Like Lot's wife, Mitch turned back, the sight of Xavier's body seared into his memory.

Time blurred for Gisela. How many minutes and hours pa.s.sed as they struggled across the ice, she had no idea. Night came and they slept in the carts, huddled together under the duvets for warmth. The morning sun did nothing to change their circ.u.mstances.

All she wanted was to get to the Frische Nehrung, the narrow spit of land separating the lagoon from the Baltic Sea and their road to Danzig. And safety. Out here, they were too vulnerable, too exposed.

Every little bird that flew across the sky caused her shoulders to tense. They fooled her into believing they were tieffliegers.

The Frische Haff was only twenty kilometers or so wide, yet they continued across the endless stretch of white. Unable to see either sh.o.r.e, it felt like they would never reach land.

Mitch pulled the Holtzmanns' cart with his head down, his back rounded, not saying a word. She wanted to comfort him, but the words stuck in her throat. In this situation, they sounded false and hollow. There was no comfort here. Even the Holtzmann sisters were subdued. They walked on without a word.

The bullet-riddled ice creaked and cracked as the wheels of the cart rolled over it. She had lost feeling in her feet many kilometers ago. Her coat and dress and pants never had a chance to dry. Her ears burned.

Renate whimpered at each little noise and insisted that Gisela carry her. Gisela's arms ached after five steps, but Renate refused to be happy anywhere else. When Gisela tried to settle her in the Holtzmanns' cart, she protested that idea in no uncertain terms. Gisela held Renate in one hand and pushed her cart with the other. She had a difficult time putting one foot in front of the other. Even plodding was too much work.

The blisters and calluses on her hands hurt. By tonight, they would be cracked and bleeding. Her shoulders begged for mercy. The load became too much and she had to drop the handles and rest for a bit. She set Renate on the ice.

The entire party took its cue from her and paused. She rummaged through her cart, filing through the items they had taken from her grandparents' home. Oma's silver, picture alb.u.ms, quilts she had st.i.tched by hand, and duvets filled with goose down. And Gisela's Bible.

What should she keep? The silver could buy them food, lodging, and train tickets. Parting with her Bible, Opa's daisy pressed between the pages in Isaiah, was out of the question. Some of her clothes? No, she needed those.

In the end, she discarded her coffeepot, the partial set of china, and all but a few pictures from her alb.u.m. She repacked the cart and settled Annelies inside once again.

Mitch came to her. "What can I take for you?"

"Nothing. You have a heavy enough load."

"Every now and again we were sent to work on farms while we were prisoners. Manual labor was new to me, but I managed."

Yes, he looked strong despite his captivity. Still, she didn't want to burden him. "This will be enough for now. Later, we will have to see."

Situated for the time being, they continued their slow trek north, each turn of the cart's wheels taking them that much farther away from the Russians. Even so, Gisela could almost feel them breathing down the back of her neck. Maybe they would be waiting for them on the other side of the Haff.

A loud, sudden snap sounded.

Her heart roared to life.

The ice under their feet cracked.

She flicked her gaze to Mitch. He stared at the frozen Haff.

With another great creak, the chunk of ice under Herr Holtzmann's cart broke. The handles slithered from Mitch's grasp.

His eyes widened as the cart sunk into the water.

He slipped and slid.

The ice snapped.

SIX.

Mitch was helpless against the frigid water as it pulled him down. So cold it took his breath away.

As he sank, he grasped for something, anything, to hold on to. He raked his glove-encased fingers across the frozen surface. He couldn't get a grip.

Voices, people shouting, sounded like he was already underwater.

Strange, really it was, that he wasn't afraid.

The German greatcoat served as an anchor, dragging him down.

The last thing he saw was a pretty pair of brown eyes. He waved as the Frische Haff claimed him.

Then fingers clamped around his wrist, like a vise crushing his bones.

In that moment, the panic rushed over him. His heart revved into high gear. Dear G.o.d, help me.

He kicked his legs, though they were weighted down by his heavy boots. Dizziness threatened, blackness at the corners of his mind.

Harder, harder he fought. Kicking. Reaching.

Lord, get me out of here.

Would he end up at the bottom of the Haff, dead like Xavier? His throat constricted. All thanks to the Russians.

Whoever tugged on him had incredible strength. He rose toward the surface.

His face broke the plane. He gulped in air. It stung his lungs.

Bright sunshine a.s.saulted his eyes.

Another couple of pulls and he lay panting on the ice.

He was alive. Thank You, thank You, thank You.

Gisela pounded him on the back.

"What on earth are you doing?"

She fell over on the ice beside him. "Getting the water out of your lungs."

"What kind of way is that to go about it?"

"I don't know. I saw a lifeguard do it once to a woman he pulled from the water, so I gave it a try."

"Rest a.s.sured, I haven't any water in my lungs." Then he thought about what she said. "You rescued me? A tiny girl like you?" A beautiful, tiny woman like her with a heart-shaped face.

She crawled to her cart, sat up, and rubbed her arms. "Don't act so surprised." He followed her lead. She stood and offered him a hand.

He declined it and got to his feet on his own, flashing her a smile, his teeth chattering. "My chums are going to razz me about this one."

"Instead of telling them Gisela rescued you, maybe you'd better tell them Herr Holtzmann did." No amus.e.m.e.nt in her voice. Was she teasing him or not?

"They'd tease me about that too. No, I like a good story. I'll tell them I rescued Gisela, my wife." Even that didn't elicit the laugh he hoped for. He rubbed his arms in a desperate bid to get warm.

Herr Holtzmann brought them towels from Gisela's cart. "You are going to freeze to death."

The magnitude of what happened hit him then. The Holtzmanns had just lost all of their possessions. They owned nothing more than the clothes on their backs. Even when trying to do good, he failed to succeed. "Herr Holtzmann, I don't know what to say. I apologize for losing your cart."

The old man clapped him on the back. "More important than possessions is that you are safe."

"If I had been more careful, had watched the color of the ice, I'd not have lost it."

"Blame the Russians for that. It is their bombs and bullets that weakened the ice."

He would. No worries about that. He shivered and shivered.

"Don't take the guilt on yourself."

Mitch appreciated Herr Holtzmann's words. His own father would have berated him for his carelessness and rebuked him for not being able to complete such a simple task. "I am sorry."

"We know that. No apologies are necessary."

"I will make it up to you."

"You don't need to. They are just things." Herr Holtzmann tapped his chest. "In here is where your memories are. In your heart. Those, no one can take away. I tried to hang on to Ursula's clock, but now it is gone. Yet she is with me. I hear her laughter and feel the touch of her skin against mine. Those things do not fade."

Mitch didn't miss the implication that replacing the items would be impossible. He heard his father's voice. "How could you be so careless? You lost all this poor man had left in life. He's dest.i.tute because of you."

And Xavier wasn't around to tease him. His chest ached.

Gisela held out a red wool sweater and a pair of pants. "Will these help you?" She bit her lip.

"Help with what?"

"You have no clothes to change into and you're soaked to the skin."

The corners of his mouth curved as he towered over her by a head at least. "I believe they would be a wee bit too small."

She peered at the offering in her hand.

"Thank you, anyway."

Away she bustled, slipping the sweater over her own damp blouse before b.u.t.toning up her long black coat.

"How much farther?" Mitch rubbed his hair and handed the towel back to Herr Holtzmann.

"Can't be too long." The older man sounded out of breath. "Perhaps another couple of hours."

All this occurred while the line of refugees snaked around them, careful to avoid the thin ice. No one came to their aid. With faces pointed north, they marched ahead. Like the wind-up toys he'd played with as a child.

Katya stepped to her brother's side and shook her index finger at Mitch. "Sister and I told you that swimming in this weather was lunacy. You should always listen to us."

Reprimanded like a tot, Mitch nodded and shivered.

As dry as they could be, they set off once more. Mitch was now able to pull what was left of Gisela's belongings while she carried Renate and kept an eye on Annelies. At least the work warmed him.

Herr Holtzmann plodded along, holding his sisters' hands. He limped and breathed heavily. Mitch stopped. Worry knotted his stomach. "Come on, Herr Holtzmann. It is your turn to ride in the wagon." The old man needed to rest.

"Nein, danke. See up there?" He let go of Bettina's hand and pointed to the gray streak on the horizon. "Land. Tonight we will sleep with a roof over our heads."

Gisela watched as the old man lowered his arm and rested it over his chest.

Herr Holtzmann's footsteps slowed the closer they came to sh.o.r.e. His sisters dragged him along with them. Every few minutes he stopped to catch his breath, his face devoid of color. His state of health concerned Gisela. She set Renate in the cart, went to him, and rubbed his back.

He bowed his head. "You need to go ahead. My sisters and I are slowing you. Don't worry about old people like us."

"Nein." She and Mitch spoke at the same time.

"No one gets left behind." She glanced at the girls, their gray eyes large in their peaked faces. She had made a vow. "No one."

He shut his eyes. "I pray that you and this soldier and the girls will be safe. For myself, G.o.d has other plans."

"I have plans of my own. And they include getting us out of harm's way. No matter what, I will do it."

He touched her hand. "You are sweet."

"Ja, sweet and right. We stay together." Mitch nodded at her and she appreciated his support.

"I beg you to leave me here. Take my sisters, but go on without me." Herr Holtzmann gripped his heart. A physical pain cramped her chest as well.

"Are you ill?"

"Nein, just old. And slow."

"We can see land now." And they could. A few trees and scattered houses. Hope lay ahead of them.

Mitch cleared a spot in the cart, making a nest of sorts. "We all get a chance for a ride. Now it is your turn." He led the old man by the elbow to their makeshift form of transportation and got him settled.

Gisela pulled a blanket over his thin frame, worrying the satin edge of it as she kissed his wrinkled forehead.

A smile crossed Herr Holtzmann's face. "If Ursula could see me now, like a king riding in his chariot, she would tell me to stop being so lazy and put a hoe in my hand."