Today, those travelers include—and I can barely breathe it—Tory and a group of resistance fighters, his young friends who have been hiding here, it seems. They are caught on the night stairs from the upstairs dorter, probably on their way out, into the nave and the north church transept.

So far, hidden, but it won’t be long before the Germans find them.

I squeeze Fred’s hand and point, and he stops.

The brothers are loading the horse-drawn cart. Bertie is playing in the dirt with a stick, oblivious to the terror upon us.

We could keep running. There is nothing between us and the transept, us and freedom.

But for Tory, trapped at the top of the stairs, I would. But he is my brother.

And Fred knows this.

“There is another stairs,” Fred says softly. “It leads to the south transept. I’ll get them.”

I’ll get them. But what can I say?

Fred leans down, touches my face with his hand, then kisses me. Quick. Sure.

Always and Forever.

He is gone before I can protest, but I wouldn’t. Instead, I watch as Fred climbs the stairs to the dorter, and I pray.

In the yard, Germans have arrived to search the cart, but of course, there is not one—praise be to small miracles. Tory and his two friends have receded to the shadows.

And then it happens. A sound perhaps, but Bertie looks up the stairs. Lifts his hand to wave.

No one has seen him yet, but I know he is greeting Tory.

I act without thought, impulse, or panic. Some might call it courage, but I can only do the right thing, that truth that burns through me.

“Bertie!”

I push out of the door into the courtyard.

Everyone turns. Arturo, who is standing by the cart, Bertie, the Germans.

“Angelica!” He runs towards me, and I kneel in front of him.

And then a chill freezes me as I hear my name, growled out with a German accent.

I look up as a shadow crosses me.

Obergruppenfuehrer Heinlein.

He reaches out, grabs me up by the arm. Leans in close. “I knew I would find you.”

And now I know. I have brought disaster to this place. More importantly, I have killed my brother.

I know then that it is too late for me and something akin to fury possesses me. How dare they bring evil to this place, to our lives?

I yank my arm away from him, push him back and of course, this only inflames him.

But what will he do to me, here, in this sacred place?

And I am right. He pulls his hand back, as if to hit me, and Father Cantero lets out a shout.

It stops Heinlein who lowers his hand, nearly shaking.

I dare not glance at the stairs, dare not give away Fred and Tory.

Please, be safe.