Under Amber Skies Read online

  Something's wrong. I stop, gazing at the rolling countryside.

  "Did you see someone?" Inek asks.

  "No. It's just ... Too quiet. That's it!" Another sweep of the neighboring farms confirms my theory. "My father's machines are gone."

  "Nazis probably stole them," Inek says. "You can't be too surprised. His machines are efficient, compact, and don't require a heavy combustion engine or diesel fuel. They probably want to tear them apart and see how they work."

  He pauses, and I wait for the inevitable question.

  "Do you know what fuels them?" he asks.

  "No." I lie to him because my father swore me to secrecy after I figured it out on my own. He worried the Nazis would learn the secret. My father refused to tell my mother or anyone else. When asked, he deadpans that it is the sea air--the Baltic's very own electrons that power his equipment.

  "Can the Nazis figure it out?"

  "I've no idea." Which is true. My father rigged the power block on his machines to incinerate the fuel when it was tampered with, but I didn't know if it worked or not.

  Inek and I walk for a while in silence. My stomach growls, and I long for water. When we reach the woods that border my home, we stop and wait for dark. It's hard for me to sit there doing nothing. Worry over my mother's disappearance churns inside me. And where is my father? Does he know the danger he put us in? Does he care?

  I search my mind for any clues to his whereabouts. Suppressed memories of my parents arguing bubble to the surface. My mother insisting he help the war effort, his quiet response, and Mother using my name as a weapon. I also recall my mother flinging his Catfish Rug Sweeper--his vacuum cleaner invention--into the kitchen wall. Unable ... or rather unwilling to explore those memories further, I ask Inek about his family.

  Inek chats aimlessly about his brothers and how their antics have gotten them in trouble. I realize I've been so preoccupied with my own problems that I forgot that Inek abandoned his brothers to help me.

  "Will your family be worried about you?" I ask.

  He shrugs. "Probably not."

  "I guess they're used to you running off without saying a word."

  Inek's expression flattens. He gives me a cold stare before he stalks away.

  * * *

  Alone with my thoughts isn't fun. I try to think of happier days. Like when I mastered the installation of the reticulating gears needed to move a four-legged device. Or when my father beamed with pride after I designed my first gadget--a page-turning music stand. Or when I spent hours and hours on the beach with both my parents. As I played in the sand, my father would collect amber while my mother dug for clams. My heart lurches as I remember the day when I was eight-years-old and a green crab bit my toe. I yowled and begged my father to build a metallic fish to eat all the crabs in the sea.

  Instead, he drew me into his lap. Beads of salt water clung to the ends of his short curls, and grains of sand peppered his beard. "Zosia, the crab didn't bite you out of meanness or anger," he said. "You were probably going to step on her and she was defending herself."

  "Or her babies," my mother chimed in.

  "Yes, that's it," he said. "Mothers are very protective, and she didn't want you hurting her family. You see, they're planning a very long journey to Finland to attend the wedding of the king of the crabs." Then he proceeded to tell the most outrageous story about the mother crab's trip across the Baltic, and how, in the end, she protected the future crab queen from a giant herring.

  I touch my watch, trying to imagine the protective mother crab's shape in the gears, but am unable to focus due to the tears in my eyes.

  * * *

  Inek returns a few hours after he stormed off. He brings sugar beets and a jug of water from a neighbor's house. The beets taste delicious.

  "Mr. Sobczak said the Nazis have been posing as Polish officials and going house to house asking questions about your family, and confiscating your father's machines," Inek says. "No one has seen your mother. And he thinks the Nazis have left the area, but it makes sense that they would leave someone or a few of their spy owls behind to wait for you. You're going to walk into a trap. Come to my house. My mother will--"

  "No. I need to see for myself. I know it's dangerous, and I appreciate your help and the beets. But you've done more than enough. Go home, Inek."

  "No." Inek sits down. He leans back on a tree trunk and crosses his arms.

  It takes a long time for the sun to set this far north. A long time of sitting in an uncomfortable silence. Complete darkness finally descends after midnight. The chirp and trill of the nighttime insects help fill the emptiness, but as we approach my house from the back field, the silence is eerie.

  No lights shine. The doors are closed. No smoke from the chimney. The place already has an abandoned feel.

  Inek remains outside to watch for the Nazis as I sneak toward the house. The moon is three-quarters full and gives off enough light to illuminate the steps to the back door, which is unlocked.

  I slip into our kitchen and stifle a gasp. The floor is littered with broken plates and glasses. Drawers hang open or have been flung to the ground. Careful not to step on any debris, I look for a note or some clue as to where my mother has gone. Our table has been broken in two and most of the chairs smashed into splinters. The rest of the house is in the same state as the kitchen. Outrage and fear churn in my stomach as I realize the Nazis have taken all of Father's kitchen machines.

  In my room, I gather a few things from where they had been carelessly flung and shove them into a knapsack. Except for the statue of the amber girl, the Nazis have taken all my father's gifts from my room. My hand brushes a hard lump in one of the pockets of my bag. They left one. A bug light--one of Father's gadgets. It's the same flat round shape as my watch, but it's bigger than my palm and amber covers the entire face. When I twist the bottom, the amber glows with a soft orange light.

  Throwing the knapsack over my left shoulder, I clutch the bug light in my right hand as I go down to the cellar. My father's workshop is a mess. What couldn't be taken has been destroyed. A quick look around confirms that all his tools are gone. The amber I collected for him last month has been strewn about. There was more amber left than I'd expected, but when I considered that my mother has been down here making nothing but noise and smoke, it made sense.

  I spot a stack of papers half hidden under an overturned workbench. Odd. I yank it free. The papers are tied with copper wire. My name is written on the top in an unfamiliar hand. I take the bundle with me as I return to the kitchen.

  The drawer where my mother keeps her purse has been upended, but underneath I find her purse still bulging. Another oddity. That the Nazis would leave the money behind.

  "Zosia," Inek whispers from the doorway. "I heard voices. Let's go!"

  I turn off the light, shove the papers and purse into my knapsack, and join him. We press against the back wall, listening.

  "I saw a light," a man's rough voice says in German. "Check the house, I'll go around the back."

  Boots crunch on the gravel. My heart slams in my chest, beating a frantic rhythm. Inek points, and we slip around the side. More voices call out, growing louder. Lights fill my house. If we stay here, we'll be caught. I gesture to the barn. Inek nods.

  The desire to run pulses through my legs, but we keep an even and quiet pace. Every inch of my skin burns as I strain to listen for the shout of discovery. We reach the barn, and I thank my father for keeping all our hinges well oiled. Or should that be my mother?

  Inek and I climb up the side of one of the many dirt piles and crouch behind it. My hope that the Nazis give up searching when they find the house empty shatters with the shuffle of footsteps.

  "Gimme that light," a man orders.

  A yellow glow fills the barn and casts a shadow on the wall.

  "She has to be here," another voice says. "Footprints."

  My whole body is shaking, but I don't want Inek to get caught. "Stay here," I whisper to him. The
n I rip off my watch, drop it, and before I can chicken out, I step into view. Holding my hands wide, I flinch when they shine the light on me.

  "Don't shoot. I surrender," I say.

  "Come down nice and slow," one of the men says.

  "Told you she'd come home." His companion smiles.

  I slide down the pile. The noise of my passage masks the sound of my clicking watch.

  Except ... the clicking grows louder and is joined by more ... and more.

  Dozens of metallic crabs erupt from the dirt pile. They swarm toward the two Nazis, whom yell and shoot at the skittering mass.

  Inek grabs my arm and pulls me from the barn. Soon we're running full out. Shouts and shots follow us, but we don't stop. We're half a mile away before we slow to a walk. I'm amazed I still have my knapsack.

  "That was ... incredible," Inek says. "Those crab things give home security a whole new meaning. I'm glad you knew they were there."

  I don't bother to tell him they surprised me as well. It's yet another reminder that my parents have been keeping secrets from me. What else have they hidden?

  Inek leads me to his home. I'm too exhausted to protest, but I plan to leave in the morning. Light glows from the living room, and Inek's father and mother are at the door before us. Mrs. Adamczuk hugs her son while his father demands an explanation.

  "Nazis," Inek says.

  I let him explain. His mother doesn't hesitate. She takes me upstairs, lends me one of her nightgowns, and tucks me into Inek's bed. I haven't been tucked in since I was six and my mother chided my father for babying me.

  "You're welcome to stay as long as you like," she says, sweeping a stray curl from my eyes. "Inek can sleep in Marcin's room."

  After she leaves, I breathe in Inek's musky scent on the pillow as the day's horrid events swirl in my mind. I don't think I'll be able to sleep, but I do.

  * * *

  When I wake in the morning, I notice my watch has returned during the night. It's creepy and comforting at the same time. The watch is covered with dust, and even after traveling a mile to find me, it still keeps the correct time. I wonder what my father meant by knowing when it's time to be smart. My mother fooled me for months, and the Nazis almost captured me.

  Not very smart.

  Getting out of bed is difficult--I'm stiff and sore from running. Mrs. Adamczuk's nightgown reaches the floor. She's tall and thin like her husband and sons--all blue eyed. Unlike my family. We all have darker coloring, but I inherited my father's gray-green eye color and his cursed hair.

  I sit on the floor of Inek's room and sort my meager possessions. Money, a clean blouse, my favorite green skirt, the amber statue, the bug light, and the stack of papers. I untwist the copper wire and realize the papers are letters. Perhaps my mother or father has left them to explain everything to me. But instead I learn about something completely unrelated to the Nazis and the war.

  When I finish reading the last one, tears flow down my cheeks. The letters started out so sweet, then became confused, and finally angry. Not that I blame the letter writer. I'd get upset if my letters went unanswered, too.

  Conflicting emotions overwhelm me. I want my mother to comfort me, and I want to yell at her for concealing these letters. After a few minutes, the tightness in my throat eases. I wash, change into my clean clothes, and search for Inek's family.

  The six of them are sitting around the kitchen table, finishing breakfast. The affable chatter ceases the instant they notice me. Inek's three younger brothers stare as if they've never seen a girl before. Their mother musses their hair and shoos them out to work.

  "Sit, Zosia," she says. "You must be famished." She bustles about, filling a plate for me.

  I sit across from Inek, who is beside his father. The resemblance is striking, and it's like seeing into Inek's future. Inek's hair is sleep-tousled, but his gaze is hard. I drop mine to the table. I hope I can talk to Inek in private and explain about those letters.

  Mrs. Adamczuk cooks the food herself. Their kitchen is free of anything more complicated than a manual can opener. She sets a dish full of scrambled eggs in front of me. The smell causes my stomach to growl, and I can't seem to eat fast enough.

  "The gossip in the village is at full steam," Mr. Adamczuk says when I finish shoveling eggs into my mouth. "Most of it is pure nonsense, but I'm pretty certain no one has seen your mother, and she's not hiding with one of our neighbors. And the Nazis don't have her."

  "That we know of," I say. "They could have grabbed her while Inek and I were hiding."

  "True. Do you have family nearby?"

  "No. My parents are from Warsaw, and what's left of their families live there." My father couldn't stand the city. According to my mother, he dragged us all out here for peace, privacy, and the sea. I think about my mother's family. Most of them died in various wars and battles.

  "Let's assume she's free," Mr. Adamczuk says. "Do you know where your mother might go?"

  I imagine that I'm her and have just escaped from the Nazis. What would I do next? I groan at my idiocy. "She went to town to find me. And so did the Nazis!"

  Mr. Adamczuk says, "Unless she witnessed your escape, she might believe they have you."

  I jump to my feet. "I have to go back to Leba."

  "No. You will stay here, and I'll go," he says.

  Inek straightens. "Her mother or father might even be able to find her here." He points to my watch. "There must be some sort of homing device in the strap."

  As he explains to his parents about the crab, I'm remembering the others. How they crawled from the piles of dirt. How my father delighted in camouflaging his gadgets and fooling the eye.

  "Then it is settled," Mrs. Adamczuk says. "If some metal crab can find Zosia, then her family can as well. She will stay here."

  But I'm far from feeling settled. Even after Inek and his father go to town just in case my mother is there. I help Mrs. Adamczuk, marveling at their uncluttered and quiet house. And the poor woman has to do all the housework herself! No devices or gadgets to help her.

  She seems happy, chatting and paying me more attention than my own mother, asking me questions and commenting on how nice it is to have another lady to talk to. But I'm only half listening. Instead, I am imagining that my mother has returned to our house to search for me or to confront the Nazis about her missing daughter.

  We're sorting piles of laundry when it hits me.

  Conservation of mass. The piles of dirt and stone in the barn were much bigger than what could have been dug from the basement workshop. Either my father hid more devices under the dirt or there is another hidden room under our home.

  If there is another workshop, then my mother could be hiding there! Or perhaps my father is there as well and my mother hasn't been lying to me all these months. The room could also hold all those vital machines my mother talked about. Machines that could help Poland.

  By the time Mrs. Adamczuk and I hang all the wet sheets out to dry, I'm determined to return to my house that night and seek out that room.

  Inek and his father arrive with the news that no one has seen my mother or has any clue as to her whereabouts. The lack of information only increases my desire to go home. I'm well aware Inek and his family will refuse to let me go, or Inek will insist on coming with me. But his family is so ... caring. Their house is a home and not just a building full of gadgets. They love each other, and I will not endanger them or bring them any pain. If anything happens to Inek, Mrs. Adamczuk would be devastated.

  Once the sun is fully set, I creep downstairs in stockinged feet, carrying my boots. I leave a note, thanking them for their hospitality and explaining that I do not want to cause them trouble. I'm very glad that I never had the chance to talk to Inek in private. It would have just complicated everything, and this way, he'll stay safe.

  The back screen door creaks as I open it. I pause, but when the house remains quiet, I slip outside. Pulling on my boots, I shoulder my knapsack and head home. The moonlight is b
righter tonight, and I worry my green skirt and light-brown blouse are too visible.

  I'm careful to move without causing undue noise so it takes me twice the amount of time to reach the woods around our farm. Then I all but crawl. I stumble over a metal pod and realize it's one of the Nazi's spy owls. Dropping the hand-sized device, I back off. But the thing thumps on the ground--lifeless. Upon closer inspection, I find scorch marks. It was zapped. I glance around but don't spot any of my little crabs. However, moonlight gleams off a few more dead metal owls.

  When I reach the edge of our back field. I stop. Crouching low, I wait and watch as my heart taps a fast beat.

  At first the farm appears deserted, but a light shines from our kitchen window. When I'm sure there is no one lurking around the house, I step from my hiding place.

  All of a sudden, an arm wraps around my chest as a hand clamps over my mouth, muffling my cry of surprise.

  "It's me," Inek whispers.

  I relax, but he doesn't let go. His chest is pressed against my back.

  "I knew you'd try something stupid. I just didn't believe you would be this stupid." He sighs. "Can you at least answer a question for me before you're caught by the Germans?"

  Curious, I nod, and he removes his hand. "Did you get my letters?"

  My heart rips in half as I say, "Yes."

  He lets me go and steps away. I shiver as cool air touches my warm back.

  "Why didn't you answer them?" he asks.

  Glad he couldn't see my face, I close my eyes and say, "Letters are a coward's weapon. If you really wanted to be with me, you would have stood up to my father."

  The silence eats at my resolve. I suppress the urge to spin around and tell Inek the truth.

  Finally in a low flat voice, he says, "Good luck with the Nazis."

  There's a slight rustling, and I know he's gone without having to glance behind me. I swallow my emotions and inch closer to the house. Angry voices reach me first. Then the unmistakable thuds of a scuffle, followed by a crash.