Tulips in Her Hand

Chapter Two

The lulling movement of the train brought out the exhaustion in Celina. It had been rather easy to get a ticket, and within a matter of hours she was on a train to Warsaw. The train station was swarming with people, a fair amount for a small town, at least. Celina had to press her way through woolen coats and stray umbrellas just to get to her destination.

Finally settled into the depths of a velvet chair, Celina studied her surroundings. The aroma of stale bread surrounded her, perhaps coming from the seat in front of her. A young man sat beside her, his eyes set on yellowed pages with blackened words. Celina glanced away from the window, studying her new companion. Memories of her father's wise words drifted through her mind.

"You see, everything can be seen rather like a painting. Emotions are the colors. Every line or shape an event that changes everything forever. One's life the canvas. And that person the one stuck inside the canvas."

His painting was darkened, with various shades of gray, and only a minuscule amount of golden yellow. She saw a flame in his painting, the little bit of golden yellow, yet also a sickly shadow, looming over this flame, threatening to blow it out completely.

Seeing her studying him, the man looked up from the novel. "And what is your name, my darling?"

Celina froze, suddenly aware of her hands shaking ever so slightly. She had never had a stranger accompany her before on a train, it was always a familiar smell of tobacco and fatherly laugh beside her. "My name is," she paused for a moment, considering, "none of your business." Celina attempted a defiant look, although somewhat failing, especially when she noted his dark hair and melting, chocolate eyes.

"You're right, my apologies. My name is Mariusz, which isn't any of your business either, but it might as well be if we're going to ride this train together," he said, flashing a smile, "you're on this train for a reason, aren't you?"

Celina glanced back towards the window, watching racing brooks and rolling hills go by. Thoughts raced back and forth in her mind like the very brooks themselves. She didn't exactly have a plan, or any sort of strategy to finding the journal. All she knew was that she was meant to go to Warsaw, in ways unexplainable to her or anyone else.

"I'm looking for a friend of my father's," Celina whispered, "my father was in the middle of something before they took him away, helping these people. I want to find these people. That's my reason." The words found themselves, even though Celina couldn't find it in her to tell this man her name, she thought it imperative that she tell someone her goal.

Mariusz fingered the book, as if it contained something important. "And you want to help these people?"

"W-well, no, not really..." she trailed off, the words falling at her feet.

"You're hoping to find your father, aren't you?" he interjected, emotion hidden behind his words, "you're hoping they'll know something about him, perhaps where the Germans took him. And then what? You'll find some way to magically rescue him?"

His tone wasn't angry, nor scolding. Merely prompting, like a detective questioning a suspect.

Celina's face fell. "Well, I was sort of hoping I could talk to the soldiers or something. They have to let him go, he didn't do anything wrong.

"Darling, you know nothing about the world nowadays, do you?" he paused to chuckle, "we do crazy things for the ones we love. That's why I'm here, to find my sister."

"That doesn't seem terribly crazy," Celina said, as coolly as her parched throat could allow. Inside she was bubbling, fuming, perhaps a bit of disappointment wedged in a far corner somewhere. Who did this man think he was to question all Celina was working towards?