Her opportunity came earlier than expected, for the rabbi’s wife had prepared traditional Jewish pastries to share with the party. Although they’d been dining like royalty on the train, the chance to sample the pastries sent everyone eagerly following the rabbi’s wife.

Caroline hurried to the rabbi’s side, Luke’s letter clutched in her hands. “Sir? May I have a moment?” she asked, her voice uncomfortably loud in the cavernous chamber.

Perhaps he was used to people seeking a private moment, for he did not seem surprised as he gestured her toward a pew. Members of her party were still funneling out the door, and she prayed they’d leave quickly so she could speak in confidence.

Only Nathaniel lingered. “Caroline?” his gentle voice echoed in the nearly empty hall. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I want to speak with Rabbi Ginsburg for a moment.”

Their eyes met across the distance, but he nodded and followed the others to the reception area.

Caroline braced herself as she passed the letter to the rabbi. “My brother sent me this letter from prison.” She pointed to the Hebrew passage. “I hope you might tell me what he wrote at the bottom.”

The rabbi adjusted his spectacles and lifted the letter closer to his face. “Your brother has poor grammar.”

“To be expected,” she said. “He’s been teaching himself.”

Rabbi Ginsburg took only a moment more to finish reading. “In the first line, he says he is very ill. He says he may die.”

Her gasp echoed in the chamber, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, her worst fears coming to life.

“Then he goes on to quote Ecclesiastes,” the rabbi continued. “Here his grammar is perfect. I am guessing he has a Hebrew Bible?”

“He does.”

The rabbi nodded. “He has picked and omitted various pieces, but here is what he wrote:

To every thing there is a season. . . . A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

“That is the last of the quoted passage,” the rabbi said. “Then he goes back to writing in his own broken Hebrew. The grammar is bad, but he writes that it is nearing his time to break down and die. He prays that for his sister, it is your time to laugh and dance.”

He handed back the letter.

My God, he is saying good-bye to me.

She wasn’t going to collapse or give up. She was going to figure out a way to save Luke before it was too late.