Chapter Text
Esther was there with Bielke when Katarina arrived on the synagogue steps looking very solemn indeed.
She was very young, walking but nearly a baby, didn’t announce herself, and looked like she might cry at any moment. Esther had seen her at the Synagogue last shabbat with her family amongst the influx of new immigrants– her mother with her, though she seemed deeply unwell, coughing into a stained handkerchief, and her father on the ground floor, a sickly shade of grey all over and kippah barely clipped into his thinning hair like it’d been done in a rush, sitting oddly and pulling every other lock.
Katarina herself didn’t look terribly well– thin and a little colourless, legs bent a little to the side under rough, thick stockings and her clothes worn and faded all over.
“Where are your parents, Katarina?” Bielke asked in yiddish, crouching down to reach her level. Katarina didn’t say anything. “Your Mama and Papa? Ami and Aba? Your Otet?”
“Oh.” Katarina coughed a little. “Otet is gone. Mama said.”
“Where is your Mama? Does she know where you are?” Esther asked gently, and Katarina’s eyes began to fill with tears as she shook her head.
“She said– She said–” Katarina was clearly trying very hard not to cry. “Mama is gone.”
Esther felt her heart break a little for this tiny child, and when she opened her arms Katarina ran into her, sobbing.
“I’m going to go and tell my husband what’s going on,” Bielke told Esther evenly, and she nodded, standing to hold Katarina in her arms, “I’ll find you in the meeting room upstairs.”
Bielke went to the sanctuary door to lean over the line and beckon to her husband, and Esther picked up her skirt to go up the stone stairs, Katarina on one hip.
“Shall we get you some water?” She asked gently. “When did you last drink something?”
Katarina wasn’t sobbing so loudly, but she still wept quietly into Esther’s shoulder.
Esther took her through the upstairs hallway and into the room at the front of the upstairs floor, setting her down in one of the old, creaky rocking chairs that had been there since before Esther’s family had left the motherland and since before Bielke had married the rabbi and begun her work there. Katarina settled into the old and thinning cushions as Esther poured half a glass of water for her and found some remaining challah from last shabbat, stale at the ends but soft right in the middle. She handed Katarina the soft part.
“Esther.” Bielke beckoned her to the doorway. “We don’t have any space for her at home, but if someone stays with her then she can sleep here. Just until we can find her a place to stay and someone to look after her.”
Esther nodded, not knowing what to say, and looked back to Katarina.
“...I don’t think she’s eaten in a few days, and she hasn’t said anything. Should I– Should we–”
“Talk to her. Come on.”
Bielke sat in a wicker chair opposite the window, and Esther took one of the wooden chairs next to Katarina half-facing her.
“Katarina… how long ago did you Mama and Otet go away?” Bielke asked softly, but Katarina stayed silent.
“Has it been a day?” Esther asked, to no response. “Two days, or three?” Katarina nodded, and Bielke pressed her lips together, handing her another piece of the torn challah.
“You came from Russia, didn’t you? My family came over from the empire when I was little.”
“From Kiev.” Katarina whispered, and Bielke nodded solemnly.
“Would it be alright for you to stay here at the schul until we can find you somewhere to stay for the long term? Someone will stay with you and make sure you're safe and have enough to eat.”
Katarina nodded and looked to Esther.
“...I want to go home.” She admitted in a whisper before hugging into Esther and beginning to cry again.
Esther held her close and felt that old ache for home flood through her.