Free Such Good Girls by R. D. Rosen

had spent the past two years in Kraków, posing as a Catholic and working under the name Ksenia Osoba as a housekeeper for a German family. Putzi had left her job when her German employers had fled from the advancing Russians back to Germany. Laura introduced her to Zofia by her Catholic nickname, Nusia.
    Putzi was shorter than Laura, with a round face and high forehead. It was hard to overestimate the joy Laura felt at this reunion, with her husband, parents, and brothers gone. And Zofia was delighted to have a companion in her twenties, almost as close in age to Zofia as she was to Laura. Where Zofia’s mother was so strict and tense—she was the oldest daughter in her family, after all—Putzi, the youngest, was theatrical and fun-loving. At times Putzi seemed more like a child even than Zofia. Her mere presence lit up their two-room apartment and brought out an expressive side of Zofia that her mother hadn’t seen in years.
    Best of all, Putzi brought with her the most wonderful possession—a goose feather comforter. For Zofia, it was the epitome of luxury—soft, fluffy, warm, and white in a world of black boots, fear, and no chocolate—and it was to rest permanently on Zofia’s single bed, which she was to share with the aunt she knew only as Nusia. After just one night, though, Putzi complained to her sister right in front of Zofia that she kicked her legs in her sleep and kept her up all night.
    Putzi said that she’d sleep on the floor.
    “You will do no such thing, Nusia,” Laura said. To avoid any slips, of course, they addressed each other only by their adopted Christian names.
    Listening, Zofia thought that her mother might as well have been Putzi’s mother too.
    “But, Bronia,” Putzi said, using Laura’s Catholic nickname, “she kicks like a mule!”
    Laura proposed they alternate, one week at a time.
    “So instead of getting no sleep,” Putzi replied, “I’ll get half the sleep I need!”
    They both laughed—Zofia couldn’t remember hearing her mother’s laughter, ever—and the two sisters hugged each other tightly.
    “Now set the table, Nusia. I saved a chicken for you.”
    “It’s a miracle I got here,” Putzi wrote her other older sister, Fryda, who was living in Germany, shortly after arriving. “I hope I will manage. I sang Christmas carols, and I just play with little Zosia and make her little things she loves for dinner. I got lucky I came here during the holidays, since everyone treats you with good food. Bronia cooked half a chicken. The little one received some toys and skates. She is a really sweet and good-natured child and very talkative. You cannot stop her! She engages everyone. It’s just that she coughs, the croup, though not to a great degree.”
    For the first time that she could remember, Zofia felt like she had a family. Maybe not like the other girls in school, but a family nonetheless. Having Putzi around softened her mother and took the sting out of Laura’s constant anxiety.
    “Why does she make me recite the catechism all the time?” Zofia complained to her aunt one day.
    “Because she loves you, Zosia my dear. Because she wants you to be a good Christian. Then, if you pray to God for this horrible war to be over, maybe he’ll listen.”
    But it was Putzi who did most of the listening—to Zofia, who at last had someone to talk to after school when her mother was at work. Life seemed almost normal. Putzi began discreetly tutoring Polish students, which Laura was already doing—they snuck in and out of their apartment at night—and they were all beginning to feel somewhat like human beings again. Between her mother’s salary and their modest incomes from tutoring there was more food and even the occasional new dress.
    Putzi was a talented seamstress who had once bartered her sewing skills for bread with one of her Catholic neighbors back in Lvov. Now, in addition to mending their clothes, she rendered Zofia speechless when she fashioned out of an old