“Are you writing to Mother?” Miriam asked as he sat scribbling.

“Yes. She’ll be very glad to know that we arrived and that we’re safe.”

“She would have hated it here, you know. It’s very primitive, and the lack of privacy would have distressed her.” Especially the toilets. Mother would have been appalled by them. The unfamiliar sounds of wildlife in the barren heathland would have kept her from sleeping, as they did Miriam. The construction racket would have gotten on her nerves. Miriam hadn’t expected luxury, but she found everything about the camp dreary and grim, including the tasteless food. Nevertheless, she knew she should be grateful to be here. To be free.

Abba stopped writing and looked up at her. “Your mother will join us once we’re settled in our own place. After I find work and an apartment. The others will come, too. You’ll see.”

Miriam remembered her debilitating fear as they’d crossed the German border, slogging across the wet fields until her feet were soaked and chilled, picking their way through the dark, dispiriting woods. If Mother knew what lay ahead, she would never agree to come.

“Do you think it will be all right if I practice my violin?” she asked on their third day in camp. Isolated in her tiny living space, Miriam had been battling panic attacks ever since they’d arrived and hoped to find relief if allowed to play.

“I think it would be lovely. This place could use a little music to brighten things, don’t you think?”

The rain had paused, so Miriam found a secluded place outside behind the barracks, away from the play area, where the children squealed and splashed in puddles. The pressure in her chest eased as she lifted her violin from its case. She played the melody from Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D Major from memory and allowed the violin to weep in her place. Miriam closed her eyes and poured all of her fear and sorrow into her music. The sounds of hammering and sawing faded into the background. She felt lighter when she reached the end of the piece several minutes later, then a rustling sound behind her made her turn around.

A young man in his twenties stood near the barracks as if trying not to be noticed.

“Is my playing disturbing you?” she asked. “I’ll stop if it is.”

“Not at all! Please, don’t stop. It’s beautiful.” His smile lit up his eyes and his face. Had she seen anyone smile in this place?

“It’s just that . . . with such tight quarters here . . . I would hate to disturb anyone.”

“No, please continue.”

Miriam tucked the violin beneath her chin but couldn’t recall where she’d left off. She was self-conscious now.

“Would you like me to go away?” the young man asked.