When the Heart Sings by Liz Tolsma

Author:Liz Tolsma
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gilead Publishing
Published: 2018-11-06T16:00:00+00:00

Leaning over the injured boy, Pawel clasped his hands together. Children, Lord? Has this world gone so crazy that children are now hunted like animals? Treated no better than machines?

The child slept peacefully. He would survive. For now, anyway. Once he returned to the factory, it was anyone’s guess how long he would live. There had to be a way for Pawel to help him. Protect him like Pani Palinska had begged him.

He rubbed his furrowed forehead. Up to this point, he hadn’t participated in anything more nefarious than forging documents. Dangerous enough in itself. But spiriting away a child from a prison camp escalated his involvement in the underground to a new level.

What would Antonina say? Her image appeared before him like a picture show. In the softness of her gaze, he caught the empathy she would have for Zygmunt. And then she would narrow her eyes, a mother’s fierceness in them. Willing to do anything to protect one of God’s precious children. Like she would have protected Józef if she had the chance, even though he was a young man when he was ripped from them.

Her likeness faded. Tak, he would have to help this boy. But how? The Germans knew he was here. If he disappeared, Pawel would be the first one blamed. And if they discovered he was Pani Palinska’s brother, she would be next.

His heart pounded and the throbbing in his ears matched it. Nie, wait, that was the door. An insistent, persistent knock. Pawel shoved back his chair and went to answer it.

Pan Fromm stood on the porch step, then strode into Pawel’s home, his hands behind his back, the angles of his face hard, his eyes cold. Without warning, he spun on his heel. “Where is the boy?”

“Sleeping in the upstairs bedroom.”

“Wake him and bring him here. He needs to return to work.”

“Impossible. The child just lost a finger. His body must heal, and the wound must be kept clean. He’ll stay here for at least a week.” Pawel swallowed hard at his bold words.

Pan Fromm spoke through clenched teeth. “Perhaps you didn’t understand me. The boy is returning to the factory with me. Now. I didn’t ask for your personal or professional opinion. I’m a busy man. Bring him to me this instant.” Fromm’s voice rose until his words rang in Pawel’s ears.

“I object. Chances are he won’t survive.”

“That’s not my concern.” Fromm waved away Pawel as if he swatted a fly. “He is a prisoner, not a boy to be coddled.”

“Coddled?” Pawel’s head might just explode. “He’s eight.”

Fromm struck Pawel across the cheek, his jaw shifting. “I will not tolerate impertinence. The child is plenty old enough to work. Get him. Now.” Fromm reached for the weapon in the holster on his hip.

What choice was left? Pawel lifted his glasses and rubbed his forehead, then climbed the stairs, taking as much time as he dared. While the precious seconds wouldn’t ensure Zygmunt’s survival, Pawel had to do whatever he could to delay the boy’s return to the factory, even if it was only a minute or two.

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