Tulips in Her Hand

Chapter Thirteen

"Yes, he'll be just fine, just fine," a woman's voice said, "though I'm not quite sure about the other one..."

Celina grasped the white linen, bunching the sheets into a large ball. Sweat dripped down her flushed cheeks. Or perhaps it was tears, or both; Celina couldn't tell. Where was she anyways? Glancing nervously around, she saw the only light was natural light that streamed in through the various windows. The room seemed to stretch on forever, it must have been a ballroom, with several plain looking cots dotting it. Mariusz occupied the one a few cots down from Celina, yet Anka and Wren were nowhere to be seen. Had Wren...?

"Ah, we have one awake!" a different woman said. Her eyes rapidly blinking, struggling to focus, Celina saw she was still quite young, maybe sixteen or seventeen. She was clod in a plain gray dress with wisps of hair sticking out of her braid. That's funny, Celina thought. So we must not be in a hospital.

"W-what happened? Where am I?" Celina murmured, her voice rasping. She frowned. Her head throbbed terribly. 

"Why, you're at Ms. Peiper's! We had to set up cots in here, there were so many of you!" she said. Her voice was oddly chipper, to the point where it caused Celina to cringe.

"What happened?" she repeated.

The girl dismissed Celina's question with a wave of her hand. Then she paused, presumably thinking better of it, and continued to speak. "Ah, as for that, we were hoping you could tell us more. The girl and the American are doing just fine. There's just a small bullet wound in the American's leg, and an older wound in his abdomen, but we think he should recover nicely. Last I checked, he was still unconscious. Bullets hurt, you know!"

A wave of relief flew over Celina. So she didn't kill Wren; she was only responsible for injuring him further. That thought caused her to wince. "Thank you," she said, "But what about the other man? Is he okay?" She longed to ask what she was doing here in this strange place, yet the girl seemed to only be able to take one question at a time.

"You mean the Jew?" she jabbed her thumb towards Mariusz a few cots down. "We're not sure-"

"Ah, she's awaken!" the woman from before interrupted, approaching Celina's cot, "My name is Ms. Peiper, and I'd love to meet with you in the parlor. Come, darling, follow me." The words dripped out of her mouth like syrup; sweet, subtle, soothing. And then she knew why: Ms. Piper had a Polish accent. How strange.

 Celina took Ms. Peiper's outstretched, rising from the cot. Confusion washed over her like a ginormous wave, laced with fear and anxiety. Did this woman know they were criminals? Was she going to report them?

She was led through a grand hallway with stunning chestnut flooring. Elegant paintings lined every inch of the wall, ones of glittering water and marble fountains and Parisian streets. Celina frowned. They couldn't still be in Salzburg.

Ms. Peiper stopped at the parlor, beckoning for Celina to sit in one of the chairs. Celina complied, blood pulsing through her veins. 

"Do you know who I am, darling?" she said, her voice losing its syrupy tone. She sat down in a chair adjacent to  Celina's.

"I didn't until that girl in there mentioned you."

Ms. Peiper nodded. Her graying brown hair was pulled tightly in a bun that bobbed on the top of her head."I'm a friend of Mr. Budny's. Of your father's. I work closely with Zegota, arranging hiding places, identification cards, finding those who need help the most."

Celina's entire body was in shock. Another Resistance member? Another connection to her father? That explained the Polish accent. But what was she doing here in Austria? Biting her lip, Celina turned away from the woman. She wanted nothing more to do with this stupid Resistance.