Free Mrs. Tuesday's Departure: A Historical Novel of World War Two by Suzanne Elizabeth Anderson Page B

left her at the train station. Did she feel betrayed by me as well? I reached for Mila, wanting to pull her to my chest. As my hands reached her shoulders, she jerked away as if scalded by my touch. Her face filled with anger, her jaw taut with unspoken accusations.
    Then her hands stopped and she looked up at me. “They were here.”
    “Who?” My heart tightened.
    “The Nazis.”
    “Here? In this apartment?”
    “In the building.” She stood up, walked to the counter, and retrieved a piece of paper. “They knocked on the door, but I didn’t answer. Then they shoved it under the door and said that they would be back.”
    I took the piece of paper from her hands, my eyes slid down the page before I was able to make sense of the words. It was a notice requiring all Jews to report to the local police precinct for registration.
    “But why would they come here? The apartment is registered in my family’s name.”
    “Miss Szep said they slid one under every door in the building.”
    Miss Szep was an elderly spinster who lived alone below us. She rarely came out of her apartment, except to complain about Bela’s drunken tirades. “When did you speak with her?”
    “After the Nazi’s left, she came to the door. She said that she was alone.”
    “Still, I wish you wouldn’t have answered the door. No one should know that you are here.”
    “She saw Bela and Mom leave without us yesterday and then when she saw us return without them, she said she figured out why.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven
    Miss Szep spen t hours watching the street below , and therefore the comings and goings of everyone in the building , from her front window. At times, the only reminder that any one lived in her apartment was the flutter of a curtain if you happened to look up as you approached the building from the street.  Most of the time there was little sign of her, with the exception of the smell of delicious poppy seed rolls baking in her oven, the product sometimes ending up as an anonymous gift propped against our front door.
    “Still, she knows that you’re here,” I said. “What if they question her?”
    “She said that she will tell the truth,” Mila said.
    I gasped. “No!”
    “She will tell the soldiers she saw me leave with my parents. That the only people living in this apartment are two sisters, both good Catholics.”
    I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling. Miss Szep was at least eighty. She’d known my parents, my husband, and before the arrival of Bela and Ilona, she’d been a frequent guest in our home. Could she be trusted? Who else had seen Mila return with us? I thought of Mrs. Nyugati. There were too many like her, people who wouldn’t hesitate to give Mila away if it meant gaining their own advantage with the enemy.
    Mila looked up and I turned to see Deszo standing in the doorway. “Have I interrupted?”
    “No, sit down,” I smiled. “I’m sorry I left you alone in the study. Anna must have decided to take a bath.”
    “Actually, she’s in the study reading.” He took a seat across from me. “She seems to think we’ve spent the day together, which I suppose is correct in a way. Anyway, she’s reading a book of her poems. I hope not preparing for another lecture.”
    “God, no,” I sighed. “I’ll have to explain the situation to her again. And then keep an eye on her.”
    Mila looked at me for an explanation. I raised my eyebrows and rolled my eyes. Deszo chuckled. “You know if it hadn’t been so dangerous, it would have been funny.”
    “If she’d confined her lecture to poetry instead of politics, yes.” I said taking up Mila’s task of peeling the potatoes.
    “So what are we going to do about you?” Deszo nodded toward Mila.
    “I’m going to stay here.”
    “I don’t think it’s safe,” Deszo said.
    I quickly told Deszo of Mila’s experience with the Germans and showed him the notice. Then I told him about Jozef and the safe houses.
    Deszo held the notice in his