Page 41 of The Broken Dawn

Inside, his mother stood at the stove, her back straight as a soldier's. The familiar scent of chicken soup filled the kitchen, but there was something different in the way Sarah moved—a new tension in her shoulders, a deliberate precision to her movements.

"You're late," she said without turning, but there was no reproach in her voice. Just relief.

"Sorry, Mama. The tactics lecture ran long." He kissed her cheek. "Where's Rachel?"

Sarah's lips thinned. "Out. Again."

"Out where?"

"She wouldn't say." Sarah stirred the soup with more force than necessary. "Just that she'd be back for dinner."

Jakob frowned. "She can't just disappear without telling us where she's going. Not with everything that's happening."

"I told her exactly that." Sarah set the ladle down carefully. "She said I was being paranoid. That nothing's going to happen here."

The front door banged open before Jakob could respond. Rachel swept in, cheeks flushed with cold or excitement, her dark curls windblown. She wore her good dress—the blue one usually saved for special occasions—and a scarf Jakob didn't recognize.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, not sounding sorry at all. She unwound the scarf—definitely new, Jakob noted, and finer than anything they could afford—and hung it carefully by the door.

"Where were you?" Sarah asked, her voice carefully neutral.

"With friends from school." Rachel busied herself at the sink, washing her hands. "Studying."

"Which friends?" Jakob asked.

Rachel shot him an irritated look. "Does it matter? I'm here now."

"It matters," Sarah said quietly, "because we need to know where you are. Always."

Something in her tone made Rachel pause. She turned, water dripping from her hands. "Why? Nothing's going to happen here. Sweden is neutral."

"So was Russia, until it wasn't," Sarah said, her voice tight. "So was Poland, until last week."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "This isn't Russia, Mama. And I'm not a child anymore. I don't need to report my every movement."

"That's not what this is about," Jakob said, stepping between them. "It's about being careful. Knowing where each other is in case⁠—"

"In case what?" Rachel demanded. "In case we have to run again? Is that what you were going to say?"

The silence that followed was answer enough. Rachel looked from Jakob to their mother, her expression softening slightly.

"That's not going to happen," she said, gentler now. "Sweden isn't Russia. And even if it was—" She hesitated. "I have friends who would help us. Important friends."

Something in the way she said it made Jakob's skin prickle. "Rachel⁠—"

"The soup's getting cold," Sarah interrupted. "Rachel, set the table. The good plates."

Rachel moved to obey, the moment broken. Jakob watched her, noting the new confidence in her movements, the subtle changes he'd missed while away at the academy. When had his little sister started keeping secrets? And what kind of "important friends" did a seventeen-year-old farm girl have?

The dining room table gleamed in the candlelight, the good plates—their mother's pride, carried all the way from Russia wrapped in quilts—arranged with unusual care. Sarah's hands trembled slightly as she lit the Shabbat candles, her prayer more fervent than usual. The familiar Hebrew words filled the small room, but tonight they seemed to carry a different weight—less ritual, more plea.

"Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha'olam..." Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe...

Jakob watched the candlelight reflected in his mother's eyes and thought of the reports he'd read that morning—Polish synagogues burning, Jewish businesses looted. How many mothers were lighting Shabbat candles in hiding tonight? How many couldn't light them at all?

As they took their seats, Sarah ladled soup into their bowls with careful precision. "I heard from Mrs. Goldstein today," she said, her tone deliberately casual. "Her cousin in Warsaw hasn't written in two weeks."

Rachel fidgeted with her spoon. "Maybe the mail is just delayed. With everything happening."