Mrs. Tuesday's Departure: A Historical Novel of World War Two by Suzanne Elizabeth Anderson Page A

the bird feeder. I was the one who sat by the window that day and waited for the birds that never came, not Anna.
    I went back to the sink and picked up a crust of bread from one of the plates. Tearing it into tiny pieces, I remembered that two days ago, March 19th, the day the Germans had finally come, was a Sunday. I hadn’t gone to Mass. I hadn’t even thought of it. Now as I rolled the bits of bread into tiny balls, I was hungry for communion, for the evidence of God’s presence. And then I thought of Anna’s question in the dean’s office. Were we meant to be God’s helpers now? Was that part of faith, the willingness to step into the unknown and simply believe that God would be there with us? Would I be called on to do that for Mila? Or for Anna? Would I be able to take that step into thin air and believe that God will be with me no matter what?
    A sliver of cold air sliced the warmth of the kitchen when I opened the window.  Opening my hand, I laid the crumbs in a careful row on the ledge. Then I closed the window, went to the stove and took the kettle into the study, to join the others.
     

Excerpt from Mrs. Tuesday’s Departure ,
written by Natalie X,
published by the General Directorate of Publishing, 1952
    At home, Mrs . Tuesday took off her coat, put on her slippers, warmed a cup of consommé, and settled into a chair in the living room. She placed the package on the table next to two leather journals and a stack of typed pages. She checked her watch and waited.
    The grandfather clock chimed eight o’clock, there was a knock on the door, and a key turned in the lock. Mrs. Tuesday watched the door open and smiled as her granddaughter came in.
    “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said as she bent over to kiss Mrs. Tuesday. “I was at the library.”
    “There’s coffee in the kitchen, pour yourself a cup and come sit with me.”
    Mrs. Tuesday watched her granddaughter come back into the living room. She was tall; her brunette hair fell halfway down her back and over her shoulders. She looked like the typical college student, jeans, turtleneck, boots, and eyes tired from late nights of studying but glittering with the optimism of youth. She sat cross-legged on the couch and sipped her coffee.
    “Are you well Grandma?”
    “I’m fine, maybe a little touch of the flu,” Mrs. Tuesday said unconsciously touching her chest. “How are your studies?”
    Her granddaughter rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why a writer has to take biology and calculus.”
    Mrs. Tuesday chuckled, “They will make you a better writer. How is your novel coming?”
    “I made the changes you suggested last time and I’ve brought you three more chapters to read.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine
    In the corne r of the study, Mila dozed, curled in the arms of a green velvet wing back chair. It was well after midnight. I stifled a yawn, ignoring the resistance of my stiff joints as I pushed myself from my chair. A disappointed cry from an interrupted dream escaped Mila’s lips as I roused her from her sleep and guided her out of the study. She stopped in front of the doors leading to the living room.
    “I want to see their room,” she said, leaving my side and entering the room. She turned on a lamp, illuminating the room that had been converted into a bedroom for Ilona and Bela. The bed covers were tossed on the floor, there were clothes scattered around the room as though they had packed in a hurry. Mila walked around the room, picking up her mother’s clothing, folding it and placing it on the bed.
    “Mila you haven’t mentioned your mother.”
    Mila kept her back to me and continued folding the clothes. “I think of her all the time.”
    I too had thought of Ilona, wondering if she’d safely made it to Switzerland. Wondering if her heart ached with the abandonment of her only child. “I can’t explain what she did. But I know that she loves you.”
    Mila cringed. “Nana were you surprised that she left without me?”
    “Of