But what? While the man gazed at his wife with longing, it was the look of longing unfulfilled. Of holding back. Of guarding his heart.

Kurt rubbed his forehead.

"Have you been to Danzig before?" Audra's voice at his side startled him. The music ended.

She had linked arms with each of the old sisters and the three walked together. Her pale cheeks had pinked in the wind.

"Never. I never had the intention to visit the city either. London, New York, Paris. Those were the places I wanted to see."

Her green eyes grew large. "Ja, those are grand places. I want to go to Hollywood, like Marlene Dietrich. Be a famous actress. Imagine, your name on a theater poster."

"Or on the top of a concert program." The war began and there went his dreams. Shattered. Like his arm.

"Perhaps you will see those cities someday. If you get to America, you can visit me in Hollywood. I will be a movie star by then. I could drive you around the city in my car. Or better yet, my chauffeur can drive us."

Kurt leaned back. "How will you get to Hollywood?"

"I don't know yet. But I will. You can count on that."

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Gisela pull one of the girls' hats farther over her ears. Such tenderness in her touch. For a moment, he forgot the woman beside him. Again she startled him when she spoke. "I'm from Schirwindt. On the border with Lithuania. I doubt you ever heard of it."

"Nein, I never did."

Gisela stroked the golden curls of the oldest child.

"Is something wrong?"

He forced his attention back to Audra. She did have a beautiful puckered mouth. "Why would you say that?"

"Because you get this faraway look in your eyes. Like you are having a pleasant dream."

He cleared his throat and attempted to make his expression as blank as possible. It would do no good to let people see how struck he was by a married woman. A woman he could never have. "Pleasant dreams are difficult to come by these days."

"Ja. I don't know anything about my family-if they are alive or dead. Nine brothers and sisters."

"I'm sorry. Those Russians are brutal. Heartless. They all deserve to be dropped in the cold, hard ground forever."

Josep spoke to Gisela again and she stopped and turned to face them. Fine lines radiated from her brown eyes. This war took too much from them too soon.

"Do either of you know Danzig?"

Both Audra and Kurt shook their heads at Gisela.

She shifted a sleeping Renate on her hip. "We will have to find accommodations for all of us. Tonight I would like to sleep in a house. No cart. No barns."

Audra patted Bettina's hand. "A roof and a floor. No hay."

Gisela's smile broke like a crescendo. "Ja, no hay. No horses or cows or pigs."

Josep nodded. "Perhaps smaller groups. It will be easier to find a place."

"Nein." Gisela spat out the word. "We will stay together. If need be, we can sleep on the floor of the same room. Just to be warm and dry, I would do anything. And together we can work on catching a train west."

Kurt was glad she voiced her opinion about splitting up the group. He didn't want to be separated from her. With these crowds, he might never see her again. "I agree. And you will be safer with a soldier with you."

Josep pointed to his chest. "She will have a soldier."

Kurt watched his sleeve flop in the breeze.

Empty. Like his soul without the music.

Gisela trailed Mitch into the city, the blister on her heel burning with each step. It had started even before the truck picked them up. When they had been able to get a ride, she hoped she wouldn't have to walk much anymore. With each step, the pain increased. Her stocking was sticky with blood.

Renate had fallen asleep on Mitch's shoulder and Annelies's feet dragged more the farther they walked. Bettina clung to Audra and Katya grasped Kurt. Gisela didn't think she had ever been so tired in her life.

She had failed Herr Holtzmann, like so many others. He should have rested more. She pushed him too hard.

They pa.s.sed a shop with a few boxes of powdered milk in the window. A sign hung on the gla.s.s.

Soldaten meldet euch bei der nchsten heeresdienststelle. Wer mit ziviltrecks zieht oder sich in privatquartieren herumdrckt, gilt als fahnenflchtig.

Mitch stood beside her. "What does it say?"

"Soldiers, get in contact with the nearest army base. Anyone who attaches themselves to civilian convoys or hangs around in private homes is considered a deserter." She shivered. Mitch grasped her hand and squeezed it.

The others caught up to them. Mitch turned down a side street in a residential area. Where it was dangerous for him. Though it was dangerous for him everywhere. Kurt would not have to report to the army base. Not as a wounded hero.

She turned her attention to the neighborhood. Neat houses lined the road. They slumbered, all quiet, unaware of who waited on the doorstep to their city.

Mitch went no farther than the second or third home before he climbed the steps and knocked on the door.

A stooped, elderly woman answered. Her hands and head and even lips shook. Mitch waved Gisela forward. "We are looking for a place to stay. Do you have room or know of someone who might take us in?"

The woman shook her head, her long gray braid bouncing. "Nein. We aren't well enough to have boarders, especially ones with little children."

"Bitte, I'm begging you. The old women and small girls are exhausted. We need a warm place to rest for the night."

"There is no way I can take you." She began to close the door.

Gisela stuck her foot on the threshold and prevented the woman from shutting them out. "We will be quiet, I promise. We are so tired, we will sleep. No fuss."

The home owner grasped the bra.s.s k.n.o.b. "Nein. They are taking people at the school. That is where you can stay."

"Bitte, how do we get there?" While Gisela desperately wanted a little peace and quiet, time away from the crowds, the school had to be better than the outdoors.

Gisela bobbed her head when the old woman finished giving them directions. "Danke, danke."

They stepped back into the deserted street. Mitch adjusted the sleeping child on his shoulder. "Were you paying attention to those directions?"

"I was."

"Good. I had trouble following her German."

Gisela led them up and down a few blocks before they came to the una.s.suming red brick building.

The gymnasium was packed with people. Wall to wall. Where would they even go? She looked at her crew. The old women had ceased their chatter some kilometers before Danzig. They had hardly been able to put one foot in front of the other between the house and the school.

She turned her attention to Mitch. He shrugged.

Then Kurt stepped forward. She had felt his gaze on her back the entire way from the truck to this spot. She wanted to squirm under his scrutiny. "They will make room for a hero of the Reich."

He proceeded to pick his way through the throng, which parted for him like the Red Sea parted for Moses. He chose a spot close to the door. With one sweeping motion of his hand, those huddled there made room for their party.

Kurt flashed her a crooked grin, a triumphant light in his cold blue eyes.

She shivered. Together with the rest of their bunch, she made her way to the place Kurt had cleared.

"I told you I would be able to make room. For a hero, these people will do anything." He cast a glance at Mitch. Mitch glared back at him.

She settled on the hard floor and Mitch handed Renate to her. The child stirred, then nestled her warm body into Gisela's. How blissful to be so innocent, to have someone looking out for you so you never had to worry.

Kurt positioned himself on Gisela's right, a little too close for her liking. Trying not to appear obvious, she slid over a few centimeters. Mitch lowered himself to the floor on her left. A man sandwich. Stellar.

Mitch leaned over. "How about that foot?"

"What about it?"

"You have been limping since we got off of the truck. Those boots are much too small for you. My guess would be that you have a nasty blister."

"I'm fine."

"Let me see."

"That's not necessary."

"Let me determine whether it is necessary or not."

More to make him stop pestering her, she handed Renate to Audra, who sat across from her.

When she tried to pull off her shoe, Gisela sucked in her breath with the fierce pain.

Mitch ripped off her boot and her blood-soaked sock.

NINE.

Mitch tightened his grip on Gisela's ankle when he saw her heel. Her small, thin foot was caked in blood. He examined the blister. White puss oozed from the raw wound. She tried to pull it back, but he held her fast.

"We need to get some medication for that."

"I'll wash it out with soap and water and it will be fine. Now please, hand me my sock."

He clung to it. "I'll rinse this when I get ointment."

"You have some in your pack?"

"No, but I'll get some."

"How?"

"You ask too many questions." Best not to let her know he planned to rifle through the sack of a woman he saw applying ointment to her own blisters earlier.

Gisela lowered her voice. "You're not going to steal it, are you?"

Kurt leaned over, attempting to catch their conversation, Mitch a.s.sumed. He kept his mouth shut.

She reached out and grabbed the filthy sock from him. "You can't do that."

"Why not?"

"You'll get caught and be in a world of trouble."

"What is wrong with your foot?" Kurt couldn't keep his nose out of their business.

"Nothing."

"I will take care of her." Mitch swiped the sock back. His burst of possessiveness surprised him.

With an abruptness that startled Mitch, Kurt rose and walked away, fisting his hand. More than likely, he was off in search of medicine for Gisela's foot. Watching the German clear a spot for them in the crowded school gave Mitch confidence. He pointed to the stylized SS on the tab of his shirt collar. "They'll hand the medicine over to a soldier."

"And you'll explain what you need in your terrible German?"

He flashed her a rakish smile. "Nein. I won't have to explain. Kurt cleared this area with one gesture. That is all it takes." At least he hoped it was.

"I won't let you put it on my foot."

"Unless you want to limp all the way to Berlin and risk gangrene, I suggest you let me treat you."

He'd had enough of arguing. Mitch turned and stomped over the ma.s.s of refugees, much as Kurt had moments before.

A pleasant surprise awaited him in the washroom. Running water. Not hot, but a trickle of water from a faucet all the same. He rinsed out Gisela's sock. He'd love to rinse the lice from his hair.

His reflection in the mirror startled him. Two weeks' worth of beard covered his face and lines rimmed his eyes. Over the years in the camp, he had lost a good deal of weight. And some muscle. His mum would never recognize him when he got home. His dad might not accept him, a failure several times over. A stabbing pain sliced through his chest.