The Price We Pay

Chapter 25

The girl sat her basket on the wooden table. Two chairs were placed around the table. Back curtains were drawn over the back window and a small loaf of bread sat on the table. Besides the bread, the table was spotless. A broom sat in the corner of the room along with a bucket of water and a rag, the distinct smell of soap floated through the air. The girl left the room and returned with a small bowl. Inside was a brown, lumpy soup. "This way." She said.

We followed her down a hallway with pictures that lined the walls. Most were painted art pieces, there was only one photograph, which hung near the end of the hallway. In it, a group of people stood together in front of what appeared to be a church. In the center of the group, an older man smiled as he rested on a cane. I instantly recognized him as the girls grandfather. "Try not to disturb her too much," She said as she put her hand on the door knob, "she's still recovering."

She pushed open the door and stepped in. "Ma?" No one responded, "I brought you some soup... and visitors." She motioned for us to follow her in.

The room was spotless, with a bed placed against the far wall. A lady, no older than forty, lay in the bed, her face was sickly and pale. The blankets were tucked tightly around her. Beads of sweat tricked down her head, yet she still shivered. The girl set the soup down on a nightstand and walked to the widows. She flung open the curtains, allowing the morning sunlight to warm the room. The woman in the bed attempted to push herself up into a sitting position. "Ma, you need your rest. They won't be here long." She turned to us, "This is my Mother."

Perl coughed into a handkerchief, "Pleased to meet you." She managed. Perl took a deep breath, which made an odd gurgling sound. I resisted the urge to step back, whatever Perl had didn't sound good. The less time we spent here the better. "I'm Julia," I said, "and we have a package for you." I walked to the bed and put the book on her lap, "It's from your father." Her head snapped up. Suddenly, her face didn't look so pale. This time she succeeded in sitting up. "How did he find you?" She asked.

Her daughter tensed as her mother gingerly picked up the package. Perl looked up at me, her eyes full of questions. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then decided against it. She carefully unwrapped the packaging. I knew Perl couldn't hurt us, but I wasn't too sure how the daughter would react when she saw what was inside. Delivering it to them could guarantee their deaths.

Perl pulled the paper off the package. She dropped the package like a hot pan and gasped. Which consequently resulted in a coughing fit. I swallowed hard and Peter leaned forward, attempting to see what we had delivered. I had been right about what was inside. The daughters nostrils flared, "Why would you ever--"

"Devorah." Perl placed a hand on her daughters arm. Her fingers brushed against the cover of the book. A tear rolled down her face as she picked up the book.

"Where did he--" Her sob was muffled and horse. Next to her Devorah looked torn, she still looked horrified, but her eyes looked relived at the same time. Peter stood behind me both looking stunted and confused.

"I thought they took him." Perl sobbed. She flipped though the book's pages, occasionally pausing to read.

I remembered the second part of my promise, "Perl, your father wanted me to tell you something." She perked up, looking at me curiously.

I carefully recalled what he had said to me in his kitchen, the way he had pleaded with me to help him and his daughter, "He wants you to remember who you are. Even when it gets scary." I gave her a light lip smile, "But most importantly, he says he loves you."

Perl smiled sadly, "Yes, I know that." She clung to the book and turned to cough up a yellow pus into her handkerchief. I quickly looked away.

"If you see him again," She wheezed, "Tell him I love him." she reached out for her daughter's hand, "And tell him Devorah's okay."