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man whose death she had caused on her escape from Theresienstadt. She still remembered Wilhelm's face with blood everywhere from his cracked head. She knew she would feel responsible for it all her life, and had a lifetime of penance to do.

“Will you pray for my brothers?” he asked suddenly, and stopped to look at her. He looked younger than she felt, although he was older than she. She felt very old these days. They had all seen too much by now, some more than others.

“Yes, I will. Where are they?” she asked, touched that he would ask her to pray for them. She would pray for them that night.

“They were killed two weeks ago by the Nazis, in Lyon. They were with Moulin.” She had learned who he was from Serge. He was the hero of the Resistance.

“I'm sorry. Do you have other brothers and sisters?” she asked gently, hoping that he did, but he only shook his head.

“My parents are dead. My father died in a fishing accident when I was a boy. My mother died last year. She had pneumonia, and we couldn't get medicine for her.” His brothers' recent deaths explained his mournful look. His entire family was gone, except for his aunt and uncle in Melun. Hers was too.

“My family is gone too. Or they may be. My mother and sister were deported a year ago June.” There had been no news of them since that she knew of. “My father died when I was ten. My mother's family was all deported after Kristallnacht. They were Jewish. And my father's family disowned him when they married, because my mother was German and Jewish. He was a French Catholic. They were in the first war then. People do such stupid things. Neither of their families ever forgave them.”

“Were they happy?” He seemed interested, and Amadea was touched. They were two young people making friends. In hard times. Very hard times.

“Very. They loved each other very much.”

“Do you think they regretted what they did, defying their families, I mean?”

“No, I don't. But it was hard on my mother when he died. She was never the same again. My sister was only two. I always took care of her,” Amadea said, as tears sprang to her eyes. She hadn't talked about Daphne in a long time, and suddenly it made Amadea miss her more, and her mother too. “I think there are a lot of people like us now, who have no families left.”

“My brothers were twins,” he said as though it mattered now. It mattered to him.

“I'll pray for them tonight. And for you.”

“Thank you,” he said politely as they walked slowly back to the farm. He liked her. She seemed very mature, but she had been through a lot too. It was still hard for him to believe she was a nun, or to understand why she wanted to be. But it seemed to give her something very deep and peaceful that he liked about her. She was comforting to be with. He felt safe with her, and knew he was. “I'll pick you up tomorrow night. Wear dark clothes. We black our faces when we get out there. I'll bring you some shoe polish.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile.

“It was nice talking to you, Amélie. You're a good person.”

“So are you, Jean-Yves.” He walked her back to the farmhouse then, and as he drove back to the farm where he lived, he was glad to know that she'd be praying for him. There was something about her that made him feel she had God's ear.

19

JEAN-YVES PICKED HER UP AT TEN O'CLOCK THE NEXT night. He was driving an old truck and the headlights were turned out, and he had another man with him, a sturdy-looking farm boy with red hair. Jean-Yves introduced Amélie to him, and said his name was Georges.

She had worked hard on the farm all day, and had been a big help to Jean-Yves's aunt. She was grateful for Amadea's assistance, and she and his uncle were already in bed when they left. They asked no questions. They knew the routine. There had been no mention or acknowledgment of what Amadea would be doing that night. They just said goodnight and went upstairs. And a few minutes later, Amadea left in the truck with Jean-Yves. The old couple made no comment to each other when they heard them leave. Amadea had worn dark clothes, as Jean-Yves had told her to. They