looked shocked.
“I'm your husband.” He laughed. “You could at least take off your gloves and hat.” Even she laughed at that.
She turned her back to him and put her nightgown on, pulling her dress off underneath it, and when she turned, he was wearing pajamas. He was a strikingly good-looking man.
“I've never done this before,” she said, looking embarrassed as he smiled at her, and she hoped he wouldn't take the charade too far. He didn't look like that sort of man.
“I take it you're not married?” he asked softly. The noise of the train covered their conversation, and he was no longer worried. No one was listening to them now.
Amadea smiled in answer. “No, I'm not. I'm a Carmelite.” He looked shocked for a minute and rolled his eyes.
“Well, I've never spent the night with a nun before. I suppose there's always a first time.” He helped her onto her bed, and sat looking up at her from the narrow bench across from it. She was a lovely looking girl, nun or not. “How did you get to Prague?”
She hesitated for a moment before she answered. There were no simple explanations anymore, for anything. Only hard ones. “Theresienstadt.” It explained everything with a single word. “Are you married?” she asked, curious about him too now. He nodded, and then she saw something painful in his eyes.
“I was. My wife and two sons were killed in Holland during the reprisals. She was Jewish. They didn't even bother to deport them, just killed them on the spot. I came back to Prague after that.” He had been back in Czechoslovakia for two years, doing what he could to put a stick in the Germans' wheels. “What are you going to do after you get to Paris?” he asked, as they rode through Germany. They would be in Paris by morning.
“I have no idea.” She had never been there before. If she had the opportunity, she wanted to visit her fa-ther's part of the world in Dordogne, and maybe even get a glimpse of their château. But she knew she wouldn't be free to move around. The partisans in Prague had assured her that she would be hidden by the underground in France, wherever they felt it was safest for her, more than likely somewhere outside Paris. They both knew that she had to wait and see what they told her when she arrived.
“I hope we travel together again sometime,” he said as he stood up and yawned. She thought he was remarkably calm, given the potential dangers of their situation. But he had been doing missions like this for two years.
“I don't think I'll be leaving France.” She couldn't imagine risking going back into Germany again until after the war. France would be difficult enough, given her situation. Germany was impossible. She would rather die than be deported again, next time more than likely to someplace worse. Theresienstadt had been bad enough. She couldn't help thinking of all the people there, and what would happen to them. It had been nothing less than a miracle that she'd escaped and was on this train.
“Will you go back to the convent again after the war?” Wolff asked with interest, and she smiled. Her whole face lit up as she did.
“Of course.”
“Did you never have doubts about the choice you made?”
“Never once. I knew it was right the day I went in.”
“And now? After all you've seen? Can you really believe it's right to be shut away from the world? There's so much more you can do for people out here.”
“Oh no,” she said with a look of wonderment, “we pray for so many people. There is so much to do.” He smiled, listening to her, he wasn't going to argue with her. But he couldn't help wondering if she'd really go back one day. She was a beautiful girl, and she had much to discover and learn. It was an odd feeling for him knowing that he was traveling with a nun. She certainly didn't look like one to him. She looked very human and desirable, although she seemed to be unaware of it, which he thought was part of her appeal. She was a very attractive woman in a distinguished sort of way.
He lay awake on his bunk that night, listening for problems on the train. They could be stopped and boarded at any time, and he wanted to be awake if that happened. He got up once or twice, and saw