My Enemy's Cradle by Sara Young

Author:Sara Young [Young, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harcourt
Published: 2008-10-06T00:00:00+00:00

November brought worse weather. Each morning, I awoke to find the mountaintops shrouded in dense clouds—as if the ragged teeth were now covered by a cold gray lip, and somehow more ominous than bared. I still went outside as much as I could, but now the decaying leaves clumped together beside the paths in rotting mats made me uneasy, and the smell of them turned my stomach. There was a long stretch with only a few bright days—several times the gray sky furrowed and darkened and began to spit snow, but there was never a storm. It was as if the weather was gathering itself, waiting for something. As I was. Growing more tense. As I was. No letter came, and each day it became harder to convince myself that Isaak was on the way. Or that anyone even knew where I was.

I decided to risk a letter. Not to Isaak directly. I needed to route the letter through a safe address. Someone I trusted, who would forward a note without asking questions. The problem was that everyone who might do this for me probably had been told I was dead. Finally I settled on Jet Haughwout, one of Anneke's oldest friends; I would just have to have faith that my aunt kept up the deception and Jet wouldn't be surprised to hear from my cousin in this place. I printed the note, trying for Anneke's round, short letters, and as I formed them I thought, I am a thief. There is nothing of my cousin's I wouldn't steal.

I kept the note brief; I told Jet I was fine and would write more later, but for now could she do me a favor? Please see that this note is posted, I wrote. It is to my cousin's friend. He is still very grieved over her death, and I wanted to write some things to comfort him. I didn't explain why I couldn't send the note myself—she would come up with some explanation.

And then I wrote to Isaak.

I wrote three times. The first two letters were filled with my fears and questions, my hurt that he could have abandoned me for so long. I crumpled them up. I went down to the front desk for one of the postcards of the home—they made it look like an exclusive hotel. On the back I wrote a single word: Hurry. I sealed the postcard into an envelope, addressed it to the synagogue, and tucked it into Jet's letter. I sealed that one and drew a deep breath.

Then I saw the problem.

Neve kept a lighter in her top drawer. I checked the hall to be sure she wasn't coming, then closed the door and went to her dresser. As I lifted the lighter, I noticed something—the drawer was filled with food: apples and crackers, a few hardened rolls, a piece of cheese, darkening at the edges, wrapped in waxed paper. I shut the drawer.

I held the first two letters with their damning words over the empty washbasin and burned them.

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