But Emma became too sick to walk, collapsing under her own weight and hurling the contents of her stomach onto the ground, barely missing the officer's shoes.
"Get up!" the officer hissed, grabbing the girl by the back of her shirt and dragging her to her feet.
When she realized that Emma had become too weak to stand, she looked to her left, her right, and then behind herself, then turned back to Emma. She lifted the girl into her strong arms and carried her the few meters to the doorway of the infirmary. The doctor on duty - a Jew - surprised to see the officer to tenderly holding the girl to her chest, rushed over and took Emma from her arms, then hurried her over to the last open bed, in the back of the room. The small, pathetic excuse for a building was filled with coughing, wheezing, and the sound of vomit, and it made the officer cringe.
"Please," Emma sobbed, climbing out of the bed and crawling towards the officer.
The woman stepped back and turned to leave as the doctor helped the girl back onto the cot.
She fell into a deep but fitful sleep - the kind you get when you're deathly ill - and again dreamed of the officer's cruel eyes. She woke in the morning to the doctor dabbing her forehead with a cold tattered cloth as he wiped the stream of sweat from her brow.
"You're very ill, Miss."
"No, I'm not," she choked. "I'm fine. Please. Let me go back. I can work!"
"Miss, I'm afraid this illness is a grave one. If you overexert yourself, you will die."
Emma went silent. Die? Her mind flooded. Belle. She flinched.
"Will I get better, if I stay?" she finally asked weakly.
"I think so. But you must rest. It's imperative that you rest."
With that, Emma fell back on the cot and shut her eyes, until she heard the sound of boots approaching. Her eyes went wide, anticipating an officer who would send her to her death, claiming her uselessness. Not looking down or noticing that she was awake, the officer that did approach spoke to the doctor only.
"How is she?"
"She's... She will be better soon, with some rest," he lied. "She will be ready to work soon."
He knew it would not be soon.
The officer finally looked down at the girl on the cot, whose eyes had closed again.
"Good," she said. "Good."
When she heard her voice, Emma knew it was the officer from the night before. The officer who had beaten her. The officer who had lifted her into her arms and carried her into the infirmary.
"Thank you, ma'am," Emma managed, opening her eyes. "For carrying me."
The woman looked almost regal in her uniform, but the swastika on her arm glared at Emma, threatening her with another fit of fury. But, to Emma's surprise, the fury didn't come.
"You're welcome," was all the woman said as she turned and left Emma alone with the doctor, and the rest of the prisoners who probably wouldn't draw breath for much longer.
She did not rise, except to eat meager meals of scraps of bread and water, which certainly didn't further along the healing process. She slept the hours away, her fatigued body - though certainly ill - grateful for the rest.
Each day, the officer reappeared at the foot of her bed, asking the same question.
"How is she?"
Each day, the doctor lied.
Until finally, Emma woke early one morning and found herself able to sit up in bed, completely on her own. This was an accomplishment, for her body was fighting furiously to ward off the illness and was exhausted from doing so. But the girl was strong-willed, and was desperate to get better. And so, that morning, when the officer appeared, the doctor didn't have to lie.
"She's awake," the woman pointed out, as if the doctor didn't know.
He nodded.
"She's strong. She'll only need a few more days, and she'll be ready to work again."
"Good," she said. "Good."
As she turned and walked away, Emma could have sworn she saw a smile.
A few days later, when the officer appeared, the doctor was nowhere to be seen - most likely attending to another prisoner who had been gravely injured, which was a common occurrence in the camp. The woman stood beside the bed, watching Emma as she sat up.
"How are you?" the officer asked, this time directly to Emma.
"I feel much better, ma'am," Emma replied, as respectfully as possible. "The doctor said I could go back to work today, with your approval."
Without catching her words, the woman asked, "Are you sure you're ready?"
"I... I feel strong again."
After some hesitation, the officer straightened up and looked down at her sternly.
"Stand up."
This, of course, was a superbly challenging endeavor, but thank heavens, Emma managed, possibly saving her own life.
"Tomorrow," the officer said, pushing down on Emma's shoulder until she was sitting with her legs hanging over the side of the bed.
"But, I..."
The officer raised her hand as though she was about to hit the blonde, but refrained, quickly dropping her arm to her side.
"I said tomorrow."
It wasn't until later that Emma realized that this was an act of great kindness.