That night, tired and sore and miserable though she was, Nina couldn’t manage to fall asleep. She lay where she was, not wishing to disturb anyone else, and tried in vain to think of good things. Happier times.

For so long she had told Stella that the war would be over soon. That they only had to stay strong a little longer. A few more weeks, perhaps only days, and it would be over and they would be free.

She began to cry, silent tears that she was too tired to swipe away, and after a moment she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. It moved to her brow, stroking back over her cap of still-short hair, and the touch was wonderfully familiar and welcome. Stella must have woken and noticed her crying.

“Antonina,” came a voice. Her father’s voice.

She opened her eyes. He was there, standing by the end of her bunk, his back stooped a little so he might set a kiss upon her cheek. He was exactly as she remembered him.

“Oh, Papà,” she whispered. “It’s so good to see your face. Even if it is just a dream.”

“Why must it be a dream?” he asked, and his accompanying smile was gentle and so wonderfully familiar. “Why doubt what you see?”

“I don’t want to doubt, but you can’t be real. You died there . . . at that place.” She couldn’t think of the name. It didn’t matter, though. Not when her Papà had returned to her.

“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Worries. Just like when I was little, only now they’re worse. Now the monsters under my bed are real.” She closed her eyes, and then she remembered something important. “Is Mamma with you?”

“She is, my darling. We were never parted. Now I want you to listen. Are you listening, my Nina?”

“Yes, Papà.”

“You will survive. You will live to see the end of this war. I promise you will.”

“I miss you and Mamma so much. And Nico, too. Even thinking about him, remembering . . . it hurts so much. It makes me so sad.”

“I know, my darling.”

“I wish you could have known him, Papà.” And then, even though she knew it was silly to ask, “Can you see him where you are now? Can you tell him that I miss him? That I love him?”

She tried to stay awake, for her father hadn’t yet answered her question, but she was so very tired, and her sadness was such a weight upon her. When she opened her eyes again he was gone, and all she could recall was the lingering memory that once, not so long ago, not so very far away, she had been loved.

Chapter 30

9 April 1945