The Angel Makers by Jessica Gregson

he raped her, she was sixteen – she had been walking in the woods; he had been following her for days, waiting for his chance – and all choice was taken away from her, for she’d conceived a child, and no other man would want her after that. She wonders, sometimes, what would have happened if she’d taken Judit up on her offer to get rid of the child, but although she felt nothing but indifference for the small life curled inside her, she couldn’t bear to even consider Judit’s vague suggestion, which was certainly some sort of wickedness. By the time she miscarried, the wedding was two weeks in the past, and her destiny seemed to have been decided.
    The funny thing, she thinks, is that she’s not like Lujza, and she’s not like Sari – both of whom she loves, both of whom scare her sometimes. Anna doesn’t wish for a life outside the village, and had Károly not taken matters into his own hands, she would have been perfectly happy to marry and bear children and live in Falucska forever, living the life of her mother and grandmothers. She knows that she’s not brilliant, and she’s not beautiful, and she’s not talented, but she’s kind, and nice enough looking, and has enough common sense to be a good wife and mother. Since her miscarriage she’s never conceived again, and she’s never been sure whether she’s unable to, or if she just doesn’t want to. Although she has no plans to leave Károly – how could she? – she knows that a child would bind her irrevocably to him, and that’s a thought too horrible to entertain.
    Anna’s a good, religious woman and so she’s racked with guilt. Although her prayers are respectful, and standard, asking God to look after her husband and end the war, her heart is rebellious, and along with dreams of Károly’s death comes a defiant sense of gratitude for the war, for taking him away and putting him in danger, and for giving her her life back – or lending her her life; she’s not stupid enough to think that this will be permanent. And now there’s something else that she stubbornly refuses to mention in her prayers, but which she rejoices in all day, and that’s the arrival of the prisoners.
    She watched Lilike eyeing them all up, choosing which one she wanted, but it was never like that with her; from the start, she’d always watched Jan – Giovanni – the closest. It’s his smile that she likes – it’s not cheeky, like Umberto’s, or insinuating, or condescending, like so many of the others’ – it’s just open, and friendly, and warm. That smile tells Anna all she needs to know about Jan: that he’s a good, honest, kind man. She’s not looking for excitement, or a bit of fun; she’d never admit it if anyone asked her, but she’s looking for someone to take her away. If Károly comes back from the war, she wants more than anything not to be waiting for him.
    Anna’s not like Lilike; she’s in no rush, and feels no need to take charge, because she feels certain that it’s going to happen. While Lilike has been choosing and planning and making gifts of fruit to her intended, Anna and Jan have been communicating with each other through nothing but smiles; huge, dazzling beams whenever they catch sight of one another, and those smiles seem to heat her from the inside. While Lilike is making assignations, Anna is content to wait. It’ll happen.
    In the meantime, she decides to speak to Sari in private, and see if she can get something that will make sure she doesn’t get pregnant. After all, there’s no harm in being prepared.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    By July, Falucska is suffocating under a blanket of heat and hormones, and Sari feels like she can never quite clear her head. This has always been her favourite time of the year – the village, which can look stark and desolate in winter, is at its best when the crude wooden buildings are smothered in greenery; everything always runs far more slowly at this time of year, and this year is worse than