Yitzchak says, quietly, glancing toward the bedroom door.

You don’t have to, I’m saying I am going. Now, we will need to pack two bags.

Chaya rises from her chair to embrace her firstborn, whispering into her thick hair, Thank you, thank you.

Did I miss something? Livi hovers by the bedroom door, reluctant to come further into the room, the tension in the air palpable. Yitzchak walks over to her and gently urges her back to the table and onto her chair.

Kitten, guess what, I’m coming with you tomorrow! Cibi winks at her sister. You didn’t think I was going to let you have all the fun, did you?

What do you mean? They don’t have your name, only mine. Livi looks as confused as Yitzchak did, only moments ago. Livi’s bravery is leaving her: she struggles to say the words, sniffs as she fights to control her tears.

Let me worry about that, OK? All you need to know is that we’re in this together from now on. Who else is going to boss you around when you misbehave?

Livi looks at her mother and grandfather. Did you tell her to come with me?

No, no, kitten, nobody asked me to do this—I want to. I insist on it—remember our promise to Father, that we would always stay together? Magda is ill, and we can’t do anything about that, but you and me, we’ll keep the promise and be back home before we know it.

Mumma?

Chaya cups Livi’s face in her hands. Your sister is going with you, Livi. Do you understand? You don’t have to do this alone.

If only Menachem was here, he would know what to do, how to protect his daughters, Yitzchak says, his voice thick with tears.

Chaya, Cibi and Livi look at the old man as he begins to cry. It’s obvious he feels guilty, powerless to protect these girls.

The three women envelop him in a hug.

Grandfather, you are the only father I can remember—you have protected me all my life, and I know you will watch over Cibi and me, even when we are not all together. Don’t cry, please, we need you to be here to look after Mumma, and Magda, Livi pleads.

There is nothing Menachem could have done, if he were still with us, that you haven’t done, Father, adds Chaya. "You have protected us and kept us safe since he died, you have to believe